A Married Couple's Guide to Shopping

This is not your typical discourse on shopping. Because my husband and I are exactly the opposite of the stereotype. Which is what makes it interesting blog material, right?

So, my husband likes to shop. I hate it. That's putting it mildly. It would be better to say that I loathe it. I'm not sure why. I hate trying on things, especially when they don't fit because I feel like I wasted my time and messed up my hair for nothing. I have never been really trendy, so the styles in the windows really don't get my attention. It just doesn't appeal to me. Same thing with grocery shopping. I hate that because you have to load up the cart, then you have to unload it at checkout. Then you have to haul it all home and put it away. Then...you have to cook it. And then you have to do it all over again.

I have a friend that has great taste in clothes. When I need to go shopping, I call her up. I tell her what I need and how much I want to spend. We go out, and she starts handing me things. She knows what size I wear, and she has a really great eye and knows what looks good on me. She's also good at mixing and matching, and wardrobe building. I love her. I don't even have to think about it. It doesn't take much time. She likes doing it. What more could you ask for?

They built Lowe's and The Home Depot for my husband. Trust me on this. Now, where we live, both of these stores happen to be right across the street from each other. The man could spend days in one store or the other, but having them in such close proximity creates a whole other dilemma. Because now he has to compare prices. So, he goes to one store and shops for whatever he's interested in. Then, he leaves and goes across the street to see if they might have it cheaper. If they don't, and if they won't beat the price of the other store, then he gets back in the car to go to the first place and buy the item. Add in the time it takes to browse the aisles of both stores, and you pretty much waste an entire day. Often, he will ask me to accompany him on such adventures. This is a huge mistake. I don't have the patience for such excursions. Remember my previous post about when momma ain't happy ain't nobody happy? Exactly.

He likes to chat with the salespeople. He does learn a lot from them. From time to time, he'll get extra discounts by being friendly with them. That's very shrewd. What I have learned, though, is that any project he attempts to do will take at least twice as long as he estimates it will take for reasons just such as this. So, my business-oriented mind generates that you lose any savings you gain at the store in the time that you spend. It's about efficiency and productivity.

So, you see, we are not your typical married couple. He doesn't drive me to the mall and wait in the car while I browse for hours on end. I can't trust him to go out to buy a couple of items and be back before the sun sets. Which begs the question...why in the world do opposites attract? It leads to a lot of aggravation!

Pardon me

I have a cold. It is damn near impossible to remain lady-like when your nose is constantly running. I think about Scarlett O'Hara, and how glad I am that I don't have to carry around the hanky AND the parasol!

So, missing work is not an option. Yeah, I know I'm sharing the germs, but I've already got it, so what do I care? Yeah, I know I'm a nurse and that last sentence was just wrong, but hey, I don't feel good and it's the truth. So there. I'm not taking care of patients, and I'm not at the hospital. No public health crisis will result from me going to work with the sniffles. Besides, I use gallons of that hand sanitizer...I wash my hands all the time as if I'm scrubbing in to surgery. I won't touch bathroom door handles or elevator buttons with my fingertips, and I never drink from a public water fountain. I think it's completely fair that I should be ticked off that after taking all those precautions, I still get sick!

Last night, I went home from work and I just felt miserable. I do not like to take medications of any kind, because I don't like experiencing side effects. And for some reason, I seem to be hypersensitive to nearly everything. So, whenever I need an anesthetic, everybody refuses to believe me when I tell them it doesn't take much to put me under. But, really, how many people out there would even tell you that? Last night, I had nothing in the house except NyQuil, my husband's cold medicine. I could've sent him out for something else, but I didn't feel good enough to supervise my son while he went shopping. Because the man can't just go and pick up something and come right back. Nope. A trip like that would take him at least an hour. He likes to look around. I know...most men aren't like that. And most women aren't like me...I hate to shop! But that's another blog...

So, I take the NyQuil at his urging. Because he feels sorry for me. I think there must've been something on tv he wanted to watch. I took it right before dinner. By 8:15, I was sound asleep in an upright position on the sofa! With my son running around like a little maniac. I kept trying to open my eyes, and they felt like lead. So, my loving husband helped me up the stairs and put me to bed. I can imagine him on the other side of the bedroom door, dancing a jig. He put our son to bed. He walked our dogs. He cleaned up the dinner dishes. Maybe I'll start taking NyQuil every night....

I woke up this morning, and it was like peering through dense fog. I couldn't focus my eyes and I felt light-headed. Great. A hangover from the medicine. It is afternoon as I sit here and type this, and it's only the last hour or so that I've finally started to feel lucid again. My nose, however, has been active all day. Lucky me. So the challenge is to stay all sweet and polite while feeling like I've been hit by a truck. I catch myself saying "pardon me" constantly during times like this. Pardon me that I look like a mess and feel even worse than that. Pardon me that I can't seem to control this thing on my face. Pardon me that you can't understand much of what I'm saying. Pardon me that my throat feels really sore and scratchy and my voice sounds like a teenage boy's.

Pardon me that in only a matter of days, my son, my husband, or both of them will be stricken with this and then I will have to take care of them whether I'm feeling better by then or not. Yes, I'm bitter about that. When I'm sick, I just want to be left alone. They need loads of attention. I don't get that. Oh, but pardon me....

A Woman's Power

You know that saying "If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy?" Well, I think about that one a lot. There really is so much truth to that statement. Traditionally, Southern women have been brought up to be the backbone of their family. The rock. The moral compass. The glue. They (or should I say we?) do not take this responsibility lightly.

My grandma had it. She was the matriarch. Everything truly revolved around her, and not in a bad way. Everyone just gravitated toward her. She took our big, noisy family and managed to keep us all together for every single holiday, and all getting along with each other. But let her get disappointed or angry, and well, it was worse than a hellfire-and-brimstone sermon at a tent revival! And everybody in the line of fire could do nothing but hang their heads and wait for it to pass. At the other end of the spectrum, if you made her proud or happy you were in high cotton. Because it was hugs, love, and kisses for you, along with plenty of bragging to everyone around her until your pendulum swung the other way! Rarely was there any middle ground with her. She did not view life in shades of gray.

I love that women have this kind of power. Our men want to please us. They do not want to incur our wrath. Our children don't want to hear that "momma" voice or see the disappointment in our faces. Why? Is it because we're so evil they're afraid of us? Sweet, soft, gentle ladies that we are? Why, how in the world could anybody think that? ;-)

Not every woman has it, but a lot of us do. The people we love are drawn to us like gnats to a porch light. We shine brightly as the center of our universe. And if that light goes out, it gets missed. Sorely. I think it's because we love others with everything we've got. We take care of them and nurture them. It means more to them than we even realize. I truly think that's why they're so affected by our happiness or, particularly, our lack of it.

Of course, there are some that might realize this power and use it to their advantage to get what they want. However, a real southern lady would never admit to doing so. That just goes against the code. No matter how cunning you might be, it's treason to let on. Because that would jeopardize the position of the sisterhood. And who wants to incur the wrath of the group as a whole?!

Send in the Clown

Before I get into this....it was 106 degrees here today! And still 100 degrees at 9pm. This is beyond ridiculous. Our county fair started today...and one person has already died out there from the heat. Why they want to have a county fair in August is beyond me, anyhow, but this year? I think it's safe to say I'm not going! Somebody send some rain....please!!

So, I went to pick up my son at school. He always is so excited when I walk in and comes running screeching "Mommy!" I love hearing that. It's so much fun to hear him talking with his sweet little boy voice. His vocabulary seems to grow by leaps and bounds every day.

Today, I heard the words that I've been dreading. After I hugged him, Brock looks up at me and says, "I want McDonald's." I was just astounded. Where did that come from? It didn't come from me or his dad. Because we've got this thing about not giving him fast food. And my husband hates McDonald's. Refuses to eat there. I love their fries. They gave me my first job. I have to say that either fast food isn't as good as it used to be, or my tastes have changed. Because I remember all of it tasting much better than it does now.

So how is it that a kid that isn't accustomed to eating at the golden arches could ask to go there? I have a theory. This kid loves tv. And McDonald's does a lot of advertising. With music...which he also loves. And they've had happy meal day a couple of times at his school, which he participated in. I think he's the only kid in the world that doesn't like chicken nuggets. But he loves fries of all kinds. His school is close to Burger King, so I hit their drive-thru and got him a kid's meal. He devoured all the fries, and then nibbled at the cheeseburger, eating mostly cheese and bread. I dealt with the guilt of being a bad mom for caving in to him, depriving him of a really nutritious meal. One of those things that we'll keep just between us, and not tell his dad.

Yes, I'm a sucker when it comes to my son, and he's a momma's boy. And if a clown with big red hair gets his attention, then it's alright with me.

Hot! Hot! Hot!

It was 104 degrees here today. It's been 99 or higher here for the last week and a half. No rain in sight. It was 85 degrees at 7am this morning. Get the picture? It's freakin' hot around here! It hasn't been like this in a long time. And I hope it's a really long time before it does it again.

This is why we like iced tea and lemonade in the south. I love ice. Lots of ice in everything I drink. In Europe, they rarely use ice in their drinks. What's up with that? Just holding an ice cold drink in your hand will help you cool off a bit. Even better, you burn off a couple of extra calories as your body works to bring that drink's temperature up to your body temperature. That's my kind of workout!

Come to think of it, those same Europeans think it's okay for a woman not to shave under her arms; and they don't all bathe every day, either. Ewww!

I should stop. That is just the antithesis of genteel. You'll think I'm not a lady if I keep this up. And that would simply be a tragedy. It's the running joke that in the south we justify gossiping about other people by blessing their hearts. As if it's going to wipe that slate clean and make every ugly thing you just said sweet as honey. An example...."That is such a pretty sundress she's wearing. It's too bad she has armpit hair that's long enough to braid! Bless her heart."

Alright, so let me see if I can salvage any vestige of class here. I was talking about the heat before I got off on that tangent. I think whoever invented air conditioning should be granted sainthood. Because people get really cranky when they're hot and uncomfortable. And I sleep so good when it's nice and cool. And my new office is cool...and there is no thermostat, but it's okay. Because it's just the way I like it. I stay more alert when the air is cooler, which usually leads me to be more productive.

Heat is bad for so many reasons. It zaps your energy. You get dehydrated. Your hair just lays down and dies...or frizzes up with no hope of regaining control. Makeup winds up somewhere on your neck instead of where you applied it. And then you either look like you just got out of the shower, or like you need to go take one. Bad either way. Your clothes stick to you. You are acutely aware of the sweat rolling off of you, and how pathetic you will look in no time flat, if you haven't gotten there already. We've got enough to worry about without adding this to the day!

Just give me a mint julep and an air conditioner. Before I come down with the vapors!

Who is Fiona?

Of course Fiona isn't my real name. I chose it because of the character in Shrek. I identify with her. The girl that wanted to be a beautiful princess but turned out to be an ogre.

So here are a few tidbits about me in case you're wondering...not sure why I'm doing this because no one is visiting this blog. Maybe that's why....

I'm so completely insecure. But I'm very adept at hiding it.

I love my work...and I know I'm good at it. I can't honestly say that about any other aspect of my life.

I'm lonely most of the time.

I love to make other people smile...and a good laugh is even better.

I like taking care of other people a lot.

My son is the most precious thing in my life. Hands down. I look at him and just can't believe I had any part in creating him. He's amazing.

I hate mirrors. Go out of my way not to look into them.

I like to make others feel special.

I secretly crave for someone to make me feel special.

I think everyone is beautiful when they smile.

I'm an emotional eater. Every excuse ever created to eat...I'm all about it.

I wish just once I could put something on...and feel and look sensational in it.

I've got really thick hair...but I can't seem to find a great cut to save my life.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've ever really felt sexy in my life. And I want to giggle at the thought right now. It seems like such an oxymoron to put me and sexy in the same sentence.

I love chocolate. Love doesn't begin to describe it, but they haven't come up with the proper word yet.

I adore music. All kinds. I can just feel the notes in my soul.

I regret not travelling when I had an opportunity. There's so much I'd love to see. Which helps explain my insane fascination with the travel channel.

I can't just hear a little bit about something that interests me and let it go. No. I have to Google it and find out every minute detail until I have exhausted myself, and only then am I satisfied. Whoever invented the news channels should be shot for what they did to me. Same for Al Gore, inventor of the internet. Yeah, right.

Okay, so that's some kind of personal disclosure record. I've never talked so much about myself in one place. If you read it to the end....well, you're either really bored or you're looking for blackmail material.

Because I'm just the goofy ogre. No princess here.

The Long and Winding "Rush" Hour

Well, I mentioned that I got a promotion. I think it's going to be really great, except for one thing. I'm back to the god-awful commute.

It was one of the very best things about my last job. Fifteen minutes to work...no interstate involved. Three alternate routes. I was not late a single time due to traffic. The drive was relaxing. And that's huge for me. Because I'm not a fan of driving, really. I'd rather drive than be the passenger, but I don't enjoy driving the way some people do. My shoulders tense up and on long trips ache all the way up into my neck. Why?

In case I'd forgotten, the last week has served to remind me in great detail. It now takes me 45 minutes to an hour to get to work. At first I thought I'd avoid the interstate traffic, since everybody was sitting out there listening to morning radio and drinking coffee as they inched very slowly toward their destinations. I found a route that seemed like it was going to be alright. It wasn't any faster, but at least I was moving the whole time. That made it somewhat bearable. Because I hate sitting in traffic while other people are cutting in front of the line, crowding others out, veering from one lane to another, practically attached to the bumper in front of them. Heaven forbid someone slam on their brakes. All of that makes me tense. I'd like to at least wait until I arrive at work before I tense up.

So, yesterday my somewhat acceptable alternate route turned into a parking lot. It was the first day of school. It took me an hour and a half to get to work. I think I'd have gotten there faster just walking, except I'd have died from heat exhaustion. There's something about sitting in a very long line of traffic with nothing productive to do...except think about how far behind you're getting with every passing moment. It's just not conducive to a cheerful attitude. It really doesn't help when nobody on the road with you seems to have a turn signal installed on their car, or any clue that any of those signs are directed at them. When yellow means go faster and intersections are suddenly meant to be blocked, so that the cross street has absolutely no hope of moving on their green light. And somehow I gave everybody out there the impression that I was going to be kind enough to let them get in front of me because they needed to move so much more than I did.

I can say some very colorful things while sitting alone in that traffic. Alright, so I can hear some of you saying that if I'd just carpool...if everyone would just carpool....then there'd be less traffic and less hassle for all of us. Yeah. But here's the deal. I am married. I am a mom. Being in the car driving to work is the only hope I have of getting a single moment to myself during the course of the day. It's the best thing about driving for me...the chance to get that "me" time that I never get. But all this mess of traffic insists on spoiling it for me.

It's a great scene from a movie....when the car is cruising down the highway with the top down on a gorgeous 70 degree day with a fantastic song playing and not another car in sight anywhere. If I could just find that scenario one time in real life. That's a funny thing that I will admit about myself. When I mow the lawn, I put on my iPod and drive that John Deere like it's going 75 miles an hour down an open road. Just me and the music. Rushing to no place in particular. With nothing pressing to do.

Now there's a fantasy for you!

Precious Memories

Last night I was outside walking the dogs when I looked up into the sky. It was dark and clear and about a million stars twinkled brightly. It took me back to a summer night many years ago...children on their backs on the damp grass, staring up into the sky, hoping to see a falling star.

I have so many memories of growing up in the rural south, but a lot of them are directly related to those lazy summer days that seemed to drag on forever. So much so that I would complain about how bored I was and count the days until school would start again. Yeah, okay, but I told you I was a nerd! It's really funny how a song, or a scent, or a night sky can bring so much of it back.

Sitting in a rocking chair on my grandma's porch, talking to her for hours on end about anything and everything and just watching the world go by. Running in the rain and smelling the freshness of it. Rolling down the huge hill behind my cousin's house, giggling all the way down and dizzily standing up when we reached the bottom, covered in grass. The cool evening breeze blowing across my face as I rode my bike every spare moment I had. The whole family quietly sitting together in the darkness after a huge picnic, listening to the sounds of the crickets and frogs singing their night songs. The whole family eating watermelon together, and the seed-spitting contest that always ensued. Running barefoot for the first time in the spring. Eating strawberries right there in the garden, the sweetest reddest strawberries I ever saw. Getting sick off the green apples growing off the trees in my grandma's yard. Catching fireflies...and then setting them free. Getting my pant leg caught in the chain of my bike and limping home attached to it, knowing I'd just created another pair of shorts and some Barbie doll clothes from the scraps of fabric that was left. Falling off the bike onto the gravel. Repeatedly. Mom putting iodine on the cuts on my knees. The scars that remain on them to this day to prove it. Playing baseball with my cousin in the yard...and the black eye he gave me with his wild pitch...and the ear-piercing scream it evoked that took 10 years off my mom's life and sent my cousin running home for cover. Fishing in the pond on great uncle Otis' farm.

They are all just random snapshots of various moments from my childhood. Each one cherished fondly. Each one crowding out all the painful memories that compete for space in my memory. Some of them don't surface very often, but when they do, they bring such a wonderfully warm feeling. There are so many more of them than I can even mention.

Isn't it weird how you hold on to these things without even trying? How they come back to comfort you and remind you that there were indeed some very good times in your life? I love that.

Happiness

You know, sometimes I get really philosophical, and it's usually in the strangest of places. This post was inspired by yet another trip to the grocery store, where some of my finest observations seem to occur.

Yesterday, I was noticing as I wheeled my cart through the aisles that not a single person was smiling. Some of them were alone, some with children, spouses, cell phones permanently attached to their ears. But not one of them smiling. I wasn't, either. I got to thinking that throughout the course of a normal day, it truly is rare to run across people that appear genuinely happy. Now, you can't count that "I'm only smiling because it's the polite thing to do and you smiled first, anyhow..." look that you frequently get. Those aren't what I'm talking about. But now that I've mentioned that, isn't it interesting how many of us do that all day long when we really just want to go home and change into some comfortable clothes and eat ice cream and wallow in whatever it is that's eating at us? Only me? I don't think so!

So what's the point? If we're all running around just faking it at best, or at worst not even trying, then why even bother? I asked a friend of mine about this. "Oh, I'm happy. Definitely. I just don't feel like showing it every second of every day." Huh? If you're truly happy, then doesn't it make sense that you'd want everyone to know? That you might even hope to spread that happiness around a little? I think we're all just too caught up in ourselves and our lives and our jam-packed schedules to really appreciate most of what's going on.

My son is going to be 3 in November. He was born with several heart defects. When he was 6 months old, he underwent open heart surgery. He came through it all like a little trooper. I wish I had handled it as well as he did. One of the doctors that I work with pointed out something to me at a barbecue not long ago. He was playing with my son, who was giggling uncontrollably. He knew what Brock had been through. He asked me if he's always that happy. And that's when he made a really big observation. He said that Brock's whole demeanor just shouted out how great it is to be alive. I've looked at my son differently ever since then. Before, I saw him as a survivor...tough and stoic. Now, I see that he embraces life to the fullest. He's a very happy child and every day seems to be a celebration of his existence. I love that about him. It's like this intrinsic part of him, that somehow he just knows he's been given this wonderful gift of life and he means to enjoy every second of it.

I wonder if we all were like that at one point. And if we were, where and when did we lose that? How do I keep my son from losing that? Why can't we all just enjoy being alive a little bit more? I'm as guilty as anybody. It's not hard for me to take things way too seriously. I'm a worrier by nature, even though my logical side says that it doesn't help at all. And I have a hard time relaxing. I'm trying to change all that for myself a little. It's not easy.

Maybe everybody just hates grocery shopping as much as I do. Maybe if I'd made the observation somewhere else, it wouldn't have seemed so grim. Maybe if it hadn't been 100 degrees outside, we all would have been smiling more.

And maybe we all just need to spend an afternoon with our kids, and learn a lesson or two from them....

Never Let 'Em See You Sweat

I hate being new at anything. Yes, I'm a control freak. But I'm a southern lady, so it's difficult to see. Because I was taught from a very young age that it's just not ladylike to show others when something's eating at you. I remember my grandma told me that when someone asks me how I am always say, "Why, I'm fine, thank you" because ladies don't share their problems with just everybody.

So, I got a promotion at work. Sort of a big deal and a good raise. I have now moved out of the hospital setting. Don't get me wrong, I've been in an administrative position for seven years now, but never out of the hospital. Now, I'm at corporate. Well, guess what? It doesn't get more business-like than this! Numbers, reports, offices, meetings, and not a white coat in sight. My job will allow me to return to the hospital setting on a regular basis, but only for meetings.

At orientation this past week, I was sitting in a room with 14 other women. All of them in management positions of some sort (but none of them a peer of mine). It was eerie. Like looking in a mirror. I could see 14 other control freaks. Detail-oriented, assertive people that don't like to hear the word no. I mean it was one scary room! And the scariest part was that I felt comfortable with them. However, I noticed that I've got this thing about me that they don't have.

Somewhere along the way, I picked up this outgoing, sweet demeanor. A friend of mine says I could put a knife in your back and you'd thank me for doing it. She says I pull out that Southern Belle routine and it's all over. It's not a routine, though. It comes naturally. It was the way I was raised. I like to make people smile, I like to get my way, and I like to convince people to give me what I want very willingly. That is my personal challenge in life. I don't come on really strong, although I absolutely can if needed. Those other women seemed a little brash to me. They came on too strong. I totally understand their motivation and their ambition, and I identify with it. I guess I just use a different approach.

Will it work for me? I don't know. Maybe over time I'll become more like the rest of them as I learn to navigate this new world. I've had a lot of success pulling out the old charm, though. I'm interested to see how effective it will be now. Am I scared about all this new stuff? Oh yes. Am I concerned about doing a good job? Absolutely. Am I going nuts about getting over the learning curve already? Is Jack Daniels made in a dry county?

How am I doing? Why, fine, thank you!

A Trip to the Other Side

Whew, is it hot or what? I mean, summer down here is complete with that god-awful humidity that can result in a shower furnished by your sweat glands to rival anything your indoor plumbing can produce.

So, I just got back from a trip up north. I went for business, with a side order of pleasure. I had checked the weather report a week beforehand. Eighty degree days and sixty degree nights. Alright! A break from the oven! But alas, it was not to be. The heatwave arrived around the same time I did, I think. It was still a good time. Hey, I'm used to this. The people were friendly, although some of them were taken aback when I spoke. Duly impressed with the genteel accent, no doubt. I appreciated being somewhere different. I was in New England, my first visit there. Such a rich history. And I think it's the first time I actually used the word charming to describe anything. But it really was just lovely there, and no other word seems to quite fit. Their hospitality could give us a run for our money down here, and I thought we were supposed to have that market cornered.

The plane trip home was interesting. I sat next to this guy who was a dead ringer for Larry the Cable Guy. I swear. Same outfit and everything. He was headed to Dallas (shocking, isn't it?). He says to me as I get up at the end of the flight to retrieve my laptop from the overhead, "Baby, just don't knock me in the head with that thing." I almost did it, just because he called me baby. The only thing that stopped me was I honestly don't believe he would've noticed the impact. I was also invited to dine with a very assertive man from New Jersey. He thought I needed some company while I sat in the airport. Did I mention how convenient a cell phone can be in those moments?

It can be a lot of fun to travel alone. You don't have to be on anyone's schedule except your own. You don't have to argue over where you're going to eat. You can see and do anything you want. The downside is that a lot of people think you need some company and try to make polite conversation ad nauseum. And seeing wonderful sights can be a little hollow when there's no one to share them with. But this trip gave me a chance to clear some cobwebs out of the old brain and recharge my batteries. Plus, I met some very nice people and saw a part of the country I'd never seen. I'd love to go back there and see some of the things I missed.

All us folks down here in Dixie can say all we want about southern hospitality. Some of them damn Yankees are downright friendly...and gracious. There. I said it. And meant it. Y'all just go ahead and talk about me. Just don't forget to say "bless her heart" when you do!