Not quite what I was going for in my life or my career, but, hey, I worked at a great place, with amazing people, world-class brands and savvy business strategies. So, I took the laughs along the way and uncovered the self-deprecating humor that gets me through every single day.
It is however another nickname that has become the embodiment of, well, me. Years ago, someone nicknamed me "Whirlwind" for my natural ability to juggle a million things at no less than 100 miles per hour. But really it's because I am manic, always have to be doing something. It's almost a sickness and my husband gives me that hardest time. He tells that I just have trouble sitting down or not making a to-do list for something else coming up. Somehow the name stuck, frankly I have no idea how (sarcasm here, people). I am not sure if it is life imitating art or what, but life for me has never really slowed down.
I talk fast. I walk fast. I type fast. I snatch the phone of the cradle on the first ring... usually it's a half ring. I honk the horn when the light has been green a millisecond too long. I am that PERSONALITY TYPE A that you probably hate. I am meticulous and always have a way of seeing the one thing that is wrong. I am not a pessimist, don't get me wrong. I am a perfectionist. And I work fast.
It wasn't until I had to two very busy little boys that this Whirlwind met her match.
These days, the "Whirlwind" is no longer just me, it contagious. My entire family is now wrapped up in the whirlwind. We are always running here, there, and everywhere. We eat on the run, hurry to school, race to the gym, fly to the store, and cram it all in.
And as a result, I am more slovenly and disheveled. I believe a good yoga pant can be dressed up and clearly for comfort, dressed down. I know that a cute ponytail, some eyeliner and mascara, and a punk hat will still get me smiles even if my boys are whining at the check out for some candy (who in their right brain would torture parents in such a way?!)
Once we settle into our place in New Jersey, we welcome our first out of town visitors - Papa and Nonna (my husband's parents). It is exciting to have them visit and to see familiar faces with nothing but warmth and love. They would be able to see us in our new reality and spend time with their precious grand kids. It is lovely, well, accept for the behavior of the beloved grandsons.
These little boys put a whole new meaning to "whirlwind" during their visit in the Garden State.
My husband is able to spend two days with his parents until he has to leave out of town for a work commitment. At least this time, he leaves me behind with extra help and company.
On a bright sunny day during their visit, we decide to "brave it" and take the boys for an outing to a mall. I am standing in the quiet kitchen shuffling through my wallet and doing the mental checklist that all moms do, except mine is a tad longer. Water in sippy cups, Enzyme pills for the boys in case we eat out, Epi-Pen for Dylan for his food allergies, wallet, sunglasses, coupons, pretzels... I feel my feet slightly tread as though I am on a boat. My legs subtly sway.
I mildly feel like I am an on an elliptical exercise machine. Weird. I look down. Yep, as I thought. I am STANDING still. Brain confirms. "You are not on an elliptical."
I glance up at Papa who is standing at the sink across the kitchen from me. It is eerily quiet in our house since the dog is out to go potty and the boys have already walked outside with Nonna to get in the car.
"Do you feel that?" I ask him. Before he can respond I say, "I think we are having an earthquake."
He looks around and notices the swaying of the rod for the blinds. It is rocking through the air almost like a pendulum. We hear the clanking and clattering of the dining room and foyer chandeliers and watch the water in the water cooler sloshing around like a mini-storm inside the bottle.
The uneasiness strikes me as I see Nonna holding each little boys' hand and walking down the many cement steps to our back patio. I am fearful they will lose their balance and stumble down. I lean out at yell to Nonna to be careful... that we are having an earthquake. They hadn't even noticed.
A historic earthquake on the east coast. Of course, I am not shocked that we arrived in New Jersey just in time to experience this.
We safely strap into the car and head out to a mall about 30 minutes away. Nonna is fidgeting with her new cellphone and muttering comments under her breath trying to figure the damn thing out. She is simply trying to send a note to family that we felt the quake, but are okay. We are hearing reports that the earthquake was centered in Virginia and was a 5.8 on the Richter Scale. Since I am a girl from the Midwest I don't know the difference between 1 point up or down on the Richter Scale, I just know that I felt it - no question.
After the excitement of the earthquake some shopping should do me some good. Of course, the boys are difficult not wanting to do things cooperatively or quietly. Afterall, they are this Whirlwind's sons. Then I remember that this mall has a LEGO store. I promise the kids if they are good for a little while then I will let them visit the LEGO store. Heads nod and we are all in agreement.
After stopping through some of the typical kids apparel stores and home decor chains, Nonna heads to a shop while Papa and I head to the LEGO store. It is brightly lit and radiates energy. The kids are swirling with excitement to explore. Every other word out of Michael's mouth is "Whoa!," or "Wook, Mommy, wook. Cool!" Dylan is impossible to get to sit in the stroller, which I have decided to give up and park just outside the store's massive window. At one point Dylan makes a mad dash out of the store. I leave MIchael with Papa and see Dylan starting to climb, yes CLIMB, up onto the barriers that overlook the mall down to the first floor. We are on the second floor of the mall. I sprint and barely grab this child's arm before he gets his footing to really climb up onto the railing. My heart is in my throat. My nerves are shattered. I scold him and he laughs at me.
I walk back into the store to find Michael starting to melt down. He is demanding a big LEGO set. I had encouraged him to get a cup of LEGOS and practice so he can work his way up to the "big boy" sets. Papa sits with Dylan trying to get him to focus on designing a little LEGO person while I deal with Michael. I explain to Michael that I am willing to buy him a cup of LEGOs that he can choose himself, but I am not spending a ton of money on a set. He stands in the middle of the yellow and red store, looks up and starts wailing. I snatch him up and march him out to the stroller to give him a moment to calm down. I discreetly point out all the other little kids around him who are not going home is LEGOs. He is lucky... if he can find his manners and be polite, I will still let him have the LEGOs. But this is his last chance.
After looking around he says loudly, "But why don't those other kids get LEGOs?" Great. We are beyond a spectacle. We are going to be hated by the other parents around us. He collects himself and holds my hand. "Why do I get LEGOs?... because I am a very lucky boy." He keeps repeating this as I tell him to pipe down and just start choosing. I shove the cup in front of him and help him begin piling in red, green, white and black bricks.
After he has filled a cup, we begin choosing a few LEGO people at the station. Dylan has joined us again. He plunges his hand into each of the varying compartments. The rushing and crunching sounds of the tiny plastic parts rumble around as he moves his fingers about in the bins. He pulls his hand out and pushes it into another LEGO bin loudly.
One bin has countless tiny yellow heads with ridiculous different expressions... a skeleton, an angry lady, a bearded man with sunglasses. Another bin has LEGO people torsos and arms that are all insane... a prisoner, a police officer, a cowboy, even a torso with a busting bosom complete with lederhosen. I am utterly speechless. Who thinks this stuff up? All these tiny parts and I just know that my kids are going to co-mingle the legs with the heads or the accessories with the torsos. I am certain the LEGO employees just hate visitors like my kiddos.
Just as I am coaching Dylan to delicately look at each one and return it to the correct bin, he grabs a fistful of yellow LEGO heads and bolts for the door. Great. My kid is noot only a menace, but a shoplifter too. He peels out of the store at such a fast speed, I can barely keep up. Even though I had placed the LEGOs down before chasing him, I am lugging a massive purse and trying to sprint. He cuts around a corner and I am praying that he doesn't try the "climbing over the railing" stunt again. 50 strides into our dash, I reach out my hand and snag his forearm. I pull him toward me and he yanks back against his momentum. He is laughing and thinks this is great fun.
I am livid and muttering under my breath at him. I swiftly head back to the store. As I begin to pry the yellow LEGO heads out of Dylan's little hand, he shoves a few of the miniature heads into his mouth. I, PLUNK!, plop my purse onto the obnoxiously yellow floor and begin surgery to extract the yellow heads that are now missing in action. I collect three heads in my conquest and fish my finger around his mouth for any remaining ones. All clear.
I return all the yellow heads to the yellow head bin except for the ones that Dylan had put in his mouth. I politely hand those over to the LEGO staff, and I apologize profusely. I am so embarrassed at this point I just want to pay for our items instead of igniting another scene by refusing to purchase the LEGOs for my two little tyrants. While I am paying, Dylan tries to make a break for it again. I start to bolt for him and my reflexes are faster. An overzealous LEGO employee is happy to dive into the drama and tries to grab him. I secure him and then flash daggers from my eyes at the employee who I can tell is thrilled about these types of situations.
Okay, lady. I realize you are trying to help, but get your hands off my kid!
She snickers at the scene obviously uncomfortable with my response. She mumbles a joke about they have plenty of experience with kids like this. I roll my eyes, finish paying, and we all leave.
I am so frustrated and exhausted. As we pack up the car and are strapping the boys into their carseats, Dylan frees himself of my grip getting into the car. He lowers himself to the ground and takes off running. IN THE PARKING LOT. I leave Michael in the car with Nonna and Papa and chase after Dylan. I can't believe the nerve of this little boy. And clearly he is fearless. No filter. No sense of danger. Well, maybe that's just it. He loves the thrill and the danger. He is just trouble.
Or maybe is just like me. Always moving at 100 mph. A force of nature. A whirlwind.
I literally have to tackle this child, who is only two years old, in the parking lot so he doesn't get hit by a car. Thankfully, we are parked at a location where the empty spots outnumber the spots with cars.
Some trip. We are all tired and concoct a plan for an easy dinner and some relaxation. The news is abuzz with details from the earthquake from earlier in the day. By night and with the boys safely in their beds, the news begins to shift to the looming Hurricane Irene.
In the following days of Papa and Nonna's visit, we do more activities at home. Golf in the yard and low-key things like a few rounds of Candyland. But one thing is for sure... there are no more malls for us! Papa and Nonna prepare to fly back to sweet home Chicago and leave just as the rain is starting. My husband arrives safely back to New Jersey later that night.
Two days later, with one force of nature behind us, it seems there is another imminent one in the coming hours. The headlines are now forecasting the impending hurricane to track right over the East Coast with a direct hit for New Jersey.
The words, Category 2 and Storm of the Century, reverberate in my head. Irene begins to descend on land from it's rendezvous in the Atlantic Ocean and crawls up the Eastern seaboard toward us. The real question now... is Hurricane Irene any match for Whirlwind Dylan?
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