This is what we saw, twice, during our road trip through the southern part of the United States. A very large, blanket sized Confederate flag, waving in the air, off of I-75.
I believe there is one near Tampa and the other we saw in Georgia.
Not too far from the one we saw in Georgia was a large billboard that said Secede.
I kid you not.
I don’t know what century these people are living in.
I was highly offended by two things when I saw that symbol of hate waving in the air. Number one was that it’s a symbol of hate. Number two was that any flag other than the one of the USA would be up and displayed so prominently.
My family is Indian. If I want to celebrate my heritage, I make biryani. I don’t pop the Indian flag out on my lawn.
It’s as simple as that.
We arrived in Chicago on Monday night, after a long, long drive from Florida.
For those unfamiliar with it, this is what the route there looked like.
Our neighbors told us we took our vacation at the perfect time. Apparently Chicago was a cold hell while we were gone.
What else is new?
Florida was a lot of fun. And super super hot. The temperature during the day never got below 90 degrees Fahrenheit.
We split the time between Tampa and Orlando, spending about three days in each city.
The time spent driving felt long, but it wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t beyond what I expected it to be. And it felt great to explore different parts of this beautiful country.
I have seen more small towns of America during this trip than I have in my entire life. That’s what happens when you have two boys with alternating bladder schedules.
I also have people waiting on me for pictures. Some of them are angry that I didn’t post a few already.
So now I will be showcasing vacation pics ad nauseaum.
For the next couple of blog posts, you will be seeing almost all the photos we took, sorted out by day and location.
I am glad I have a blog to display them on because I hate giving Facebook access to my pictures. They do this creepy thing where they download my photos without my permission.
And for the people that hate vacation snaps, look away, because there are lots of them coming at you!
Day 1 Friday – Chicago
We drove to my in laws place in Terre Haute, IN on Friday and spent the night there. That cut around 5-6 hours out of the drive itself.
On Saturday, we hit the road, with Atlanta, GA in mind as our next stop.
Day 2 Saturday – Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee and Georgia
With some late night driving by my husband, we managed to get an hour past Atlanta, to a little town called Byron, where we spent the night.
Day 3 Sunday – Byron, GA
The hotel where we stayed had a cute little produce place next to it. My sister and I wanted to try the famous Georgia peaches, while my kids really wanted to pick some strawberries from the long rows of bushes in the back.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, we arrived at our hotel in Tampa on Sunday night.
Day 4 Monday, Memorial Day – Tampa.
Lowry Park Zoo
Tampa River Walk
I thought I could cram more pictures in this post without making it five pages long.
Road trip 2015, Part 2. Coming soon to a blog post near you.
It takes me a long time to get ready and out of the house. I take long showers, do my hair three different ways before I’m finally happy with the way it looks, and try to put together an outfit that doesn’t hug back fat or show cleavage.
That last one can take an hour in itself.
So sometimes I’m just not up to the challenge. Sometimes I just want to put on a comfy pair of pajamas, sprawl out onto the sofa, and enter into a coma of laziness.
Most people think that as a stay at home mom, I get plenty of rest during the weekdays and weekends should be reserved for chores and activities.
Eff that shit.
This describes it for me.
Here’s a snippet of a conversation my husband and I had recently :
Hey, want to go out to Menard’s or Home Depot?
I noticed the boys’ room needs new blinds. We could take a look and see what they have.
– I don’t want to.
Apparently he thinks “no” means I’m playing hard to get.
But we could get new blinds for the whole house.
– I don’t care. I like our house ugly.
What if the neighbors happen to look in and see you naked?
– Send them your condolences.
That last question was just plain silly. We have nice neighbors who pay way too much attention to their lawn and don’t really seem interested in a game of peek a boob.
Anyway, this past weekend I had to be productive, whether I wanted to or not, because my in laws were visiting.
And we had a wedding to attend.
And it was my mother in law’s birthday.
And my brother’s birthday.
And I had homework.
So on Friday I slept for a grand total of four and a half hours and got my ass up at the crack of Sheema, get up, your alarm has been going off for an hour already!
I washed, scrubbed, mopped, cleaned, dusted, vacuumed, swept, and cooked. Every time I thought I could rest, I remembered something else that had to be done.
By the afternoon, I was all
Then it was time to take my tired ass to the wedding. By that point, I just didn’t care anymore. I could’ve been sporting facial hair the size of a cat’s whiskers and I still wouldn’t do anything about it.
I put on the same thing I wore to the last wedding I attended, stuck a bobby pin in my hair, popped in some earrings and off we went.
And because I am tired of typing, here are some pictures.
Saturday we went to Lincoln Park Zoo, which meant five hours of constant walking. Yay.
Sure, they have great views, but apparently they decided it meant that they can short change on the animals.
The exhibits are small, the walking areas are cramped, and traffic/parking is a nightmare.
Everything got done over the weekend except for my homework, which I have been putting off in favor of the funner stuff in life.
Not that blogging is still fun. I’m actually getting pretty bored of not for profit writing.
But it beats having to deal with political science and anthropology.
At this rate, I will fail and remain education/degree less for the rest of my life.
I will be old and fat and working at Walmart until I die.
Oh well. At least I have a plan.
The title says it all.
These are just some of the ways my kids have left their toys lying around our house. And yard.
Some of these situations I couldn’t believe and some were just plain funny.
There is some plastic, Made in China kind of slightly risque humor here. If you are easily offended and rush to label everything inappropriate or haram, then please proceed no further.
If you can see humor in simple, everyday situations, then please have a look.
Ready? On we go.
What used to be some poor stuffed animal’s tail apparently turned into this guy’s….
I believe the picture is self explanatory.
That poor Elsa doll. Someone is obviously out to get her.
And she has armpit hair.
These two just happened to be…
right across from each other.
Never pick on someone that’s twice your width and can easily beat you up in the toy box.
I believe he’s stuck.
These guys were my patients over the weekend.
A nearly decapitated Bowser and a penguin in desperate need of a nose job.
Apparently Mario and Luigi have turned homicidal since my Nintendo days.
Bowser and Penguin paid a visit to the stuffed animal hospital and I took them into the operating room,
where my pathetic patching skills met my even more pathetic sewing skills.
But they aren’t complaining.
I’m the only doctor covered by their insurance plan.
And they told their friends about me, too. My fame has spread amongst injured toys and their owners.
I now have a waiting room.
Traffic and construction on the first warm weekend of the year.
My husband wonders if the city of Chicago is really just a massive experiment on how much misery the average human being can handle.
If the winter doesn’t kill you, the taxes will.
Hope everyone is enjoying the wonderful weather!
The next morning.
There are days when my brain works at a speed and efficiency that surprises even me. On those days, I am charming and at my witty best. I also manage to churn out draft after draft of the most fantastic blog posts, the sheer awesomeness of which would completely boggle your mind.
Then there are those times when I can’t even spell wow and only every so often is there an occasional blip in the flat line that is my brain activity. All those fantastic blog posts are trashed and I wonder what I was high on that I ever considered them good enough to publish.
This blog post has been stuck somewhere between those two states of mind.
As I sit and type, son 1 and son 2 are jumping off and climbing back on my king size bed. They’re chasing each other and laughing like maniacs. There’s a lot of noise and hyper activity.
Occasionally I have to move my laptop out of the way for fear of one of them crashing down on it.
Son 2 just sat on son 1’s face and farted. I was going to say something, but before I could, son 1 laughed hysterically and shouted Mine will be worse than that!
The joys of being the only female of the house.
My sons think women don’t have gas because they’ve never heard me share it before.
After a week’s worth of monkeying around, picking up of toys, fighting, shoving, crying, refereeing, complaining of utter boredom, and trying to keep from losing my sanity, Son 1 had his first full day of school, post spring break, last Monday.
Back when I was a student, spring break actually started in Spring.
The icing on the cake was the surprise snowstorm we got on the first day off. We woke up to five inches of the white stuff on the ground and temperatures low enough to make sure it stayed there. For the entire week.
The snow meant no chasing the chubby little bunnies in the backyard, no swinging or sliding on the play set, and no digging tunnels in the freshly exposed dirt to see if you could get to China without paying for expensive airfare.
So with the situation as it was, the kids were plenty bored. PLENTY bored.
Which led to my husband buying them a brand new way to have some fun.
I have a strong feeling it was more for him than the kids.
The game system brought excitement and even more fighting, this time for who would get use of the fancy new controller.
Look, they stuck a little TV in it.
It’s been almost two weeks since then and I’m still waiting for my turn. 😡
Times sure have changed. I grew up in a house with four siblings. If one of us ever complained about something as frivolous as being bored, we didn’t get toys. We got lectures. And not even your typical lectures.
Our lectures consisted of stuff like how we were the lucky ones, how kids in the old country would be happy to trade places with us, and that we were bringing shame on our entire family, plus a few generations back of ancestors, by not making the most of our time off and doing math problems.
No one does guilt like Indian mothers do. 😐
I tried the guilt thing with my kids once. Just once. I was sick and probably also slightly off my hinges for even thinking any of my parents approaches to discipline would ever work.
I said to my boys Can you please keep it down? I’m not feeling so well. I could use some peace and quiet.
They didn’t care.
Frustrated, I said If I had daughters, they would care that their mommy was sick. They would tell me to rest and make me breakfast in bed!
My boys looked a little shocked at that and traded nervous looks with each other.
I thought Jackpot!, but no.
Maybe you’ll have better luck next time was the apathetic reply.
I was almost desperate enough to start pretend crying next, because every man I know, from my 61 year old father to my 4 year old son, gets nervous and fidgety when the water works start.
But I didn’t. I just lay down on the sofa, propped my feet up, and let the two of them play a game of who can jump over Mommy without crash landing on top of her.
Not my boys, that’s who.
Anyway, all that came to an end the moment Son 1 got on that giant yellow bus and I waved to him from our doorway. I told him to be sure and thank his teacher for me as soon as he saw her on the first day back.
What for? he asked.
I replied Don’t worry. She’ll know.
I’ll bet he had to wait in line.
I am a die hard foodie. I get excited just hearing about what was served at parties. I like to cook and I like to eat.
I swear, when I die, it’ll be probably be with a french fry in my mouth.
And of course it just happens that when a foodie goes on a diet, she gets invited to a beautiful wedding that is hosted by other foodies.
And the dessert table makes you think you died and went to pastry heaven.
My sister and I snuck some of these goodies out with us. 😁
I only had one piece of baklava because I believe in eating in moderation when there are 600 people eating with you.
Then you take the rest home and stuff your face.
So my sisters had this idea.
Because sharing the same gene pool just isn’t enough. You need a tattoo to solidify the bonds of sisterhood.
My sisters are the more adventurous of the bunch and I’m slightly more cautious.
Okay, so I’m a worry wart.
They do stuff with abandon and I crawl after them, metaphorically of course, worrying about any and every repercussion.
I also was not very excited about the idea of any of my limbs being the canvas for permanent art work.
But I must admit, my interest was piqued. We started to discuss what kind of inking we would get. It had to be something all three of us would like, so we thought why not just get the word ‘sister’ tattooed in some fancy looking arabesque calligraphy?
Kuthi means bitch in Urdu and Hindi. We passed on that one.
Meaning there is no way in hell you are getting that on me.
By this time, we had shot down quite a few ideas and Sister 2 was getting frustrated.
To which Sister 1 was not very sympathetic.
We managed to get past that little snafu and decided on some sort of sisterly symbol instead of the word itself.
That made me sound like someone’s deranged stalker.
Then we hit another road block.
That idea was then also scrapped.
I’ve decided that if I am to get a tattoo, it will be for and around my next birthday. I’ve narrowed my choices down to two that I like.
Now to get my sisters to agree. You’ve already seen how easy that is.
I’m not crazy about permanent inkage and I absolutely hate needles. As a child, I once ran out of the room during a doctor appointment during which I was to get vaccinated. I would’ve made it out of the building, too, if the nurse hadn’t dragged me back.
But the idea of just one, really cool looking, bad ass tattoo is tantalizing. I’ve never been bad ass before.
According to my younger brother, with whom I have regular back and forth sessions of what I like to call insultathons, I have been a fat ass, a lazy ass, and a dumb ass at various points in my life.
It’s like a mini Comedy Central roast every time we meet up.
But I have never been bad ass. And who doesn’t want to be bad ass?
I do. I really do. Especially since I have always been told I have a sweet little baby face and I remind them of Winnie the Pooh. 😐
I’d love to whip out my tattoo, and with a crazy look in my eyes, ask the commenter Would Winnie the Pooh DO THIS? Would he?! 😈
I’m just kidding. I’m not that nuts and I really don’t mind the comparison.
But I would like to cross get a tattoo off my things I want to do before I die list.
Smoke a cigar and try hookah were taken off said list last year, on my last birthday, which was an important, milestone birthday. I wanted to try something crazy, something I had never done before. I figured Why the hell not? Everyone does it.
Bad idea, boys and girls. To all you impressionable young people out there, don’t even.
Both the cigar and the hookah tasted like shit. Like dirty ass crack shit. I couldn’t even stop coughing long enough to inhale or enjoy the stuff. The smell of tobacco smoke clung to my hair and my clothes, mingling with my perfume.
The end result of it all was that I got home at 3 AM, looking like a zombie and smelling like a cheap hooker.