PomJob

I was chatting with a couple of 40-something coworkers while we waited for the clock to strike 11 and our tour would begin. Someone brought up weight loss and gain, and after being reprimanded again by one for losing to much weight, another tells a story about her two daughters. One recently graduated from high school and put on a few pounds since she stopped cheer leading. The younger daughter picked out a pair of shorts for her sister but even though they were a size bigger than she normally wore, the shorts were too tight and my coworker was going to make the girls return them.

So the soon-to-be college freshman decided to cut out the mindless eating and tried the shorts back on after two weeks.

“I couldn’t believe it,” coworker said. “After cutting out what little extra food she ate, she’d lost that weight and the shorts fit perfectly.

“Although she is a little upset that the shorts are a zero. She used to be a double-zero.”

I was so excited the first time I put on a pair of zero pants, even with the one in front of said zero.

A Jeep rushed down the farm lane kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. I spot it and rush across the verdant grass to direct the driver to a parking spot out of the way of forklifts and tractors. I smile at the reporter walking toward me and suddenly the Earth is rushing at me.

We were gathered to commence the final stage of a major project at work. On a dairy farm. During the early June heatwave. My task of the moment was to keep the cars out of the way of the farm’s daily operations.

As I pranced across the front yard of the mustard-colored farmhouse, my right foot found a round hole bored into the slight hillside bordering the lane. I went flying into the lane, sliding on my elbow, hip and knee, successfully covering my right side in beige dirt that becomes speckled with red blood. In front of two reporters, three coworkers and various and sundry onlookers.

Luckily the guy in the Jeep was the photographer and he was too busy parking next to the other cars to capture my fall with(out) grace on film (or digital, in this day and age).

What did you do to embarrass yourself today?

PS-My middle name isn’t Grace, but it would fit. I’m currently sporting a bruise on my left hip from when I ran into the kitchen doorway yesterday as I tried to squeeze past the cleaning man, swollen toes on my left foot from when I jammed them into the ottoman in my living room, a scratch from the mini-blind that attacked me, unexplained bruises on my left knee and right thigh and the bruises and gravel pockmarks from today’s incident.

Molly wrote a post today praising her Momma and listing 100 things she’s learned from her.

9. Sometimes ice cream before dinner is OK.

June is National Dairy Month, today I helped create a 90-gallon ice cream sundae to commemorate one of the best holidays ever. (I don’t agree with Molly’s #40.) I think I’ve successfully ruined a pair of khaki capris and I kind of smell like warm milk.

The best part of the day was observing the inane things people do when you hand out free stuff. First, a bottled tea company decided to crash our event and hand out cans of their newest tea to our audience. During Dairy Month! For which another company that has a successful and popular line of teas donated ice cream and toppings!

Our servings were VERY generous (too generous in my opinion) but people kept asking for smaller dishes. And they asked if we could possibly give them another flavor, they don’t like vanilla. Or could you please find me some caramel? It’s my favorite topping, I’m not much for chocolate or strawberry. And could you ditch the pecans next year? I’m allergic. I’m betting next year someone asks us to include a disclaimer: Allergy Alert! This ice cream sundae contains milk.

People, people. It’s free. Eat it and like it. And please repeat, it pays my bills.

As the special people made opening comments, a man wearing a priest’s collar tapped me on the shoulder to ask if he could possibly get a sundae before everyone else because he had a meeting in a few minutes. We hadn’t even finished constructing the sundae and there was a group of 50 elementary students standing right beside him that probably would have rioted had I given him ice cream but not them. I denied a man of the cloth ice cream. I’m probably going to hell.

But my, that ice cream before lunch was delicious!

suz at wedding

Originally uploaded by JPom1

You sounded remarkably coherent when I called you a few hours ago to make sure you survived last night with the Captain. Your favorite shot was the Red Headed Slut but I would have cautioned against the cherry Long Island iced tea you chose as a chaser.

You’ve blossomed from my knock-kneed, lazy-eyed, lisping baby sister into a beautiful, intelligent young woman. I’m so proud of you and love you with all my heart. (Although you might kill me if you ever find this post.)

Happy 21st birthday, Little Suzie!

Have you ever had to turn off Dr. Phil because the daily topic hit a little too close to home and you just couldn’t handle listening to what he said when someone you love is doing the exact opposite of his advice but won’t listen to anyone?

I don’t think I have much, if any, Irish heritage, not matter what my freckles and hair-that-will-not-color-any-shade-that-is-not-red hair may make you think. But Philadelphia sure does love its St. Patrick’s Day, so I say, “When in Rome…”

I’m lucky because:

• I have a comfortable bed, heat, running water and enough money to buy all the food I want to eat.
• A loving family, including my delicious nephew.
• A job that I enjoy, about which I’m passionate, and in which I believe.
• Friends across the country who care about me.
• A reliable car and money to put fuel in the tank.
• The energy and ability to run a couple miles after work.
•  Television to entertain me and books to feed my mind.
• Cute polka dotted boots to keep my feet dry.
• Pretty pictures to help me remember the best times.

What makes you lucky?

I’m trying to get a consumer’s perspective on dairy farming for a work project. Since I grew up on a dairy farm and know a lot about it, I’m trying to gauge what consumers want to know about on-farm practices. What are some questions you have about dairy farming? Do you want to know what cows eat? Where they sleep? How long before the milk is taken to the processing plant? Thanks for your help!

No hat

Originally uploaded by JPom1

Things I learned at my nephew’s first birthday party:
1. He’s not a fan of birthday hats. I am. He is strong-willed and won.
2. My sister will probably never be named Party Planner of the Year.
3. It’s not much fun to watch cranky babies open presents.
4. Cranky babies do not like kisses.
5. Babies have lightening-fast mood swings.

Happy birthday, Little Man!

I’m having a really hard time reconciling how I’m supposed to feel about something with how I can’t help feel about that something.

Someone very close to me forged a friendship with a coworker that appears to have crossed boundaries.  I recently attended an interpersonal communications class that taught me to ASK why someone didn’t say good morning to me, instead of ASSUMING that that person was mad at me and what did I do and why is that person so sensitive, blah blah blah. Ask, don’t jump to conclusions, was the moral of the story. But I can’t ask what I think I need to know.

That’s what I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around. This person’s actions do not affect me, not directly. My life isn’t affected. But the lives of people I care about are affected. The Bible says we shouldn’t cast stones unless we are sinless. I’m far from sinless. But I still want to throw stones at this person for being do damn dumb. I can’t ask, so I’m jumping. I’ve lost respect for this person. I caught this person I love in a lie that begs for conclusion jumping. My stomach is in knots and I can’t stop the images running through my mind.

The lesson I’ve learned from this mess is this: You don’t lie when you have nothing to hide.

Aunt Jess

Originally uploaded by JPom1

525,600 minutes. When I was thinking about the approach I would take to write this post to commemorate your first birthday, the song my sorority sang one year for Greek Sing popped into my head from the part of my brain that allows me to retain show tune lyrics but not important, practical information like state capitals. I can’t believe a year has passed since that 4 a.m. phone call from your Nana telling me that you were finally on the way, or the follow up 4:45 a.m. phone call that Poppaw placed to me, as I was battling the snowflakes attempting to slow me down, telling me you were there.

You are the sweetest little boy ever. Seriously. You barely cried as a newborn, broke with first tooth with incredible pain tolerance, and wobble around trying to take your first real steps with an innocent smile that makes my heart melt. And don’t get me started about how you said my name last weekend. (You know which aunt already started a savings account for you.)

You love to play with your tractors and trucks, you love to be outside, you love to smile and you love to explore (especially cabinets… Nana’s not so good at childproofing). Not much gets you down, although you are stubborn and hate to be contained. I’m just saying, sometimes we have to change your diaper.

So happy birthday, Little Man. I love you so much. My life is better because you’re in it. I’m looking forward to the next 525,600,000,000,000,000 minutes.

Love,
Aunt Dess