I'm too young to feel this old

This week I was scheduled to drop slides at work.  It's something I like to do, and we get to speak pretty freely in there as there are only a few people in the room, and there is a bit of down time as you wait for your slides to dry before you can look at them.

I was working with two guys, one about my age (but younger), the other about oh, 29 or so.   They are quite brash, but they don't bother me.  It takes a lot more than boys being boys to scare me off. 

While we are doing this, we listen to music on the internet as it helps break up the monotony.   The DJ duties usually fall to one of the guys (they brought the speakers, it's a fair trade).  

Anyway.

We have some new trainees working now, and as my field is predominantly women, there are some who happen to be quite cute girls, ink barely dry on their college degrees.

The other day, one of the quite cute girls was in there with us.  I had changed seats earlier that day, so I was across from one of the guys and she was next to him, and the other guy was behind guy #1.  Still with me?

We're working along, and I'm amused, watching a mating dance that I've seen since jr high unfold.  I'm ignored, aside from a comment or two, of course, that is the natural order of things.  I am married.   With children.  Not on the radar for their purposes.  Which is fine.  Sorta. Sorta not, let's be honest.

It's all banter, banter, giggle, volleyball in high school, giggle, giggle, softball, giggle, intermural college team, giggle,(I think I'm nauseous); "Really?  Didn't you use kneepads?" guy #2 asks  (I can't believe she made any mention of her knees, in a room with these hounds) giggle, giggle, fucking giggle, (no, I'm not bitter), giggle. 

A song comes on, and one of the boys jokes, "I bet you weren't even a romantic dinner when this came out."   (eyeroll)

The song plays for a bit, and she recognizes the artist.  At that moment, guy #2 says, "This came out in 1987."

And she says, and SHE SAYS:  "I was FOUR when that song came out."  Giggle.

kill kill kill kill caw caw caw caw kill kill kill kill caw caw caw caw

Oh, someone shoot me in the forehead with some botox now, I can't take it anymore.  I'm sure there is some in my purse.  Next to my Geritol and Prep H.

I rolled up my sleeves, walked around the corner, and smashed her head right into the table.

(I didn't really, but thinking it, writing it, was really satisfying.)

Don't they know women only get better as they age?  That older women know what they want, and are more...direct?  No appetizer needed, we'll take a big bite out of the main course.  We're fabulous.  We're hot.  I could run circles around my 24 year old self, life experience wise, all kinds of experience wise, and not even bat an eyelash.  Most of the women I know...ah, it's useless.

Some things are wasted on the young. 

It's the natural order of things.  Boys will be boys and all that.

Luckily, there are still pockets of a few good men.  I hear one snoring right up the hall. 

Giggle.

There's a reason only teenagers should text

I was at work today, and I decided I'd send Mr W a text while I had minute.

It was, admittedly, on the racy side.  It wasn't pornographic, just in the "I'm gonna get you later" vein.  I do that from time to time, so he knows I'm thinking of him; so that he'll think of me and the suggestion that I sent him.

It's not a big deal, just fun.

A little anticipation never hurt anyone.

We engaged in a little saucy banter, and I went on with my work.

A couple of hours later, I had a minute again and I sent him another message.  It was in reference to what we'd been "talking" about earlier, and really pretty mild in comparison. 

Which wound up being a very good thing, because unbeknownst to me, Mr W had lent Nolan his cell phone.  Nolan had ridden his bike to a friend's house, and Mr W let him take it with him for the usual reasons.

When my phone rang, all I saw was Mr W's # and you can imagine my horror when I heard Nolan's voice on the other end.   "Mom, I have Dad's phone,"  he said. 

Crikey!

All I could think about was that while the last message I sent wasn't bad, the ones before...well, he's a bright kid, he'd know we weren't talking about anything I needed to pick up for dinner.  "Oh, okay,"  was all I could manage. 

I laughed and blushed furiously at the thought that he might've seen the other texts.  When I mentioned it to one of my coworkers, horrified, he reassured me that it wasn't anything to worry about; "...it's totally natural... just an expression of affection from two people who care about each other, and there are worse things in the world than knowing your parents still are into each other that way."  I felt better, because I realized that what he said was true.  (But I couldn't help feeling that Nolan was gonna be scarred for life.)

I called Mr W and told him about it.  He was quite amused.  "What did you send me?"  he asked; I told him.  He laughed at me.  "Dude, that's not so bad, but if he happens to read the other messages..." 

"I erased them."   My hero!  I thought.  "Thank God,"  I said, as I breathed a sigh of relief.

I intended the messages to quicken his pulse and make his day.

I never thought I'd be the one winding up with palpitations.

Sand box

The day we got to San Diego, we went to the beach.  It was too cold to swim, sure, but since the kids have never really been to the beach, we figured they might enjoy walking along the shoreline.

The next morning we went to Sea World.  That next evening we started our Disneyland shenanigans, yet I think that the best time the kids had was on the beach.  They picked up shells.  Nolan started digging a hole and soon after, they all joined in, even though the hole kept refilling with water and they were a muddy sandy mess as a result.

It was just like when they were toddlers, when the most exciting thing about the shiny new present was....the box it came in.

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Is it really stealing if I plan on returning it?

We are officially on Spring Break.  I have to work Saturday, and then I am free.

We're going to Sea World.  And Disneyland.  And California Adventure, too. 

All of them, not free.

I will be back at work in no time flat.

Here's the deal, though....

Wednesday after I picked up Ben, Ryan, and Audrey, we drove to one of my friends/coworker's houses. 

And I told Ben to get out of the car and steal her lawn gnome.  He gigglingly obliged, and even stuffed it under his shirt for effect.  As if stealing a lawn gnome in broad daylight isn't effect enough, my friend lives right by the Pleasantville police station where my husband works.

Whew, who knew one speeding ticket was the gateway to a life of crime?

Ve haf plans for ze gnome.

I'm taking it on our trip with us, and we will take pictures to record his follies.  I haven't decided yet whether I will email her pictures (from a fictitious email address) while we are there or just return him to his stump by her door with a fat wad of photos upon our return.

I'm hoping he doesn't decide on a side trip to Tijuana while we are in San Diego, and that he keeps his hands to himself while we are dining with the Princesses.

Speaking of keeping one's hands to oneself....

Mr W and I accompanied Audrey's kindergarten class to the zoo today.  It was great fun, especially when Audrey informed me that the brightly colored macaws were "rainbow birds."  I was hanging out with her and another group when I noticed Mr W had broken away from us to buy contraband (Diet Coke).   I was momentarily distracted from him by a little girl, a classmate of Audrey's, who came up and hugged me, out of the blue.  I'm not unaccustomed to that happening, I spend a lot of time at the school and a lot of the kids know me, but I was a little surprised.

A few minutes later, Mr W came up to me  with a weird look on his face.  I chalked it up to carbonation, but he said:  "You know that little girl in K's group?"  "Yeah, she hugged me as they went past."  "She just pinched my butt..."

I am sure that the entire zoo heard me crack up.

"...and it wasn't a little pinch, either, she got quite a handful."

I could only howl louder.

He was traumatized.  Goosed.  By a five year old.

(Before anyone gets all crazed, she meant nothing by it, it was really innocent.  The teacher was informed and after she spoke with Mr W, she said even though no harm was done, she'd have a word with the little girl about it, and let her know that it was inappropriate.)

I guess this means I'm going to have to stop teasing him about replacing me with a younger model.  :p

Don't you know who I AM?

Last Thursday, as I went about my business, ticking things off in my head in the usual fashion:

Kids up?  Check.  Lunches?  Check.  Ryandon'tforgetyourglasses?  Check. 1st group on time? Check.  Cut the clay for class taught later that day?  Check.  Deliver clay?  Check.  Nolan won't be late?  Check.  Speeding ticket?  Check.

What's that last one?

Yes.  Speeding ticket.

I was driving Nolan and a friend of his to school, and as I turned down one of my shortcut streets, I saw that a large truck-trailer was pulled over, off to the side.  As I could see down the road that there was another officer, on a motorcycle, facing our direction, I thought, I should slow down, what's the limit here, anyway?  I didn't see a sign but decided 40 should be a good guess--5 over if it's 35,  5 under if it's 45, not a bad bet, don't you think?

It's not a bad bet.

If it's a 45 zone.

As I drove past the officer, I got a little paranoid, so I looked in my rear view mirror.

And I saw lights.

Initially, I thought, 'Surely, they aren't after me??' but something about the steadfastness of his jaw made me pull over.

I didn't even do that right, as he asked me to pull forward a little more when he approached me the first time.

Great.  Now Nolan will be late.  "If this takes long, and you're late to school, I'll go in and let them know it's my fault."

I quickly considered my options.  The "It's a new car, I didn't notice I was speeding, it's so much smoother than my other car was" argument.  "I didn't see a posted speed limit sign.  How to work the "you're doing a great job, just like my husband does everyday" angle.  Lip gloss and cleavage --would only serve as window dressing for my mug shot. I found myself remembering every excuse Mr W has told me he's heard, and I couldn't bring myself to be that lame.    

"Do you know what the posted speed limit is in this area?" he asked.

Sigh. "No." 

"It's 25 and the laser got you at 45."   Damn! Construction zone!!  I inwardly groan as Nolan stifles a giggle.  I knew what was coming next, so I handed over my license, and pulled the insurance out of the glove box...but couldn't find the registration.  "I'll be right back,"  he said, giving me time to look for it.   I was mentally cursing Mr W because I remembered seeing the registration on the counter, but couldn't remember where it went after that, and of course, it's absence in the car at that point was his fault.

Nolan spotted it, wedged upright, in the back of the glove box.  It was in a black sleeve, and the sleeve's back was facing out--so to me, at my vantage point, it just looked like the back of the box.

My minor panic had nothing to do with my missing it.

When the officer returned, I handed him the registration.  He went through his spiel, and I had to smile at how familiar that part was; I could almost hear it in Mr W's voice.

It sounds so much better when you're not the one being handed the ticket.

To his credit, the officer was not a butt, he was quite courteous, and the whole thing took less than ten minutes.

To my credit, I wasn't coy, I didn't flirt with him, I didn't cry, or name drop...I signed where I was supposed to sign and was on my way, a little embarassed but none worse for the wear.  I wasn't thrilled (two words:  driving school), but I figured at the very least, I set a good example for Nolan and his friend.   

A ticket in the Mom-mobile.

I think it's safe to say the van has been christened.