Gas Anxiety

For a reason unknown to me, the level of gasoline in our vehicle gives Kaeli great anxiety. She never fails to remind me when we are a quarter tank low. If I still don’t fill it after her friendly reminder she will give subtle reminders such as, “Are you going to stop at the gas station on the way home?” Or “Look, Meme, there is a gas station RIGHT THERE.”  If I still do not fill the tank after these gentle but constant reminders, Kaeli slips into panic mode. For example, our conversation this morning when I am trying not to lose my mind over the lack of merging knowledge by my fellow commuters, Kaeli half shouts at me:

“Meme!”

Me: “Yes, Kaeli.” I ask after nearly peeing my pants.

Kaeli: “We are almost out of gas!!”

Me: *Deep breathe* “kaeli, we will not run out of gas.”

Kaeli: “But it is almost to the red and we are stuck in traffic!”

Now, I would understand her anxiety if I was one of those people who has AAA because I make a habit of running out of gas just to inconvenience our lives, but I don’t. In fact, I have never run out of gas. Ever. So, I am not sure what she thinks will happen if we do run out of gas. Like the car will spontaneously explode, or little aliens will see our lack of mobility and abduct us, or we will get arrested, I just don’t know. What I do know is that parenting books don’t cover this type of stuff. I refuse to think Kaeli is the only child who has ever taken on the daunting task of Gas Monitor. Anybody? *Tap tap* is this thing on?

Honey Bucket

My job has been nothing less than a learning experience. I have never worked in this predominately male industry before and every day I learn something new working in construction. I have learned that middle aged men can fight like 5-year-olds over who gets to be team captain. I have learned that it is possible to squeeze more swear words into a sentence than actual words. I have observed many varieties of containers in which a person can spit chew into and that a lunch can consist of Wheat thins, Cheetos, and Peanut Butter M&M’s. However, as a woman, there is no amount of training that can prepare you for having to use a port-a-potty on a daily basis.

I knew it was coming and I had been mentally preparing for months but nothing can prepare you for the rainy days, the freezing temperatures, and having to put on safety equipment just to walk to the potty.  

At first we had to share with the boys. Ew. The male species never ceases to amaze me with their lack of personal hygiene.  It only took a couple days before the ladies were upgraded to their very own fully equipped Honey Bucket, with a padlock so the boys couldn’t get in. A highlight, yes, but it still doesn’t make up for the fact that I have to place my bare hinny on a 32 degree seat.

Now, I am learning, surprisingly, that I can adjust to the humbling fact that I will be using a port-a-potty 5 days a week, eight hours a day for the next year and a half to two years of my life but what I can’t seem to adjust to is settling with antibacterial hand gel in place of actual hand washing. To all of you that think antibacterial hand gel is more effective than hand washing should come to my place of employment at the end of the day and let me make you a meal with my bare antibacterial smothered hands. Then we will see how confident you are with this idea. By the end of the day, I want to dip my hands in acid. Even on days that I bring my lunch to work I find myself running to the nearest store on my lunch break just to wash the haunting smell of antibacterial hand gel off my hands. 

Needless to say, I have a new found respect for running water and plumbing. After all, what’s more humbling than freezing to death while breathing through your mouth to avoid stench and single ply toilet paper?