Growing pains

Little things seem to keep happening lately that make me feel... mature.

I got married and left town just out of college. As a matter of fact, I got married and moved to Florida before I even officially graduated. But growing up away from my family's influence, I've always felt like I was bumbling my way through life, always making not quite the right choices.

Since I've been back home, and began really feeling like I am home, I've grown a lot. I can check my own tire pressure, clean my own gutters, hang my own shelves. I have pieces of drywall in my basement for no reason whatsoever, and I save twistie ties "just in case."

Having a second child, and feeling like an old pro at motherhood for the first 16 months, has kind of validated that I'm doing a lot of things right.

But it's the little things that stand out to me, that make me feel all growed up. Like pretending that I'm not afraid of beetles when my daughter takes a shine to them. Like overhearing a co-worker whisper to a friend about getting bad test results and knowing how I felt when I did. Like wanting (desperately) to weed my flower beds rather than meet buddies at the bar. Like feeling pains in my body like I've never felt -- or been prone to discuss at length -- before. Like using my tax refund to pay off my debt instead of splurging on fantastic carpet. Like running into a friend on the elevator commenting on her flowers and actually being able to identify them.

Like learning from a teacher that my offspring is "delightful," and not acting at all surprised that she thinks so.

Zoe cried tonight, saying she missed Jacob. I told her to think about him because he might be thinking about her. "How do you know?"

"Because sometimes when I'm thinking about someone, they magically call because they were thinking about me!"

"But Jacob can't call."

"No, but you can count on him thinking about you when he's not with you, at least sometimes."

"Who do you think about?"

"When I'm at work, I think about you and Jacob."

All the time, Zoe. All the time.

Old friends

Just don't call it a guitar. It's a BASS. (Sheesh.)

Springing

"Guess who's back.
Tell a friend."

-- Without Me, Eminem

'Tis the season

The normally peaceful route I take to work was SUDDENLY SHUT DOWN because of ROAD CONSTRUCTION.

In Pittsburgh. Imagine that.

And when I say suddenly, I mean it was highly publicized for a few years, then in the past few months the detour signs went up, then finally a few weeks before the closure, they put up a blinking orange sign that stated exactly when the road would close, and even postponed it a few days just in case those oblivious Pittsburghers weren't quite ready for the change.

I'm now a full-blown oblivious Pittsburgher. I wasn't ready for the change.

I spent the first couple of days taking the suggested detour. It just wasn't working for me. It was taking me two hours to get to and from work, and seeing as I had a definitive leave time in the morning (after Zoe got on the bus) and a definitive leave time in the afternoon (when the after-care club would put Zoe on the curb) it was leaving me only about... four hours to actually BE IN THE OFFICE.

Being one of those Pittsburghers who doesn't like change, I decided I would outwit the detour, drive all the way from Collier to the South Hills, and take Route 51 in instead of my usual Route 60. It still took me to the West End Circle, but in my mind, everyone else would find some other way to go, so it would be clear and free for me.


I was sorely mistaken. Though I was only an hour and half late that day.

So I started shopping around for advice. If you ask 10 different Yinzers for directions to my work, you'll get 10 different answers. So I tried some of them. The way via Carson Street wasn't so bad, but still took me an hour. Mapquest was no help either. Liam had suggested right off the bat to take Banksville to the Parkway, but I was skeptical. After all, he worked on Banksville, so he is partial to it. And he's worked there for seven years, so what the hell does he know about getting through downtown traffic? Especially when I'm not even going to downtown?? I'm going to the North Shore, for crying out loud.

Then, one day, I tried it. And the next day. And the next.

NOT ONLY is this route about the same amount of time as my old one, it's actually more fun negotiating a little bit of traffic. And anyone who has ever driven through the Fort Pitt tunnel toward downtown knows it's one of the more breathtaking views of the city.

The trip home ain't too shabby either. I don't mind creeping along with this to look at:

Love and patience

Bad luck

Me: Will I win the lottery in the next five years?

Magic 8 Ball: Don't count on it.

Me: What if I don't count on it?

Magic 8 Ball: Better not to tell you now.

Me: You're an asshole.

Magic 8 Ball: Yes.

Always playful

Carrying on the little-known tradition

Liam has taken me to quite a few hockey games since we started dating. So I decided to return the favor with playoff tickets.


I thought Liam would be excited about this. He said he wanted playoff tickets sooooo bad... and he did seem his usual jovial, animated self on the trip to the game....

And then BOOM. Once his ass hit the seat, he was sitting stoically, PENSIVELY EVEN, while the rest of the arena erupted around him for three hours.

He warned me that he might be unusually animated for this game, considering it was the playoffs. But the most I heard out of him was a few rambling stats and once or twice, "Whoa."

Whoa.

Liam predicted on the way into the game all the failings of the team... which never came true. But he continued this throughout the game, and I suggested it was like watching a Steelers game with my dad, who would criticize every touchdown as though "we" didn't earn it.

The woman next to me, much older, leaned over. "That's all men, honey."

I was grunting and yelling and clapping and carrying on... and at one point I realized... this must be how my dad felt. He always said my mom embarrassed the shit out of him when she insisted he drag her to a hockey game.

Making ya proud, Mom!

LET'S GO PENS!!

Overheard in close quarters

Coworker1: Hey, how was your weeeeeeekend?

Coworker2: Fine.

CW1: That's it? Fine?

CW2: Uh, busy? Short.

CW1: OK, like, I had to go to marriage classes with Joe.

CW2:

CW1: We had to do all kinds of stuff, like listen to a lecture and do a questionnaire.

CW2: Did you learn anything?

CW1: Welllllll, when we had to do the essay part, we had to go into separate rooms. They asked very meaningful questions. But while I was in there writing, Joe texted me and asked if he could just text me the essay rather than write it down.

CW2: Wouldn't that be more work?

CW1: No, Joe doesn't like to write.

CW2:

CW1: But he did write it. It was nice.

CW2:

CW1: It was the nicest thing he ever said to me.

CW2: Why are you taking a class to get married?

CW1: So he can get married in my church.

CW2: So, are you still getting married? Did you guys pass the test?

CW1: Oh, there was no exam or anything.

Live and learn

Aimee and I took on the monumental task of dragging five children to the museum. It was a learning experience. Not so much enriching, or entirely pleasant, or even manageable... but rewarding. The half of a dinosaur I managed to get my eyes on was rather neat, and calling out turns at the water fountain fed my need to show I can boss around primary-schoolers.

Does a body good

Liam and his girls stopped by for a little while tonight. They asked for snack time, and after putting them off for a little while (and hearing them giggle about hoping to get ice cream), I called them into the dining room and plopped an onion in front of each of them.

They shrieked and then just looked at me.

"I have milk too," I told them.

After a moment, Zoe said, "Can I just have milk?"

"If you eat your onion."

They all looked at each other and then it seemed to settle in that I must be joking and they erupted in laughter. I might have played along a little more, but I was laughing too. I made them mini milkshakes and they had a few cookies.

Later we practiced juggling, which pretty much rendered the onions... unusable.

Babies in a basket