When I first went to college (at the ripe old age of 22), I was still undecided on what I wanted to do for a living and why I was there. One thing that appealed to me was interpreting for the deaf, so I began taking classes in American Sign Language (ASL) to fulfill my language credits.

Just like any language, after studying it for several years, you begin to think you actually have a handle on it and start to delude yourself into believing you are bi-lingual.  I was at that delusional point when I accepted an invitation from my instructor to attend a BBQ with a group of his friends.

Feeling all confident, I went and quickly discovered I didn’t know jack shit about ASL.  Thankfully, several people were either hearing people like me or were deaf but could speak very well like my instructor.  So in many ways I was able to keep afloat just by following the speaking people.  Sort of like filling in the blanks when you overhear one side of a telephone conversation.

The one thing I remember most about that night (other than feeling like a dying fish out of water) was “Train gone, sorry”.  It is a saying the deaf have that basically means, “too bad you missed it, but I ain’t signing it again”.  Within ten minutes of being there, that expression was thrown at me over a dozen times.  It quickly became the story of my life within the deaf community.

Train gone, sorry.  Train gone, sorry.  Train gone, sorry.

I hadn’t thought about that in years.  But when I woke up this morning, for some reason it came to me like a ton of bricks.  I was lying in bed trying to organize in my head all the crap I have to do this weekend.  Trying to figure out how I was going to fit it all in. Trying desperately to remember the vital things I just knew I was forgetting. Trying to look ahead and invision when I will feel on top of things again.  When will I be able to relax, knowing what needs to be done is done.  When will this sense of back pedaling, trying to catch up and running in circles finally go away?

Yeah, that’s when it hit me. Train gone, sorry.

Forgive me for being absent lately. New job, new daycare, new routines and the holiday weekend… that train is not only gone, but I am still choking on its dust!

We had everything planned for this weekend.  After pleading with my husband to go down the shore and get in one last hurrah of the summer, he agreed.  I think he too was eager for the chance to squeeze in one more beach day.  One more boardwalk evening. One more lazy summer day.

We had it all planned.  Go down Friday night, get up early.  Our friends were driving down and meetings us, then we would all head to the beach.  We had enough buckets, shovels, blankets, umbrellas and chairs for the entire crew and the weather was going to be perfect. 

It was great plan.

And everything was going exactly as planned.

Except, we hadn’t planned on nursemaid’s elbow.

Ever hear of nursemaid’s elbow?

Me neither.

Well, not until the pediatrician at the E.R. mentioned it to me.  Now I know all about.  Apparently, it happens most often in girls, ages 1-4.  Usually it occurs from pulling on their tiny arm too hard while walking them, lifting them up a curb, not letting their hand go when they trip or fall to the ground.  Things like that.  It can also happen when your daughter rolls over on her arm the wrong way while getting up from a diaper change.

Just like that. Just that innocently enough. Just that fast. All of a sudden your sweet child is screaming and writhing in pain and can’t move her arm. Just like that, your plans for a summer beach day are washed away and pulled out to sea.

So we spent the day in the emergency room learning about nursemaid’s elbow instead of on the beach nursing mai tais.  Once the doctor maneuvered her arm this way and that, everything went back into place and Piper was fine.  We were back home by 5 O’clock as if nothing happened.  And it was a relief to see her bouncing around, perfectly herself again in a matter of minutes, that’s for sure.

Oh well.

It was a good plan. 

It has been increasingly difficult to discipline Piper these days. For one, she seems to consider me the softy of the family (for good reasons), such that what I say seems to be optional, whereas what my husband says is the law. I am not sure how this came about, but it is now a hard impression to break.

That has been the frustrating part about disciplining her lately. The other half of the story is that she simply cracks me up. There are so many times I should be giving her a time out or doing something to curb the behavior, but can’t. I am too busy trying to cover up my laughter.

Oh believe me, I know there is nothing funny about bad behavior. Her spitting or slapping does not make me laugh. But I am constantly amazed by her mind and the fully developed little person she has become. She catches me off guard so much. So at the times when I should be appalled and discipline her accordingly, I find myself amused and impressed by her mental capabilities, not to mention her attempts at trickery.

For example, the other day I gave her a time out for telling me to shut up. After two whole minutes of screaming and crying, she finished her time out with a heartfelt apology and hug. Two seconds later, she was playing with her toy right next to me. I could barely hear her, but soon discovered she was quietly mumbling under her breath, “shut up mommy.” It was so subtle and so quiet, it was almost as if she was mouthing the words than saying them. I hid my face behind my book and quietly chuckled to myself. I should have called her on it and told her that I heard what she was saying, but I couldn’t. By the time I stopped laughing and pulled myself together, she was off doing something else.

Then the other day, she defied me again. After fifteen minutes of begging me for candy, she finally gave up in a huff and stomped off. I watched her as she went over to my husband in the living room. When she looked back and saw that I was watching her, she said to my husband, “Daddy, can I have some R-E-5-P-I?” Of course my husband had no clue that she was attempting to spell out the word candy so mommy wouldn’t catch on. I hid behind the wall muffling my hysterics while I listened to my poor husband sheepishly telling her over and over again, “I’m sorry honey, I just don’t understand what you want.”

And then there is the boob fetish, which seems to rear its head whenever we are in public.  She’s always poking at my breast asking, “Mommy, dat your boob-ie?” Naturally, I tell her yes.  And while I don’t have any qualms about her curiosity, I still don’t want her to think she can go around fondling my breasts or anyone else’s, especially in public.  So I try to explain to her that she can ask and point, but she really shouldn’t touch other people’s breasts.

So the other day at the restaurant while sitting on my lap, she poked at my breast with her little finger and innocently asked, “Mommy, dat your… dat your shirt?”

So, I have this entire week off, right?  Aside from running long overdue errands, one of the main things on my agenda was to just relax.  Chill.  Take a breather.  Regroup.  Energize for the new job.

Well, I knew Monday was out of the question with starting the new day care. After hanging out there for an hour, mostly doing paper work, I had to go find Piper sneakers for the upcoming field trip.  ALL KIDS MUST WEAR SNEAKERS it said on the piece of paper they handed me.  OK, fine.  The kid could use sneakers anyway.

So off I go running around to the usual places to find sneakers in a friggin half size because 6 is too small and 7 is too big.  Three stores later, I finally find a pair of cute ones, actually made for girls that didn’t cost a small fortune.  Schwew!  Literally three seconds after walking through the door, packages in hand, I get a phone call from the school telling me the field trip was cancelled.

Okey dokey. 

So, when I woke up yesterday to the sound of rain AGAIN for the fourth day in a row, I decided it was going to be my chill day.  I took Piper to school, promptly leaving this time and came back home to relax.  I even said OUT LOUD as I made my first cup of coffee, “Today is going to be my me day!”

Just as I was adding a vehement, “SO THERE!” to that vow, I spilled the entire half gallon of milk all over the fridge and floor. It was everywhere.  The cat tried to help, but in the end, it took me two hours to clean the entire fridge and mop the kitchen floor. Then of course, I had to go to the supermarket for milk. 

At the store, I decided to chalk this day up to errands and other crap, seeing as it was already noon and I refuse to settle for half a me day. Part of that included cooking.  I hardly ever cook anymore since my husband and step kids are full on mega meat eaters.  I bought all my fixin’s for some veggie meals, then came home and spent the rest of the day cooking a quiche and whipping up my favorite salad dressing.  

Now, I know this is not a food blog, but since I get around to cooking about twice a year or so, I decided to share my salad dressing recipe.  I pilfered it from my college roomie who pilfered it from a restaurant in DC where she worked. Thus, I call it “Anne’s Orgasmic Dressing”. 

• 1 inch of ginger
• 3 garlic cloves
• 1 cup of oil
• juice of one lemon
• 2 tablespoons of tahini
• 2 tablespoons of tamari

Place garlic and ginger in a blender, cover with a little oil and blend to a fine paste.  Add rest of oil, lemon juice, tahini and tamari.  Blend some more.  (Add more tahini for thicker dressing).  Makes 1 1/3 cups. 

ENJOY!

And in case you haven’t guessed by now, today is finally the ME day!! Been blogging all morning. Now I am off to brunch with a friend, then I have a date with my husband. Dinner and a play.

Wicked!