TWO HUNDRED THIRTY TWO…suspicious eyes

Posted on April 24, 2017 by ceciliaandhersisters

We went to a great seafood restaurant last night downtown Longbeach, MS. It was nice, intimate, low-key and super casual. We beat the dinner crowd and I got all the girls in and out of the bathroom before our appetizers came out.

I like to take the girls to the bathroom when we first arrive at a restaurant so that I can spend the rest of the night bribing Abby with candy and toys if she will take Cecilia to the bathroom every-time she asks. Otherwise I am up and down, up and down, up and down every ten minutes, as all liquids run right through her.

Phoebe begs to tag along too. It usually buys me at least 30 minutes of face to face time with Greg before Abby, upon Cecilia’s 3rd bathroom request, waves her white flag to surrender.

So when Phoebe volunteered to take Cecilia, Greg and I looked at each other and said, “Well, I don’t see why not.” There were maybe 2 other couples in the restaurant and I had a pretty good visual on the bathroom door. “Let’s see what happens” I thought. Phoebe has been asking to help out a lot more and showing more initiative.

I watched Phoebe and Cecilia hold hands and walk together toward the restroom. Before Cecilia let go of Phoebe’s hand and tried to run away from her, they were actually having a sweet sister moment. Greg and I watched as Phoebe regained control and clasped little Cecilia’s hand in hers and firmly said, “No CC! You stay with me!” to which Cecilia complied.

I watched the girls disappear into the private bathroom and resumed my conversation with Greg.

About 5 minutes later the appetizers came out along with refills for the kids drinks. As the waiter was walking away, Cecilia appeared from behind him.

There she was…

…alone

…at our table

…without Phoebe.

“I will give Phoebe a couple of minutes to finish up…if she doesn’t show up, I will go check on her”, I thought.

Five minutes later when our food came out, I scooted out of our booth to check on her in the bathroom.

As I was approaching the door, I had a series of thoughts running through my cursed brain: Phoebe has flooded the bathroom…they made a mess and Phoebe is trying to clean up…there’s a poop mess on the floor and Phoebe is trying to clean it up but of course, making it worse…Phoebe put too much toilet paper in the potty and when she flushed it – you know the rest…Cecilia tied Phoebe up and trapped her in the bathroom (that one made me chuckle)…Phoebe had an accident (that one made me sad).

As I laid my hand gently on the knob, turning it slightly, surprised it was unlocked, I opened the door to find Phoebe dancing and singing, “We can’t go on together, with suspicious eyes, with suspicious eyes” in front of the mirror.

She had used sink water (I hope) to wet the sides of her hair and was really swinging her non-existent hips while waving her left arm in the air and holding on to her makeshift toilet paper microphone.

Influenced no doubt by the YouTube video of Elvis singing ‘Suspicious Minds’ I was watching the night before. It was really something. I think she was just repeating the “suspicious eyes” phrase over and over.

In fact, she is correct, it would be very difficult to carry on a relationship with suspicious eyes.

When she caught me looking at her in the mirror, she spun around and said, “I just love that song Mommy!” “Me too Phoebe…that was really good singing and your dancing was on point”, I said in my most dry and serious “MOM” tone. “Yes I know…I’m actually a really good dancer”, she informed me.

I motioned for her to follow me back to our table and told her, about her yummy mac and cheese waiting for her.

When we settled down, I asked Phoebe how it was taking Cecilia to the bathroom and she promptly said, “Uh oh, I forgot! Sorry Mommy…I’ll take her this time I promise”…to which Cecilia took Phoebe’s dinner spoon and chucked it across the room to another table.

I calmly scooted out of my comfortable booth seat, grabbed Cecilia by the hand and took her to the potty.

It was my first time trying “cold” steamed clams.

Maybe next time.

WE CAN’T GO ON TOGETHER, WITH SUSPICIOUS EYES…SUSPICIOUS EYES

TWO HUNDRED THIRTY ONE…wellness

Posted on April 23, 2017 by ceciliaandhersisters

There are so many great blogs out there related to travel. Blogs about food, full-time RV life, historical landmarks in each city, state parks across the US, …etc. Some blogs give you insight on the best RV parks/cities for families with young children with a plethora of options to keep the kids entertained. Some give you great suggestions if you have pets. Of course, there are the blogs for the older crowd trying to keep busy as well as staying far far away from campers with kids….most of those can be found in Arizona.

Some blogs give advice to couples who may be tandem camping. There are even blogs out there which cater to specific activities. For example, if you love off-roading or four-wheeling, there are a lot of campgrounds in western California, Nevada, and Arizona with actual off-roading courses built right in. Some of them even have their own restaurants and convenience stores so you can hunker down and never leave your little oasis.

I considered, before we started this adventure, specializing in something. A food blog was out of the question. A. I don’t have the genetic makeup which will allow me to eat my way through the U.S. and be happy B. Nor do I have the energy to research, visit, and write a critique all the amazing food choices. And, although not necessarily in blog format, it’s already been done….thank you Anthony Bourdain.

I could have pulled from my various habits, like photography, knitting, writing, and working out…I wasn’t jazzed about doing a blog where I focused on the best campgrounds to get a great workout. That could get old quick and I am sure I would have to get into webcasting which doesn’t interest me at all. I don’t knit often enough to do a blog about the best campgrounds to knit and people watch. You can and should be able to take pictures anywhere…same goes for writing so neither of those ideas sounded appealing.

I just decided to continue writing about our lives on the road…it’s my favorite subject anyway.

But looking back with the information I have now, I am convinced I could write a fairly thorough blog detailing the best Urgent Cares each city has to offer. Or the cleanest, most kid-friendly, and efficient ERs out there.

Mississippi has a pretty good Urgent Care in Diamond Head. I wouldn’t necessarily describe it as kid-friendly or even clean but when I took Cecilia in for “clear drainage” from her right ear last Monday, they sure were efficient…and nice. Even more-so on her follow-up visit this past Monday.

I hate to compare other ERs to Newport, Vermont’s ER but I’ve never seen an ER look so immaculate, react so swiftly, and process the patient so efficiently. They are truly impressive. The ER in Gulfport, Mississippi was pretty clean, the doctor and Orthopedic Surgeon were able to see us within an hour of arriving…but it would have been unfair to compare the efficiency of the administration in Mississippi to that of Vermont’s. Some administrations simply aren’t concerned about efficiency.

So, when Phoebe broke her right wrist on Monday after falling off the monkey bars at the park playground, we were able to experience Gulfport’s Emergency Room first hand. As soon as we arrived, we were processed and asked to wait in any of the three available waiting rooms. We turned around and as always, my goal was to pick the one with the least amount of “sick” people.

The two on our right had patients who were close to hacking up a lung and there was a peculiar gentleman taking up an entire couch with his feet up and shirt way above his enormous hairy belly. The one to our left boasted of a family who were verbally accosting one another and it looked as if it was soon to escalate to a physical confrontation. So…we chose the deathly ill, scantily clad waiting room.

Great.

So just to recap our Monday, early in the morning, I drove Cecilia to the Urgent Care in Diamond Head approximately 25 miles north of our current campsite. Later in the afternoon (three hours later) we were heading back to the ER in Gulfport which was 45 miles north of our campsite. That’s a lot of back and forth driving from the same areas in one day…in other words, backtracking…this very thing would drive Greg to the brink of insanity.

We were in and out of the ER within a three-hour time period. The X-Ray showed yet another ‘green stick’ fracture on her right wrist. It was the same exact type of fracture, in the same exact place, on the opposite arm, as the last time in Vermont, 10 months ago. The Ortho wrapped her arm in loose material and settled it with a sling. We knew the drill: The material, which is not allowed to get wet, has to stay on her arm for three days to allow for the majority of the swelling to subside; In a couple of days, we return and she gets a hard cast.

Fast forward to the ‘hard cast fitting day’ and she is presented with a choice of fifteen colors to choose from. Pink, green, purple (which I for sure thought she would pick because its her fave color), green and pink camo, blue etc…She ended up choosing white. Luckily for her, it was a glow-in-the-dark cast.

Rewind to last night, when I woke up to check on her around the 3 a.m. hour. Imagine my surprise when I found her wide awake and proudly proclaiming, “I know why my cast isn’t glowing right now mommy…because the window shade is letting in light from the street lamp!!” At 3 a.m. I did not want to encourage her to stay up any longer, but I had to acknowledge the humor in the situation…here she was bright and early on a random Saturday morning trying to solve the mystery of the not-glowing ‘glowing cast’.

After I pulled the window shade down, we tested her glowing cast. She sighed a big joyous breath of air and settled her head on her pillow. As I tucked her back into bed and kissed her good night, I thought to myself, “I wouldn’t enjoy writing about anything else. These are the stories I want to tell. Our story.”

And of course, I have no pictures of Phoebe in her cast, because I have been too busy to take pictures of her cast. Those will have to come next week.

Have a great last week of April…where did that time go? Eleven months, right around the corner. Almost one whole year of being on the road. So hard to believe.

TWO HUNDRED THIRTY…April fools = anniversary

Posted on April 1, 2017 by ceciliaandhersisters

So, yesterday morning (Saturday) I was so moved by the sun’s steroid rays’ blasting through our bedroom window, I wrote a 1500 word blog on my phone in record time.

As always, when I write a blog via my phone, I don’t always hit the save button or add pictures right away because really, it’s on my phone in a super secret hiding place and I have a wicked, ridiculously long password and I take other precautions besides “saving” which will allow me to keep the draft open until I’m ready to publish.

It was one of those really happy blogs about how much I love my family…being a mom…a wife. Basically all the stuff that’s super annoying if you’re not in the mindset to read about someone’s “great day” blah blah blah.

My professed love and adoration of my awesome significant other and how yesterday April 1, 2017 was our 13th anniversary. How thoughtful, considerate, fun, curious and fun (did I say that already) he is. All the good mushy stuff.

We had some responsible adult-like errands to run before we could begin celebrating our scandalous nuptials from 13 years ago. We eloped in a courthouse…on April 1st, aka: April Fools Day. I’ll share the story one day…it’s a great one.

He was taking Abby and Phoebe fishing while I wanted to take Cecilia to an Urgent Care in Long Beach, MS to get her ear checked out. We are in Mississippi now by the way…also a good story and one I intend on sharing. I also wanted to indulge in my biweekly Saturday morning habit of Dunkin Donuts.

He put D&D and Urgent Care addresses in my Google Maps so my trip might go off without a hitch and save me from getting lost, which is usually a guarantee with me. He also put addresses to the Waffle House, and the fishing pier in my google maps so I could find them after their super fun morning of fishing and eating at a fun smoke-filled Waffle House, when I returned in 3 hours from doing responsible adult-like things. That was meant to be sarcastic.

Once we reached the Pier, he handed me my phone and said, “you’ll find all of your addresses in “recents” on your google maps”. “Awesome!” I thought.

On the way to the pier, I thought of something I wanted to add to the story I had written a couple of hours ago….

So…

I click on my blog link and it’s not there. “Hmm…I know I didn’t save it, but I should be fine because I also know I hadn’t closed it in my history yet” I thought. I checked the three separate areas where it would have been…because I know I didn’t make that mistake of closing the file before I hit the save button. I wouldn’t do that. That’s a rookie mistake. The more I looked, the more frustrated I became.

I know I didn’t close it.

And then it came to me…I know “I” didn’t close it…

…but I know who did.

All the amazing stuff I had just written about my totally awesome, thoughtful, considerate, sensitive but not too sensitive, spouse who respects me and my things was completely and utterly wiped from existence. Gone. Obliterated. Never to return. Sayonara.

I was so frustrated…all I could do was laugh.

13 years.

When I write, I leave apps on my electronics open, sometimes work best when surrounded by chaos, usually when the moment strikes, and always when I’m listening to amazing music. I don’t always save my work.

I collect Coastal Living magazines like their my go-to drug for anything that ales me. I’m having a rough day cause the kids aren’t listening to me (everyday)...my quick solution is to pull out any Coastal Living magazine and forget about reality for a while. It’s therapeutic. And it works. Every time.

I like to eat shelled peanuts and drink Corona Extra with lime on Fridays. I stick stuff in my ear. I double back a lot, A LOT when I drive. I suck at following directions.

I do laundry and don’t always fold it right away so it gets all wrinkly again and sometimes, SOMETIMES, I just leave it in the basket until someone needs one of its inhabitants.

I let my kids pick their own clothes

I chew gum like a complete maniac. I almost always have a stain on my clothing somewhere. And I have a thousand mini receipts jammed into a pocket of my purse which I never intend on using but am just too lazy to throw away.

Just a few of my “peculiarities” at a glance.

If my 6’3″ partner can live with some of those issues and still be the father, friend, and spouse he is, I can certainly look past his incessant need to delete all of the important information I like to hoard on my electronics.

My ice-cold glass of Chardonnay and the meal my husband spent all of his tireless energy retrieving from the Italian restaurant 3 miles away while our children screamed and ran around the campground fishing pier like little gorillas was a great way to celebrate our life together.

Happy 13th to us…and I’m changing all of my passwords yet again.

TWO HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE…we’re in Texas sha moe part 2

Posted on March 30, 2017 by ceciliaandhersisters

In trying to stay on point with part 1 I stated we were in Texas in the title but that’s no longer the case. We are now bunking in a small rural town in Louisiana.

We went from moderate humidity, cool breezy nights, and sunny warm days to overwhelming humidity, stagnant warm nights and equally stagnant warm days. Despite the continuous rain we’ve experienced, I know it is beautiful here. And I am pleased to report, the Pelican state has plenty of grass and trees.

When we woke up this morning, I informed the girls of my plans to re-organize the past ten months of schoolwork. It’s constant work to keep everything neatly arranged in its place and the girls are moving up a grade. So we are making room for the new curriculum and sending their old work back to my sweet unsuspecting mother. Out with the old, in with the new. They helped with Cecilia, taking her to the potty, keeping her occupied and fed while I hacked away at our school clutter and WITH THE UNDERSTANDING THAT AS SOON AS I FINISHED and the rain held off for a couple more hours, we were off to the campground’s pool, playground, and splash pad…due to the monsoon-like weather, I did not take any pictures.

Please allow me to backtrack for a moment. When I called to make a reservation Monday afternoon, the gentleman on the other end of the line sort of chuckled at me and remarked, “We got plenty a room…you ain’t gotta make no reservation”.

SWEET! “So this is a great time to visit this part of the state…it has to be…who would pass up a campground like this, especially when kids are involved!” This particular campground boasted of a pool, splash pad, playground, big pond with gazebos and footbridges, and a small catch and release fishing pond.

As I finished the last of the clearing out, the girls scrambled to get their swimsuits on. We made our way to the front office where I was hoping to settle our bill, but just like it was on Tuesday, the sign on the door said “closed”.

We schlepped our way over to the playground. The pool was pretty close by, but was an odd color. I thought it was the reflection of the dark blue tile on the inside wall…but upon further inspection, I realized the water-color was in fact black.

I rounded the corner to take a mental picture of the “splash pad” covered in 3″ deep standing water. The word BACTERIA flashed before my very eyes in bright red neon lights.

When I turned to peruse the playground, I was equally unimpressed. This week is going to be a bust…at least in terms of getting out and enjoying our surroundings.

Thank God it’s Thursday. Only 2 more days and then we’re heading to the coast of MS. Well, 3 more days actually, but Saturday doesn’t count as we have a major excursion planned.

The point is, we are not here…

Lacking in stimuli here in our campground in rural Louisiana, I would like to continue with the second half of the story about our beach time fun in the good old state of TX.

Before we embarked on our epic journey 9 months ago, we decided it would be fun to buy a beach tent.

We aren’t really beach tent kind of people, but thought it might allow us to extend our beach stays past the normal three and a half hours.

Knowing this Spranger family and my husband in particular, it couldn’t be just any tent. It needed to be the newest most minimalistic and indestructible tent on the market. Introducing this crazy-ass tent. It takes a strong understanding of directional wind and a very precise placement of support beams otherwise known as poles.

I won’t bore you with the details, but I believe, thanks to the pictures below, that I am Justified when I write, the tent and I have some issues. I am convinced this tent exists to point out my wind calculation inadequacies. Below are pictures of the tent throughout the course of one day. I would get it up, after 15 minutes it would fall. This continued for a period of five hours.

But dammit I kept trying. Hoping with the tents’ billowy graceful falls to the ground the girls would see, that I was not readily relinquishing my goal to get that damn tent to stay up. I know onlookers noticed me not relinquishing.

I even had one man stand within a few yards of me while I was struggling with the tent poles. He had a quizzical look on his face. If I were to interpret his facial contortions I would say he may have been trying to figure out if I was a performance artist or just a regular mom of three struggling to pup a tent. I could tell he wanted to help, but I was determined to figure it out on my own.

I entertained the thought of jumping from behind the fallen tent, taking a bow, and holding out my baseball cap just in case he wanted to give me some money for the 15 minutes of entertainment I no doubt provided. I just continued to struggle. He finally moved on. He didn’t leave any change. Voyeur.

Then of course there was the whole ordeal of the girls covering one another in wet sand. I’m sure I don’t need to write about the state of our shower after that fiasco.

Finally, we are the family who shows up at the beach with every sand toy known to man. If you can imagine it, we’ve got it. And every toy is used.

I feel good about the hundreds of dollars we have spent on beach toys because I know they are being used and abused. The big hit this year is the dump truck. Not just with Cecilia… it has become the toy Abby and Phoebe fight over.

The toy that launched a thousand screams, “Its my turn Phoebe…you’ve had it all day” “No Abby, you had it all day yesterday…and you picked the movie last night” because young people use logic to justify their arguments…”Well Phoebe you hit CC earlier and took her doll away from her this morning” and as you can imagine it escalates from there.

I have been trying to let the girls work their issues out on their own, hoping they will find a peaceful and egalitarian resolution without my having to mediate. Either that or I’m just too tired to referee knowing that particular argument won’t be the last.

“It’s mine”, CC aggressively informs them. I can’t help but laugh as she grabs the dump truck and bolts in the opposite direction as fast as her little legs can take her. “CC, give it back to Phoebe…she had it first…your not being nice!” “No CC give it to Abby, it was her turn not yours!” CC throws it down before they can yank it from her pudgy little hands. Conflict resolution 101 folks. Throw logic to the wind, just sit and wait. Eventually, it will all work itself out. Once again, we are not here,

Sha moe…I’m going to make a change, it’s gonna feel real good, ya know it, ya know it, ya know it, ya know! No seriously, I’m going to change my current position in order to make Greg a coffee, and it will feel real good. Sha moe!

Enjoy your Thursday!

TWO HUNDRED TWENTY EIGHT…we’re in Texas, “sha-moe” Part ONE

Posted on March 25, 2017 by ceciliaandhersisters

It’s official, Texas is quickly becoming one of my favorite states. We just spent a glorious week at South Padre County Park where we were mere steps away from the beach. Ok, maybe the word “steps” might be exaggerating a wee bit…our beach journey was more like a short jaunt. I would like to take this moment and express my happiness in the form of song lyrics of Michael Jackson, “Sha-MOE”.

Which brings me to my story of the day. It doesn’t matter where we are, Florida, North Carolina, California, Oregon, New York, Vermont or Maine, I am the human equivalent of a pack mule heading on a long journey for a daytime destination.

I can see it in my mind and am certain it is a comical sight. I wish I could capture the image for you, heck, I wish I could capture the image for myself…but it would most likely make me sad. Suffice it to say, my enormous beach bag now being used as a bag for transporting sand toys, a medium-sized drink/snack bag, giant beach blanket, 5 towels, and my camera bag all while pushing Cecilia in the stroller makes me feel as ridiculous as it sounds.

It’s no surprise for those who’ve been reading this blog or know me…I’ve always been open about my over-packing issues. BUT, I really do need all those things, assuming I want to have a relaxing day at the beach. If I don’t bring toys, the girls will pester me to play with them the ENTIRE time. If I don’t bring snack and drinks…our four hour stay will turn into a dismal 45 minute wine fest with impulse to pack everything back into their special bags and head home. Same goes for towels and blankets. And any time I don’t bring my camera, I just sit and watch all these wonderful picturesque moments pass me by.

So, I am owning it.

With each step getting me closer to the beach, the load I would carry, reaffirmed my current life motto, I am a pack-mule. The looks, the crazy stares, and as always the, “You’ve got your hands full” commenters…I don’t care anymore…it’s totally worth it.

We spent all day Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at the beach. Since we needed recoup days, we used Tuesday and Thursday as “school work” make-up days, much to the girls’ chagrin.

Cecilia as always, is the DJ for the entire day…controlling my iTune downloads and adjusting our portable Bose speaker volume. Phoebe was the self-appointed dj for the longest time until Cecilia relieved her of her duties when she refused to play Cecilia’s favorite Dr. Demento’s Star Trekkin for a fifth time.

Despite having to chauffeur Cecilia around in the stroller, my duties at the beach have been greatly reduced. Everyone is getting older. I can sit, relax, sip on water, listen to Star Trekkin a gazillion times, and just watch my little inmates run wild on the deserted beach. Occasionally, I step into the DJ booth. I have rediscovered my 90’s all-time favorite bands The Police, The Black Crows, U2…and then ‘Fool in the Rain’ comes on and I just can’t contain my good vibes. I have to get up and run to each of them, kiss their little foreheads, dance like an idiot with them in the water, and tell them how much I love them.

But I swear to everything holy, if I have to listen to Michael Jackson’s ‘Man in the Mirror’ song one more time, my head will explode. Abby has discovered and fallen in love with Michael Jackson. “…As I turned up the pot of gold, my favorite winter cold…a broken bottle top…they follow each other on the window sill…and no mess is gonna man in the cliver…“

What the crap is a “cliver”? I’m afraid to ask…yet, I need to know.

“MOM, those aren’t the words” yells Abby disapprovingly.

“Nah nah nah nah nah…uh huh…there is love with no home and not a nickel to love, could it be, would it be pretending that their not alone…a willow deep blue sky…Ja know…whew, whew, whew, whew, whew…Im’ gonna make a change, it’s gonna feel real good, sha-moe, you got to move, sha-moe…whew, whew, whew, whew…” before he whispers, “Make that change“. And don’t even get me started on the cowbell in the background. If you ask me, it really adds to the immediacy and importance of the message, “Man in the mirror…make that change”.

Abby eats it up, “Mom, can we play it again? PLEASE??? And don’t mess up the words this time Mom, if your going to sing, sing the right words!”

Join me for the next blog entry where I discuss other issues I have with our beach trips, including but not limited to our haphazard tent escapades, girls and their beach toys, and kids who love to get dirty… Until tomorrow…

“Sha-MOE…make that change”

Michael Jackson, Man in the Mirror

TWO HUNDRED TWENTY SEVEN…typical monday

Posted on March 20, 2017 by ceciliaandhersisters

I have this perfect night alone all carved out for myself.

And lately, for the past nine months, the word “alone” can mean many different things. For example, tonight, Greg went to the movies and my “alone time” came in the form of time to myself where the girls were successfully pre-occupied and Cecilia was down for the night. I have a whole chunk of time, two and a half hours, to myself. I can see the neurons and axons lighting up in my brain creating synapses at all the possibilities.

My dream this evening was to situate myself on my bed, with my giant ear phones enveloping my ears in the rhythms of Tycho, a nice cold Corona with lime, and a medium-sized bag of salted Virginia peanuts in the shell. A perfect combination for a night of writing about how much I love being a mom.

As soon as Cecilia gives that double inhale, I know I am safe to escape. I make a b-line to the refrigerator for the Corona I just purchased on Monday of last week…a whole seven days ago. I know their in the frig, cause I’ve only had one…and I also know in our relationship, I am the only one who imbibes in the Corona experience. It’s been a favorite since my college days in good old Winston-Salem, NC. But when I open the fridge, there’s only the unopened bottle of Yellow Tail Chardonnay staring at me with its “What? I’m not good enough? ” face.

I am forced to confront my shady memory, most likely due to the fact that I eat a lot of Kale or just have a crappy memory to begin with…I vaguely remember Greg drinking one or more of my Corona, even though they don’t satisfy his complex beer palate. I even vaguely recall him opening, sipping, and dumping an entire bottle of Corona down the drain of the sink without thinking twice. In my dream I say, “Hey, that’s my beer”, but in reality, I’m quite sure I just watched him.

Ok. I will settle for the glass of Yellow Tail. I thoroughly enjoy a nice cold Chardonnay. It might be a little odd with Salted in the shell Virginia peanuts, but I may come to love it…you never know. When I open the cupboard, cause I’ve been reading a lot of classics lately where they refer to “kitchen cabinets” as “cupboards”, I discover a Jumbo bag of UNSALTED, in the shell, peanuts.

Damn that sucks.

That sucks.

Time to switch it up. There will be no ice-cold Corona with lime. There will be no salted in the shell Virginia Peanuts. There will be no Tycho. This calls for ‘Burn you down’ Beach Fossils anthem at a full on decibel of 28. A mere two decibels shy of the maximum volume..just enough to aggravate my, one too many B-52’s in concert no doubt, Tinnitus.

But not when my phone is sporting a mere 10% battery life.

So, my perfect night “alone” has to be amended.

Ugh, Feck.

I think I’ll just go to bed.

We’ll try this again tomorrow.

It’s definitely a Monday and one thing is for damn certain…I need to find “hiding spaces” somewhere in this 350 square foot beast.

TWO HUNDRED TWENTY FIVE…a story of addiction

Posted on March 6, 2017 by ceciliaandhersisters

…And we’re still in the desert…

How many times can someone write about “loathing” their current situation without sounding like a broken record…a negative Nancy…a sour puss…a Debbie downer?

I think this will officially be my 3rd negative post while in the state of Arizona. It certainly seems as if I’ve “got it in” for the state but that particular sentiment couldn’t be more wrong. Nothing against Arizona and Arizonans, but being forced to stay anywhere is the absolute antithesis of this adventure.

On Friday we will officially have been in the RV for 9 months. I am not sure if the newness and sense of adventure has completely worn off at this point or if our stagnation is the culprit for my general negativity. Whatever the reason, I need to snap out of it. The negativity is permeating every fiber of my being. Although I will admit, for a Monday, yesterday was not only supremely productive for me in terms of schooling, laundry, cleaning, and organizing, it was also a generally happy day.

Perhaps my unusually happy feelings on a Monday of all days is due to the obvious light at the end of the tunnel. We are making plans to head back to Phoenix on Wednesday for repair of our leaky jack on Thursday. Then we will finally be able to sayonara to the western state who favors the color brown.

So, at least for now, escape with me to the far regions of Angie Beth’s brain.

I intend to share a carefully crafted and somewhat sensitive story of addiction. I have characteristics which might lead some to conclude that I have a slightly addictive personality. I do not deny the evidence of my past. I tend to latch on to something which gives me a feeling of euphoria and complete satisfaction. Especially when I am feeling out of control of my environment or circumstances.

For the past 35 years, I have had a secret addiction to 2 things. I’m 75% serious, 10% jovial, 8% bored out of my gourd, 5% looking for my next “fix”, and 2% hungry. It is 6 in the morning and due to the confines of our living quarters, I don’t want to make breakfast at the moment, fearing I might wake someone and thus ruin my hour of alone time. So I quietly click away in the darkness.

This is hard to admit…But here goes. My Addictions include 1. chewing gum and 2.sticking Qtips in my ears.

Chewing gum is my most complex addiction to date. It all began at the tender age of 5 when I locked myself in my granddaddy and grandmothers bathroom. I was a spoiled little girl who refused to come out unless they magically produced a puppy.

I feel so sorry for my grandparents and often wish I could go back to that very day and tell them how sorry I was for my asinine behavior. Thank goodness for my Grandaddies unconditional love. He was able to lure me out of the bathroom with my favorite Bryers Vanilla Bean Ice Cream and a pack of grape Bubblicious Bubble Gum.

It was that very day I discovered my first addiction. I couldn’t get enough of that sweet grape juice flowing freely from the little squishy purple square. I remember sitting in their downstairs bathroom looking out the window watching my granddaddy, the true gentleman farmer, tend to his flower garden. While watching him work, one by one, I annihilated the entire pack of gum in 30 minutes flat. Today, I stay away from Grape Betty. I find the pleasure I derive from grape Bubblicious today isn’t worth the half hour it takes me to tear through the entire package.

Not when there’s Big Red on the market which can last an entire hour and a half. So yes, I have moved from Grape Bubble Gum to Big Red. That’s about as complex as my gum chewing habit gets.

Feeling out of control on Sunday, I folded and bought two packs of Big Red. As I peeled the wrapper off of 3 pieces of gum, I was reminded of the time my mom and I drove the kids to Beach Mtn., NC for a weekend getaway. It was the height of my gum chewing obsession.

Greg knows about it. He just sits and watches me. He’s very accepting. It’s nice.

But just for a moment, I forgot about my mother not being aware of my addiction. Abby and Phoebe were in the backseat and I believe I was pregnant with Cecilia. I was desperate for a pack of Big Red. I zoomed into the parking lot of CVS and slammed on the brakes. “I’ll be right back” I yelled to my mom, running frantically into the store. I returned with 2 bottled waters and two packs of Big Red. One for the drive and one for after the drive.

Before we made our way back onto the highway, I tore open my usual 3 pieces of gum. My mom was busy twisting the cap off her water bottle and luckily for me, wasn’t able to witness the insanity. As usual, I masticated the hell out of those first three pieces. After 15 minutes, I spit out my fat wad and reached for 3 more pieces. My mother, being the natural helper she is, saw me reaching for the gum and said, “Oh here, I can do this for you…you drive.” “CRAP. She’s got the gum” I thought to myself, “Maybe she won’t notice my maniacal need to shove as many pieces in mouth as possible.”

As she handed me a piece I casually asked for a second. She made a face, but unwrapped and handed me another piece. “Should I push it and ask for a 3rd?” I thought. I decided to let it go. But of course, 15 minutes later, when my gum had lost all flavor I was once again jonesing for my next 3…er…2 pieces. I tried to confuse her with a super positive and energetic attitude, “Hey, Mom, would you please hand me 2 more pieces, please?” I quickly turned to the backseat asking Abby and Phoebe to, “Stop screaming” in hopes of thwarting her attention from my ridiculous fanatical gum request to the kids horrible behavior. “Maybe she won’t notice” I rationalized.

Too bad for me, the kids were not screaming at all, but quietly playing with their toys. She was on to me and replied with a concerned, “Angie, this is crazy.”

I immediately felt ashamed, “She’s right…normal people don’t do this…I never want to do this again…I will stop here and now….after these 2 packs because I don’t want that money to go to waste. I will label these next 2 packs of gum, ‘2010 gum chewing final farewell, spring edition’.”

I wanted a toothbrush to wash the taste out of my mouth. With the dull taste of cinnamon lingering, I tried to forget about the way it tantalized my tongue with its sharp peppery sting. I had to be strong for the last 20 miles of our trip.

Almost like a smokers’ withdrawal symptoms I became somewhat irrational and jumpy. The more I tried to “put it out of my mind the more I focused on the pure enjoyment of chewing a ridiculous wad of gum”.

How was I going to get the gum back? Is this going to be a situation where I need to get everyone settled in and escape to the bathroom for an hour so I could chew the entire collection in peace and quiet? She had the gum in her clutches and was full on aware of my need now for sure. Could I somehow divert her attention again? It didn’t work the first time, what made me so sure it would work a second time? How was I going to remedy this situation? I was in a dire straits indeed.

I can’t remember if that weekend became my official, “I don’t do these things anymore” weekend, but suffice it to say it was a very serious situation.

Today, I am proud to say, I have kicked the habit of obsessively chewing gum. occasionally, like Sunday, I fall off my “I don’t do those things anymore” wagon. I splurged on two packs of Big Red and went to town. Otherwise I have managed to steer clear of the juicy goodness.

Sunday was the peak of my negativity…not only did I buy the two packs of gum, I had my way with a cutip. As always, it was a lovely experience.

I’ve had a closet relationship with the Qtip for years. Then in 2012, after the most intense ear ache of my life, I made a decision to put it down. I’m sure, if you are a normal person and don’t shove things in your ear, you might not know that the more you rotate the Qtip in your ear, the better it feels. The orgasmic affect it can have in your ear is mind-blowing.

Now is not the time for you to try it yourself. Don’t start the habit. It’s not worth it. Ok, at the time, it’s worth it. When you first start twirling it around it just feels ok. Then you pass that threshold where your fingers become a little achy and you start to get little tingles on your neck. And then the shiver happens and you feel giddy.

The moment comes and goes so fast and it feels so good…but weeks later when you’re forced to lay down on a heating pad, trying in vain to stop the piercing pain because doctors offices aren’t open on Sunday, your rational side will conclude the few moments of pleasure are just not worth the pain.

I could never figure out why, in my early to mid-thirties I was all of a sudden getting earache. It just goes to show you how aware I am. I was getting earaches because I was shoving the wax further down my ear canal instead of letting it do its natural job. It’s a miracle I didn’t bust an ear drum.

Most likely due to absolute and utter boredom Sunday, I had a moment of weakness. And then came Monday. I hopped back up onto my wagon and made a mental note of why I don’t do those things anymore. I hereby proclaim, I will refrain from purchasing both the gum as well as Qtips.

And this concludes my tale of addiction. Looking forward to busting out of this state Thursday afternoon. I’m sure, once I regain some sanity, I will miss the desert…but right now, we just need to get the bleep out!

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