Folly Beach: Girlfriend Getaway

Have you ever taken a trip with 5 good friends?  If not, then call them, synchronize your calendars and book it.  If you have, book another one.  This was my first girls' trip so I didn't know what to expect.  Would we put on wigs and make fun of Sandy or strip down to our undies and have a pillow fight?  Yeah, no, that did not happen, but stuff happened.

The Girlfriends' 

First there was the 500 texts about packing...

 

 Then the drive....
 8 hours                                                                              3.5 hours

                                  


There were two rooms with queen beds and one room with 2 twins.  Mrs. Jones and Sassy C had one and the Redneck and the Teacher had the other.  Jersey and I got the twin beds.  The first night, after Taco Boy tacos and beer, the Irish pub and catching up, I laid there in my twin thinking about how I really love these ladies.  When suddenly, Jersey decides to lose her mind and go stealth mode.  F'ing stealth mode on our first night?  What the hell?  This isn't a good idea.  Number one reason, retribution.  I'm sharing a room with her, if she goes all stealth mode on Mrs. Jones and Sassy C to scare the shit out of them, they may decide to get back at her.  'Her' meaning 'us'.  I am a victim here.

Jersey (whispering): I'm going stealth mode.

Me (loud whispering):  What?!  No.  What are you doing?  You couldn't stealth your way out of a paper bag.  Get your ass back in your bed!

Jersey: (giggling from an undetermined location)

Me:  What the...? 

Next thing you know, Jersey is army crawling across the hall.  I put my pillow over my head and wait.  2.8 seconds later Jersey does that "BOO-AHHH-YAA" scare holler, you know the one.  The whole place is suddenly screaming.  Except me.  I am under my pillow.  Jersey comes strutting back to our room all proud of herself.

Me:  You happy?

Jersey: Yes.  I rocked stealth mode.

We await retribution.

The beach.  Oh my goodness, I love the beach.  Here is the view we enjoyed over coffee.  It's a horrible picture and I am sorry about that.  

I love the sand and the ocean, my problem was sharks.  I felt like the ocean was I-95 and I was a McDonald's.  You can't see them in my horrible picture but there were surfers out there and I was sure that at any moment there would be blood curdling screaming and a dorsal fin.

That first day the weather forecasted light rain and overcast.  Which was how we managed to soak up only the most dangerous rays.

This pic hurt

The second day of beach it was well established that I was scared of sharks but too lazy to walk to the condo to pee.  The Teacher, who grew up in the area, agreed to throw her body in front of me in the event of shark.  FYI it is harder to pee in the ocean than you might think.  First 'cause sharks and second it's colder than it looks.  I tried to retain my badass ass card even after I lost my shit when seaweed drifted across my leg. 

The Teacher taught me how to wave dive, that was awesome.  At one point I said something about being a mermaid, but that might've been the Tito's and lemonade talking.  Then the time I saved Mrs. Jones from certain shark attack.  We went out to pee and then she started frolicking and floating, when I suddenly hear the Jaws theme song.  I practically dragged her out.  

Me:  Let's go.  We are done.  Now.  Let's move.
Mrs. Jones:  What the hell...?

Me (as I lead us out of certain death):  You are welcome.

We also got hit on by blue shorts Dave the douchebag and his pals.  We must be smoking' hot.  At first I thought they were just trying to mooch our beer, but then they stuck around.  DD making crude and offensive remarks the whole time.
Douchebag Dave:  Can I ask you a personal question?
Redneck:  Yeah, but we probably won't answer.
DD:  How big are your boobs?  They are very nice.
Me (Turning my head to go back to sleep):  You will never know.
Redneck (Turns her head to sleep): (Laughing at the absurdity)
This is the level of douchebagness we were dealing with.  He messed with the wrong chics, though, 'cause Sassy C chewed him up and spit him out; it was great.

I have to mention 'Bojangles'.  This is going to get spotty because we were drinking and things got a little fuzzy.  First thing is, all women going out should have a code word.  Code word for 'lets get the hell out of here' and it's not 'the babysitter needs us'.  We realized this 2 seconds too late.  What happened was,  Mrs. Jones went to the bathroom and was gone a long time.  We were sitting there talking to these random bar dudes who came over to our table.  (We are smoking' hot.)  We decide someone should go check on her.  Trying to keep my reputation as a badass, I took the job.  I find her leaving the bathroom and I said, "You were gone so long, we thought you got roofied."  She says, "It was a ridiculous wait for the bathroom."  We head upstairs back to the bar and I say, "We have 'friends' it kind of sucks."  She heard, "We are in trouble because these guys suck."  She gets in her invisible Wonder Woman jet tells me to stay put and that she will handle this.  I am drunk and totally confused.  Next thing you know, we are leaving.      

What actually happened, to my vague recollection, was that our crew had no idea what Mrs.
Jones was talking about when she said we had to go because of the babysitter.  They stared at her blinking.  Mrs. Jones is a gorgeous badass and like 6' tall in heels.  She was not screwing around.  She insisted there was something going down very bad at home involving the babysitter.  I'm not sure how that all played out but we ended up making Bojangles our code word.  We used it often after that.  

Girlfriend's trip.  You have to go.  Our only stipulation was no cooking and we had an amazing weekend.  Nobody complained, nobody argued, there was no bull shit.  It was just us having fun, relaxing and taking a break from our regular lives.  In appreciation of one another -individual quirks and all.

What the hell am I looking at?

Me:  You know how I say I eat nails for breakfast?  Not sure I can pull that off here.  I am legit scared of sharks.

Redneck (looking at my over easy eggs and toast):  You can't even eat a cooked egg.

Players Holiday

Field Trip to Columbia

As I donned my mom uniform of capri jeans and Target T-shirt, I thought about the day ahead of me.  I decided to forgo the sexy underwear for a more sturdy set.  It is field trip day.  Jesse and I were headed to Columbia to visit the South Carolina State House and the State Museum.  I would have six 3rd graders in my charge and I have underestimated them before; that is a mistake you only make once.  The kids love me because I am naive and lenient.  I have a vague understanding of the rules and they know it.  Kids were literally running everywhere and not just the ones I was responsible for or just our school even.  I'm always wondering, "Is today the day I get fired from volunteering?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Lucas, please, don't come in and help us anymore."

The Capitol building was our first stop after we drove past the Governor's Mansion.  The kids all thought Nikki Haley was rich and I quickly informed them that it was not her actual house.  She has to move out when her term is over.

The State House really was impressive.  Our guide was very knowledgable and she kept it age appropriate for the kids.  She even encouraged them to vote and to be active in our community.  The one point when she asked who the senator was in our county and everyone, including the adults, all looked at each other with blank stares.  We were unprepared for this one question, pop quiz.  It was a little embarrassing, so the Dr mom and I started Googling furiously, Michael L. Fair is the answer.

Then there was the one lady who yelled at us 4 times.  She almost made me throw down my water bottle and teach her a thing or two, but I refrained because the children.  The kids loved looking for the 6 bronze stars that marked where the building was shot at by General Sherman's cannons.  And the drainage system.

For the record there was a dead bird, a penny and a set of keys down there.  Jesse could hear the kids three grates down.  Awesome.

This is my group racing for the top of the stairs.
That is my son doing Rocky.

The State Museum is where I, and I think the other volunteers, started losing it.  I mostly feel sorry for the patrons who paid for museum tickets on school field trip day.  Any button to be pushed was pushed aggressively and a million times by each kid.  Anything to be looked through, touched, heard,   cranked, shoved, smelled, sat in or on; same deal.  Then there was the train whistle lever, dear God, I can still hear it.  All my group wanted to do after our race through the exhibits was ride the glass elevator.  Which was, I believe, intended for people who need it -not young, energetic children or people with irrational fears.  I used it as a bribe instead:  if they behaved; before we left, I'd let them go for an elevator ride.  I hate elevators.  I always check the inspection certificate; just in case someone was slacking, I want to know before the door closes.  I also feel like the cables are frayed and we are being pulled and lowered by one thin wire thread.  I know it's irrational, yet, there it is.

After lunch, all I did was count to 6 one hundred times.  We had been all over the entire museum in record time and they just wanted to to goof off and ask me every 6 seconds if they were behaving.  As they ran from one re-visited exhibit to another I'd count heads and off they'd go again to another already seen exhibit across the museum.  It was a quick, "1,2,3,4,5,6".  Sometimes it was, "1,2,3,4,5....there he is, 6, whew!"  I cannot imagine saying, "I'm sorry Mrs. Whoever,  I lost your kid in Columbia.  I know he was with me at the train whistle...."   Jayden was always #1 because she thinks I'm great.  She was either holding my hand, hugging me, or pulling on my purse strap; plus, we both put potato chips on our sandwiches at lunch.  My loyal buddy, right there, right next to me all day.  

Finally, thankfully, it was time to go.  I told the kids to hop on the elevator.  There was a collective shriek.  Luckily my friend and co-volunteer offered to ride the damn thing with them.  Thank God.  I think she saw my fear.  She pulled Jayden off of me and loaded them in.  I was to race down the stairs and get their picture.  At the top of the stairs, I wiped the sweat off my brow and saw our teachers huddled in a comfortable chat at the bottom -3 flights away from me.  

Mrs. Our Teacher:  (mouthing) Do you need a break?

Me (from the top of the stairs and across the museum):  NO!!  I'M FINE!  WE ARE FINE!  (Screaming in a mock frantic tone.  I sometimes forgot we weren't the only ones there) 

Teacher huddle:  (Laughing knowingly)
I was so proud of myself for making them laugh I forgot to take the picture.  

The teachers, for day, didn't not have to mind the kids.  They had us, the parent volunteers.  I wanted them to have as much of that day as they could.  These men and women in our educational system do NOT get paid enough.  They teach compassionately and a lot of these kids have issues, tough issues.  There was a kid whose parents fight all the time, the one who doesn't have a bedtime so was in near breakdown state all day and his nose hurt, the one kid whose brother died in a tragic accident, the one who lives with nana and nana is a chronic smoker.  These are not the actual issues (Again, vague on the rules), I made them up, but seriously, as difficult and worse situations -for real.  These amazing teachers do their job and help our children through the shit we put them through.  They handle them with compassion and love as they try and teach them why General Sherman shot at us.

My only job was not to lose any of them and I barely made it.

As my co-volunteer and I sipped our contraband coffee on the bus ride home (we were instructed to not buy anything -in bold type and capital letters), we barely batted an eye as another volunteer scrambled for a plastic bag for a vomiting child.  We just tucked our noses under our Target T-shirts and planned whether we were going to have a stiff drink or a nap when we got home.

“Those who educate children well are more to be honored than they who produce them; for these only gave them life, those the art of living well.” 
― Aristotle

Mother's Day

You know what I wanted for Mother's Day?  Nothing.  Maybe to sleep in and no kids fighting.  I basically wanted to be left alone.  That sounds horrible right?  It probably is, but the truth is sometimes ugly.

Jesse, my little guy, thought he missed it.  He re-gifted me this card last Wednesday that I got from Monica.  (Monica of let's go to graveyards for fun October post.)  I can only guess that even though he is learning to write in cursive, he can't read it.

Jesse (last Wednesday):  Here mom, I love you.
Me (slightly surprised and confused taking the card):  Aw... thank you, sweetheart.

  
           
                   Bless him.


My husband decided to fix the patio walkway.  It's been somewhat unfinished since last summer so he wanted to get it done for me for Mother's Day -on Mother's Day.   It's okay really, this is how he shows love, he fixes or builds something for me.  He also made sure I had flowers that I could re-plant because he knows me,  a decorative chicken watering can and chocolate; but he is not a "snuggler".  We weren't going for a long walk holding hands while he rattled on about what a wonderful mother I am.  He also gave me a card that said "You Deserve This Day".  Oh, the foreshadowing.

Anna: Pudge (one of her 2 budgies) is sick.
Me:  I'm sorry, honey.
Anna:  We need to call the vet.
Me:  Nothing is open today.  It's Sunday, Mother's Day (not really trying to throw a hint but did anyway).
Anna (crying):  He's really sick.
Me:  When was the last time you checked on him?
Anna (losing it):  Right!  So it's my fault he's going to die!!  (She then proceeded to send me a series of texts and videos regarding Pudge and his fateful condition.  I could hardly watch them.)
Me:  Let's just see how he does, sweetheart, he might pull through. (I'm pretty sure he won't)

Anna, good God bless her too.  Her bird did die.  Yup.  On Mother's Day.  The poor thing.  We gave it a proper Catholic burial next to Lily (no better lab has ever lived), Rajah (a cat) and 2 fish (I forget their names).  It was tense and uncomfortable as funerals tend to be because of her demands to take him to an emergency vet.  I didn't.  Pudge died.  It was my fault.

Rest in peace little fella.

Blue, the surviving budgie, was now alone.  Anna wanted to move the HUGE cage they were in to her room.  This thing...I'm not exaggerating, it's HUGE.

Anna (mind you, is still crying, she has been crying since 8am back when Pudge was just sick):  Will you help me move the big cage into my room?
Me:  No, Honey, it's too big for your room.
Anna:  It'll fit!
Me:  No, Anna, it is too big.  Your room is small.  Move Blue into the little cage if you have to have him in your room.
Anna:  He won't like it.
Me (losing it):  Anna...  No and no!  I'm not going to fight with you on Mother's Day! (I am and I threw another Mother's Day in there)

We said those exact words 100 times.  I might have added "Absolutely" as in "absolutely not!"  She might have said "ridiculous" and something about how I don't understand anything.

It is now close to dinner time.  My husband came in and also said no to her, only quite a bit louder.  Which is a feat, as he came in because he heard me saying no from all the way outside.  I felt bad for her, I really did, but all this discussing of something I already said no to was wearing on my sympathies.  She wasn't about to surrender.

Anna:  I measured it!  It will fit!
Me:  Just because something fits doesn't mean it works.  Have you seen a Kardashian?  The answer is no.  I am done discussing it.

Jesse:  I hate today.

When arguing with her it seems I am never as done as I think I am.

I felt bad for my husband too, he just wanted me to have a fixed walkway and a nice day where I didn't have to cook or clean.  At one point we were all crying, except him who just looked at us in disbelief.

Taking a break from the bird situation, I decided to switch out the laundry the day was kind of shot anyway.  I was reflecting on when the kids were little babies and didn't talk so much, when Jonathan comes barreling in the garage door almost knocking me down.

Jonathan (Handing me a bouquet of roses):  Oh, hey!  Mama!  Happy Mother's day!
Me:  (Gathering myself, looking at the roses.  I, honest to God, thought they were for his girlfriend.  Not that she's a mom {Dear Jesus}, but she has a puppy and you know how some people are) Are those for me?
Jonathan (hugging me):  Yeah.

The timing, the gesture, the day -it was all too much.  I might've teared up again.

This day will now go down in the History of Lucas as the anniversary of Pudge's death and Mother's Day.
                                                                    Beautiful, right?

                                               
Am I upset that it when down this way?  No.  Not even a little bit.  I am thankful.  M tried his best to give me a great day.  He really does think I deserve a day.  These kids are the best thing that ever happened to me.  As mom I try to keep my schedule loose, my expectations in the gutter and booze in the cabinet because you can never predict what will happen next.

Cage for sale

   I may examine my karma though

Cue the music!!

Music and Life

It takes my 15 year old daughter, Anna, and I 40-45 minutes to drive to her school.  We have to go through stand still, rush hour traffic on 385.  We listen to music and play the What Would You Do? game they do on Hot 98.1.  We pick our favorite cars.  I try to nonchalantly drill her about what's going on in her life.  "Speaking of muscle cars, are you and Nathan still in the 'talking' phase?"  or "Traffic is really slow this morning, have you ever been approached by any one to do drugs?"  The drive sounds like a pain in the butt, I know, but it isn't, I enjoy this time with her.  Even if she's pissed because I wouldn't let her wear a crop top and we don't speak the entire way.

Listening to this song Panda by Desiigner:

Me:  I don't even know what he is saying.
Anna:  You don't?
Me:  Well, I can sing this part (I trill my tongue and kind of say yah).
Anna:  Oh my God, mom.
Me:  I'm good right?  How about you sing the words part and I'll do the trill part and we can have like, a thing going.
Anna:  No.
Me: (I trill and huyuh again)
Anna:  MOM!
Me:  Did he just say salad bar?  Is he taking those broads in Atlanta to a salad bar?  That's nice.
Anna:  (Turns and blinks at me) No, mom, he did not say salad bar.
Me:  So, no salad bar for the broads in Atlanta, huh, that's too bad.  I mean, I'm not a fan of the salad bar either though.   Let's Google the lyrics so we can practice.
Anna:   We are not doing a thing, mom.
ME:  Who is your favorite these days?
Anna:  Wiz Khalifa. You will hate it.
Me:  Probably.  My mom didn't like my music either.  (I am familiar with Wiz because of my oldest, I keep this to myself.)  Okay,  I'll You Tube him, we'll find something of his.

She hops out of the car, I wish her a good day and tell her to take Jesus with her.  Some day she will appreciate my humor.  When I got home I You Tubed it (with the lyrics).  Indeed, there is no salad bar but definitely selling bar, candy.  I hate the music she listens too.  I feel like Panda is just repeating the same thing over and over again, maybe because he thinks he is so bad ass with his broads in Atlanta, his cars, drugs and money that he's has to say it 100 times.  (yawn.)  I get it.  You big.

I got broads in Atlanta
Twisting dope, lean, and the Fanta
Credit cards and scammers
Hitting off licks in the bando
Black X6, Phantom
White X6 looks like a panda
Going out like I’m Montana
Hundred killers, hundred hammers
Black X6, Phantom
White X6, panda
Pockets swole, Danny
(*)Selling bar, candy
Man I'm the mocho like Randy
The choppa go Oscar for Grammy
Bitch nigga pull up ya panty
Hope you killas understand me

*Sounds like salad bar.  The trill part, I nailed it.  I would tell you to listen to it, but I can't subject anyone to this on purpose.

My folks hated my music too.  Except once, we dodged a bullet, my sister and I were doing the dishes and we were listening to Prince's (new) Purple Rain album on the boom box when Darling Nikki came on.  My sister literally froze with her hands in the dish water.  My parents were watching TV, glad they weren't doing dishes and that we weren't fighting I guess, because they never noticed we were jamming to a song about masturbation.  Not a word was ever said.  Masturbation.  Not to say my folks weren't tuned in, my mom did call Sweet 98 when she heard the Rolling Stones belt out, "She's so cold, cold cold, she's so goddamn cold."  'Cause God's last name wasn't damn.   I was mortified; she used her full name.    

I want to talk to Anna about song writing and life.  What Queen did and The Who; Led Zeppelin was practically a 10 year phase sprinkled with Prince, Joan Jett, Metallica, Pink Floyd, the Beastie Boys... I could literally go on and on.  But then again, I am a rocker and my daughter is not -yet.  I need to fight fire with fire.

I hit up my sister and brother in law because this genre is their thing, he points me to NWA.  The next thing you know, I'm in this NWA rabbit hole.  40 minutes later I'm feelin' it Straight Outta Compton.  I (hip) hop across to Tupac.  (Which I am guaranteed certain death if I ever pronounce it again with a short a sound.)  I think what Desiigner is missing is actual lyrics.  I could say the same about queen B, however, I did practice my dance moves when he shoulda put a ring on it and I catch myself singing, "My mama don't like you..."  We had shit music too, remember the song Micky?  Rick Astley?  Baby Got Back?  The Thong song?

Research

 

Tomorrow, while we critique the driving skills displayed on 385 and try to choose between a Z4 and Crossfire I am armed with Tupac and NWA.  I have to say with teen's it's good to know where they are musically, it's a window.   If you don't know, ask.  I'm going to see her Desiigner and raise her with Tupac's Dear Mama.