My New Nemesis

When I am angry, I cry.

When I am embarrassed, I cry.

After I have a confrontation, I cry.

Tonight I cried for a good hour because I was angry and embarrassed about a confrontation. Now I have a headache.

A while ago, I declared a nemesis. Because life is just more fun when you have a nemesis. Actually, as I look back at some older posts I realize that I have declared a few nemesis on here. But I really only had one that has stuck with me.

In the last two months, I have thwarted that nemesis a couple of times. And it was sweet. Sweet, I tell you! She even yelled at me for buying something she wanted at our auction, and I was able to laugh at her. Ha. It was sweet, sweet, sweet. And worth every penny.

So now I have a new nemesis.

Does anyone remember how much I hated my daughter's softball coach last year. She was a bitch. I mean, a pure and utter stupid bitch. I hated her. She is the reason I'm coaching my own team this year.

As much as I hated her last year, I now hate her a hundred times more. I hate her with the intensity of a thousand white, hot suns. And now I hate her coaching staff too.

We played against their team tonight and basically, they were mean to my girls. Rude and mean. And nobody gets to be mean to my girls. When the one redneck (oops, sorry. Is that insensitive?) called out my parents for saying something about it, I called him right back for breaking the rules and purposely running up the score AFTER their team had already won.

He walked away from me.

Pussy boy. (oh, oops, sorry again. Is that misogynistic? But I'm more of a man than he is.)

Sure I still had a little meeting with my parents and asked them to please not say anything negative at the games. I promised them that I would take care of it and I will. I thanked them for always being so supportive of their daughters and me.

I tried to highlight all of the positive things my girls had done and assured them we'd have fun at practice on Monday working on our defense.

I talked to a few parents on the way out and two or three told me how much they appreciate me. I climbed in the car with my family. And the tears started to fall.

By the time we were on the road I had to turn the radio up to hide my sobbing from the kids. I pulled myself together to get them home and when my husband and I were finally alone, I cried so long and so hard.

I hate that I react to things this way. I hate it so much.

I only have one game left against that team. My husband thinks a sick out is a good idea. I'd love to just tell the league that I won't play against that team again. But I know what I'll do.

I'll show up with my happy, little team and look them in the eye and do my best with my girls like I always do. As much as I fantasize, that's how I always handle things in the end.

Maybe it's the crying that gets me there. I don't know. All I know right now is that I have a headache.

And a new nemesis.

Anyone want her home number?

See What I Mean?

The Little Tuna Girl speaks...

Last night at my son's t-ball game, it started to rain just a bit. My daughter kept asking if she could go to the car and look for an umbrella. In exasperation I finally told her, "You're not going to melt. You're not made of sugar!"

To which she responded, "If I were any sweeter I would be."

One More Costume Before We're Done

And who will be starring in the title role in the third grade production of Pinocchio?

That would be my baby girl.

She might not be able to do her multiplication tables to save her life, but the girl can act. She's all drama.

There might be a secret little mama part way deep inside me that is gloating like hell.

Signage

I got my sunglasses caught in my hair today and pulled out a little chunk of about 8 or 9 hairs.

And half of them were gray.

When the fuck did that happen?

I could probably label each of those hairs with the name of the person who caused them. And I know I have twelve more hiding in my mane somewhere that can be attributed to each girl on my softball team.

I'm not going to see it as a sign of getting old but as a sign that I need to de-stress. It's not the only sign I've received lately.

Yesterday I reached into the bathroom cabinet and an avalanche of unused products fell out. But it was the Eye Stress Gel that hit me right between the eyes.

Message received. I look like a tired, old shit.

I'm going to bed early tonight. Packing be damned.

Things Decided

I feel like a completely different person now.

I hadn't even realized it, but for years the questions of what school we'd send the kids to next and what kind of house we'd be able to afford when we move have been on my mind. I guess it's just part of being a military wife. You always know you'll move eventually. And you always wonder what your new life will be like.

But for the next chunk of my life, those questions have been answered. Even if the answers aren't perfect, it feels so good to know.

I have a little game I play with the kids whenever they need a distraction. (Distraction techniques are probably 85% of good parenting.) I ask them what their most favorite things were about that day, event or trip.

On our way home from our house hunting/school finding trip my son's favorite thing was spending the day at his new school. My daughter's favorite thing was finding the "perfect" house.

That's a pretty good summary of our trip to Virginia.

First of all, we visited two schools. The kids took tests and had tours of each school and they spent the day at one. It's funny because the school I had an ehh feeling about the last time we visited ended up being the school I had the best feeling about this time around. Considering that it has a 25% acceptance rate, I just felt like it was kind of weird that they seemed so eager to have us.

They are lacking in a couple of programs that we're used to, like violin lessons, class musicals, and computer lab time for first graders. But when it comes right down to it, I think the kids' personalities fit better there. In fact, it just feels like we're a perfect fit. Maybe the reason they are so eager to have us is because they can sense it too.

All three of the schools we visited in the last few months have been great. But we decided to choose the second school we visited. In the end, it turned out that it was the only school that had room for both kids, so maybe it was just meant to be.

I cannot even explain how relieved and happy I am.

Now we just need to come up with the down payment. The tuition numbers make me feel a little queasy. But it's worth it.

Speaking of money, our mortgage numbers are making me a little queasy too.

We looked at almost thirty houses in two days. Thirty! That's insane. Unfortunately, at least five of them got sold right out from under us. We've been looking at these same houses sitting on the market for months, and once we get out there to start looking, they start selling like crack. It was a bit frustrating.

It was also frustrating to see really beautiful, brand new houses built into tiny lots in crappy old neighborhoods. We saw at least a dozen of those.

In the end, of the thirty houses we saw (that weren't sold) only one really fit our needs. It was a house that I've had my eye on for months, based mostly on its location and the huge backyard. If all goes well with the VA appraisal, it will be ours on May 15.

It's a little sad to see how much less house we can get for our money out there. We will definitely be taking a step down. But besides the small kids' bedrooms, it's really pretty perfect. (Or it will be perfect once we put in a pool.)

It's funny because whenever I talked to locals about where we should live or go to school, they kept explaining to me the different cultures of Norfolk versus Virginia Beach. It seemed strange to me that two towns so close to each other could be so different. But they were right. The problem was, I wasn't really sure if we were Norfolk-type people, or Virginia Beach-type people.

Now I know. We're beach people. Through and through.

Like the kids, I have a favorite moment from our trip too. On our last day there, we went to the school to buy the kids' summer workbooks. While we were in the bookstore, two little girls came rushing in with their arms open to hug my daughter.

"I'm going here!" she told them. And they hugged harder. The smile I saw on my daughter's face as she spotted her new friends...it's going to stay with me for a long time.

Hung Up and Headed Out

When I was a kid, my parents made me go to school every single day. Unless I was throwing up (which I never did) I had to go to school. For years, I had perfect attendance.

I think responsibility is a very important concept to teach. And I thank my parents for helping to mold me into the extremely responsible person I am today. But my strict upbringing did have one drawback.

I developed a weird hang-up about missing things. I hate to miss things. I never skipped a class in college or called in sick a day to work. I just can't stand the thought of my world going on without me.

This next week or so, the kids and I will be missing a lot. A lot! Our world will be rolling right along without us. I have to admit, it has me all tied up in knots.

My husband finally has his official orders. He has to be ready to work in Virginia in June, which means that we need to go house hunting soon. Now, actually. Plus, the kids are going to go spend a day at each of the schools we are still considering.

It is an important reason to miss school and it just can't be helped. But I can't help thinking about the three softball games, t-ball game, play auditions, soccer games, birthday parties, class work and homework we'll be missing! Ack!

We're flying out bright and early tomorrow morning for a week of checking out what will soon be our new home. I'm unbelievably excited. But until I'm on that plane, my hang-up about missing things is going to have me tied in knots.

Sometimes, it's a wonder my husband can put up with me at all.

And George Clooney isn't There Either

Yesterday, for the first time in...well...ever, I considered going to the ER. Shhhh. Don't tell my husband I was that close to going. On the inside, I was scared. On the outside I was all, "Oh, it's no big deal. If it doesn't go away in a couple of days, I'll call my doctor. Blah, blah, blah."

You see, I was...um...bleeding from a place...well...I'm not exactly sure where I was bleeding from but it was a lot of blood...and...um, yeah. I'm going to stop there.

But as I bled in the bathtub, I was thinking. ERs are not fun.

I've been to the ER only twice--no--three times in my life. The first time I was three-years-old and just suddenly refused to walk. My only clear memory of that day was sitting in my mom's lap in the doctor's office while she refused to admit me without talking to my father first.

The next time, I was about six-years-old. I was in the hospital cafeteria getting a Hoodsie cup as a treat before my appointment for X-rays when a nurse spilled hot coffee down my back. (I've written about this somewhere on this here site.) From that time, I mostly remember being in a curtained off area all alone and being really scared of the adults who were moaning and screaming in pain around me.

The last time I was in an ER was when my water broke only eight months into my first pregnancy. (That story is on here somewhere too.) That was sort of surreal because I was all alone in a new town. I knew my water had broken. I just wasn't sure what I should do about it. I drove myself there that night and parked in the lot and everything. That time I learned that the ER nurses are really quick to pass off a patient to Labor and Delivery when she is so obviously pregnant. I also learned that the ER waiting room is filled with a lot of scary people at midnight.

So, the very last thing I would ever want to do for any reason, is take a trip to the ER. In fact, I know that I am more scared of the ER than I am of being burnt, losing my amniotic fluid, or bleeding from an undisclosed location.

Huh. I hadn't thought about it enough to realize it before. But (besides buttons and the obvious) ERs are my greatest fear.

I need a hunky doctor who makes house calls.

(By the way, no lectures please. I'm fine and would have been embarrassed to have shown up at the ER with such a minor ailment anyway, the Drama Queen in me be damned.)

In other news, I just thought of a great new tag line for my blog.

Tuna Girl: Making everyone uncomfortable since 2004.

Money Matters

Yesterday we got a letter in the mail from our mortgage company. It contained our credit score.

I haven't felt so much anxiety opening an envelope since I was waiting for college acceptances! I had to take a few deep breaths and with my heart pounding, I ripped that baby open.

Woo hoo! Our hard work has paid off. Our credit score is up 100 points from two years ago. And it is pretty damn good.

It's funny how much our self worth can be wrapped up in scores like that. I suppose it starts in grade school and never really stops.

I'm putting that letter form our mortgage company on the fridge. We deserve a big gold star.

Black and Blue All Over

Presently, I look like an S&M enthusiast. (Not that I know what one would look like, um...just saying. AHEM.)

On Monday I fell about six feet into a puddle of mud. I was climbing into my husband's truck, which is parked in the driveway the base has never bothered to fix and thus is always filled with water and mud, when my muddy foot slipped on the running board.

It all happened in slow motion. Since I was holding things in my hands, I actually attempted to get them settled before I hit the ground. Because, you know, I handful of catalogs and my daughter's softball gear are worth taking a plunge for. Half of it ended up in the passenger seat and I threw half of it beyond the mud onto the grass.

While I was distributing the books and softball gear I was carrying, I also managed to have one very clear though.

God, I hope no one is watching me.

During my slow motion fall, some instinct told me to land hip first. Might as well take the impact where I have the most padding. So while my ass took most of the fall, I still landed hard on the whole left side of my body.

And then I said to no one in particular, "You've got to be kidding me," as I jumped right up into a standing position.

I stood there for a moment to see if anyone was going to come running to my rescue. I listened to see if anyone was laughing. And then I ran to the house to change my clothes.

I had mud in my shoes. I had mud in my underwear. I had mud everywhere!

I hurt quite a bit that day, but I managed to get through softball practice by ignoring the pain. But since then, I have been aching like an old woman. Or a youngish women who landed on her ass in the mud. Even my bones hurt.

Today my bruises have turned a spectacular shade of purple. And my husband thinks it's fun to keep pretending to smack my butt. He's going to have some spectacular purple bruises of his own if he doesn't stop.

The moral of the story? Girls shouldn't drive pick-up trucks. Or something like that.

Home Again, Home Again

Well, my husband gave away the Disney World surprise when we were in the security line at the airport. As he was getting situated, he handed my daughter the boarding passes to hold.

Um, Honey? She can read, you know.

As soon as she saw the word Orlando, she knew where we were headed. "We're going to Disney World!" My son somehow managed not to hear her. But when she kept repeating that she knew where we were going, we finally told him.

"Oh, yay," he said. I somehow hoped for a bigger, "Yay!" after the money we spent.

But our trip could not have gone better. The weather was perfect. We only had a couple of glitches in our planning. And we were able to rest a little everyday between riding attractions and seeing big firework shows.

For the first time in a long time, I was actually sad to see a vacation end. Of course, I had to come home to mortgage applications, packing and dealing with leaving our bayou lives behind. That may have something to do with it.

Now I'm feeling the time crunch. We'll depart from here as soon as school is over for the year. There is a big part of me that would love to escape back to Never Never Land. Being a grown up is hard work.