Jump!!

      If I had the choice to jump into a pile of leaves or pop bubble wrap I would be hard pressed to figure out which activity I would want to do.  Even at the age of 45, I would have to run through the time honored eenie meanie miney mo rhyme to figure out my choice because one would not be it.  In the end, I would have to do both because I truly couldn’t decide.

    Is it any wonder that neither of my children can resist taking a flying leap face first into a big pile of freshly rake leaves?  Or any wonder that neither kid can walk past a sheet of bubble wrap without popping at least one.  Hells bells, I am 45 and I couldn’t resist.  There is no way I could piously stand by, act my age, and admonish my offspring to refrain from jumping into a big inviting pile of leaves or popping every single bubble of the bubble wrap when I am dying to do it myself.  I would be racing them to the pile to jump first and rolling around in the leaves giggling like a lunatic.  I would be the one fighting to be the first to butt bounce on the bubble wrap first.  Yes!!!!  Why? Because it is fun, plain and simple.  It doesn’t cease to be fun because you grow up.  I have never been one to act my age…all pious and proper.  Sorry friends, it just isn’t in me. 

        I will admit with the passage of time a little decorum is impossible to ignore.  After I have had my fun and rolled about in the leaves once or twice, popped the entire bubble wrap, and giggled my happy ass off about it I am quite ready to get on with the task at hand.  I am ready to pick up the leaves, move them to the designated spot, and burn them till there is nothing left.  The same is said for bubble wrapping.  You can’t UN pop a bubble.  Once it is popped, throw it out.  There is no need to pee yourself with glee and keep screaming about it.  It is then time to get on with life.  A time and a place for everything is my motto.

        On the contrary, I have no use for splashing through mud puddles.  Puddles are wet.  Wet equals’ cold, soggy feet and that my friend is not nice.  I have no tolerance for being a dirty slovenly pig wallowing in the mud.  No mud wrestling for this girl.  Yes, I did run in the rain splashing a good amount of mud all over my legs in high school BUT, I was a couple of miles away from the school in a down pour at the time.  What would you do?  Run like hell to get back or take your sweet time?  Either way you were going to be a drenched rat when you got back so you might as well pick up the pace and get back to the school sooner rather than later.

   Under close inspection thanks to NaBloPoMo’s wanting to know, I deduce that I act younger than I appear with the abandon of a child in the body of a 45 year old and am not likely to change anytime in the near future.  In answer to all questions…I got to just jump!

Bubble Wrap

NaBloPoMo asks:

Do you love to pop it or not?

     Can I get a hell yeah from the peanut gallery?  It matters little how old I get, I love to pop bubble wrap.  I honestly can not resist!!  Whether popping by the traditional jumping up and down method or with the more adventurous butt bounce, bubble wrap never gets old!!  There is something about bubble wrap that brings out the kid in me.

      When I still worked I was the acquisitions clerk at the local library. One of my many duties was dealing with sending back the damaged, the duplicates,  the inappropriate, and the extras.  As much of a pain as this could be since I had to contact each individual vendor to discover exactly how and where they wanted their stuff sent, I loved the bubble wrap.  I would throw it on the floor and jump up and down on it, laughing my fool head off, while making all those fun explosive pops.  That is what I call getting paid to have fun!  My co workers would smirk, giggle, and some of the more pious would roll their eyes, but soon they grew used to my antics.

       Once I became a mom you can bet I wasted no time at all educating my kids in the joys of bubble wrap.  On the rare occasions a package would arrive containing bubble wrap we waste little time in ridding it of its magical pops.  Bubble wrap is also a great stress reliever.   There is nothing better at bringing about a case of the giggles than slamming you’re a$$ against a full sheet of bubble wrap.  I wonder if whoever invented bubble wrap realized the level of fun they were unleashing on the world at the time.  As long as there is bubble wrap, I’ll be jumping on it until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

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?

Jumping for Joy

        There are few things in life that make me jump for joy.  Something that makes me want to jump for joy is the sight of my husband’s semi truck heading down the road toward home.  There are probably few wives out there that feel unbridled joy at the sight of their husbands especially if the new has worn off their marriage and the honeymoon is effectively over.   I hardly ever see mine, so when I do it is usually a long anticipated treat.  By the time he arrives, not only am I jumping for joy, I am more than ready to jump him.  Even after all these years I am still thrilled to have him home and still happy for the pleasure of his company.  

         If I walked out to the mailbox and actually discovered money instead of bills to pay, that would be a big reason to celebrate.  I have as much chance of finding a windfall in the mailbox as I do catching a fart in the wind with both hands and bottling it.    The shock of finding any real money might just be the end of me but you can bet I would be jumping for joy and may even attempt a cartwheel before falling flat on my a$$ in the front yard.  If the fall didn’t kill me, I would spend the next several minutes laughing my fool head off.

         When you are a kid, it doesn’t take much to make you jump for joy.  Hell, hotdogs for lunch could do it.  Kids are able to grasp joy a lot quicker than adults.  By the time you grow up you stop appreciating the simple pleasures in life like you once did.  You quit jumping for joy.  Stupid things that would have sent you into rapture as a kid like a double scoop of rocky road ice cream in a sugar cone on a hot day barely warrants a half smile and mumbled thank you as you age.  Seeing a sprinkler making its rotations makes most kids giddy, and they go completely ape $hit at the mere sight of bubbles.   They run around with silly smiles on their faces jumping up and down with joy in the attempt to catch them before they burst.  Forget that example, I am 44 and I still do that.

          The worse thing is that people expect the joy to evaporate as they get older.  Why is it that after a certain age you are not expected to feel or show unbridled pleasure?  People honestly look at you like you are three steps away from a strait jacket and the loony bin if you jump up and down in anticipation of a foot long ham and turkey sub from Subway with all the trimmings.  I have done it, and people laughed a little uncomfortably and started passing out some pretty crazy looks.  They don’t know whether to let it slide or run away.  Happiness and sheer joy tends to scare the living hell out of people.  To me, that is just SAD.  Fortunately, I was too happy at the thought of devouring said sandwich to care.   Where is it written that after you reach a certain age you have to act all pious and dignified?  

         I would much rather see people giggling and jumping up and down with sheer joy than crying or yelling obscenities at one another, or worse standing around looking as if they have a broom stuck up their a$$es and a piece of lemon in their mouths.  I would be more scared of the people intent on killing each other than someone so obviously happy they can’t control themselves.  Why not express our joy with the abandon of a child?  Why not be happy and laugh? Is that so terrible?  

          Some would argue as a person ages, the old grey mare isn’t what she used to be so why jump?  My back aches, my head hurts, my brain is tired, and I am just plain weary, so why jump?  I may just fall and break something important!!  I can’t!  I might break my a$$!  What would people think?  What would they say?  You don’t have to do twenty G0d awful jumping jacks, just a quick couple leaps into the air or prance around the yard like a fanciful unicorn or leap about like a pixie.  Jump for joy for the sake of it, if you can catch your breath, you might just laugh yourself silly until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

What I Jumped Into!

NaBloPoMo asks today:

What is something you recently jumped into?

BED!

      For the record, I jumped out this morning.  Next on the agenda is the swimming pool until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker's wife.

Jump into Vacation!

NaBloPoMo asks:

What is something you would like to jump into if you had more time and or money?

     For me, a person who hasn’t experienced a true vacation since my honeymoon almost 15 years ago, I would like to jump into the car and go on vacation with my husband and my kids.  I have never flown before, so I am a little hesitant to jump onto an airplane, but if money was really no object I would be all for doing that too!


     Where would I go?  There are so many places I would love to go and see that it would be hard to figure out where I would like to start.  I would love to go to all the Disney theme parks in Florida and experience The Wizarding World of Harry Potter.  I am not big on rides but know that these particular places have lots to offer the whole family.  I would love to jump into the ocean and ride the surf up to the beach.  Any beach and ocean would do.  The only ocean I have ever seen or swam in is the Atlantic, and I would love to again.

        If time and money weren’t an issue I would love to fly to England and explore the castles and the picturesque landscapes that I have only seen in pictures.  I would go to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower for myself, and to Venice to ride in a gondola under the Bridge of Sighs at least once.

     I would love to explore the caves of Kentucky, the lakes of Michigan, and the mountains of the west.  I would love to go to Washington DC and immerse myself in the history I would find there.  I guess if you get right down to it, the main answer to this question is if I had more time with my husband and kids and more money I would be jumping into a mode of transportation and going somewhere, anywhere, and seeing the world until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Starting New Projects

NaBloPoMo asks

"How do you feel about starting new projects?"

     There is a certain glimmer of anticipation and excitement when you start something new.  Maybe even a small shred of fear.  To me the unknown is always daunting.  I will worry myself so much that I will end up with diarrhea or pea green around the gills clutching the edge of a porcelain toilet bowl for all it is worth.  A new job, a new class, new people, a new schedule can all be terrifying as hell.  Questions bombard my brain.  Will they like me?  Will I find my way?  Will I do well?  Can I handle it?  Once I have tried whatever is new, I am fine.  I quickly adapt, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t hyperventilate and get a healthy case of the $hits first.

      At least now that I am older I can put on the cool mask of confidence no matter how much I am literally freaking out inside.  That was not the case when I was younger.  My terror was for all to see.  Coupled with the tendency to worry what others thought of me, I used to work myself into a real tailspin.  I have been really lucky in life that these days I have few reasons to get worked up about.  Life rolls along.  I still hyperventilate about certain things but not to the extreme that I did when I was younger.  I think that is because I really don’t have a choice now.  I have to handle it.  If I don’t there is no one else that will.  Like the time I woke up and found the hallway flooded with water.  Did I panic?  Hell yes I did.  It turns out the hot water heater had sprung a leak and blew a gusher.  I quickly assessed the situation and rushed to put every towel I owned down on the carpet in an effort to sop up the wet.  I called someone who specializes in replacing hot water heaters to price such things and went with the lowest quote.  Life went on only after I hyperventilated and blew a gasket first.

       At this point, I am pretty used to writing and whipping out a blog when needed.  When I first started writing I wasn’t sure I could do it.  I was afraid the company that had contracted me to write for them wouldn’t like what I wrote.  I wrote and revised certain that I was no writer and completely unsure I could even write well enough.  I handled it, and they loved it, and I got paid.  The crisis passed and eventually I finally got a shred of confidence in my ability to write.  Something weird happened along the way.  Not only did I realize that I like to write, I finally let all the favorable comments I had been getting sink into my thick skull and realized I do a fair job at it.

       Sometimes it is just plain scary to have the balls to go out and grab the brass ring and try something new.  If you don’t shoot a little excitement into life every now and again though, life wouldn’t be near as interesting.  Sometimes you just have to take the plunge and sign on for a new project.  Am I the type of person to rush to the front of the line and try something new? No, I will stand back and watch everyone else, and then when I am sure that I won’t make to much of a complete a$$ of myself I will give whatever it is the ole college try rushing ahead with determination like a bull with a hard on.  What can I say?  I like the same ole, same ole better than mixing up the works until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Jump!!

NaBloPoMo asks today…

What is the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear the word jump?

     The very first thing that pops in my head when I hear the word jump is the classic 1984 hit performed by Van Halen.  What can I say; I am a kid of the 1980’s.  Almost simultaneously I think about the fact that I would rather not jump, thank you very much.  You won’t catch this lady jumping out of any airplanes or off of any tall buildings anytime in the near future.  I like my limbs the way they are all in one piece and heights tend to scare the living be Je$us out of me in general.

  

       In fact, you won’t find me jumping period.  I am no longer 18 and in shape.   Jumping requires more exertion than I care to do at this point in my life. Jumping equals sweating, which equals gasping for breath, which inevitably results in feeling as if death may soon over take me.  Excuse me while I toss my cookies in the corner.  Whenever I get ambitious and decide to work out, you can bet I am groaning and doing the modified version whenever Bob Harper of the Biggest Loser decides that jumping jacks are the next thing on the agenda.  I know  if I attempt them, I will be dying after about 3. I absolutely hate jumping jacks.  They honestly should be outlawed. 


    

       Jumping is for ladies whose b00bs haven’t already started heading south, or those who have had implants whose b00bs don’t move at all.  That leaves me out .   Jumping is for the physically fit and ambitious, which also leaves me out.   I never could jump a rope to save my life, and you can bet your bottom dollar I won’t be jumping anytime in the near future until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.