What it’s like to be a Georgia Auburn Marriage: A retrospective. It ain’t pretty.
One of my favorites: 2005.
Tomorrow should be quite the clash of the titans.
Archive for the ‘todd’ Category
Temporary Annullment Day: A Retrospective
Saturday, November 14th, 2009Because It Makes Me Feel Better
Tuesday, November 10th, 2009So, my sister married a Gator. I have not really forgiven her, but I have moved past the pain. Florida beat Georgia again. Did I say I moved past the pain? I lied.
That is why, when my nephew comes over, wearing a damn Florida blue outfit with Gator orange socks, (which, incidentally, is the same dork outfit my bil is wearing) and then his father leaves to go watch the Florida game at his house, I like to play this little game with my nephew.
Why? Because it makes me feel better.
A Halloween Story
Sunday, November 1st, 2009Last night, we took the kids trick or treating, despite the misty rain, and the mud, and the fact that the Gators were still in the midst of kicking Georgia’s ass. Sometimes, it is better to just walk away and eat candy and drink beer.
Rollie was a mummy (Not that fun a costume to put together, and even worse to remove! Like the old school costume ideas, though.) and Tills was a cheerleader. We went to meet neighbors a couple of streets over for a neighborhood tradition. A family has always done a pinata before trick or treating. It started with just a family or two, but over the years, has ballooned to tons of neighborhood kids showing up to take a shot at the pinata. I think they even have two pinatas, one for the big kids and one for the little ones. So many people show up that I dropped candy off the day before to help out. The whole thing is a ball of candy frenzy, but so much fun. It gives the parents a chance to group, pour themselves a drink (everyone has a cup or a rolling cooler with them), chat while the kids wait in line for their turn to whack the pinata, and to check out all the costumes in the floodlights of the driveway. When the pinata finally cracks open, candy rains from the sky, and the scramble for booty begins. One mother in my neighborhood aptly referred to it as “like a scene out of Lord of the Flies.” I loved that book! Perhaps not for everyone, though.
After that, we all give our thanks and head around the loop to trick or treat. The bigger kids race from door to door, their parents yelling, “slow down! It isn’t a race! Wait for your sister! You’re going to trip over something cutting through a dark yard like that! Don’t ring that doorbell! Porch light off means they aren’t giving out candy!” The shrieks and yells carry through the night, echoing off the houses. The parents walk down the middle of the street, then weave to one side or the other, depending on which house the kids are going to. Occasionally, the kids stop at the parents to yell excitedly that a certain house gave a certain something awesome. Some houses have scary stuff – motion-activated sound machines or mummies and vampires that pop up when the kids approach the steps. One got Tiller so bad that she turned around and ran back across the yard, to the sound of myself and todd roaring in laughter. Parents drag coolers or wagons or push strollers (they make great drink transportation!) The little ones get tired about 3/4 of the way and start dragging and wanting up to be carried or in the wagon. (“Baby, Mama’s cooler’s in the wagon. You better keep walking.”) We finally finish the loop and head home, the kids wild-eyed and digging into their candy before we get there. We visit the old folks around us, which we should have done before going to the pinata, but damn it, Mummies are hard to wrap. The old folks make over the kids and the kids stumble over their words trying to explain everything that they saw, and who was dressed up as what.
Then you get home, and you let the kids have some candy. (Yes, we are terrible and limited their intake right before bed. We wash off mummy makeup and take off saddle oxfords and tights and tuck them into bed, visions of pumpkins and candy dancing in their heads.
Then we rummage through their candy, and pour ourselves a drink. Finally, we walk out into the carport to blow out the candles in the pumpkin and step on a pile of muddy shoes, twisting our ankle and bumping our head on the brick wall, our screams of agony resonating throughout the neighborhood under a Waxing Gibbous moon. We limp back to the couch with the help of our husband, who brings us a water, Ibuprofen, a bag of frozen fruit, and a beer. We prop our foot up, icing it and watching The Night of the Living Dead.
Sleepless: A Tale of Revenge
Tuesday, October 27th, 2009I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I thought that I had a cold that was lingering, but i think it is actually allergies. I have been coughing every night when I go to bed. It is a tickling, itchy cough, and once I get started, I can’t get rid of it. Thinking it was a cold, I took Theraflu Cold and Cough before bed. Didn’t work. Last night, I tried a Claritin, and it either worked, or I was so exhausted that I finally fell asleep during the coughing. I am going to try one again tonight and see what happens.
Anyway, I was in the throes of being unable to sleep, with Todd snoring lightly next to me (not an annoying snore, except that it was adding insult to injury, since I would have loved to be snoring.) The cats were walking all over my legs, trying to find a comfortable place and I was frustratedly kicking my legs to displace them from being pinned down by fat cats. I had been drinking a lot of water, trying to diet, so I had to pee. I got up, and as usual, went into the bathroom, didn’t turn on the light, and sat down on the toilet.
And kept going.
Is there any worse feeling than being half asleep, thinking as you sit down on the toilet that there is a seat down, and finding your butt going farther than you thought it would, and realizing a split second too late to pull up that there is nothing there, and that you are going to be sitting on a dirty toilet bowl rim? (I have a 6-year-old boy – just imagine how disgusting my toilet bowl rim can get.) Or that your butt will be touching toilet water?
I jumped back up, butt wet and images of the most disgusting my toilet bowl has ever been in my head. I grabbed the towel hanging over the shower door and wiped my bottom and back of my legs, then threw the towel down on the floor in anger. I cussed. A LOT.
Damn it! Why are men so fucking incapable of putting a fucking toilet seat down on a fucking toilet????!!!! I should march right in there and punch his lights out. I should scoop a cup of water out of that toilet and go in there and dump it on his fucking head!
I didn’t do any of that. I didn’t even say it out loud. I just threw the towel on the floor and climbed back in bed, hoping for sweet, relieving sleep. Okay, that’s a lie. Maybe I stomped in to the bedroom and jumped back in bed, and sighed a lot, and pulled the covers back over me very dramatically and very loudly. The snoring continued.
This morning, I overslept and Rollie missed the bus, and I had to drive him to school (The principal was the one that helped him out of the car, making me feel guilty, seeing the hazmat site that is my car, and with Rollie clutching his breakfast – a South Beach Diet bar and cup of milk. Oh, the shame!) I got back home, and Todd came down from taking his shower, all clean and dressed and ready for work. I had cooled off from the evening’s toilet adventures and I was drinking my coffee.
Me: “Did you sleep well?”
Todd: “Yeah, I slept hard. You?”
Me: “Not really. I coughed a lot. And baby, I love you, but you gotta put the toilet seat down. I fell in the toilet in the middle of the night.”
Todd laughs.
Me, eyes narrowing: “Did you use the towel that was in there? The one on the floor?”
Todd: “Yeah, why? The kids always pull them down when they are drying their hands.”
Me, smiling angelically: “No reason.”
I Love My Auburn Tiger Husband
Saturday, October 10th, 2009He just decided to turn off his game in complete disgust and take the kids to the beach, thus leaving me alone with Quint the dog in an empty beach house, watching GA on the nice tv. Pouring my second Bloody Mary (V8 for vitamins and minerals, vodka to kill the cold) and thinking how awesome it must be to have the last name Rambo.
Because If We Don’t Laugh, We’d Cry
Monday, September 21st, 2009We got a bit of rain today. This is what grandma and Mama might refer to as a Toad Strangler, with lots of God Bowling, although there was a moment in early afternoon of The Devil Beatin’ His Wife.
And this was all over Facebook today, but I am too tired from cleaning out my damn flooded basement to come up with anything original, so this pretty much sums it up. I love how a tragedy or huge event like this flood results in some really funny jokes. This is the best. Pokes at Sonny Perdue praying for rain also crack me up.
In all seriousness, there was some sad stuff in Atlanta today – Loss of life. And I am thankful all my peeps are alright. Tiller and Rollie are tucked in with no school to get up for tomorrow, mama made it to Atlanta and had to pitstop at Lisa’s due to the blocked roads, and Lisa had a tree fall on her house, but all my folks are safe. Even that piece of shit I married, sitting up at the W in NYC, drinking a beer in crisp white sheets. Just kidding T. Send me that check, baby.
I hope that wasn’t thunder I just heard.
Yo La Tengo, Beer, Me, Me, Me.
Sunday, September 20th, 2009So, Todd is in NYC all week for work, and he gave me the afternoon off yesterday, so that I could have kid-free time before the week kicks into gear. I rode down to L5P with neighbor Scott and his friend Seth. Ah, the glamour of arriving anywhere in a minivan. Nothing like it.
We proceeded to Criminal Records for the 4 pm Yo La Tengo instore. Scott bought the new album and got it signed. He is a record nerd, which always cracks me up. He is v. knowledgeable about music and we like a lot of the same stuff, and I even like him despite the fact that he likes Phish. YLT played a short set (mostly new stuff, including the fun “Periodically Double or Triple,” and a Beatles cover – name? Cannot remember) bantered with the crowd in their usual witty and self-deprecating way, and sounded pretty good. A fun time, despite the fact that I am coming down with a cold, and it was hot as Hades in the damn place.
Speaking of, let’s take a moment to discuss my thoughts on dressing for Fall in the South, shall we? I automatically think that you are a complete idiot if the temperature is in the 70s and 80s and you wear any of the following:
- Long sleeve shirts*
- Wool caps or hats
- Cardigan wrap sweaters
- Wool plaid skirts
- FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD, knitted or wool scarves?
*These are merely questionable. Why not a short sleeve?
I then bought a couple of CDs (browsing without children! No hand-holding! Awesome!) and then went next door to The Porter. I had not been there before, and I LOVED it. Great beer list; knowledgeable, witty, friendly staff; comfortable bar stools; good pub food (at least what I had – the Porter Poppers – was excellent). I love the atmosphere and had a wonderful, three-beer afternoon to myself, sitting at the bar, reading for a couple hours, periodically looking up to watch the folks outside walking by in the rain.
I am my mother’s daughter, so I did chat up some fellow patrons and the bartender. Met a couple people who had driven all the way from Florida to see Yo La Tengo. I am always impressed by road-tripping music fans. (As long as they like good music, of course.) And then another guy sat down next to me. Turned out we had both grown up in Atlanta and knew some of the same people. Georgia and Ira from YLT came in, presumable for dinner, and walked to the back of the bar. Todd arrived, having pawned the kids off onto my dear sister. We had another beer and chatted with the Atlanta guy, nodding our heads as the conversation got weird, and involved his life and death experience, and how he saw levitating beers come up out of their glasses and float in the air. Nope, not kidding. He said all this with a straight face, and I love my husband, because we both just nodded like we were listening seriously to him, and never took our eyes off him. Nodding, nodding. But we know one another well enough that we were having an unspoken conversation that went something like this:
Todd: “Did he just say that he died and then came back to life?”
Me: “He just said that he and the chick from the band BabyShakes watched their beers leave the glasses and float up solid in the air and then splash back down on the bar. No one else there saw it.”
Todd: “Yep. Did he just say that she understood all this, and that he figured out the whole thing in numbers and did the math? Were there numbers after the decimal point?”
Me: “Yep. They had a connection. What the fuck is he talking about? Is there a mathematical formula for crazy?”
Todd: “Yes, evidently, there is, and he has solved it.”
Me: “I’m going to chug the last few sips of this beer, then excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room.”
Todd: “I’m gonna get the check and pay up.”
Me: “Tip the bartender well.”
Todd: “You know it.”
[Aloud] “It was so nice meeting you. You take care now, okay?”
After that, we paid up and met Scott and Seth at Vortex. Not my favorite place to eat, but Scott wanted it, because he can’t eat there with children. This is a common theme for parents. It is like when I don’t have kids with me, I choose where to sit based on it being where I wouldn’t usually sit with the kids. This is usually the bar.
The best part about this was that I got to see the first quarter of the Bulldogs playing Arkansas. The rest of the night, I received stellar and timely text updates from both Brett and Jason B. It was much appreciated, and Brett got extra points with Todd for his unsolicited Auburn updates, including the non-score-related “Auburn fans have a Brokeback Mountaineers sign.” Good job, boys. Will be watching the DVR-ed version this afternoon.
We headed over to the show. I ran into a guy i knew in Athens named Roger. We caught up for a while, and then I headed down to see the show up front. YLT were good, as always. Todd and I discussed the fact that Ira always seems to bring it full-tilt. I like the fact that he is aging, but still seems to rock out and have a blast just like a teenager. I have seen them quite a few times, and they always do a good show, but this was not one of their better ones, in my opinion. This probably owes more to the fact that they played mostly new stuff than to any deficiency on their parts. Highlights for me were still the more rockin’ older songs: Deeper into Movies, Autumn Sweater, etc. Autumn Sweater sounds different every time that I hear them play it and i loved this loungier version. Georgia did a few songs. I love her sweet voice, and that she is such an enduring rock chick. In the face of so many bombastic female voices in rock, her quiet modesty is refreshing.
Afterwards, we met friends Gretchen and Brownlee at The Porter for a last beer. (Feeling kinda ookie, I opted for a water.) And headed home! All in all, a great day despite the fact that I wasn’t feeling a hundred percent. Hopefully, the memory of my mostly kid-free day will get me through the week ahead.
Game Day, or “How I Became That Mother.”
Tuesday, September 15th, 2009My little man is getting so big. He learned to ride a bike without training wheels, he has loose teeth ready to fall out, and Sunday, he had his first baseball game. I have turned into a Soccer mom, chauffeuring kids to school, and bus stop, and baseball practice, soccer practice, and ballet. I have somehow become a person who attends a kids’ baseball game, a soccer game, and a soccer clinic every weekend in the fall. I have an actual magnetic soccer ball on my minivan. I have a minivan! I know where to buy ballet shoes, for fuck’s sake! I don’t even know who I am anymore.
I always said, “Oh, I’ll never be one of those parents who [insert crossed-that-line-already variable here].” I am one of those parents. Soccer ball. Minivan. Little girl who wears dresses, owns Barbies. Too much tv. Chicken McNugget. Name a line that I drew in the sand; I have since crossed it. Oh, except Bratz. NEVER IN MY HOUSE. EVER.
The funny thing, though? You realize that parents don’t do these things because they want them, necessarily. (Although I am sure some do.) They often do it because they realize it is what the kids want. My kids like to play baseball and soccer and do ballet. It is good for them to run around. They like Barbie and Hot Wheels. Tiller likes dresses and bows. Rollie got excited about putting the magnetic soccer ball his coach gave him onto the van. I couldn’t say no to that! I countered it with a Mac sticker.
And in participating in all that (and I have never been a joiner – I do not tend to like to be part of a group), i have found that it is not so bad. It is kind of fun to watch your kid on a baseball field, having fun. You remember what it was like to stand in left field or right field, bored out of your mind, dancing in the wet grass, or kicking some dirt at third base. Watching your daughter meet other kids during the game and run around and climb trees, or play in the creek behind the field, or swing from the bleachers, you remember that once upon a time, you were that kid keeping yourself occupied while a sibling was on the field. You check out the goods at the Concession stand. You remember that after the game, whether you win or lose, you get pizza or ice cream.
Livin’ on the Edge
Monday, September 14th, 2009Todd and I sometimes get crazy when the kids are away.
Taking Off the Training Wheels
Tuesday, September 8th, 2009In all the school speech hubbub of yesterday, I didn’t get around to posting what I really wanted to post: My baby boy learned to ride his bike without training wheels yesterday.
My mom told me that I started wanting to learn to ride my bike at age four. She said all the older kids were riding theirs, and I wanted to also. I don’t remember that, but I do remember riding my brown, orange, and yellow (it was the 70s!) Roadmaster down a short sloped driveway at a neighbor’s house, my dad holding the hard yellow seat behind me. I remember skinned knees, and no helmet. I remember exhilaration.
I tried teaching Rollie this spring. I took him over to a parking lot nearby, and it was a disaster. No one got hurt, but I was nervous, he was wobbly and frustrated, and it was hot as Hades. We did not last long on the asphalt, and we gave up.
So, Rollie had a play date at a friend’s house earlier this year and the little girl could ride with no training wheels. Rollie was interested again. We have no flat area to learn to ride bikes in our yard, so we have to take the bike somewhere else to teach him to ride. We have been, shall we say, less than proactive about doing so.
Rollie started asking us more often to teach him, but something always came up. Then yesterday, Todd told us all to pack up and we headed over to the local park. We took Tiller’s little bike, too. We strapped them both in their helmets. Rollie even wore his knee and elbow pads (overkill, as it turned out). Todd got Rollie on the bike, and we showed him how to set up the right pedal (he is right-handed), so that he could stand on his left foot while using his right foot to step on the high right pedal, thereby giving himself a sort of initial boost of speed. We told him that he had to pedal fast to keep going. We told him that he needed to put his feet down when he came to a stop, that he needed to remember to steer.
I sat on a curb and bit my fingernails.
Todd went to the opposite end of the parking lot with him, and then slowly they started. Todd held onto the back of the seat, just as my own father had thirty-plus years ago. I wondered if my Mom could even watch me learning. I watched as my firstborn sped up, and wobbled, and freaked out and put his feet down on the pavement. I heard Todd say, “Slow down, Buddy. I can’t keep up with you.”
I watched as they tried again. Rollie took off, and started a little faster, and he was wobbly, and the look on his face was one of pure terror, mirroring my own I am sure, and suddenly, i realized Todd was not holding him anymore, just running right back and to the left, arms creating a waiting safety net around Rollie’s sides, but not touching him. I heard Todd speaking to him, “You’re doing it all on your own, buddy. You’re doing it.”
Tiller rode in circles, training wheels flashing in the sun. Todd and Rollie got ready again at the end of the parking lot. Tiller straightened out and pumped her legs as fast as they would go, sparks almost coming off the training wheels, her bike leaning precariously to her side. Rollie started off from a low incline, picked up speed, then started pedaling furiously as he quickly moved away from Todd. Rollie was moving of his own energy. Todd was left in the dust, looking panicky. I was in a panic of my own, my heart in my throat. I yelled, “You’re doing it, Buddy! you’re doing it!” Tiller’s bike rattled and she toppled over, a slow motion, non-life-threatening wobble. Meanwhile, Rollie came to a shaky stop, feet dragging on the pavement, and I was completely torn. Tiller’s training wheel came right off the bike and rolled in a large circle, slowed, came to a stop, and fell over.
We all looked at each other in amazement.
Rollie had ridden a bike by himself, and was all pride and bluster. Tiller had ridden the wheels right off her bike.
It was a good day. I only wish I had gotten video of the baby that once came out of my vagina now riding a bike around on his own bottom and two legs, laughing and getting mad because we wanted him to slow down. It just happened so fast.