BLACK NAVIGATOR LADY

First of all, please know that this is simply a venting…I have read the newsletter pleas, etc., etc., and I know there truly is nothing you guys haven’t done already to encourage parents to drop their kids off in an appropriate “driving” manner!

Ok, so I decided it would be a “good idea” to take Anne to school today instead of riding the bus…

What on earth was I thinking?

I have never seen such crappy displays of A. rude driving behavior, or B. idiotic, ignorance behind some very nice vehicles, or C. just s**t-heads for adults/parents. (did I mention that I wanted to vent…and not in such a “PC” manner?)

I’m pulling up to Jarman from the east since we’d dropped off some stuff at a friend’s house this morning. I get in the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line on the right side of the road and pretty soon this big-ass black truck drives by on my left. I think, no problem…the guy needs to get through to Memorial…he’s off to work. (clearly he’s late, but he’s off to work nonetheless). But no…he pulls around the cars in line into the parking lot. “No problem”, I say to myself. Surely he’s pulling into the parking area. Nope, not that either, he pulls around and cuts off a car about six cars in front of me in the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line and goes about his merry way taking his precious child up to the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line in a very rude, but expedient fashion. Ok, maybe I would have wanted to get that kid dropped off faster too.

Anne is yelling, “HEY…HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT”! Well, Anne he’s probably in a hurry and let’s just let it go.

About that time, Black Navigator Lady pulls up to my left. Again I am naïve enough to think, “well she just needs on through here, but I’m not pulling over because I’m only about three or four car lengths from being able to turn into this god-forsaken parking lot and she can get through the middle to get past on her way to her ever-important job that helps her afford this nice big shiny Black Navigator”. So I stay my course in my scratched up silvery gray land yacht. As she inches through, it becomes painfully clear that she is, in fact not inching through, but instead inching (and more like lurching) into my silvery gray land yacht. Now, I realize that at one time I thought I had the fanciest car in south Tulsa. I had moved up from a blue Dodge Caravan with 158,000 miles on it to a Eggplant Purple Suburban extra long model, to now the ever-sporty silvery gray Suburban XLT with 4WD. Did Black Navigator Lady not know this? Did she not see me? Well of course Black Navigator Lady saw me…how could you not—I’m in the land yacht for pete’s sake!

Black Navigator Lady has no turn signal on indicating that this is the very first day she’s ever done this and “oops” she’s made a mistake and just missed the fact that there were eight or nine cars in the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line and now she’s stuck and really, really sorry and could we please let her and her nice big shiny Black Navigator in to the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line now. Nope, by gosh, Black Navigator Lady has done this all intentionally and does not mind one bit if she hits the front driver’s side of my silvery gray land yacht. This is the point at which things take a turn in the silvery gray land yacht of mine. Anne is yelling, “HEY…THERE’S ANOTHER ONE…THEY ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT”! And, I, being of sound mind and having a few years of driving/parental/adult/good-decision-making experience under my belt calmly say, “nope she’s not” as I pull forward in an attempt to signal to Black Navigator Lady to move on down the road with her nice big shiny Black Navigator. Just as I pull forward, Black Navigator Lady makes a nice angular move in front of me all the while blocking all the traffic that truly is trying to get east and west on the through street.

At the first possible moment she can, Black Navigator Lady whips in front of my tiny little silvery gray land yacht with her kid bouncing around unbelted. We all stop and I am about 5 seconds from getting out of my car and “politely” walking up to tap on Black Navigator Lady’s window and explain to her how this whole system works. Instead I choose a nice little horn honk. That didn’t seem to make me feel better so I ever-so-quietly murmured the phrase, “bitch” under my breath. Clearly not low enough as my 11-yr old daughter’s head swung my direction. I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing and in a minute or so simply said, “honey, would you see if you know who gets out of that nice big shiny black car in front of us?”. “yeah, sure…pull up some more mom”. Uh-huh…and exactly what do I think I’m going to do with THAT information??? Hunt the little girl down who hops out of the nice big shiny Black Navigator? Find out who her moron parents are so I can go give them a piece of my mind? Keying the nice big shiny Black Navigator did cross my mind.

Instead, I hurried Little Anne out of the car at the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line several car lengths from the door (another thing…do these parents think that the kids can’t walk a whole three car lengths to the door without dying before they get inside?). I said, “have a great day…love you”, pulled out of the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line, pulled up by nice big shiny Black Navigator Lady, watched her bouncy, dressed in pink, fluffy black-haired daughter get out of Black Navigator Lady’s car, and when Black Navigator Lady finally wondered who the schmuck was sitting next to her in the scratched up silvery gray land yacht she nearly hit, I scowled at her and her nice big shiny Black Navigator and drove off.

Next year can I get a part-time job directing traffic out there in one of those fluorescent vests? And, I liked to be carrying a large visible weapon while I pleasantly direct all those impatient, morally bankrupt, egotistical, self-centered, idiotic, rude drivers who attempt to cut in front of a whole line of patient car drivers at the drop-your-kid-off-at-the-curb car line, to the back of the line or else I blow their tires out with my handy dandy weapon. Is that too harsh for the district? I’m thinking the kids would love seeing the old lady with the bright vest taking on little "Ashley’s" mom who never, ever waits her turn…just like little Ashley.

For now, I guess I’ll go take it out on that stupid, condescending Wii Fit “trainer”.

Venting over…thanks.

The Humming of the Clothes Dryer

D-E-E-P E-X-H-A-L-E............

Here is what I am experiencing right at this very moment: the low hum of a clothes dryer working overtime, the clinks, clashes and beeps of a new wii Mario Cart game, a yearning to have not a single Christmas decoration in sight, a constant "need" to check American Airlines flight status for the next 16 hours to make sure my son returns to Germany safely, and an overwhelming desire to cry!

No, it's not possible for it to be hormonal. Stress...nope, that's all gone too. Relief...maybe somewhat. You know I think it's just everything. Everything all lumped into one big fat culmination of reality. Reality that a.) Norman Rockwell must have painted only fictional scenes. b.) Planning and executing are two TOTALLY different things c.) letting things take their course is usually best d.) Having your husband repeatedly tell you "c" while you (me) are still fighting the urge to "plan" means that he was right and you were...well...misguided e.) regardless of plans, families are unique and wonderful and funny and growing and changing entities that we are blessed to experience and be participants within.

Now, having said all that, what is up with this post-Christmas blues stuff? Is it the weather? Is it having to put all this Christmas junk up? (Of course, some around here contend that if not as much were put out, then it would be far easier to take everything down--odd logic, don't you agree?) It's just weird after Christmas--that's all there is to it. We had one heckuva Christmas here. We really did. We were all together. We had a truly WHITE Christmas. We were blessed to give and receive wonderful gifts.

So why is it that now I have this odd uncomfortable feeling of ... peace. A couple friends have just posted some clever comments relating to my perceived inability to relax, however, I'll have you all know that I just sat up in my bed and folded three loads of laundry while watching Desperate Housewives and quietly weeping at a hearty episode of Brothers & Sisters. Is that not relaxing? Surely it is. Does the fact that I also sucked on some sunflower seeds make the whole scenario lean more toward the relaxing side?

Here is my reality. My reality is that relaxing, at least for me, is a bit over-rated. A few examples: A TWO HOUR AND FORTY MINUTE movie about a science fiction character called Avatar who just doesn't like the idea of their "hood" (a tree of life) gettng blown to smitherenes by the evil militia group wanting to take over the universe....SERIOUSLY??? You mean to tell me that sitting and watching the blood curdling screech of girl avatar should be more relaxing than...say...vacuuming? At least when I vacuum I can hear the nice low hum of that little machine I am pushing, my floor ends up cleaner. When I sat "relaxing" for TWO HOURS AND FORTY MINUTES all I ended up with was a ringing headache and a sore butt.

I think the whole clothes dryer/decorations/crying thing is about change. I think that we humans don't necessarily "do" change well...at least not innately. And, sisters and brothers, we got a whole lotta change goin' on around here. I thought I liked change, I think I still may. And maybe it's not really about change, maybe it's about all the unknowns. About an innate fear of things not being as "okay" as they are now. Of our children failing, of our children being put in harms way, of losing a loved one, of not being able to manage everything, of meeting new people, of losing friends, of not doing a good enough job, of not understanding something, of being tired.

So for now my reality is that I fear my life will be very different a year from now and maybe there's really nothing to be afraid of, but if there is, I'm going to embrace it with everything I've got and if that means "suffering" through a TWO HOUR AND FORTY MINUTE movie about blue people in order to be with the people I love the very most, then by golly I'll do it!

But I think they should sit quietly with me soon and listen to the clothes dryer running.