Sweet Relief

      Two best friends contemplate the pregnancy kit with trepidation, carefully reading the instructions.   A positive result will change everything.  No college, no life, no man, reputation ruined, no future…oh God! 

     Seconds tick, sweat forms, breaths held.  Judgment comes:  sighs, tears, sweet relief.  

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Fly!

     She nodded acknowledgement as I took my seat.  Momentarily, the sign flashed.  The engines fired. She tightened her seat belt. 

     “Oh Jesus!!” she prayed.

     Unleashing her death grip on the arm rest, she frantically grabbed a vomit bag as the airplane ascended. 

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Clap Haiku

A clap of thunder

Hiding under the covers

Applause rainbows seen

The Jump or the Landing?

NaBloPoMo asks:

Is it the jump you worry about most or the landing?

     I think it is an even tie for me.  I am petrified to jump and terrified of the final splat when I fall flat on my face.  The overlying fear of failure kills any form of ambition I may muster.  Do you suppose that sky divers and bungee jumpers worry about the landing?  Imagine if one little thing goes wrong perhaps the parachute doesn’t open as planned or the bungee cord snaps you can guarantee you will end up road kill in the end.  I avoid either situation by being too chicken $hit to even contemplate trying either.  I don’t care how life gets I don’t care to sign up to scare the living be Je$us out of myself with the jump or the landing in either case.  Knowing myself as I do, I would be too petrified to jump and would need to be pushed.  The decision to jump would have to be taken out of my hands.

     Several years ago I was petrified to leave the home my husband and I had lived in for over 11 years.  I didn’t know how it was going to be. I feared the unknown and unfamiliar.   I agonized over the transition.  What I discovered was that the more of our stuff we moved into the new house, the more it was situated just the way we liked, and the more of our possessions were put away, the more our new house felt like home.  I worried about the jump and the landing.  In the end, I adjusted and realized it isn’t where you lay your head; home is where your family is, and where your stuff is.  The rest is just geography.

       Even when I was a kid contemplating the diving board of my Aunt’s pool, I was terrified to jump and even more petrified of the landing especially if I attempted to dive.  If I had to think about it, I would never do it.  If I could take a running jump where I had little time to think, all was better with the landing.  I knew how to swim well enough that I wouldn’t have drowned but still there was that underlying fear that made me hesitate.

       Maybe the fear I have carried around with me all my life like used baggage has more to do with the lack of confidence I suffer from more than my ability to jump or worrying about how my landing will be.  I have always lacked confidence in my ability.  I would work myself into a real frenzy certain I would fail only to succeed with flying colors in the end.  I wish I didn’t fear the plunge.  I wish I wouldn’t worry about my potential to fail.  I wish I could just have the balls to jump, enjoy the ride, and never worry about the landing.  Unfortunately I have never been able to muster enough confidence from deep within to be overly convincing even to myself.  Money talks, and bull$hit walks my mom always used to say.  Even though bull$hit can get you pretty far if you are a master, in the end it is having the guts to jump and not care about the landing that rules the day.

        I will probably go through my whole life worrying about both equally no matter how hard I try to appear unaffected and maintain my cool. Worrying is in my genetic makeup. My Grandma was a master of worry.  No matter how many times I remind myself that I need to give my worries to the L0rd, I still have those moments of pure panic.  If only I could be fearless!   Instead I worry myself sick and have to be dragged kicking and screaming, paralyzed in my fear to take the plunge until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Bungee Jumping

NaBloPoMo asks:

Would you ever go bungee jumping?

       I don’t even have to think about this one.  Hell no, I would never go bungee jumping even if someone paid me.  Whose brilliant idea was it to bungee jump anyways?  What kind of a fool pays big money to be attached to a bit of elastic and then catapulted off of a bridge or high building to dangle and bounce?  Obviously the answer would be the kind of folks desperate to appear cool that are thrill seekers looking for a rush.  

       I would never pay money to $hit my pants, possibly have a heart attack, and at the least scare the living be Je$us out of myself in front of an audience of people.  With my luck the bungee cord would break and I would end up a huge splat looking much like road kill.  No thank you, I believe I will pass.  I may be a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket but I reckon to bungee jump you would have to be a stellar resident at the funny farm.  Besides I speak fluent chicken when it comes to anything like bungee jumping, riding roller coasters , or any other insane scheme that could involve certain death.  More power to the daring few that take their lives in their hands.  I will never be one of you until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

    What about you?  Feel like riding the lightning, tasting the thrill, and plummeting several hundred feet for the hell of it? Would you go bungee jumping?

Y is for Yell in the Night

      Is there anything more terrifying than the unknown?  Let me rephrase that.  Is there anything more terrifying than having your child hurt and taking a rapid turn for the worse?  Tonight I think NOT.   One question before I get started, why am I always ALONE when $hit happens?  The answer is because my husband is a truck driver and is on the road.  Let us rewind and reverse and bring you up to speed.   
       
       

       My nightmare started Thursday afternoon with a phone call from the nurse at my son’s school.  It was unexpected.  Things like this usually are.  You can’t prepare yourself.  You simply have to live through it and pray for strength to persevere. My son had taken a nasty fall plummeting to the ground from the top of the tallest slide.  He WHAT??  The nurse relayed that he had been in her office for almost an hour.  She had been applying ice to his head, checked his ear for bleeding, but thought I needed to come immediately.  I gave a primal yell of fear, and with tears in my eyes I raced to the school to find my son lethargic unsure what happened.

        Fear drove me to pick up my daughter from her school and race to the local hospital’s emergency room.  My horror turned to anger as I was faced with a nurse practitioner instead of a physician who told me that I shouldn’t have brought him.  Give him Motrin, ice his head, and go home.  She was rude.  She ordered no tests.  Not knowing what else to do, I took my son home and continued to minister to him myself.  He was dizzy, nauseated, and not himself.  He took a nose dive and tripped over a bean bag chair sending him sprawling face first on the floor.  Once again I rushed for ice.  My poor baby needs to slow down!!

        By the next day, he woke up in pain.  His ear hurt.  His head hurt.  His legs hurt.  He felt sick to his tummy.  Needless to say I kept him home from school.  Progressively he has gotten worse.  I kept giving him Motrin to alleviate the pain.  He almost seemed back to himself.  He fell asleep beside me.  I had to keep my baby close. "Please dear Je$u$ hold and protect my baby!" I beg through my tears.

      In the night he yelled.  I awoke to discover him burning up with fever screaming, crying that his head hurt.  He felt like he was going to throw up. Oh no!! Get the bowl.  “It won’t come out!!” he wailed.  I soothed him with a wet wash rag and gave him more Motrin.  My fear had elevated to a fever pitch.  Panicked I called my doctor at home.  He listened to me pour out my woes.  Give him sips of water and no food.  No problem there, he hasn’t had an appetite since the accident.  I was advised to bring him to his office through the emergency entrance.  The doctor thinks an infection has formed at the site of his injury.  My brain struggled to grasp everything the doctor told me.  He needs antibiotics.  Oh my!!  I calm my baby the best I can and wait.  Finally he sleeps, but I can’t.  Worry drives me on.

         At this dark hour, a poem my Dad insisted on teaching me from little on up comes into my head and it is like him reaching out to me in my darkest hour.

              The night was dark

              The sky was blue

               Around the corner the $hit wagon flew

               There was a scream 

               A yell was heard

                A man got killed by a flying turd.

Somehow those words seem oddly appropriate right now.  Is it odd in the face of my fear I am waxing poetic in the light before the dawn?  The $hit has certainly been flying around here at horrific wind speeds.  Screams and yells were definitely heard and I definitely feel like I have been hit proving I am a few sandwiches short of a picnic and almost ready for the funny farm until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

When There is No Alternative

      I want to tell you that I am the biggest scaredy cat that ever lived when it comes to scary rides.  When I was a little girl my Dad kept baiting me all day asking if I wanted to ride the roller coaster.   Hell, I thought he was going to feed me roller coasters were some form of pasta made by Chef Boyardee.  I didn’t know!!  I was little!!  When you are a little kid pasta from a can is pure ambrosia.  Then you get older and figure out what good food really tastes like!!


      

       Finally the time came for me to ride the big rollercoaster at the state fair.  I was a little worried as the coaster made its climb to the top.  When I seen the steep drop I almost peed my pants!!  I screamed my fool head off from that moment on.  It scared the living be Je$u$ out of me.  I swore that I would never get on a roller coaster again.

       Before I married my husband we decided to go to Cedar Point.  I had never been to Cedar Point before and looked forward to it.  I discovered that Cedar Point had plenty of rides other than the roller coasters they were famous for.  Having a grand ole time I allowed my husband to be to lead me into another line.  I remember innocently asking what the ride was like that we were waiting for.  He told me it was a peaceful ride though a space age terrain where friendly aliens waved happily at you while you passed.  I had been to Disney World and honestly I had visions of the classic “It’s a Small World” ride.  I didn’t think a thing about the fact that the line we were waiting in was so long.  It never occurred to me to wonder about the teenagers eagerly waiting in line with us.  Even when we approached the ride itself and climbed in, I still had no clue what I was in for.

        All of a sudden the restraints came down across my chest locking me in.  The ride began its slow ascent upward into pitch blackness.  Finally reality started to dawn on me.  Panicked I looked at the love of my life and asked “This isn’t a rollercoaster is it??”  Before he could answer the car I was riding in plummeted quickly into the abyss.  I screamed and screamed.  The ride sped faster down and round finally coming to a stop.  I almost seen G0d and $hit my pants.

        When we were finally free of the roller coaster and in the sunshine I completely lost my mind.  “That was a roller coaster!!!  That was a roller coaster!!!”  I hit him in the stomach as hard as I could.  With him doubled over holding his gut I continued to rant, rave, and carry on.  He was in the worst kind of trouble!!  When it comes to rides I will never trust what my husband says about them again.  I will always be forever wary.  

        On the upside, for the rest of the day I got a lot more adventurous.   After all I had rode a roller coaster and lived to tell the tale, so maybe I could brave another scary ride!!  The folks at NaBloPoMo were interested about when it would be good to have no alternative.  If you ever want to get me on a scary ride, it is better to give me no other alternative because if I know about it you will never get me on it!!  The only downside is that something like that only works once on me because after that I know better until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

The Interview

       I have been a stay at home mom for almost 12 years.  During that time period I have fought the demons that have haunted me over the years about attempting to return to work.  How would I ever find a job?  What would I put on a resume after all this time out of the workforce?  What would I use for money to hire a babysitter??  I took the ideal option and stayed home with my kids vowing I would return to work when they went to school.  What holds me from going back to work?  It is fear with a capital F, plain and simple. Fear of rejection, and fear of the unknown.


      Despite the fact that someone noticed me enough to want to meet me in person, my confidence level plummets.  I have always hated the interview process.  I can just imagine the anxiety going up about 10 notches.  What would I say??? Panic would grip my heart! Dear G0d, what would I wear??  I have a great wardrobe for a stay at home mom who writes in her pajamas, but it isn’t that appealing for the working world outside my front door.

        Assuming someone would call me in for an interview I can just imagine how the events would unfold.  First I would be overjoyed that I was being considered and being given a chance.  Then reality would begin to set in.  I would begin to panic as I threw first one outfit then another out of the chaotic hell hole that is my closet. Oh woe is me!!  I would try on several different ensembles in front of my curious assembled menagerie of pets.  “Oh hell no, this is so 11 years ago!!”  “Oh $hit!  I look like an elephant in this!” The panic would escalate as I burrowed deeper into the recesses of the closet.   After repeated exclamations and dismissals I would be left with maybe only one outfit that might do.  I find one black shoe, and then another.  I wonder what the hell I wore when I did work. I don’t honestly remember!!  A quick trip to buy the one thing I would never wear otherwise, pantyhose, and I would be set.

      The day of the interview dawns entirely too early considering I tossed and turned all night and was plagued with a nervous bout of diarrhea every half hour throughout the entire night.  At least they can’t accuse me of being full of $hit.   As I look into the one mirror that came with the house I realize I look as if I had been through the wars.  I scrub my face and search the bathroom for the discarded makeup from yesteryear. Let’s face it; there is no earthly reason to wear it when you never go anywhere.  I slap on some rouge and lipstick and realize that I look like a cheap wh0re who is trying entirely too hard. Oh L0rd!  After scrubbing my face until it is bright pink, I go for the less is more theory.

        Finally I am on my way!!  I arrive early, announce myself to the receptionist, and settle into the farthest chair possible to wait. My palms are hot and sweaty.  My knees are knocking so hard I am sure the efficient little receptionist can hear it clear across the room where she sits staring at a computer. I begin praying and making deals with G0d if He would just help me get the job.  If he would just let me survive this ordeal in one piece!!  Why am I here again, think, think, think??  Do I really want to go back to work?? My brain is a jumble as I wait. The money sure would be welcome my brain tells me.  I hate this!! Why am I here, again??? I want a job. I want to make money again.  The door opens. They will see me now. Oh $hit…here I go!

         All of a sudden I am hit with the question I have dreaded most. “So, what have you been doing in the past 11 years?” The interviewer’s eyes bore into my very soul.  I sit up a little straighter.  “Aside from wiping noses and a$$es you mean?  Did I just say that out loud?”  By the look of the interviewers face, I must have.  The interviewer’s expression is priceless.  I bite my tongue trying hard to contain myself. Tears form in my eyes. I can’t take it anymore.  The fury is unleashed!  The giggles spew forth.  The interviewer looks shocked, smirks, and then discovers the giggles are contagious.  The truth is out.  You can’t UN ring a bell.  I apologize profusely, and thank the interviewer for their time.  In my embarrassment I make a hasty retreat. 


        

       I wake up hyperventilating, drenched in sweat and realize it is only 3 am.  Shaking I comprehend my interview is scheduled for 10 in the morning. OH NO! It is back to the bathroom again until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.