2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 26

A Wal-Mart sits conveniently a few miles from our house; but, we don't always go there.  We have a love-hate relationship with it. 

It's big.

      It's well-stocked.

It's busy.

      It's cheap.

It's dangerous after dark. 

      It's close. 

Sometimes I'd rather drive an additional 15 minutes to enjoy a Super Target shopping experience; today, however, I just didn't feel like making the commitment.  Besides, I've come to find out my Wal-Mart has a well-kept secret... 

I discovered it by happenstance a few years ago.  On one of those afternoons when I needed something specific and was under a tremendous time crunch.  I had no other choice but to hit up the store I hate any evening of the week and twice on Sunday.  It was Wal-Mart or nothing...and nothing wasn't a suitable option in our situation.  I drove the few minutes, fuming the whole way that we didn't live nearer a store I love.  But, arriving in the parking lot around 1:30, the clouds parted and the shine shone brightly.  This just couldn't be; so few cars.  What a coup from the typical Tuesday-after-work-trip on which my schema is based.  It was a cake walk to find a cart, make my way through the aisles, and score my necessities.  The patrons were kind and the employees weren't yet burned out from the post-work-harried-shopper sort 5:00 brings.  It was incredibly pleasant by this store's standards.

My Wal-Mart is full of retirees and stay-at-home moms while I'm usually at school.  I was reminded of this again today as Reid and I started off our spring break by traipsing through the store to pick up a few beauty items before launching into the gaggle of groceries.  The time was 2:00.  Ladies smiled at us; stay-at-home moms shared the secret-code-gaze all mothers offer up when in GROCERY LAND with a persnickety toddler; shoppers said "Excuse me," when meandering past in tight aisles.  In fact while in line, an elderly gentleman behind us struck up a conversation when he noticed Reid scoping out the, oh, 23 different types of yogurt he added to the conveyor belt while our order marched to check-out.

"Does he like yogurt?"

"Yes," I smiled politely from the other end of our lane, "he does.  Do you?"

Self-evident, b.  My mind wandered as I attempted to figure out how much time 

it actually took him to pick out his flavors and organize them in the cart...

"Yes, I sure do," he smiled, "Does wonders for the digestive system."

Sure that I heard him incorrectly, I smiled politely and offered a friendly chuckle. You know the kind.

You see, our Wal-Mart is close, dangerous at dark, cheap, and well-stocked.  But, the most important thing about our Wal-Mart is that it is not busy while everyone else is at work

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 25

Part 3: And, the pieces connected...

This is the third, and final, installment in my "Bridget Jones"-like singleton tale.  If you missed the preceding two, please check out:
http://www.livewriteteach.blogspot.com/2012/03/2012-slice-of-life-story-challenge-23.html
http://www.livewriteteach.blogspot.com/2012/03/2012-slice-of-life-story-challenge-24.html

I had on my favorite outfit at that time --- a red turtleneck sweater, Gap Long and Leans, a warm chocolate brown coat, and my soft red, brown, and cream scarf.  I was comfy.  In my outfit.  In my own skin.  I knew tonight's coffee date was just another blip on my relational radar.  At least I knew I was guaranteed to completely love my chai latte. 

Parking, I mentally replayed our planning conversations.  "Meet me by the front door.  I'm reading a bright pink book right now, so that's what I'll be carrying with me if you're not sure who to pick out of the coffee shop's evening crowd."  I looked at the clock, fidgeting with my purse, my scarf...well, anything that was still long enough for me to mess around with it.  I wasn't late, but later than I wanted to be.  I wanted to avoid the whole awkward ordering sitch by arriving first and taking care of my own drink.

Through Starbucks steamy windows I could see someone waiting just inside.  Yes.  The guy in the picture.

I pulled out my smile, my hand, and my name.  "You must be Tom," I said matter-of-factly while taking the surface detail survey every single girl completes when meeting a guy for the first time.  Shoes and belt match, check.  Well groomed, check.  Warm smile, check.  Nice eyes, check.  Athletic, check.

We ordered, each committing to a grande, but were foiled.  The small crackerbox of a shop was cramped beyond capacity so we ended up at a bake house down the street for the second part of our date.  Like a duck to water, our conversation smoothly transitioned from pleasantries to deeper topics and back again.  We laughed, inquired, created, reminisced.  Well, until the bake house closed.  "Do you think we should try Starbucks again?" he asked.  My eyes grew big...as big as my heart had grown over the past few hours.  He's not done with me yet.  "Sure," I sweetly supplied.  And, we did.  

This time, a  round table in the back our little java haven served as the perfect space for us to continue connecting the dots.  And, little by little the pieces in my heart's puzzle began to match.

I used to love that Jake designed buildings around our city; Tom does that too.

I used to love that Tom 1 was musical; this Tom is too.

I used to love that Rob had dark, beautiful hair; Tom has it too.

I used to love that Paul was funny; Tom is too.

My epiphany: this Tom is the complete package.  If I would take every little thing I loved about every other guy I dated in years past, this guy has it.  He's not perfect, but neither am I.  What I began to see was that we could be perfect for each other.

"It's late.  It's a school night.  My mom's a teacher and she never likes to stay up late, so maybe we should go.  Can I call you again sometime soon  Maybe we could go out for dinner?"

"Yes, I'd like that," I blushed with weak knees and a warm heart.

And, that's where our whirlwind courtship began.  Right then, right there.  A couple hours past my tall; a couple prayers answered at the corner of 62nd and Guilford.  I never looked back to singledom and neither did he. I never grocery-shopped at Wal-Mart on a Friday night thereafter.  

Epilogue:

Exclusively dating for five months, we became engaged and were married  in a holiday ceremony downtown four months later.

Yes, I was 29 when I said "I do" but 29 is better than 30, right?  I was sure it was...

Two-and-a-half years later we had our first child.

We just celebrated our five-year anniversary, and yes, every fourth week of March we try to fit in a coffee date, at Starbucks, to remember the night we met :).

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 24

Part 2...  I'm still pretty sure I won't like this one.
If you missed out on Part 1, check out my slice from March 23 before reading! :)
http://livewriteteach.blogspot.com/2012/03/2012-slice-of-life-story-challenge-23.html

He was cute.  With warm brown eyes, the olive complexion I covet, and thick chocolaty hair, the guy’s picture in my inbox looked inviting.  Beside him, an adorable niece…which (any girl would admit) is a nice touch.  After all, I’m a teacher.  I like kids.  They stood by a pool…which made me think this is a family who enjoys playing together.  His athletic physique reminded me of my brother’s. 

But, I’m pretty sure I won’t really end up liking him. 

Not reeeeeeally.  Here are some captivating reasons why... 

Before, there was Jake.  He was beautiful, like James Denton on “Desperate Housewives.”  He was smart, creative, successful, and athletic.  He liked to have a good time.  (I should’ve put that in all caps).  And after a few months of trying, he said I wasn’t someone he could fall in love with.

Maybe this one won’t think so either…

There was Rob (also known as 'Airport Guy' because I met him in Denver while waiting for a flight back to the Midwest).  He was dark, handsome, educated (a PhD and MDiv), and a real go-getter.  Oh, and did I mention he worked a prestigious medical center in Minnesota?  M-i-n-n-o-s-o-t-a.  First problem right there.  But, despite several sporadic visits, he didn’t make my knees weak.  Ultimately, I had to be the heartbreaker.  (And, I had to be the recipient of his mother’s hate mail.  Yes; it's true.)

Maybe this one won’t make my knees weak either…

Then, there was the bevy of guys I met and dated after being paired up on eHarmony.  I resorted to e-love after the string of relational train wrecks I’d engineered. 

• Ryan lived in Seattle.  Too far.  Too rigid.  Too many months invested in an esoteric pursuit.  Note to self: implement mileage restrictions; small search radius = higher chance of success. 
• Tom lived here in my city and worked as a high school band director.  Too many extra-curricular activities.  Too little prioritization.  Too many family issues.  Note to self: When people date, they should want to spend time together. 
• Paul lived in Kentucky.  Too silly.  Too irresponsible.  Too far.  Note to self: only date one guy at a time...two is too confusing.  ("Did I already tell you that?" shouldn't be a conversational staple.) 

Maybe this one won’t be right either…  Yes.  I’m pretty sure I won’t like him.

Until we talked on the phone the first time.  He actually called like he said he would.  His friendly voice shared and asked.  We connected.  We planned to meet --- not for dinner though; just for coffee.  (Make mine a tall...drink's gone; date's over..) 

In my mind, a running film strip of dating disasters.  In my heart, a perpetually hopeful being.  Someone.  Somewhere.  Sometime.  I just knew it.  Theoretically faith trumps experience, but humanly that’s a little more difficult.    

Starbucks, 7:00, Tuesday night. 

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 23

In my former life, I was perpetually single.  And, I completely felt like it with an army of married friends just starting to have families.  Here's part one of my tale...


Out of the blue one day, my girlfriend called.  Expectantly and with intention, I could tell.  "Will you meet my dental hygienist's brother?" she pushed after pleasantries.

"Really?"  I kept driving, mystified by the common mathematical equation individuals follow when 'looking out for the unattached's best interests' --- one single guy + one single girl surely = a marriage.  "Do you know him?  Have you seen him?" I prepared to dig.  After all, this routine was becoming all too familiar.  28.  Single.  Nice.  "Why aren't you married by now, Honey?" acquaintances would badger. 

"No, but each time I get my teeth cleaned his sister is so nice.  She talks about her big family and how great they are.  I know family is important to you," she reasoned commonsensically. 

In my mind a film reel of past set-ups shuttered, slide by slide.

There was Pete. 
Sales pitch from real estate coworker: "Pete is a nice guy. Everyone loves him.  You'll love him too." 
My remarks: I didn't.  He was ten years my senior.  I found this out at the restaurant where we met for the first time.  And no, it wasn't the lighting...  We struggled through dinner.  Note to self: a whole meal is too much.  Coffee dates are shorter; less painful. 

There was Glen. 
Sales pitch from family doctor: "Glen's an anesthesiologist.  He's smart, funny, and has a great job.  You should really meet him.  You'll think he's great." 
My remarks: I didn't.  He was vain, conceited, and stuffy.  We went out a few times; it was a few times too many.  I was bored and I certainly didn't need any help with that.  Bored is grocery shopping by myself at Wal-Mart on a Friday night.  Check.

There was Chicago Architect (I totally don't remember his name!). 
Sales pitch from portfolio adviser: "He's the nicest guy.  You'll think he's definitely the marrying type.  He's so sweet.  I've known his family my whole life --- they're the best." 
My remarks: He was nice.  He was sweet.  But, both traits in overabundance are unattractive...and potentially insincere.  We met.  We talked.  We ate.  I left.  The end.

And, then there were all the other guys I'd somehow met....who were good for a string of texts, a periodic phone call (I began learning this was just too difficult for some people), a smile, a noncommittal coffee date, or perhaps the full-blown dinner and a movie date.  A roller-coaster ride more like it --- a fast, fun start; a hill or two; then a quick return trip to the station.  My biggest lesson: not to expect too much.  Guys, in my experience, were just flakes.

"Well, Andrea...I don't know.  This fix-up just doesn't seem like something that will work.  You know my past experiences.  But, send me his picture.  Then, maybe we'll talk."

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 22

Sunshiny days make me want to do things…things like:

Eating a mint oreo blizzard outside: Spring starts in the Midwest when walk-up-window Dairy Queen franchises open.  Seriously, when I drive by one (and for the record, this is every day), the solitary thought romping around in my mind is “Do I have time to stop today?”  I never do, but I always think about it.  There is nothing better than a freezy, creamy, melty ice cream break on a warm, sunshiny day.

Sitting at a picnic table under the arbor at Tree’s Drive-In:  Nice weather means my hometown root beer stand is preparing to open.  It is out in the country along a main highway.  It has carhops to take orders and bring delicious fried treats.  It serves the best kind of root beer (as far as I’m concerned): A & W.   And besides, most of my small town will be there too because each family had the same idea --- Let’s eat outside!  Going to Tree’s is a welcome addition to any warm, sunshiny day…

Trying to tan my paper-white legs: I’m melatoninally challenged.  Yep, you read that right.  Try as I may, tanning is not part of my skill set.  But, on sunshiny days, I pull up the capris (or if I’m feeling daring…I actually wear shorts!) to give it the old college try.  I wish I had one of those nice, already-tanned complexions…but I don’t.  I’m a Swiss blonde.  I still make an attempt to tan on a warm, sunshiny day.

Imagining there is a palm tree draping lazily overhead: Anyone who lives in the Midwest is an expert in southern beach destinations.  We have to be.  It’s the only way we make it through our {typically} long, cold, bleak winters.  My first trip to Florida in elementary school left me coveting --- a palm tree.  My parents broke the news that it wouldn’t survive our harsh winters at home, so to me, a palm tree is an unequivocal symbol of a warm, sunshiny day. 

Piecing at a cup of frozen lemonade: Warm, sunshiny days remind me of fairs.  Every small town has a fair.  For one weekend in the summer.  When it is blazing hot.  With any kind of fried food you could ever want.  But even all that is just too much.  Heat and fried foods aren’t well suited mates.  The natural refreshment of frozen lemonade is the only treat that will do on a warm, sunshiny day .

Today is a warm, sunshiny day.  What will I do?

Stop at Dairy Queen on the way home,

See if they have frozen lemonade,

(then I could kind of merge two of my favorite activities…)

Put on shorts for a walk with my boys and tan these pesky white legs,

Visualize palm trees in our neighborhood to replace the hum-drum oaks…

Tree’s Drive-in?  I’ll have to work on that one with a little more diligence.

Even Daylight Savings doesn’t support a two-hour drive for a root beer stand dinner…

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 21

This first grade classroom...

Bright, cheerful colors envelope guests, students, and their artsy teacher

Peace signs and posters showcase ‘can-do’ personalities

Cozy cushions and books welcome readers who enjoy savor learning

A gallery of student art honors hard-work and creativity

Beautiful, purposeful charts anchor their buzzing beehive

Love.  Life.  Joy.  Inspiration.

You can feel it in this first grade classroom

for a second

Skies cloud, rain falls, memories return

All because

one name, her name,  

                                shows up

                                             again and again

                                                                     on class charts

“What do we keep up?”

“What do we take down?”

“When?”

Between tears, the young and fragile teacher asked

her bereavement counselor one morning just two weeks before Christmas.

“Take it as it comes…” she consoled.  “Your kids are hurting right now and so are you.”

Nothing came down,

except one nametag on the students' work tables

She’s on the data wall

                                   the favorite book list

                                                                    the birthday poster

                                                                                                  the diagram of reading spots

Just like the rest of her classmates, she’ll move off these boards

when the doors close, the halls quiet, the lights dim one last time

Bright, cheerful colors envelope guests, students, and teachers

Peace signs and posters showcase their ‘can-do’ personalities

Cozy cushions and books welcome readers to enjoy savor learning

A gallery of student art honors hard-work and creativity

Their special space anchored with beautiful, purposeful charts

Love.  Life.  Joy.  Inspiration.

You can feel it in this first grade classroom

for a second

Write on,

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 20

It’s just like brushing teeth each night --- at bedtime, we lay out our clothes for the next day.  Top.  Check.  Pants.  Check.  Belt.  Check.  The right shoes.  Check.

I’ll admit, this routine began with me a few years ago.  Each morning I’d struggle, and struggle, and struggle with what to wear.  Sheer vanity, I know.  Too short.  Too tight.  Too heavy.  Too light.  Wrong hemline.  So, instead of waking up early to accommodate this madness, I resorted to an evening fashion show instead.  I admit all this to you through clenched teeth.  Embarrassingly enough, sometimes it would take forty minutes to try on a combination of shirts, skirts, and pants, visit the full-length mirror with each revision, and change out a pair or two of shoes until a winning ensemble was created.  Yet I’d do it.  Over and over again.  All to save a little time each morning and to make my life a little less stressful.  It also prevented any “Oh, that needs to be ironed” set-backs. 

My husband, well, he wasn’t initially as hip to the whole organizational system I’d set up.  But I’ve noticed as days turn to months, and months turn to years in our marriage, he sees the value in what my little obsessive-compulsive manifestation can offer him.  (See also: a little extra time; less headache).  Now before bed, he irons, lays out his clothes, searches high and low for a belt (which is always the elusive wardrobing element it seems), and then in the morning is able to focus more on preparing Reid for his day with the sitter and less on chasing down accoutrements.

The system works for Reid too.  Each night, there is complete outfit which magically appears to meet his needs the next day.  For a long time, there’s been a thought tumbling around in my mind.  It’s a thought I know will one day come to fruition.  It has to, developmentally speaking, but I think it’s going to be a hard one for me…I like knowing exactly what will go on and when.  I know, I know --- I’m going to have to give that one up. 

What happens when Reid doesn’t want to put on what I’ve chosen?

This week: fruition.  Like apples ripening to picking perfection.  Sunday night, as I worked on Monday’s stack, Reid set to his own organizational system --- taking shirts out of his closet and hanging them from nearby dresser knobs.  Four, in total.

“What are you doing?” I inquired.

“I’m getting my clothes ready for this week,”  Reid proudly declared.   

“OK, Kiddo.  We’ll keep them there.  Now it’s time for night-nights…” I gently prompted.

And, wouldn’t you know, the next morning he remembered.  Gone was the prepicked outfit.  Present was his first-ever toddler outfit under my husband’s watchful (and non-confrontational) eye.  It wasn’t a doozy…but maybe just a preview of coming attractions.   An email served as a status update, “This morning, Reid refused to wear the plaid shirt you set out for him.  He had to wear the surfing polo shirt he picked out instead.”

And, so it begins --- my little darling will discover ways to make his own life work, which from this day forward will include any necessary fashion decisions. 

Write on,

b