Blonde Moments

Today has been one uncharacteristic blonde moment after another.

At break this morning I shook my bottle of vitamin water AFTER I had removed the lid. I ended up with orange Spark all over my pants, both of my shirts, my face, and in my hair. Sticky and smelly I made my way back to my desk to send out a notification letting my team know I intended to return home. I sent out my email, “Heading Home – will be back online in about an hour: As those of you sitting at break are well aware… I shook vitamin water all over myself this morning (not really my brightest move). I’m heading home for my second (or third if you count the shaking episode) shower of the day. I will plan on being online all day, but don’t plan on making the trek back to work.” and went home.

Before I made it out of town, I suddenly remembered I had not completed a task that was going to hold up payroll. I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the office. As I waited for the automated system to finish, I kept thinking, wow this is really hard to hear. It turns out I had my phone upside down. I got the payroll coordinator on the phone and began blabbering an apology. I promised to do it before I showered. I felt so bad. “Uh, Tina, it’s Wednesday. Payroll posted yesterday. You go ahead and shower and get that job set up whenever you get time today.” DUH! “Please forget everything I just said and pretend I didn’t call. Sorry to have bothered you.” What a freakin’ scatter brain I had turned in to.

After a much-needed shower, I checked my email. Much to my horror I realized I was in a co-worker’s email file when I sent out my email. Thus the notification went out to the entire accounting department looking as if she was the moron that can’t handle her vitamin water. I quickly sent out this disclaimer, “HOLY MOLY I’M AN IDIOT! Wow, has it ever been one of those days and it’s not even noon. TINA threw vitamin water all over herself and had to go home to shower – not (insert co-worker name here)! TINA will be working from home this afternoon. (Insert co-worker name here) is out of the office today. Pray that I make it through the rest of the week without lighting myself on fire!”

Dude, I’m a hot mess!

I’m Not THAT Old!

My 4 year-old niece has been chompin’ at the bit to spend the night at our house. Growing up with two older brothers leaves her yearning for some female bonding time, understandably. Through a series of events we found an opening at Hotel Fort Cronin and extended the invitation to Miss Shelby. So last night the mother of said child dropped her off and ran for the hills.

Number three will be turning 11 in just a few months, and I think it’s safe to say I’m a bit rusty on how to deal with a small child. I did what any self-respecting mother of three girls would do – I delegated her care to my offspring – after all, I wiped their noses and…well, you get the picture.

My younger sister gave me rough directions on what it would take to safely deliver Miss Shelby to pre-school this morning after our sleepover. I heard something about a code, and something about downstairs, and something about a cubby followed by, “Shelby will help you out and tell you what to do. She knows her code and won’t hesitate to boss you around.” Fabulous, finally a constructive outlet for her bossiness.

We arrived five minutes before school was to begin. We (Shelby, #2, and myself) walked in the front door and I said, “Shelby, what do we need to do.” She responded with “Go downstairs.” So we tromped past the front desk and made our way downstairs. We followed Shelby to her room and she made a beeline for her cubby. We helped her get all her bags, pillows, coat, and car seat (boy little kids come with a lot of luggage) crammed in and around her cubby. I said, “Okay, Shelby, now what?” She looked at me like I was a moron and said, “See ya’ later.” Now, I’ve never been to this preschool before, but I definitely remember her mother giving me more directions than “drop her off and you’re done.” “Don’t we need to put your code in somewhere?” “Yeah, upstairs.” “Okay. Can you tell me what your code is?” “I dunno.” YOU BIG LIAR! Your' mother definitely said you knew the code. But it was too late. She was off and running into a sea of germy snot-nosed children and I was not about to dive in.

I shot a despairing look at to adults standing near the door. The younger of the two looked like she may be able to help. “Her mother said I have to put a code in somewhere…?” “Yes, upstairs. The girl at the front desk can look up Shelby’s code if you need her to and show you where to put it in.” “Thanks.” Then I walked away and everything was fine.

No wait, that is not where this story ends.

THEN the older of the two ladies opened her mouth and THIS came out, “So are you Shelby’s grandma?” I turned my head, shot her the look of death, and simply answered, “No.” and turned and walked away.

Number 2 took this opportunity to shout as she was running to catch up, “Nana, wait up.” “Shut it.” was the reply she deserved and received. She was still laughing as we reached the front desk to inquire about the damn code.

And this my friends, is why I will NEVER take Miss Shelby to pre-school again.

What is wrong with people? This is the third time in the last two years that have been mistaken for being old enough to be someone’s grandmother. Julie, are you reading this? Whatever dye you are using on my hair every 6-8 weeks is NOT working. I want my money back!