The scoop is that my husband was promoted and transferred to Georgia. This is exciting and challenging (to say the least) for me. And to say I’ve been a bit wishy washy about how I’m going to pull this off is an understatement. Here’s the gist of what my friends and family have been dealing with….
Me (1st idea):
Den was promoted and transferred to Georgia. We are moving there, buying a house and I’ll commute back and forth (to help take care of family).
Me (2nd idea):
There is no way I can move to Georgia with everything going on. We will make our townhouse in Illinois our main residence and just rent a place in Georgia and that way we can stay mobile. I’ll commute back and forth (to spend time with Den).
Me (3rd and final idea):
We are moving to Georgia, in the process of buying a house and I’ll commute back and forth (to help take care of family).
All this and action to carry out each of these plans took place within a one month period.
I was a maniac.
Things I’ve learned:
- Idea 1 and 3 are the same. Always stick with your original answer.
- Idea 2 was me freaking the hell out.
- I think I have way too much on my plate.
- Basically, any way you look at it, I’m commuting back and forth.
- Midway and Atlanta Airports are going to be my third and fourth homes.
- I’m tired just thinking about it all. Maybe I can sleep on the plane.
- On a positive note, I should rack up a bunch of frequent flyer miles.
- Just when you think your life has become humdrum, life throws you a curve ball.
Most of you know that we’ve moved a bazillion times in the past 16 years and I’ve loved the adventure, but this one has been a rough one. I guess it’s because I have so much responsibility in Illinois but I would never hold my husband back from his goals either. So, this is how it’s going to be and I’m placing it the powers above.
We lived in southern Georgia in 2001 for 6 years and loved it and I am already starting to love it here.
If I could convince all my loved one’s to move here with me, the above situation wouldn’t be an issue. Maybe once winter strikes again in the Midwest, they’ll change their minds.
Whomever created this, I would like to order one. Or not. Yeah, maybe.
I was born with the widest shoulder span of any female in the entire world. You may think I’m being dramatic but I was adopted out as an infant and I feel this may be why. My birth mother was traumatized by my birth and possibly injured and just couldn’t take looking at me every day for the rest of her life. Poor lady.
Anyway, my shoulder span width (SSW) has caused some strange situations throughout my life.
Like the times (I wish I could say it was only once) when I became caught in a dress in the dressing room and couldn’t get myself out of it. Jumping up and down in a panic, trying to wiggle out of a dress is humiliating and always makes me a little sad. And then the horror of what would happen if I couldn’t get out of it. Would I have to hop to the cashier to pay for a dress that I have to spend the rest of my life in?
I remember being a kid, trying on clothes and my mom would always remind me about my wide shoulder span. “Wow, you’re like a linebacker.” Between her comments and always having to buy a size up in shirts (to accommodate “the” shoulder span), I have no idea how I’ve escaped therapy.
*According to Cosmo, I’m an inverted triangle. Sounds cool, huh? And it looks really awesome on people in shape. I’ll leave it at that.
Traveling by plane is no easy task with SSW. Definition above.
The flight attendant announces that the flight is full and to find any seat available. The people already seated are either trying to avoid making eye contact with those looking for a seat or they are looking for a very small man or a female to take that dreaded “middle” seat that is left remaining.
My overall body would suggest that I’m a pretty good candidate for the middle seat and many have been fooled.
Same scenario every time….
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” (I was raised properly)
Aisle seat person doesn’t even answer, just gets up and lets me through. People get so cranky while traveling. Anyway, I always dig through my backpack (the one I stole from my kids 20 years ago) for:
Magazines (HGTV magazine but only if Mrs. D passes them on to me)
Book (that I never read)
Gum (My ears still pop and feel plugged but my mom said to chew it, so I chew it)
Reading glasses (cause I’m blind and I carry a pair in every bag and have a pair in every room of the house)
Then I stuff my backpack under the seat and strategically, place my purse alongside it (All items must be placed securely under the seat in front of you). After that, I place my above items in the pocket of the seat in front of me. This whole scenario takes around 3-4 minutes and the entire time, the aisle seat dude and the window seat lady are thinking this flight won’t feel too cramped…until…
I finally buckle my seatbelt, sit back and try to avoid eye contact as they realize I have big and tall man shoulders otherwise known as SSW.
One shoulder is a little hunched in due to the fact I had to take my own picture (my family can’t deal with me). Otherwise, my “span” would be even wider! See what I’m talking about?
I may have an addictive personality. Or not. I don’t know. I feel like being an addict is a lot of work and I just don’t have the motivation or commitment for that.
At one point in my life (as I was going through a divorce), I was bar hopping with girlfriends, having fun and drinking. My drink of choice was straight whiskey and I’d sip it throughout the evening. Sometimes, just one, sometimes more than one. I didn’t feel like I had a “problem” until someone convinced me that I did.
I went straight home, threw out every ounce of alcohol (including rubbing alcohol) and didn’t drink anything (besides water, unsweetened tea and almond milk) for years and years. I was more committed to having a problem than actually having a problem.
Anyway, many years later, I decided to TRY drinking a strawberry daiquiri, convinced I was going to hit rock bottom. I envisioned myself on the street corner, homeless and holding up a sign “Why lie, I want beer” Or in my case, “Why lie, I want fruity drinks decorated with umbrella’s.”
I’d also be sharing the street corner with the guy hiding in the fake bush that jumps out at tourist and scares the shit out of them.
I drank that daiquiri and developed the worst pain in my liver. Or maybe it was my kidney? Gallbladder? Apparently, I should spend less time writing and sign up for an anatomy class.
Anyway, it hurt like hell and I felt incredibly sick.
Then it hit me…
I’m not an alcoholic…I’m a lightweight.
Although, I read later that woman don’t metabolize alcohol very well after 40.
I was 30.
So, bottom line: If someone suggested that I had an addiction to chocolate and desserts, they may actually be on to something but alcohol, I can live without.
BUT…don’t even think about taking away my M&M’s. Can you picture me in candy rehab? Those poor counselors. I’d be a nightmare… sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth; begging for a KitKat.
Anyway, if any of you are planning an intervention for me, make sure you bring a Reese Pie.
It’s just good etiquette.
Eating Reese pie at 4:10 am (with the only fork you could find) may mean you have a problem.