Not to toot my own horn or anything... but today I was SUPER MOM! A pretty fancy feat for a single chick with no kids, dontcha think?
I was woman on a mission. I was a hero on the move. I was lookin' good in my leopard print shades (yes... every hero has their vice and mine is accessories... hey, if I'm gonna save the world I might as well look good doin' it!). My super-hero-dom even came with it's own sweet ride, a hunter green Chevy Venture. I mean really... what good would Super Mom be without a rockin' mini-van? It's just the way it had to be.
My mission (and I chose to accept it): To pick up the McEwen family of five from JFK terminal one and transport to Newark International Airport hotel.
I arrived at JFK at 2:05, precisely the time of arrival of Lufthansa flight 410 from Munich, Germany. Excellent. The McEwen family hit the ground as I hit the bathroom (vice #2 for this super hero... Coke Light).
I found myself a comfy spot perched on an oversized planter and awaited the arrival of my people as I nibbled on overpriced pretzels and hummus.
First, let me mention that super heroes rarely blend in with the crowd. Whether we are incognito or dressed in our wackiest super hero apparel, we are hard to miss. Maybe it's the aura of helpfulness... or perhaps the persona of power... whatever the draw may be people tend to find us. “Excuse me,” a tiny Asian woman approaches me. “I lost my fa-der and I am so solly to bod-der you but would you call and talk to him for me?”
Being the good hero that I am I decide I should just let her use my phone. Maybe not the smartest idea in a crowded New York airport... but seriously, what is she going to do? Run away? I'm a GIANT compared to her. If worse comes to worst... I'll just sit on her. So with my plan of action in place I hand over my super cellular device. The woman reaches her father, speaks to him in a language I don't understand, and hands back my phone. Catastrophe number one averted.
Two minutes later I am approached again. This time by a twenty some year old male. “Excuse me... but are you Romanian?” He asks looking like he expects me to say yes.
“Say what?”
“Are you Romanian?”
“Um no. Do I look Romanian?”
Now that may sound a bit harsh for a Super Mom like me... but I did say it with nicest of tones AND he did take me slightly off guard (just sayin'). However, I suppose my answer didn't suit him because he just rolled his eyes and walked away. Totally unfair tactic avoiding my question when I took the time to answer his but whatever. Strange occurrence number one diverted.
The McEwen family arrived shortly after that so we got them all packed into the mom-mobile and were soon on our way. Now everyone knows that any super hero worth talking about has a trusty sidekick and mine was Gabby, my slightly misguided yet oft useful GPS.
Gabby (like all good sidekicks) has a knack for making my life more interesting and today was no exception. Instead of guiding me back down through Staten Island and over to Newark, Gabby decided to take me on a “shortcut” through Manhattan. HAH... HAH... HAH (note sarcasm). Shortcut indeed. Our 30 minute ride took TWO HOURS! The poor kids were sitting in the back of the car begging for something to drink and crying about wanting to “go home” to the hotel.
Of course... being the super hero that I was for the day... I decided that no child should be thirsty after having flown across the ocean and plopped into NYC for the first time ever. So... gauging the distance between me and the next street vendor and calculating the estimated time of each red light, I unbuckled my seat belt, put the van in park, jumped out and ran down the street. Isn't it fun being a super hero??? Granted I left Cristi with strict instructions to drive on if the light changed (no matter how far they got I knew I could catch up with them before the Holland tunnel). So five minutes and five bottles of soda later I caught up with the van and jumped back in. Thankfully, in New York City no one seems to notice anything as common place as people jumping in and out of cars to go shopping at red lights. Check one for crying children appeased.
Two blocks later... “Momma! I need to PEE!!!!” Ut oh... this was NOT a job for super mom! This is definitely a job for real mom. Cristi seems unfazed by a three year old needing to relieve himself in the middle of bumper to bumper NYC rush hour traffic and she whips out an old McDonald's cup. Being that this super hero was raised in a family of girls... I was a little taken aback by this approach but it seemed to work. The three year old was happier and so were we. Until Cristi was stuck holding a cup full of urine and her side of the van was blocked in by miles of traffic. That was when she politely mentioned that my unhindered side of the van was stopped right over a drainage grate... great. Taking a super hero sized sigh I gritted my teeth and held out my hand for the potty cup. Yes ladies and gentleman... I threw the pee down the drain. If that isn't a super feat I don't know what is. Catastrophe number two totally shut down!
I wove in and out of automobiles for the next hour until we finally reached our destination. After helping to unload the car and carrying one totally zonked out child up to bed I exchanged my hugs and goodbyes. And that my friends is where this Super Mom checked out. I hung up my cape and called it a day... because even a well accessorized super hero like me needs to go back to reality sometime.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Sometimes it's Just That Kind of Day...
Who knew working for Sam's Club could be so interesting? I mean seriously... I have a pretty laid back job. I hand out coupons and freebies and sell a few memberships. Easy, right? Straightforward, definitely. Dramatic? Never.
W-R-O-N-G.
I don't know if it's the job or if it's just me. I'm guessing the latter since these types of things happen to me no matter where I am or what I'm doing. But for arguments sake one could speculate that it might be at least partially the result of the job. Retail can be a beast, even when you are in the marketing side of things. But even so... I'm pretty sure it can't be blamed for my... eh hem... misfortunes.
Let me give you an example...
A few weeks ago I brought some coupons to Enterprise Rent-A-Car. Easy enough. I park my loaner mini-van in front of the building and proceed to the entrance, double doors. One door has a sign that says “This door broken, please use other side.” No problem. I confidently enter through the un-broken side of the doorway.
It's quiet inside and I see only one man sitting at one desk. “Hello,” he greets me as I walk in.
“Hello,” I answer back. “I'm from Sam's Club. Our home office sent us coupons for all employees of Enterprise Rent-A-Car...” I go through my whole spiel, telling him about the coupons and what they are used for, etc, etc, and just when I am about to wrap it up... I look up. We are not alone at all, nor have we ever been. There, around a corner (one that I had previously missed), are four men sitting and staring at me. Now granted this is no big deal. It's just that when you think you are alone and you look up to find that not only are you not alone but there are FOUR men STARING at you... it tends to throw you slightly off kilter. So, I decide to wrap things up and head out. “Well, here are your coupons. Thanks and have a nice day.” I turn and head for the door. Right as I'm about to push the door open I'm stopped by the sound of four men jumping up.
“WAIT!” They yell. “What's your name.”
Sigh. I turn back toward the men who are all peeping around the corner at me. “Heather.” I try for a charming smile though being that I am still feeling slightly off kilter I don't think it comes across all that charmingly.
“BYE HEATHER!” The yell in unison. I give them a slight nod of acknowledgment and turn back to the door, leaning full into it with my body weight.
BAM. I do a face plant smack into the broken door. Since five men are watching I try to play it off but I'm positive that nobody was fooled. It was just that kind of day.
Last Thursday I woke up a little late and was rushing to get ready and head out to work. Many mornings I don't take time to sit down and eat breakfast. Instead I blend up a special concoction of fresh fruit, yogurt, and ice cubes to make a delicious and nutritious smoothie I can drink on the road. Thursday I made a scrumptious looking blueberry smoothie and went to pour it in my travel mug only to find that I had left it at work the day before. No problem, I think to myself. I'll just pour it into a big ole plastic take out cup and be extra careful. So I do.
With just enough time to make it to work I hop into the car, toss my purse onto the passenger's side floor, and plop my cup full of smoothie into the cup holder. Bad move.
Unbeknownst to me the cup didn't fit into the cup holder. I look down to find it tilted sideways, a big blue puddle filling my purse and spilling over onto the carpet of my two week old car. Delightful... not.
I grab for the purse and fish out my cell phone from the blue goo. Sigh. Fifteen minutes later I have finished salvaging my cell phone, credit card (gotta have the important things), and drivers license, the remaining contents of my purse is lying in a pile on the garage floor, and now all I have left to do is rid the actual car carpet of the smoothie. Who knew so much could come out of one lousy cup, right?
I decide to head to the Sheetz down the street to vacuum out the still drenched floor. Unfortunately, I pull in only to discover they have no vacuum. Not a problem. I'll go to the Sheetz up the road from work, they definitely have a vacuum. I pull in, jump out, and slam the four quarters into the machine. I'm thirty minutes late at this point and I just want this ordeal to be over. The machine whirs to life and I grab the hose. Unbelievable. It isn't working. Making a lot of noise? Yes. Working? No.
Believe it or not... it was just that kind of day.
Friday, the day after the blue smoothie incident, I was out on the road with my supervisor. We were happily driving back from a mostly uneventful Wal-mart drive when all of the sudden I hear a crazy thudding, thumping, grinding sound. You know that hard to describe, horrible sound indicative only of a completely flat tire. Lovely.
We pull over, unload all of the Sam's paraphernalia clogging my trunk onto the side of the road, and get out the jack and donut. Just as I was about to get down on my hands and knees next to the tire (in a skirt and high heels of course) a nice truck driver stopped and asked to help. Now granted, though I could have changed that tire by myself, it was certainly nice to not have had to. And yet I did still somehow manage to end up with a grease smear across my forehead... not quite sure how that happened. However, I digress. We paid the man with an entire box of milky way bars and we were back on our way.
Sadly, the Sam's tire guys said the tire was too chewed up to be repaired and so I needed a new tire. Oddly, only Kost carries the Doral tires my car came with and they wanted to charge me ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FIVE bucks for it!!! Are they kidding me?!?! That seems slightly insane for my little Cobalt. But like I said... sometimes it's just that kind of day.
Everyday is an adventure... packed with new an exciting events. Some days just happen to be more of an adventure than others.
~Heather
P.S. My dad did somehow talked the price of the tire down to 89.95 and I was a much happier girl.
W-R-O-N-G.
I don't know if it's the job or if it's just me. I'm guessing the latter since these types of things happen to me no matter where I am or what I'm doing. But for arguments sake one could speculate that it might be at least partially the result of the job. Retail can be a beast, even when you are in the marketing side of things. But even so... I'm pretty sure it can't be blamed for my... eh hem... misfortunes.
Let me give you an example...
A few weeks ago I brought some coupons to Enterprise Rent-A-Car. Easy enough. I park my loaner mini-van in front of the building and proceed to the entrance, double doors. One door has a sign that says “This door broken, please use other side.” No problem. I confidently enter through the un-broken side of the doorway.
It's quiet inside and I see only one man sitting at one desk. “Hello,” he greets me as I walk in.
“Hello,” I answer back. “I'm from Sam's Club. Our home office sent us coupons for all employees of Enterprise Rent-A-Car...” I go through my whole spiel, telling him about the coupons and what they are used for, etc, etc, and just when I am about to wrap it up... I look up. We are not alone at all, nor have we ever been. There, around a corner (one that I had previously missed), are four men sitting and staring at me. Now granted this is no big deal. It's just that when you think you are alone and you look up to find that not only are you not alone but there are FOUR men STARING at you... it tends to throw you slightly off kilter. So, I decide to wrap things up and head out. “Well, here are your coupons. Thanks and have a nice day.” I turn and head for the door. Right as I'm about to push the door open I'm stopped by the sound of four men jumping up.
“WAIT!” They yell. “What's your name.”
Sigh. I turn back toward the men who are all peeping around the corner at me. “Heather.” I try for a charming smile though being that I am still feeling slightly off kilter I don't think it comes across all that charmingly.
“BYE HEATHER!” The yell in unison. I give them a slight nod of acknowledgment and turn back to the door, leaning full into it with my body weight.
BAM. I do a face plant smack into the broken door. Since five men are watching I try to play it off but I'm positive that nobody was fooled. It was just that kind of day.
Last Thursday I woke up a little late and was rushing to get ready and head out to work. Many mornings I don't take time to sit down and eat breakfast. Instead I blend up a special concoction of fresh fruit, yogurt, and ice cubes to make a delicious and nutritious smoothie I can drink on the road. Thursday I made a scrumptious looking blueberry smoothie and went to pour it in my travel mug only to find that I had left it at work the day before. No problem, I think to myself. I'll just pour it into a big ole plastic take out cup and be extra careful. So I do.
With just enough time to make it to work I hop into the car, toss my purse onto the passenger's side floor, and plop my cup full of smoothie into the cup holder. Bad move.
Unbeknownst to me the cup didn't fit into the cup holder. I look down to find it tilted sideways, a big blue puddle filling my purse and spilling over onto the carpet of my two week old car. Delightful... not.
I grab for the purse and fish out my cell phone from the blue goo. Sigh. Fifteen minutes later I have finished salvaging my cell phone, credit card (gotta have the important things), and drivers license, the remaining contents of my purse is lying in a pile on the garage floor, and now all I have left to do is rid the actual car carpet of the smoothie. Who knew so much could come out of one lousy cup, right?
I decide to head to the Sheetz down the street to vacuum out the still drenched floor. Unfortunately, I pull in only to discover they have no vacuum. Not a problem. I'll go to the Sheetz up the road from work, they definitely have a vacuum. I pull in, jump out, and slam the four quarters into the machine. I'm thirty minutes late at this point and I just want this ordeal to be over. The machine whirs to life and I grab the hose. Unbelievable. It isn't working. Making a lot of noise? Yes. Working? No.
Believe it or not... it was just that kind of day.
Friday, the day after the blue smoothie incident, I was out on the road with my supervisor. We were happily driving back from a mostly uneventful Wal-mart drive when all of the sudden I hear a crazy thudding, thumping, grinding sound. You know that hard to describe, horrible sound indicative only of a completely flat tire. Lovely.
We pull over, unload all of the Sam's paraphernalia clogging my trunk onto the side of the road, and get out the jack and donut. Just as I was about to get down on my hands and knees next to the tire (in a skirt and high heels of course) a nice truck driver stopped and asked to help. Now granted, though I could have changed that tire by myself, it was certainly nice to not have had to. And yet I did still somehow manage to end up with a grease smear across my forehead... not quite sure how that happened. However, I digress. We paid the man with an entire box of milky way bars and we were back on our way.
Sadly, the Sam's tire guys said the tire was too chewed up to be repaired and so I needed a new tire. Oddly, only Kost carries the Doral tires my car came with and they wanted to charge me ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FIVE bucks for it!!! Are they kidding me?!?! That seems slightly insane for my little Cobalt. But like I said... sometimes it's just that kind of day.
Everyday is an adventure... packed with new an exciting events. Some days just happen to be more of an adventure than others.
~Heather
P.S. My dad did somehow talked the price of the tire down to 89.95 and I was a much happier girl.
Monday, March 1, 2010
101 OTHER Uses for a Bidet
101 Other Uses for a Bidet...
Barbie bath tub/swimming pool – yes Keziah and I tested this use the other day when her little brother squirted blue lotion all over poor Barbie's hair. This use for the bidet worked very well and there was plenty of room for Barbie to invite all of her friends for a pool par-tay!
Aquarium – So I was thinking how neat would it be to have an aquarium in the bathroom? Perfect size for a Beta or goldfish. Maybe even a frog or two. They say that watching fish relieves stress and relaxes the nerves. What better place to relax then the bathroom?
Planter – This is a particularly useful and ingenious idea since all you'd have to do to water said planter is to turn on the faucet. Now is that cool or what?
Mop Sink – Our bidet has been used primarily for this function. I've never had a mop sink in my house before so I'm really appreciating the handiness of having somewhere to dump the dirty water and rinse out our mop. Especially since our entire apartment is tile and hardwood. Yay for mop sink bidets!
Child's Tooth brushing and Hand washing Station – Thomas set their bidet up to accommodate a toothbrush holder and a small pump for soap. He even added a child's height mirror. Ingenious.
Foot Spa – I've already tried this and let me tell you... it's MAH-velous. Some warm water, a pumice stone, and a little bubbly soap and I was ready to soak my feet for hours.
Barbie bath tub/swimming pool – yes Keziah and I tested this use the other day when her little brother squirted blue lotion all over poor Barbie's hair. This use for the bidet worked very well and there was plenty of room for Barbie to invite all of her friends for a pool par-tay!
Aquarium – So I was thinking how neat would it be to have an aquarium in the bathroom? Perfect size for a Beta or goldfish. Maybe even a frog or two. They say that watching fish relieves stress and relaxes the nerves. What better place to relax then the bathroom?
Planter – This is a particularly useful and ingenious idea since all you'd have to do to water said planter is to turn on the faucet. Now is that cool or what?
Mop Sink – Our bidet has been used primarily for this function. I've never had a mop sink in my house before so I'm really appreciating the handiness of having somewhere to dump the dirty water and rinse out our mop. Especially since our entire apartment is tile and hardwood. Yay for mop sink bidets!
Child's Tooth brushing and Hand washing Station – Thomas set their bidet up to accommodate a toothbrush holder and a small pump for soap. He even added a child's height mirror. Ingenious.
Foot Spa – I've already tried this and let me tell you... it's MAH-velous. Some warm water, a pumice stone, and a little bubbly soap and I was ready to soak my feet for hours.
Truffles from Heaven
It is utterly amazing that the majestic, all powerful God who created the very universe is interested in caring for my every heartache. I often think of God as a provider, but sometimes I focus so closely on His providing for my physical needs (e.g. food on the table, clothes on my back, etc) that I forget the intimate way He cares for my soul.
As a single missionary living an ocean away from the people I love and care for most in this world, I have come to cherish God in a way I never really understood before; as the Lover of my Soul. In a country where I can barely speak the language let alone understand the cross cultural boundaries, there are days that my heart cries out to be loved. Days like today when my puppy (who we adopted in a perhaps slightly misguided attempt to break the ice and meet new people) has diarrhea all over my kitchen floor... all over the sidewalk... all over the street. In front of disgusted passers-by... in front of a carload of people stopped at a light... in front of a horrified me who wants to crawl into a hole of embarrassment.
Holding my breath against the chemical warfare quality smell, I look at the brown puddle coagulating next to a parked car. Shoulders sagging I switch my gaze to the ever so tiny, heart imprinted poopy bag I've pulled from the cutesy 'I-just-had-to-have-it-plastic-fire-hydrant-baggie-holder' and I know a moment of defeat.
People on the street stop and stare as if to say “You'd better clean that up off our beautiful Italian streets you stupid foreigner.”
I stand and stare at the mess as if to say, “I don't know what I'm going to do... I really am a stupid foreigner.”
And my puppy is sitting on the sidewalk staring up at me as if to say, “Where is my treat and by the way, what ARE you going to do?”
I shake my head. Why did I want a puppy again? It's the kind of day where I'd rather curl into a ball and melt into oblivion rather than face reality. But God knows and He sees the depths of my heart even in a situation that is far from dire.
I make a pathetic attempt to clean up the mess and decide to take the long way around the block to get back to my apartment (better that no one see where I live). Heading home I round one corner and then the next and walk straight into two little boys playing on the sidewalk. I'm fully prepared to steer my tiny bundle of frustration far, far around them. But as in America, little boys in Italy must be puppy magnets too.
The boys run towards the dog, the dog run towards the boys, and somewhere in the middle the happy threesome meet. Their little faces are aglow with puppy love as they pummel me with questions (in Italian). “What is her name?” “How old is she?” “Isn't she so cute?”
My brain struggles to keep up as I mentally fumble to translate and answer over and over again. Then they hit me with it, the question I don't understand. A long rambling question that I can't translate or even guess at what it means. My face falls as I admit almost begrudgingly, “non parlo molto Italiano.” (I don't speak lots of Italian). The boys look at me funny and I feel the need to explain that I speak English.
Their eyebrows shoot sky high, “English?” They repeat it as if it were Martian.
“Si Englese. Sono Americana,” (Yes English, I'm an American).
This time their eyes light up like little Christmas trees as they jump up and down giggling, “Americana? Americana? BELLISIMA! Americana... bella bella bellisima...” I miss half the words that are tumbling out of their little mouths but one thing is clear, their joy in meeting a real live American is contagious and pretty soon I'm grinning and giggling right along with them. One of the boys jumps up and runs down the street, “Mama, Mama!!! Americana!” Before I know it I am surrounded by people asking me questions and smiling from ear to ear. My puppy is sitting like a little angel, relishing in all the attention and I feel like my heart is smiling. Not because I'm surrounded by a sidewalk full of people who love Americans, but because I have a Father who knew my heartache and sent two sweet little boys to share their joy.
A friend recently told me to, “keep looking out for those 'truffles from Heaven' those yummy sweet blessings that God sends to remind us that He made us, He loves us, and He showers us with blessings.” It truly amazes me that I have a God who loves me so much He delights in giving me smiles when sometimes all I have is frowns.
***Written December 2009***
As a single missionary living an ocean away from the people I love and care for most in this world, I have come to cherish God in a way I never really understood before; as the Lover of my Soul. In a country where I can barely speak the language let alone understand the cross cultural boundaries, there are days that my heart cries out to be loved. Days like today when my puppy (who we adopted in a perhaps slightly misguided attempt to break the ice and meet new people) has diarrhea all over my kitchen floor... all over the sidewalk... all over the street. In front of disgusted passers-by... in front of a carload of people stopped at a light... in front of a horrified me who wants to crawl into a hole of embarrassment.
Holding my breath against the chemical warfare quality smell, I look at the brown puddle coagulating next to a parked car. Shoulders sagging I switch my gaze to the ever so tiny, heart imprinted poopy bag I've pulled from the cutesy 'I-just-had-to-have-it-plastic-fire-hydrant-baggie-holder' and I know a moment of defeat.
People on the street stop and stare as if to say “You'd better clean that up off our beautiful Italian streets you stupid foreigner.”
I stand and stare at the mess as if to say, “I don't know what I'm going to do... I really am a stupid foreigner.”
And my puppy is sitting on the sidewalk staring up at me as if to say, “Where is my treat and by the way, what ARE you going to do?”
I shake my head. Why did I want a puppy again? It's the kind of day where I'd rather curl into a ball and melt into oblivion rather than face reality. But God knows and He sees the depths of my heart even in a situation that is far from dire.
I make a pathetic attempt to clean up the mess and decide to take the long way around the block to get back to my apartment (better that no one see where I live). Heading home I round one corner and then the next and walk straight into two little boys playing on the sidewalk. I'm fully prepared to steer my tiny bundle of frustration far, far around them. But as in America, little boys in Italy must be puppy magnets too.
The boys run towards the dog, the dog run towards the boys, and somewhere in the middle the happy threesome meet. Their little faces are aglow with puppy love as they pummel me with questions (in Italian). “What is her name?” “How old is she?” “Isn't she so cute?”
My brain struggles to keep up as I mentally fumble to translate and answer over and over again. Then they hit me with it, the question I don't understand. A long rambling question that I can't translate or even guess at what it means. My face falls as I admit almost begrudgingly, “non parlo molto Italiano.” (I don't speak lots of Italian). The boys look at me funny and I feel the need to explain that I speak English.
Their eyebrows shoot sky high, “English?” They repeat it as if it were Martian.
“Si Englese. Sono Americana,” (Yes English, I'm an American).
This time their eyes light up like little Christmas trees as they jump up and down giggling, “Americana? Americana? BELLISIMA! Americana... bella bella bellisima...” I miss half the words that are tumbling out of their little mouths but one thing is clear, their joy in meeting a real live American is contagious and pretty soon I'm grinning and giggling right along with them. One of the boys jumps up and runs down the street, “Mama, Mama!!! Americana!” Before I know it I am surrounded by people asking me questions and smiling from ear to ear. My puppy is sitting like a little angel, relishing in all the attention and I feel like my heart is smiling. Not because I'm surrounded by a sidewalk full of people who love Americans, but because I have a Father who knew my heartache and sent two sweet little boys to share their joy.
A friend recently told me to, “keep looking out for those 'truffles from Heaven' those yummy sweet blessings that God sends to remind us that He made us, He loves us, and He showers us with blessings.” It truly amazes me that I have a God who loves me so much He delights in giving me smiles when sometimes all I have is frowns.
***Written December 2009***
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Frankfurt Airport...
Welcome to the world of me... it wouldn't be a trip across the ocean with Heather if it wasn't eventful. In fact as I sit here typing (and of course waiting) in the Frankfurt airport, I am listening to two little boys discuss what they would like to be when they grow up. The younger of the two (who is perhaps 6) insists he would like to grow up to be a bus driver. His older and more practical brother is telling him that bus drivers get nowhere in life and that he would do much better as a doctor.
However, the little guy isn't easily persuaded and is avidly arguing in favor of the bus driver plan. After all he points out... “doctors have to deal with blood and guts and are always getting germs and sickness.” Bus drivers on the other hand are “cool” and get to have lots of power “cuz they control the bus”.
But I digress. Back to the story. Was everyone but me aware that the only place in the world you are required to take your shoes off for security checks was the U.S.? They gave me the craziest look in Italy when I took off my shoes.
Wait... back to the boys for a sec... the younger has now informed his big bro that his butt is “waaaaay bigger than his.” Big brother's response? “Well I am older than you and that means that my cheeks are bigger cuz they have had longer to grow”. Interesting. But again I digress.
Soooo... being the smart cookie that I am I asked the man in Germany if I should take off my shoes or no. And he just kind of shrugged and bit and said sure. So I did. Then I took off my coat... my scarf... my watch... my belt. You know the normal. The poor man got a horrified look on his face, held his hands in the air and said, “Now you stop!”
Of course in the not so distant past I would have been mortified... but not now. Now it's just another normal day in the life of me. I walk through the metal detector and all of the security people start chuckling. “Oh look potatoes!” they say. Potatoes? What potatoes? They're still snickering and now they are pointing at my feet.
I look down. The big toe on my right foot is sticking out of an enormous hole in my sock. Potatoes? Toes? Maybe this could make sense but... mmmm... not really.
“I think you have a problem with your sock.” One particularly exuberant guard points out.
“Yes... well...” I shrug as if it's nothing. “These things happen.” The guard continues to make “polite” conversation with me as I re-garb. I'm trying to converse as normally as possible given the interesting circumstance. “Well,” I say as I wrap my scarf around my neck, “thanks and have a great day!” I try for a charming smile but I think it comes out more like an embarrassed grimace (whatever, at least I'm making an effort here). As I walk away he turns to the other guards and I hear him say something about the “American,” who, “took off her shoes!” Thankfully he slips back into German and I am spared the brunt of his comments as they all break into uproarious laughter.
Is your life boring? Just take a trip with me... you're sure to have an “interesting” time.
Sigh. So things have calmed down a bit now. I found my gate, spent some time walking around looking in shops, and finally settled down in my terminal with an “Italian-style” salami sandwich and a German Coke Light. Though I have to say... I was slightly shocked and appalled when I bit into my sandwich and discovered it was full of some type of mayo/cheese spread. Weird... I've been in Italy so long (where sandwiches NEVER have condiments) that having something wet and slimy in my sandwich thoroughly disgusted me. However, after a few bites it started to grow on me... and now I think I may actually like it (in it's own strange German trying to be Italian way).
Well... that's all for now.
Heather
P.S. The boys have settled down for a riveting game of Nintendo D.S. Just in case you were wondering.
However, the little guy isn't easily persuaded and is avidly arguing in favor of the bus driver plan. After all he points out... “doctors have to deal with blood and guts and are always getting germs and sickness.” Bus drivers on the other hand are “cool” and get to have lots of power “cuz they control the bus”.
But I digress. Back to the story. Was everyone but me aware that the only place in the world you are required to take your shoes off for security checks was the U.S.? They gave me the craziest look in Italy when I took off my shoes.
Wait... back to the boys for a sec... the younger has now informed his big bro that his butt is “waaaaay bigger than his.” Big brother's response? “Well I am older than you and that means that my cheeks are bigger cuz they have had longer to grow”. Interesting. But again I digress.
Soooo... being the smart cookie that I am I asked the man in Germany if I should take off my shoes or no. And he just kind of shrugged and bit and said sure. So I did. Then I took off my coat... my scarf... my watch... my belt. You know the normal. The poor man got a horrified look on his face, held his hands in the air and said, “Now you stop!”
Of course in the not so distant past I would have been mortified... but not now. Now it's just another normal day in the life of me. I walk through the metal detector and all of the security people start chuckling. “Oh look potatoes!” they say. Potatoes? What potatoes? They're still snickering and now they are pointing at my feet.
I look down. The big toe on my right foot is sticking out of an enormous hole in my sock. Potatoes? Toes? Maybe this could make sense but... mmmm... not really.
“I think you have a problem with your sock.” One particularly exuberant guard points out.
“Yes... well...” I shrug as if it's nothing. “These things happen.” The guard continues to make “polite” conversation with me as I re-garb. I'm trying to converse as normally as possible given the interesting circumstance. “Well,” I say as I wrap my scarf around my neck, “thanks and have a great day!” I try for a charming smile but I think it comes out more like an embarrassed grimace (whatever, at least I'm making an effort here). As I walk away he turns to the other guards and I hear him say something about the “American,” who, “took off her shoes!” Thankfully he slips back into German and I am spared the brunt of his comments as they all break into uproarious laughter.
Is your life boring? Just take a trip with me... you're sure to have an “interesting” time.
Sigh. So things have calmed down a bit now. I found my gate, spent some time walking around looking in shops, and finally settled down in my terminal with an “Italian-style” salami sandwich and a German Coke Light. Though I have to say... I was slightly shocked and appalled when I bit into my sandwich and discovered it was full of some type of mayo/cheese spread. Weird... I've been in Italy so long (where sandwiches NEVER have condiments) that having something wet and slimy in my sandwich thoroughly disgusted me. However, after a few bites it started to grow on me... and now I think I may actually like it (in it's own strange German trying to be Italian way).
Well... that's all for now.
Heather
P.S. The boys have settled down for a riveting game of Nintendo D.S. Just in case you were wondering.
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