Hot Dogs

Grocery stores are fun with small children.  So many things can happen while shopping for the weekly feed.  I always would take a deep breath and say a small prayer before entering our local warehouse grocery store with three small children in tow.  My husband was in school full time and at one point had a full time job and two part time jobs.  I had no option but to take my sweet monsters with me.  I got good at it, priding myself in not having to leave the cart in the store while I walked out with a screaming child in a football hold too often. 

The kids all had their places.  My youngest, Connor, sat in the front of the cart, Eddie the middle child, in the cart, and my daughter Emma would hang on the end or skip up and down the aisles singing Disney tunes.  One particular trip, Connor, who was around 2 at the time, asked to have hot dogs.  Sure, ok.  As I was handing them to Eddie in the cart, Connor said VERY loudly “HOT DOGS!” I gathered from his frantic gestures that he wanted to hold the package.  That little boy clutched those hot dogs in a white knuckled grip all through the store saying “hot dogs” over and over again whilst staring at his precious find.  When we got to the checkout, I had to wrestle the package out of his tiny but unnaturally strong vise like grip so the woman could scan them through.  Connor held them all the way home.  Fortunately when we got home, he let me put them in the freezer for later consumption.

For the next year or so, any time we went into ANY grocery store, Connor had to have HOT DOGS.  As soon as we would walk into a store, Connor would announce to all passing by that he was in the store for hot dogs. It kept him quiet; they weren’t expensive and took up little space in the freezer. Hey, I was more worried that Eddie would fall out of the cart, hit his head and have brain damage and Emma would be taken by some freaky people that couldn’t have children. I got one who just wants to sit and stare at a hot dog package?  No problem.  One less child to worry about.  It got to the point that my husband said, “Look, we don’t have any more room.”  And with great flourish opened the freezer door. Oscar Meyer packages abounded.  Oh, ok.  Now I have to find a way to break Connor of his hot dog habit.  It’s like weaning a baby off his binky.  No problem, right?

Oh my GOODNESS!  You would have thought I was easing Connor, my sweet baby, off heroin.  I was not prepared for the repercussions that would ensue…..I would have to start talking about the checkout process with him almost immediately upon entering the grocery store. Remind you, he’s two.  I would assure Connor that he had his hot dogs and that they would come home with us.  In time, it got easier for him to give up the package at the check through, and he didn’t mind the hot dog package going into the “take home” bag.  I also included him in the unpacking of groceries at home.  He was in constant check of those dang Oscar Meyers. Finally months later, Connor could hold the package of hot dogs and let the checkout girl ring them through without incident.  What Connor didn’t know, was that I was telling the girl, oh we don’t need these hot dogs after all.  You can just put these back…..

We finally ate through all the dogs, and shared a few packages with the neighbors.  For a time, it was the only food Connor would eat at any one else’s house.  Now, as a strapping young man, the thought of eating a hot dog is repellent to him.  That’s what makes this memory so interesting.  A little boy who was so attached to a food product could now care less about it.  Makes me think, what did I do to help this kid.  Would this technique cure junkies?  Alcoholics?  Obsessive Compulsives?  No, I was just a Mom trying to grocery shop without meltdowns.  You would do the same, wouldn’t you?

Airplane Stories 2

Why are people so insensitive to their surroundings?  I just don’t understand why some people think its ok to invade others personal space.  I recently flew to Las Vegas with my husband, parents, Aunt and Uncle to attend a family reunion.  On this particular flight, there was a gentleman who was over the top annoying to pretty much all passengers.  He invaded all our airspace, had absolutely no sense of himself.  Ponytail Man made friends with a couple next to us on the plane and just couldn’t leave them alone, hence the annoyance to all.

I first spied Ponytail Man when we first arrived at our gate.  Tall, thin, with long stringy hair, he was pacing waiting for the plane to arrive.  In came The Cougar and her much younger Milk Toast boyfriend.  They take a seat to wait for the plane near pacing Ponytail Man.  The Cougar was tall, bleach blond hair, had some face work done, wearing high water jeans with pantyhose and slip on mules.  How she kept those shoes on is a mystery to me but I digress.  They struck up a conversation and that is about all I observed of them until later. 

While we were waiting, enter Mr. Genius.  This bozo dropped his bags off on a chair between my father and Woman Traveler and walked into the bar across the hallway.  Really?  You are just going to leave bags unattended?? Woman Traveler was incensed.  She stopped a security officer passing by and related the story of the unattended bags.  This particular security guard shrugged his shoulders and asked “what do you want me to do about it?” Now Woman Traveler was red faced and in full blown irate mode.  She found a real police officer and brought him to the seat with the unattended bags.  The officer asked if it was our bags, no sir.  He did the once over around our area and called for back up.  As a policeman on a bicycle approached, Mr. Genius walked over to his bags.  After the officer reamed out the bozo, he waddled back to the bar WITH his bags.  Good grief.

Finally our plane arrived.  We didn’t have assigned seats, so my family and I were split up.  My husband and I found seats toward the back of the plane next to a lovely older woman.  The Cougar took the aisle seat next to my husband and The Milk Toast sat one aisle seat in front of her.  The last person on the plane was Ponytail Man.  He walks all the way to the back of the plane looking for a seat.  He started complaining to the stewardess how he was tall and had to have a prime spot.  Sorry sir, please find an available seat.  He paced up and down the aisle looking.  He settled in the front somewhere.  The doors were locked and we are ready to go.

The next few hours were uneventful except for The Cougar reaching over and caressing Milk Toasts arm cooing at him.  While I was reading my book, I became faintly aware of someone speaking in a fast paced tone.  I looked up and to my horror saw Ponytail Man talking with The Cougar while Milk Toast sat in his seat with a blank expression.  Ponytail Man had one hand on the seat in front of my husband, leaning on it causing the Very Patient Woman to bounce back and forth in her seat.  He was speaking so fast I don’t think he could stop and swallow.  When he would stop to take a breath, Ponytail Man would inhale and make a slurping noise. He yammered on and on for at least an hour.  The Cougar was all googly-eyed, lost in this man’s babble.  Her poor boyfriend just sat like a lump, staring at the tray on the back of the seat in front of him.  Horray!  The captain puts on the seatbelt sign, we are going through a spot of turbulence.  Ponytail Man walks halfway back to his seat and turns around and walks back to The Cougar.  He wanted to give her his e-mail address.  Thank goodness the steward escorted him back to his seat. 

Ahhhhh, a sweet 20 minutes of silence.  The seatbelt sign goes off and Ponytail Man pops up out of his seat like a jack-in-the-box!  Oh no, here he comes!  The Lovely Lady sitting next to me says “he is so rude.”  Don’t we all know it!  Now The Cougar is standing chatting with Ponytail Man about restaurants in the Vegas area.  The idiot is telling her that The Outback is the best restaurant in town, to forget all the fancy high end places.  Then it was onto directions to go to the Grand Canyon, but not the touristy spots, no, the secret places locals go.  This goes on for another 20 minutes or so.  My head was pounding, eyeballs throbbing in and out of their sockets.  I couldn’t even concentrate on my book, his voice was echoing around my brain.  I needed Advil in a bad way.  I politely excused myself from my seat and made my way to the front to find my Mother.   She gave me two Advil and I went to the back of the plane to ask for some water.  I made mention to the stewardess of my headache from the yammering of Ponytail Man.  She laughed and said that he had been a problem the whole flight.  Stewardess left to go tell the cause of my headache to have a seat; she needed to keep the aisles clear.  When I got back to my seat, Lovely Lady and my husband were grateful, as well as the Very Patient Woman.  Can you believe this, no sooner did he sit down he was up again.  He had to run back and give The Cougar his cell phone number.  This time the steward came out to usher the Ponytail Man back to his seat.  Within a few minutes, the captain came on to tell us we were approaching our destination and to please prepare for landing.  Thank Goodness!

Fortunately that was the last we saw of the Ponytail Man.  He hastily made his way off the plane, on his way to The Outback or a secret spot on the Grand Canyon.  The Cougar and her boyfriend left arm and arm, on their way to meet Ponytail Man no doubt.  We all made our way to our destinations, enjoying our time in Las Vegas.  In preparation for the return flight, we saw many faces that were familiar.  The Lovely Lady and some gentlemen we recognized from the previous flight.  We became hyper vigilant, watching and waiting for a Ponytail Man sighting.  At one point, my Mother thought she saw him but thankfully, it wasn’t him.  The entire plane enjoyed a quiet flight home.

What is happening to our society?  People are becoming more and more uncivilized.  It amazes me that nowadays men and women think they are so important and rules don’t apply to them.  People plopping bags down and walking away like no one would notice.  Talking loudly in an airplane is, like the Lovely Lady said, so rude.  This experience will not deter me from traveling.  I will, however, be in constant look out for Ponytail Man.  If I ever see him again, I will be switching flights.

Airplane Stories

I love to travel.  I love airports, the sound of jet engines and the thrill of boarding a plane in one part of the country and ending up in another. My husband shares my love of travel and we are fortunate to be able to do so.  I have also sat next to a few interesting characters along the way.  None more interesting then my most recent flying experience.

I flew down to Washington DC over Columbus Day week-end to spend time with four of my best girlfriends.   After a lovely and relaxing few days, it was time to make my way back home.  I was late in obtaining my boarding pass, but already had my seat assignment.  No worries I thought, I’ll be the last one on but the first one off. My seat happened to be next to a young lady with long black hair furiously texting away on her Blackberry.  She was in the aisle seat, my seat was to be in the middle.  I sat down fully expecting to have to get up to let the window seat traveler in.  I mentioned to the girl that I would move over and sit in the window seat if no one came.  She didn’t look up from her phone but gave me a thumbs up.  When the doors closed to the plane, I scooted over.  Text Girl finished up her Blackberry message and put the phone in her vest pocket only to pull out an iPhone and start texting on that!  Ok, maybe she is important. She alternated texting on the phones before take off.  Before our final taxi out, the captain came on the loud speaker to make the standard announcement to turn off all electronic devices.  Text Girl now had both phones in hand and slipped them into her vest pocket STILL ON!  I tried very hard to keep concentrating on the pages of my book, but I was worried about what might happen to the plane with the two electronic devices still on.  As the plane was now surging down the runway, nose up in the air, Text Girl pulls out a scarf and proceeds to wrap it around her head and covers her face.  Is anyone else noticing this?  Can you really take off and fly this plane with electronic devices on??  And what was with the scarf?  You think covering your face will protect it from the bomb you have in your carryon bag that you will set off with your phones?  And who was she really texting on those phones?  Her fellow conspirators?  <<All systems go, this bird will blow in 10 minutes>>  Do I dare risk telling a flight attendant?  Aren’t there US Marshalls that fly in disguise?  Calm down now Elizabeth, everything will be fine.  But wait!  The scarf is now off her head and tossed on the seat between us.  As she gets up, very quickly I might add, Text Girl throws her phone on the middle seat on top of her scarf.  She ran to the front of the plane, OH MY GOD, there is something wrong with the bomb, it’s not responding to her trigger, she had to manually set it off!!  Where is that US Marshall, isn’t he seeing all of this?  I was tempted to pick up her phone to see what was going on, but I was afraid it would be a trap.  What if by picking up the phone it set off the bomb?  Text Girl came back to her seat and checked both phones, texted a bit and put the scarf back on her head.  Ok, so maybe there isn’t really a bomb.  Maybe she has a migraine from all that texting.  Our captain came on as we prepared for our descent, again telling us to turn off all electronic devices.  And, you guessed it, she slid those puppies still on into her pocket when the flight attendant walked by.  Please just let us land with no interference from her phones.  I cannot believe how one person can be so attached to a cell phone.  I’m sure she sent more messages in the 50 minute plane trip than my three teenagers combined send in one day.  And she certainly didn’t look like anyone important.

I dutifully waited until the captain said it was ok to turn our devices on while we were taxi-ing back to the gate.  I fired up my ONE phone and sent my husband a text to let him know I had landed and that I would be out front shortly to meet him.  Of course, Text Girl had sent several messages to my one.  I couldn’t get off that plane fast enough.

I guess I will never know who she was or who she had been corresponding with.  If she was really a terrorist or a brain surgeon sending out orders for the operating room staff.  I only hope that Text Girl will take time away from her phones to stop and smell the roses.  While I do love my cell phone, there is more to life than clicking on little keys to tell someone “hi” or “k”.  Traveling is great fun, you never know who you will sit next to on a plane. 

I Hate Food

I hate food.  I really do.  So many different smells, tastes, and textures.  Plus all the preparation involved.   I’m not lazy, just sick of the whole food business.  Wouldn’t it be so much easier if we could all just take a few vitamins and eight glasses of water a day?

I guess you could say I was born with an aversion to food.  At the tender age of 10 months, I smeared enough pureed carrots on the wall to change the white paint orange.  When I started walking, my parents would leave TV tables around the apartment with plates of food with hopes I might actually eat something.  As I got older, I had many an evening staring at dried up food on my plate.  Who in their right mind would eat dried up pork chops?  Don’t get me wrong, I did eat, just not a lot or often.  My family ate American style.  We had a meat, starch, bread, salad and dessert every evening.  It all tasted the same to me, just different colors, textures and temperatures. 

When I started dating my future husband, it seemed his whole world revolved around food.  His first thought in the morning was what he could have for dinner.  That concept was so foreign to me.   He loved to talk about food, go to the grocery store, cook and eat!  Maybe that is what drew me to him, he was someone polar opposite. 

Living with him opened up all sorts of new smells, tastes and textures to avoid.  I made my husband sleep on the sofa for three nights once for eating too much garlic.  Oh the smell!  One morning I woke up and thought, gee, what can I have for dinner tonight?  What?  What was I thinking?  Maybe the longer you are married the more alike you become!  Food started talking to me, eat me, taste me, you will love me!  And I did.  Come to find out I was pregnant with my last child, who oddly enough loves to eat.  That little baby inside me spoke loud and clear that he was hungry. 

Just because I didn’t like food, I wasn’t going to impart that onto my children.  I always made sure that they had a variety of foods to choose from with the exception of liver.  That’s just wrong; no one should have to eat that.  We have had many a laugh over the years remembering all my dinner disasters.  The Rosemary Chicken dinner was particularly funny.  I seasoned the entire dinner with Rosemary, the chicken, potatoes, green beans.….it was like eating a Christmas tree!  That was followed up with the Orange Chicken fiasco.  While my children would all agree I am not the best cook in the world, I did try.  And for all of my efforts, they are very good eaters.  They only have one food issue a piece.  My daughter gags on “adult” spinach as opposed to the baby variety, my middle son is a vegan, and my youngest does not care for peanut butter and jelly.  The jelly scares him.  How can you be afraid of jelly?

Now that I have sent my children off into the world as awesome eaters, I can rest easy.  Or can I?  All this wonderful food I have grown to enjoy is now coming back to haunt me.  I began to get hives after every meal, rashes and constant indigestion.  Prilosec became my middle name.  After a trip to my allergist and extensive testing, come to find out I have many, MANY food sensitivities and allergies.  Maybe that would explain why I didn’t like food when I was younger.  All the foods I have issue with, turns out, I am allergic to. 

With all these allergies, my food regime has gone back to boring and bland.  Gone are the days of ooey gooey pizza, fresh baked bread with crisp crust, fluffy insides smeared with butter, and decadent chocolate cake.  Onto lettuce with chicken and wow, that is about it.  Not much else I can eat without consequences.  Dinner time has become a dance of two meals, one for my husband and one for me.  Throw the vegetarian in the mix and we have a sock hop! 

All the food I came to enjoy is no longer enjoyable.  Recently, I snuck a beautiful freshly baked bread slice and had to spit it out into the garbage.  To me, the texture was like eating a sponge.  Pizza no longer appeals to me, as well as a plate of my daughters masterfully prepared chocolate chip cookies.  In the long run, it’s probably not good to eat those things anyway.  This morning I asked my husband what was on the menu this evening.  His answer was one of disbelief, “What?  I have no idea what is for dinner. You think I wake up and know what I want for dinner?”  Sigh……………..I hate food.