Tales of a polyester shirt

When it comes to clothing, I'm usually a "function > fashion" type of mentality, but every now and then, I splurge on something fun and fashionable. I've been trying out Stitch Fix for a while now, and love some of the things they send that are outside of my normal comfort zone.  I recently purchased a cute polyester top for summer.  It has lace detailing I love, is in a beautiful shade of green, and fits perfectly.  I waited patiently for a day warm enough to wear it, and on Tuesday it happened!

I was preparing for a fun day with the kids.  I was picking up my niece and nephew, then taking them along with my two girls to Jump for Fun, which is a bounce house place.  Then we planned to eat lunch, run some errands, get manicures at Sharky's, and attend a class at the Botanic Garden.  My wonderful husband offered to stay home with the baby while we did this. (My husband is extra awesome because he can watch the baby while working from home.  My baby is awesome because he basically sleeps all day.)  My hopes of showering and styling my hair were foiled, but I did my makeup, and donned the shirt. I would be lying if I said I didn't get a rush of excitement from feeling so 'normal' by wearing a 'real shirt' for a change.

I was late getting out of the house due to my primping, and yes, being late in the morning is pretty unusual for me, but that's ok.  After retrieving the children, I pulled into Starbucks for a morning treat (very unusual!), but aborted the mission when I realized I'd left my gift card at home.  I turned it into a lesson for the kids on being responsible (aka Mommy was not responsible enough to bring money, so Mommy has no treat).  My 4 year-old told me to try again next time.

The bounce houses went well.  I sat on a bench and watched the kids jump.  I chatted with other moms.  I felt proud of my shirt.  I even got a compliment on it!

When we came home for lunch, well. . . I picked up the baby, served food to the kids, and then noticed a small spot on the shirt.  I went to my closet, changed into another shirt, and realized that my new shirt said DRY CLEAN.  Some quick internet research revealed that "dry clean" and "dry clean only" are different.  The former is a recommendation; the latter a command.  I very carefully washed out the spot with Dawn, then hung the shirt outside to dry in the sun.

I went back outside to find the shirt on the ground with oily fingerprints all over it.  I washed it in the sink with more Dawn, discussed in detail with a certain 3 year-old not to touch the shirt, and re-hung it.  When I returned, it looked fabulous!

I put it back on and started getting ready to leave.  I fed the baby a bottle, and picked him up to burp.  He immediately spit up (for like the 3rd time ever in his life!) and it ran down the back of the shirt.

I put the baby down, washed the shirt, hung the shirt to dry, admonished the toddler, and hoped for the best.  I didn't even bother changing shirts this time.  So wearing only a bra, I put the baby down for a nap, packed our stuff, and told the kids to get ready to go.  Luckily I remembered the shirt before getting in the car.  I left for the afternoon wearing a slightly damp shirt with a faint baby-ish odor that still looked amazing.

I later began to lament the "I remember why I can't have nice things" logic, when it dawned on me:  I have something much better than a fancy shirt.
Six things actually:
1. a wonderful husband who takes care of my every need
2. a beautiful daughter who is sweet, insightful, and helpful
3. another daughter, who is funny and loving
4. a charming niece who is kind and creative
5. an active, athletic, and cuddly nephew
6. and an adorable baby with an infectious laugh

So in conclusion, there's nothing wrong with having an awesome shirt, but making the shirt the focus of the day was an utter failure.  I'm sure I'll wear the shirt again, but the oily fingerprints will serve as a reminder to me that we are defined not by what we wear, but by what we love.

Bath Thoughts

Things that actually happened while bathing my children last night:

1. I uttered the sentence, "Is that poop or acorns?"
Yes, both of those are realistic possibilities for things that might be found in a bathtub with 3 children.  More accurately, those are in fact things I might see coming out of the large cup of water one child just poured over another child's head.

2. I washed the same child's hair 3 times.
No, it was not that dirty.  I simply forgot which child I had washed.  Then I did it again.  Sometimes a mommy brain just shorts out.

3. A bottle of conditioner had a conversation with a 4 year-old.
I might have been behind the shower curtain using a really deep voice to pretend to be conditioner talking, but that bottle of conditioner stole the show.  He tried to make a mess on the walls, floor, arms, feet, etc, until my daughter showed him that he went on her hair, and even then he protested.  Glad she finally won!

4. I fell asleep on the rug in the bathroom floor.
It was only for a second because as soon as I 'fell asleep' I was tackled by a soggy toddler who suddenly had a really good reason to get out of the bath.  Good thing she got out or I might have slept there all night.  Note: pretending to fall asleep is dangerous - it's far too easy to cross the line into actually being asleep.

5. It was acorns.

Thank you Robert Sanderson!

Before reading this post, please take the following quiz.
Quiz

So, how did you do?

I got 74 on my first try.  Without even knowing what the quiz was about.  Yes, I can still spell Botswana and Azerbaijan from memory.  I also know that Montevideo is the capital of Uruguay and that Georgia is the "Peach State."

A trip down memory lane . . .
When I was in 5th and 6th grades I had a history teacher named Robert Sanderson.  He was from England and had attended a prestigious boys boarding school.  One time he told us a story about setting a golf ball on fire and it bouncing around his chemistry lab.  He was the toughest teacher I had ever encountered at that point in my life.  He graded hard, had ridiculously high expectations, and didn't accept excuses.  He called me "postage stamp" because of my tiny handwriting.  (His requirement that our 'current event assignments' be a page long motivated me to purchase a small notebook so that my pages would not be as large.  I think I still had to write more than most of the other kids, so he allowed it.  I was surprised that he let me slide on that one.)  Anyway, he was an amazing teacher.

Rwanda is north of Burundi because my grandma Wanda runs down to South Africa.

On our report cards both History and Geography were listed.  For History we received a grade for history class, and a mark for conduct.  Since it was the same class, somehow Geography and Geography Spelling appeared on the report card.  Now spelling wasn't really my thing . . . and spelling geographically was even less my thing.  I received my first ever C+ on a report card for Geography Spelling.  While I ranted that it wasn't a real grade, it hurt.  It hurt enough that I studied my buns off . . . and learned to spell the names of all the countries of the world.

Bolivia is in the middle of South America because it is located in the bottom of the "bowl."

At the time learning names of countries, their locations, capitals, etc. seemed somewhat useful in life - maybe, someday.  (At that age I also had no idea that the names of countries could change due to things like civil wars and revolutions.  I thought that Czechoslovakia would be there forever.)  While on some level I accepted that being an 'educated, well-rounded person' involved learning a lot of random facts that may or may not ever prove useful, I was also a twelve-year-old who didn't want to memorize a bunch of stuff.  Luckily for me, I was a motivated twelve-year-old who cared both about grades and about parental approval of said grades.

Austria is Hungary for Turkey.

Now, as an adult, I could probably count on one hand the number of times that this knowledge has been actually useful, and most of them have been while playing Trivial Pursuit or trying to win a pointless argument.  In fact, until my sister pulled up this quiz on my computer, I don't think I have thought about Mozambique or Tanzania ever.

Madagascar.  I'm 'mad' to be out of 'gas' in the 'car.'

Looking back, I can now see that learning the names of those countries was in a sense just a pointless memorization exercise.  The value was not in the content itself, but in the experience of learning it.  I was learning how to learn.  The what was just a vehicle.  In fact much (most?) of what we learn in school is really the how.  As time passes the what changes.  New scientific discoveries are made (there are atomic particles smaller than electrons?!), countries come and go (what happened to Zaire?), and new ways to do things are charted (my husband discovered a new method to find the potential function of a conservative vector field in Calculus 3).

Guacamole is very similar to Guatemala. In shape and in spelling.

As time passes, the world grows, evolves, and shrinks. There is so much more knowledge overall,  much of it disproves earlier theories, and it is all so accessible - from anywhere.  Those who know only facts will find themselves left behind if they do not also continue to change.  Learning how to learn is a tool that allows for personal evolution in a changing global environment.

So thank you Robert Sanderson, and all of my other amazing teachers - especially the really hard ones - for giving me the biggest advantage in life: the ability to never stop learning.

Another fun Mr. Sanderson story: One time in 5th grade he assigned us to read a chapter in our American history textbooks.  I read 3 of the 4 sections.  We had a quiz the next day, and I missed a question over the section I did not read.  This particular question dealt with Robert Fulton, the inventor of the steamboat.  My last name at the time was Fulton.  He asked me about it in front of the class.  I (stupidly) also said that my dad's name is Robert Fulton.  He never let me forget that mistake; I will also never forget who invented the steamboat.  The next year, he called me out of my math class in the room next door to come in and relive this mistake for another group of 5th graders.  I will NEVER forget that Robert Fulton invented the steamboat - ever!


P.S. If anyone by some random chance knows Robert Sanderson, who taught at The Oakridge School in Arlington, TX in 1992-1994, please pass along my thanks to him!

By His Side

We've been married for 5 years.  FIVE YEARS! I'd say 5 long years, but really, they have flown by so fast that if he hadn't reminded me, I wouldn't have known it was that long.


We met playing World of Warcraft online.  (If you are not familiar, it's a massively multiplayer online role-playing game, or MMORPG.)  I was the leader of a large, competitive raiding guild.  He was a player looking for a new guild home.  Three years of playing together later, he was the Raid Leader (a very prestigious role) in the guild and we worked together to run the group, along with the help of some exceptional officers (Penimus). I attended an unrelated conference in his city . . . and he asked me on a date.  He ended up moving to Texas to be with me.  We took a 3 week tour to drive around the country and stay with many of our raiders (Blizzazed). He proposed at Blizzcon in 2010 in front of some of our raiders (Paz).

Then, we retired from WoW and settled down to start a family.  Those were some good years in terms of our lives - we had 2 kids, bought a beautiful home, he found a great job and started working on a degree, etc.  But they were some tough years in terms of our relationship with each other.  The strains of daily life, kids, mortgage payments, college, etc. took their toll.  We drifted apart even while living together.  We shared common goals and both strove to meet them.  We both did our parts to make life work, but it was work.  Somehow, we lost the 'spark.'

Two years ago, some of Brian's friends invited us to play Magic: the gathering, a trading card game.  Brian took to it immediately and before long was attending (and winning) tournaments.  I was a bit slower to come around.  I tried to be supportive, but I think I only succeeded in being mildly resentful, and jealous.  He went to play every Friday night, and some weekend days too, leaving me alone.  It wouldn't have been as bad, but with work and school I barely saw him anyway.  I began to hate the game.

One day Brian and I talked.  More accurately, he called me out.  He reminded me that we met playing a game.  He was a gamer when I met him, and so was I.  He proposed at a gaming conference. Many of our best memories were from our gaming days.  Wow! (ok, pun intended)  That hit me pretty hard.  He was right.  And I changed.  I stopped giving him a hard time about playing and became much more supportive.

One Friday night, I went to watch him play.  It was fun.  Enough fun that I gave the game another try.  It still took almost a year of intermittent play for me to come around, but last May I played in a huge competitive tournament with him in Las Vegas, and my spark ignited.  After that trip I couldn't wait to play again.  The passion for the game began to consume me as I learned the rules, tried new decks, and attended every Friday night that I could get a babysitter. Now don't get me wrong, there were frustrations: complicated rules, lack of babysitting, expensive entry fees, and I am still not allowed in the group chat due to my gender.  But overall, the good outweighed the bad, and excepting the time I took off when our third child was born, I've played weekly since.

Which brings us to our 5 year anniversary, and our anniversary trip - to a Magic Grand Prix of course!  My wonderful mother agreed to keep all 3 kids for the weekend, so we entered the tournament.  We decided to cut costs by joining forces with some friends, so we and 3 guys rode together and shared a room.  Now if you are imagining a 4 hour car ride filled with beef jerky and fart jokes, you're right on the money. We piled into a decent sized hotel room where Brian and I were able to pay extra for the "bed spots" and all dumped our bags to head for the convention center.  After playing Magic until 9pm, we headed out for our anniversary dinner. I had originally hoped for sushi, but by that late was dying for pizza.  Brian managed to find a fantastic local dive-y place 12 blocks from the hotel, so after a brisk hike, we squished into this hole-in-the-wall and managed to order some food.  It was well worth it as the pizza was amazing!  And yes, for my anniversary dinner, I ordered pizza and beers and served them to table full of guys.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Saturday and Sunday we played a lot of Magic, and I overheard a lot of guys talking about their wives being mad at them for playing, or discussing what they had to do to get their wives to let them come.  It made me sad that these men had to beg, bribe, or sneak to enjoy a hobby.  Saturday night we piled into a too small Uber for a night of fajitas and margaritas, and had a blast.  Sunday morning came early, but we all survived the day.  As I drove home that night, with a carload of sleeping guys, it hit me . . . when we are gaming together we are sharing a passion, not just a purpose.

I'm so lucky to be married to a man that not only invites me to join him, but encourages me to pursue my own interests as well.  As with WoW, we each play our own way and do our own thing, but sometimes a mid-round shoulder rub, or holding hands in the registration line is a nice bonus too! So after some trial and error and a 3 year gaming drought, I realized that I where I most want to be is playing by his side.