Singing with my Sweet Child

So, Little One isn't a fan of diaper changes lately, so tonight I whisked her directly from the supper table and distractingly suggested we sing a song. Her wee forehead furrowed thoughtfully: "Bee bohf?!" I wasn't at all sure which song that was, but quickly invented a tune and hysterically sing-songed the requested lyrics.  

She stared. Clearly I wasn't singing the song she envisioned? I kept trying. She finally touched my cheek compassionately, and repeated earnestly, "Mama. Bib OFF."

Oh. Right.

#oops #notusedtoachildwhoactuallytalks

Oh no.

Was despairingly sure that my heel spurs were back in full force, since I can once again hear/feel physical crackling when I stand barefoot in our kitchen.

Fortunately, it turns out I was standing (indirectly) on 42 Cheerios, which Rianna had resourcefully tucked under my kitchen rugs.

#littlesquirrel #therealreasonshestillseemedhungry #untappedstoragepotential

Toilet Water

Little One recently glimpsed a toilet bowl of murky (unflushed) water; we generally to keep her away from toilet bowls these days, so she gazed in confused assessment. Finally, she burst into a decisive grin and squealed ecstatically, "TEA!!!"

No, Darling. Not tea 

When you think they're dying...

Little One had an unusually difficult day yesterday, crying endlessly and biting/hitting everything for hours. I assumed it was teething, until she woke up early this morning with a diaper full of pure black gunk. My heart dropped; something was clearly wrong. We'd head straight to Urgent Care!

... But then, I remembered she'd discovered blueberries yesterday, and eaten most of a carton. (And I'd totally let her.)

There are no words for this level of strange.

Today, while running errands in the "city," this lady pulled up beside me at a red light.  She was emphatically bopping to the music in her car, so the motion caught my eye and I glanced over.

She was bobbing and weaving and gesturing like a loon, yes.  But, the real eye-popping sight was an equally serene, motionless, GINORMOUS poodle sitting regally in the backseat.  

Let's take a closer look, shall we?  

Yes, I took a photo.  While wondering if this was a gag.  Wondering if I was being filmed, and would show up on YouTube soon.  

But, she was apparently oblivious and, well, who could resist?!

You Might Be In Rural America If

(1)  If the white-collar tire-sales office has antlers on the wall.

(2)  If the white-collar tire-sales office has a vending machine full of Jack's Beef Sticks.

(3)  If the entire white-collar tire-sales office staff spend ten minutes worriedly discussing Angel's surgery, before someone mentions that Angel is a cow.  Bob's cow.

And then, there were dogs.

The-Day-After-Valentines here in Militaryland means one thing: Active combat with other spouses over the clearance-priced-chocolates at the BX.  Warned by maniacal ("Those Dove chocolates are MINE!") blog posts, I opted to do my scavaging "in town."  With retired, laid-back locals who saunter out of their homes around 9:30, after the cows have been milked, chickens fed, breakfast consumed, and the entire newspaper re-read.  (It only comes out once a week.)

I underestimated.

First, someone dropped a thermometer in the highschool.  Which required a HazMat team, school-shut-down, and evacuation of the entire area.  Beg pardon?  Yes mercury is bad, but it's not nuclear... golly.  So anyhow, displaced highschoolers flooded the (narrow) streets.  And the grocery store.  Which is an unofficial school cafeteria. Because McDonald's is on the other side of town (a whole mile away).

Second, apparently these stores are miserly.  Bags of chocolate, originally priced at extortionist prices ($6.50?  Really?  For 18 pink Butterfingers?) were now 50% off, yes, which means they are now normal prices.  Not sale prices.  Not prices I was willing to pay.  Guess they've figured out we spend a mint in gas, driving to the nearest "city", so a 30% increase on "city prices" actually saves money and compel us to buy here.  Meh.

Third, those retirees are fierce!  *wide-eyed*  I retreated from the Hersheys kisses so fast I collided with the magazine rack.  And no one helped me up.  They were too busy digging for their favorite version of Werthers.

So, I bought non-sale, but-still-cheap chocolate from the Dollar Store.  Then, I went to Walmart and bought baby clothes, (that section was deserted) because ALL my neighbors/colleagues/friends are pregnant, and I foresee a busy baby-shower season.

Then, I headed back to base, because I had a noon-deadline to meet.  And as I approached the gate, I slowed down to exactly 15MPH (because their awful horn blows your eardrums out, if you are going even 16MPH) like a law-abiding citizen.  And was pulled over.  For my first RAM.  (Took me several minutes to deduce that RAM is a Random Anti-terrorism Measure, and not a rebuke/citation/ticket.) 

The ominous guards asked me to open all my doors, my hood, and my trunk.  Trouble is, this is my husband's car.  I don't know how to pop the hood.  So after much negotiating, and me using the correct phrase "You have my permission" Sergeant-Schultz's-twin popped my trunk.  Then I tried to unlock the trunk, but it didn't work.  No matter what I tried.  So, several idiotic minutes later, and two more "you have my permissions," they wrestled my trunk open.  And brought out the dogs.  Who were VERY interested in my chocolate.  And of course, I passed my random inspection.  The guards gave my ID back, and strode over to their next victim.

But then, I couldn't get the trunk to shut.  Silently yelling at my dear husband for never getting the latch fixed, I slammed, and slammed, and slammed, and slammed.  Nope.  Nothing.  Finally, SGT Schultz comes back.  "Everything alright, ma'am?"  Feigning non-embarrassment , I admitted, "I can't get it shut."  So (I gave him permission) he slammed.  And slammed. For ten minutes.  His friend came over and tried.  Nope.

Beet-red, he suddenly (apologetically) inquired, "So, how is your day going?" 

I groped for a diplomatic response.  "Well, there wasn't as much Valentines' clearance chocolate as I was hoping for.  But... the weather is nice."

He grunted, and slammed my trunk again. "Well, you win some - you lose some."

So, I'm new here

And after a few months, I’ve come to several conclusions about this base…

* * *

If you’re a scrounger, the Base Thrift Store is your utopia.  Last week, I bought a skirt, a workout DVD, and a humidifier (all in great condition) for a grand total of $2.75.  Need I say more?!  Totally worth the hassle to arrive within the paltry, 4-hour window of opportunity (count yourself lucky if yours is open more than ours), each Thursday.

* * *

                At this commissary, avocados cost somewhere between $0.89 and $4.12.  After investigating, I’ve decided that the price (on any given day) is determined by a complex equasion (which is re-calculated daily) involving the current phase of the moon, the mood of the manager’s dog, and how (over/under – but never perfectly) ripe the remaining (few) avocados are.

* * *

                It’s cold here!  Today, at 10:20 a.m., Weather.com told me that it “felt like -2” out there.   No snow - just bone-chilling wind.  Now, we PCSed from Arizona/Alabama, and we think that below-zero wind chills are horrific degrees of frigid.  But, evidently, everyone else on base PCSed from even colder places;  I realized this, when I kept glimpsing t-shirts and shorts (!) as I lingered in our SUV, hovering over the heat vents, before I could psych myself across the glacial BX parking lot!  How do you people do it?

* * *

                Everyone loves a volunteer.  BUT, if you don’t volunteer around here… you’re often volun-shouldered.  You know, that silent thing women often do, where they all casually sip their coffee, with expectant, raised eyebrows, waiting tacitly and endlessly for you to volunteer yourself?  Because after all, they KNOW you’re a freelance writer; so why can’t you manage their group newsletter again?  Of course you can...

                (Oh, you worked as a Starbucks barista, too?  Wonderful!  You can also be the Hospitality Coordinator!)

* * *

                If/when you (finally cave and thus) do volunteer, you will be given a TITLE.  (It will often be shortened into an acronym.  Naturally.)  And once you have a TITLE, you must attend MEETINGs.   And when you (warily) attend the first MEETING, you'll realize that you know everyone else at the MEETING – in fact, almost the entire group is at the MEETING!  Because apparently, they all got volunteered for TITLES, too. 

My current, rough estimate is that 79% of each group on base also sits on the committee/board/leadership for that group.  It’s like a way to make us feel included.

‘Cept, I worked in corporate America for a long time, and I’m not terribly infatuated with meetings anymore… soooo, can I just write the newsletter from home?  Maybe you could just email me the Minutes, along with the group’s favorite coffee flavor?

Awesome, thanks.  You guys are the best.  ;-)

* * *

OCD in the BX

So maybe it’s because I’m currently unemployed.  Or maybe it’s because my mother used to insist that we should all put displaced things where they belong, whether it’s our “chore” or not.  Or maybe it’s because everything else in the military is scripted and organized.

In any case, yesterday I jogged to the BX, combining the unlikable goal of running with the likeable goal of checking out the After-Christmas sales.  I cruised through five clearance racks of women’s clothing and suddenly noticed a grey dress that had been on Rack #1, and had been marked 50% off over there, but here on Rack #5, the same item was only 25% off.  Now, I didn’t want this dress.  I’d look ridiculous in it.  But, I immediately felt concern for whoever DID want this dress, and who might buy the wrong one, and pay too much for it.  So, I found a sweet European BX employee, and showed her the error.  She instructed me to take both up to the register, to get the cheaper price.  Well, I still didn’t want them, but decided that for the good of society, to take them up front and have the price corrected anyhow.  

Then, I moved onto the juniors rack – where I found an adorable swimsuit set, but the top was XS and the bottom was XL.  Huh.  No wonder these aren’t selling!  They should just sell them separately, silly people…  I added them to my pile. 

Then, in the makeup section, I noticed two black eyeliner pens in the clearance basket.  There were two, which made me think they must belong there.  Yet, they had no orange tags.  Were they really on clearance?  I searched the non-clearance area, to see if their relatives were on clearance.  Nope.  They cost $2.69.  So, I found the same employee and asked her to check the price on the black pens.  They, too, were $2.69, and obviously had been misplaced.  Naturally, to spare the world confusion and disappointment, I deposited them in their home, next to their brown and green and grey regularly-priced cousins.

Around this time, I noticed the trend.   So, did the amiable employee.  At our final encounter, she giggled and, in a thick accent, declared, “You schould vork here!” 

Yeah.   Apparently I should.  Wonder if they’re hiring perfectionists for 2011 yet…