22 Day Push-up Challenge Continues

Ok, I’ve been lazy about posting. For the record I did accomplish my 22 push-ups for days 11 though 16. Less than a week to go.

This week also included cousins getting to know each other thanks to a visit from my sister-in-law with her daughter over the long weekend; and the munchkin survived his first day in daycare today. Or, perhaps I should say, I survived his first day in daycare.

22 push-ups a day for 22 days. For PTSD awareness. For more info see Day 1

 

Ivan Was Right…and More Push-ups

For those of you who I’m sure are dying to know, I did my push-ups yesterday and today. That’s days 9 and 10 down of 22 push-ups a day for 22 days to raise PTSD awareness. For more info see Day 1

In other news:

When I was about seven, there was this show I watched called Puttnam’s Pairie Emporium. One of the characters of this show was an amateur scientist named Ivan. He invented a time closet that worked as a jumping off point for many a plot.

But it isn’t the time-travel episodes that have stuck in my brain since 1989. Rather, it’s an episode that explained all those things you can’t find when you need them, but turn up when you’re not looking for them, why socks disappear in the dryer. Why your keys aren’t where you’re absolutely 100% sure you left them, etc, etc.

It’s the wormholes (or maybe it was quantum fluctuations, I can’t remember exactly). Point is, the universe snags stuff at random then, if it feels like it, gives the stuff back later and usually in a slightly different place than it was taken from. Even at the age of seven, I knew this was fanciful.

Today I decided I was wrong. Ivan was right, and the universe is messing with me.

There’s a narrow little brush I use when washing baby bottles. There’s only one place I put it, ever. Today it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere in the vicinity of there. I mean no biggie, I have another one, but seriously where does this stuff go?

And, no, no one else would have moved it. I am the only one who washes the bottles. Don’t judge hubby though, he does the laundry. We were ten years into our relationship before we figured it out, but we’ve learned I hate folding laundry almost as much as he hates doing dishes. Now, I do dishes, he does laundry, and we don’t end up eating take-out off paper plates while wearing the cleanest-ish clothes we can find from the bottom of the hamper.

Anyway, it will be interesting to see if the universe gives the brush back.

 

 

Push-ups Podcasts and Rolly Chairs

Day 7 of the 22-day push-up challenge to raise awareness for PTSD. For more info see Day 1

This means that, once again, I did 22 push-ups today. However, unlike the first 6 days, you’ll have to take my word for it. I have decided no one really needs to see 22, virtually identical, videos of me (usually in my pajamas) doing push-ups.

Plus, carefully setting up my phone such that my push-ups are visible— but the sea of toys, baby, socks, and rice puffs is not—is a pain in the ass. I will continue to do my 22 push-ups for 22 days, and tell you about it. My cats are my witnesses.

In other news, I had a good laugh listening to a podcast recently. Before I tell you why, the following information is relevant:

It was the summer of 2003. I was in the Navy and between my third and forth year at RMC (Royal Military College of Canada—they now call it RMCC cause the ‘Canada’ part is really important, I guess). Part of my summer training included five weeks at sea on a frigate. After which I would put in my request to switch to an Air Force trade, but that’s another story.

In the week or two leading up to our sail, the ship was a bit of a zoo. There was much to be done to get ready as this particular frigate hadn’t been to sea in a very long time. It had been in dry dock for something like a year and a half.

Back to 2016. I’m doing dishes and listening to episode 9 of Young House Love Has a Podcast.

This podcast is mostly about DIY/home decorating type stuff. In this episode, they interviewed Genevieve Gorder. Among other things, she talked about some interior design work she did for Royal Caribbean, and all the things one as to think about when designing for a ship: working with unusual proportions, no wood because nothing can be combustible, accessories can’t move, no rolly chairs…

Cue flashback, and laughter…

Meanwhile, back  2003: The frigate is underway. A few days have passed on the water and all is well. I’m sitting in the wardroom (known to non-navy types as the officers’ mess, and to non-military types as the bar). There is a man-overboard drill.

The world tips sideways as the ship makes a sharp u-turn. A group of us look up to the sound of breaking glass. Rows of glassware are flowing from the shelves like a water fall. Someone forgot to slide the little wooden bar in front of them to hold them in place. Oops.

For the next man-overboard drill, I’m working on a computer. Again, the world tilts sideways…

…and suddenly, the computer is moving away from me and an alarming speed. No. Wait. I’m moving. My chair has wheels. My chair has wheels! Why the fuck does my chair have wheels?!

Because a year and a half alongside can make sailors forget the finer details of life at sea. Even so, I can’t help but wonder under what circumstances someone procured a rolly chair for a boat? Sheesh.

 

More Funny Happenings

1) My cat is judging my parenting skills

Kiddo is getting pretty good at ‘gently’ petting that cats. Ok it’s more of a whack, but he is learning that they don’t like the fur grabbing thing. Unfortunately, sometimes that grabby impulse is pretty strong:

After the inevitable hiss, it isn’t the baby who gets the stink eye. It’s me. I hear her thoughts bore into my brain: Control your offspring, human.

2) Hide the chocolate

There was a time when the baby didn’t recognize those dark-brown squares as food items. He has now figured out that if I’m eating it, he can too. And wants to. Since the chocolate I was eating was 70% cocoa, I assumed it would be too bitter for his taste. I’d give him a piece, he’d hate it. I would continue to munch chocolate without tiny hands trying to nab it.

I handed over a crumb. He put it in his mouth. A moment of contempation…

Big smile.

Crap.

Chocolate will now be consumed in secret.

3) Creepy crawly

You’ve probably heard this one before. It started in the shower. Baby asleep, time to myself, all is right with the world. I open my eyes, and there it is. A big, wiggly spider drifting down to the top of the shower curtain.

Freeze. Consider screaming for husband to come to the rescue. No. It’s just a spider. Spiders are good, they eat mosquitoes. Keep showering, everything is fine. Keep showering. Sneak a peek at spider.

Gasp. Where did it go?

There! Spindly, translucent-orange legs appear over the top of the curtain bar… crawling my way, barely hanging on to the condensation-covered bar.

Unhook removable shower head, edge to other side of shower.

I could spray it, maybe wash it down the drain…

Hmm, too many folds in the curtain for it to fall into and vanish, still wiggling.

Quick rinse. Exit shower.

Options: A) Never use shower again. There’s always sponge baths, and we might be moving soon anyway. B) Husband is still within screaming distance.

Option C it is:

Unnecessarily large wad of toilet paper,

Squish,

Flush,

Victory.

Insects don’t really bother me that much when I’m (and they are) outdoors. There’s just something about sharing the shower with crawly creatures that isn’t cool with me.