Adventures in Babysitting

You know what I love the most about babysitting? The fact that it ends. You are able to return the lovely kiddos to their rightful owners and be done with them. I’m kidding…kind of. Truth be told, there are only a few kids on Earth I will even agree to babysit period. It lies in the fact that I love them and their parents and so in my heart I feel a sense of duty that I should at one point in their years of childhood be responsible for them. If not for this strong emotion you would probably never see me alone with kids until the day I am blessed with my own. (If that day ever even comes).

This weekend my lovely sister took advantage of said emotion and coerced me into being not only Aunt B, but also babysitter Bri. Yes, I wanted to spend time with my lovely niece and nephew because it’s been months and they grow so fast you end up barely recognizing them when you let that much time go by. But I always prefer a chaperone if I can help it. She somehow took advantage of my guilty conscience though and convinced me that after a whole day spent together, she should be allowed to slip out and I should be in charge on my own. I realize it’s not too much of a sacrifice, being that I have every night to myself free of diaper duty and endless cartoons, so I “happily” obliged. I’m happy to report that everyone made it out ok. I’m sure it’s a well known fact between the two of them that Aunt B really has no rules and that I will pretty much let whatever go as long as we keep the fussing and crying to a minimum, so they did their part and I did mine. Ty is grown up enough that he has decided he actually likes me and wants to be my buddy, but Tristin still has a bit of uncertainty. This is understandable…shoot, last time I saw her she could barely utter a word and now she’s a chatterbox. Plus, she’s still in diapers. I think she can sense I’m not that diaper friendly. All in all, I think we had a good time together. They both stayed awake until their bodies naturally fell asleep, and Tristin and I ate pizza at 10pm. What are Aunt’s for??!

Here are some pics from the weekend…

-The four of us at the L.A. county fair (next time it's going to be the L.A. county park!!)


-Can you tell the kid is related to me? I teach him well!




-Of course I buy them their own! (I just forgot I was responsible for them the rest of the night.)


-I like being an AUNT! :)

Country Music??

It’s hard to tell that my mother and I are related. If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve seen the pictures of us together in the hospital the day I was born, I would probably have my doubts. And it goes far beyond our physical differences. Yes, she’s 5’2 and extremely Caucasian, but the differences go far beyond appearances. Take for example what she’s doing for fun this weekend. She’s up in the mountains somewhere…camping in a tent. I think it’s something like 20 degrees at night so anything less than a nice, cozy cabin with a blazing fireplace just seems like unnecessary torture. And why is she up in the mountains? Well, because it’s hunting season. That’s right…my mother goes hunting. Well, she doesn’t exactly hunt herself but she accompanies those that do, which is mind-boggling to me—the fact that I know someone that knows someone who likes to go out in the wilderness and walk around all day in camouflage in the hopes of shooting something. And that’s the fun.

Our taste in music is no more closely related than our hobbies. Which is why she was the first person I thought of when I came across some tickets to a Brad Paisley concert. I wasn’t aware of any of his songs, but I knew he wore a cowboy hat, and therefore I knew my mother would be a fan. I, of course, would not be a fan. Of cowboy hats, boots, and plaid shirts—yes. Those things happen to be in style anyway and I have no problem with the trends. The music just isn’t something I’ve ever been able to jam to. But since our hobbies seem to have such wide degrees of separation, I figured it’s necessary to go outside my comfort zone every once in a while and this would be a lot less painful than hunting. So I called her up and invited her down to the concert. And guess what??! It wasn’t half bad. Granted, it’s not my type of music but it’s really not bad to listen to, and it’s nothing if not catchy. The guy sings the hook once and you’re ready to sing along the next time around. Not to mention the whole atmosphere was fun. Country music folks really enjoy themselves.

I’m not ready to change my presets but I am glad that I went. It was bonding time for my mother and I, and if I do say so myself…I look pretty darn cute in a Cowboy hat.



(Note: This hat had to be borrowed in the interest of picture taking but I'm thinking of investing)

Picture of the Week: Daddy's Girl

Today is just one of those days that I miss my dad. So much. It's not a holiday, or a birthday, or any other significant day in my life that is sure to bring forth overwhelming emotions. It's simply Tuesday. Sometimes it doesn't take anything out of the ordinary for you to remember all the things that made someone extraordinary and have you truly wish you could have just one more day to spend with them.

I was looking at pictures of my dad and the above one made me smile. My dad was oh so cool, and it seems as if I have followed in his footsteps. I knew there was a reason I loved my tube socks so much. I got my inspiration years ago and it obviously stuck with me. I just wish he was around to see his trend come full circle.

Home Sweet...Home?

Just one week ago, I traveled for 23 hours, on 4 flights, all the way from Greece to California, so that I could sleep in my own bed and start the wonderful process of rest and recovery. After a jam-packed summer full of ups and downs, there is nothing I looked forward to more than finally coming home. No more living out of a over packed suitcase, no more horse meet for dinner, and no more forcing my body to give me one more decent performance when it clearly was trying to tell me it was tired.

So why am I getting on a plane today to fly all the way to South Korea? Well the short answer is greediness. Sometimes it’s hard to just leave money on the table, especially when every extra dollar seems to go towards things I really need…like food, a roof over my head, etc. I can stay home and just say I’m tired and I’ve had a long season, but 6 months from now when I’m forced to eat Top Ramen for dinner, I would really kick myself for such a short-sighted decision. We’ve all read about how I got royally screwed on what I thought would be my last meet and lost out on a good bit of money, so anything I do to earn a few pennies of that money I thought I would have back, is probably a smart decision. But I assure you, this will definitely be the last one. That’s because there are absolutely no more meets anywhere on the planet, thank God. My body and my mind are more than ready for that rest and relaxation.

Spare Change and a Big Lesson

My favorite way to spend time is outside a coffee shop, with a delicious cappuccino, a good book, and some sunshine. This is my ideal me time, and the less interruptions, the better. In fact, I’m known to even put my Blackberry away, with the ringer turned off no less. Yesterday morning was the perfect sunny day in San Diego and I had settled down with my book in front of the most perfect coffee shop. (well, the closest I could find outside of Italy at least.) I was happy. I was content. I was looking forward to losing myself in the pages of the one John Grisham thriller I have somehow seemed to miss in my 3458 trips to the airport bookstore. Which is why I was probably less thrilled than normal when a man perched himself on a chair the next table over and proceeded to interrupt my perfect morning.

He started off by telling me how beautiful I was and I graciously thanked him and then quickly diverted my eyes back to my book. But I knew he wasn’t done and in my head I was expecting the next question that followed.

“Could you spare some money so that I could get something to eat?

He was homeless. San Diego has an extremely large population of homeless and any time you are in the downtown vicinity you will surely be asked on numerous occasions for any change you can spare. I have no set rule on whether or not I fork something over…sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. But this was my time, and the last thing I wanted to be was bothered. So I smiled politely and said I didn’t have any cash, just credit cards on me.

“Do you think you could buy me some food with your credit card?

I smiled politely again. “Sorry…”. And again I tried to look back down at my book. I didn’t bother to finish the sentence. Obviously I could buy food with my credit card, I just wasn’t going to. I had barely been sitting there for 10 minutes. My coffee was still hot, I was just getting into my book, and my relaxing morning was not going to be interrupted. Truth be told, I had cash. But I use this line the same way I eagerly throw out that I have a boyfriend. It’s not quite the truth, it just makes the interaction a little less painful for both of us.

He looked me in the eye and sighed, thanked me, and then got up and walked away. A few minutes passed and my eyes started to well up. He wanted food for goodness sakes. Lord knows I don’t have much, but I am beyond capable of buying somebody lunch. But I continued to sit there, tried to loose myself in the pages of my legal thriller, and failed miserably. After about 15 minutes had passed, I gathered up my stuff and set out in the direction I thought he had gone.

I found him about 4 blocks away, still unsuccessful in finding himself lunch to eat. I tapped him on the shoulder and said hello, and from his reaction I’m not even sure he remembered he had just talked to me or just thought it was cool someone was making conversation. He didn’t bring up money at all, he just started chatting about random stuff… the fact that he was from Detroit (had I ever been there and what did I think of it), his father and brothers who have a lot of money (did I have siblings), that he can ride the bus all over town for free (I saw the card)…just on and on. After about 10 minutes I said I had to get going and asked if he was still wanted something to eat.

Yea, I am hungry.

I quickly handed over the cash I did have so that he could buy what he wanted, and wished him a good day. Before I left though, he wanted to give me something in return. It was a purple and yellow key holder you wear around your neck from the local bail bondsman and while I tried to say it was ok and I didn’t need anything, he wouldn’t take it back. He assured me he could get more. I hurried away before the tears started overflowing.

I am blessed. Blessed to have a roof over my head, food always in my cupboard, and friends and family who care enough to ensure that I don’t ever have to beg someone for a meal. Not everyone does. People bless me all the time for no other reason than it was put on their heart to do so. I am thankful beyond belief and constantly feel like my thank you’s don’t do much in the way of showing my gratitude. But I was reminded that what is also important is to make sure you bless others. And while I certainly can’t empty my wallet every time a homeless person in San Diego asks for money, I believe this particular man was there to give me something. What I received from our interaction will last far beyond that afternoon. Even the tacky keychain, that is capable of holding the key to my apartment, my car key, and the storage area with all my extra stuff, is a reminder that I am blessed to have keys of things that belong to me. That is what's important.

(I am not necessarily proud in recounting how I reacted to this man at first and how I treated him, but I thought the lesson it showed me was important and so I shared anyway.)

Being a Girl Sucks

I’m an independent woman for the most part. Beyonce was totally singing about me when she sang for all her Independent gals to throw your hands up at me. I can do pretty much anything on my own…anything except kill bugs and fix cars. Which is why I am totally frustrated and helpless now that my car is sitting down in the garage totally dead. Yesterday, when I found it that way after over two months of sitting idle, (probably not smart, I know) I had plenty of help around to get me back on my way. I found someone with cables, someone to hook them up, and someone to open my hood and be the first to encounter the rabbits who had taken up residence. But that was yesterday.

Today, I again have a dead car and nobody around to help. I am far away from friends, I didn’t pass a helpful looking soul that wasn’t rushing out to the office, and I can’t locate my insurance card to see if I even have roadside assistance. I guess I’m supposed to buy a battery but who knows if you are forced to install it yourself. That would sure be scary and pretty much impossible so I’m sure they have someone who does it for you. But first comes the problem of finding someone to start my car so I can get to some sort of place that does that.

In the meantime, I’m just sitting here pouting. This is yet another reason why I really need to speed up the search for a husband because I’d prefer for this to be someone else’s problem. Oh…and did I mention I had to kill a bug this morning with nothing but a paper towel?! Sheer madness.



UPDATE:

People keep asking me what ended up happening with my car…so I suppose I’ll finish the story.

First, let me start with the moral of the story: Listen to your instinct.

I would never attempt anything grander than putting gas in my own car. But thanks to some well-intentioned friends and strangers who convinced me of the problem… and the obvious simplicity of how to fix it… I tried to be superwoman. Changing your own battery is easy!”, they claimed. So off I went to Wal-Mart to purchase a new battery. This is where the story takes an unpromising turn. I could just blame it on the Wal-Mart employee but maybe it was my bad for assuming he was an auto expert and chose to work at Wal-Mart for the unbelievable benefits. Long story short…I bought the battery, relied on the expertise of my girlfriend who had saw someone put in her battery months earlier and swore it was a piece of cake, and ended up with a car that wouldn’t spit, sputter, or click if it’s life depended on it. So, I have it towed, and then wait almost 24 hours for them to tell me that the problem was a blown fuse, caused by the purchase of the wrong type of battery that made this one part touch this other part that it wasn’t supposed to. Their “expertise” cost me the big bucks and the silly little fuse was only $12 dollars.

So yes, it was my battery, but no, a person like me should not try and pretend they’re someone they’re not. When it comes to cars, DIY might as well stand for screw it up and pay even more.

A lot of Lemons

Ask any athlete, and they will tell you that the most important meet after the Championships is the World Athletic Final. You make it into this meet by competing all year long at the highest tiered meets and earning points based on your finish. By the end of the year, 8 people are awarded entry into the meet…the first 7 are guaranteed their spot, and the 8th can be a wildcard if they (meet promoter) so choose and have a good reason to not just take the 8th place finisher. I struggled a little towards the latter part of my season, but thanks to my early competing on 6 different continents, I still was able to secure 7th place. Well, actually I tied for 7th place when it was all said and done. But how you get here doesn’t really matter because once you’re here, it’s anybody’s ball game. And I truly needed for it to be my day to play ball. This meet pays well and everybody makes money…better than any other meet I could possibly go to and I need that more than anything when I am about to cease making money until next season rolls around. I have no guaranteed base salary, I finished 9th when they pay top 8 at World Championships, and my bank account is in some serious need of a little security. I don’t do this for the money (obviously), but I can’t survive without it either.

Which is why I almost did a low scale freak out when I found out yesterday, the day I was flying to Greece, that I wasn’t on the start list. I have planned for this meet all year long, adjusted my schedule and competed all over the world so that I could give myself the best opportunity to make it here, and now, 48 hours before I’m supposed to compete, I’m told I might as well be flying home. Meets are fickle, that’s just part of the business, but this meet is supposed to purely be based on your performance throughout the year, and by performing well you are rewarded with the opportunity to end your season with a bang. But instead, my season will now end with a whimper, and a fairly broke whimper at that. Somehow they found a way to take the other top 7, leave me out, and use the wildcard on the girl in 9th, a well-deserving silver medalist and one of the top jumpers in the world for many years. Still…it’s not my fault she wasn’t top 8.

I try very hard not to complain because at the end of the day, I know I’m still blessed. But for so long I’ve been waiting to feel like I’ve made it far enough so that it seems like I’m not gasping for air, barely able to hold my head above water. But yet, here I am at the end of the season…without a coach, without a contract, and without this last big meet to try and make next year just a little bit more comfortable. I know it doesn’t overshadow all the bright spots, but right now the immediate future looks a little bleak. No matter what I do, I seem to be a day late and a dollar short. But sometimes that’s life, right? You just have to constantly find new ways to make lemonade.