Where is your vibrator? And other tales from tennis

Julie and I had been emailing because it looked like rain. I said, sadly, it’s sunny here. I knew I should be more excited to go to our tennis class because I love to play, but I said today I really can’t take any more direction....more playing, less instruction. Sometimes I just can’t think any more at the end of the day!

Ironically, I ended up arriving at tennis early, which never happens, so Manuel, one of our instructors said he would give me a private lesson until everyone arrived and warmed up. He asked what part of my game I wanted to work on in particular. I said, well the whole thing in general, but I would like to have a more powerful serve in particular.

He’s showing me how to stand. Who told you to stand with your foot like that? I don’t know, just always have done it. Well, stand with them apart, but in line, let your body go forward with the power of the serve. Ok. Hold the racket relaxed, loose, basically with 3 fingers so you can snap it up to hit the ball just a little bit in front of you using the power of your whole body. Ok. Don’t let any of the racket stick out past the bottom of your hand – keep it flush so that you can use your whole arm. Ok. All seems to work when you have someone telling you what to do. Like with anything, you know when it feels right, but you’re not exactly sure how to replicate it.

He says. Where’s this? And he points to this little piece of plastic on the racket strings. I didn’t have one on my racket. I matter of factly say – oh – that – it’s in my racket bag. He looks perplexed. Been there since I bought my racket when I started playing, what was that like 4 summers ago? He stopped what he was doing, looks at me and says “I could write a book of all the things I hear you people say.” And just shakes his head and laughs.

What I didn’t tell him, which should go in his book, was a few summers ago there was this hotty instructor that was a student at SLU at the time – beyond being easy on the eyes, he was a smarty – studying finance and Russian/international studies. Hmmmm. However, the student at SLU part made him more of a conversation piece and target for the older married women in the class. One class he was going on and on about...Don’t you have a vibrator? Where’s your vibrator? I can help you with your vibrator. This poor kid really was just telling this lady to let him add this little piece of plastic to her racket because it absorbs the vibration so it doesn’t transfer into your arm so your arm doesn’t get sore. He was just teaching what he knew – he had no idea what he was saying or how everyone was taking it. After that I never really wanted to ask anyone about that little piece of plastic.

Tennis is filled with tons of 6th grade humor. Normally I am not a fan, but come on – where’s your vibrator? And how many times do we talk about balls? You know some kid just starting out in his lessons is in tears laughing every time some girl in his class pulls a ball out of her skirt or makes some comment about needing more balls. We’re always yelling – I have one! It’s amazing how many balls fit up there. Those little skirts are like magic. The worst is when the balls go in the corner of the court and end up with little ants on them and you forget to check and all the sudden you’re like OUCH! It bit me! Dancing around, balls falling out of your skirt. Oh to be a 6th grade boy.

And in tennis we get to say fun things like – I made myself a midget! Which I yelled after ducking down and letting the ball whiz over my head so my partner could get it. I think the actual direction was something like, make yourself small, which meant bend your legs to get down to the ball if you need to – gives you more flexibility and easier to adjust for the height of shot. I prefer my version.

After class I went to the grocery store. I was walking up the aisle in my little tennis get up, all sweaty and gross. I hear this little voice and it sounds like he’s saying Staci, Staci....so as I get closer I see it’s this little boy in a shopping cart and he’s looking right at me, repeating the same word. As I pass by his parents say to me – oh he’s just learning how to say Lady. He’s been eyeing you come up the aisle. They sounded so proud, he just kept saying it over and over. I said, well my name is Staci, which it sounds like too - I thought maybe he was psychic. He did have a weird look in his eye – very intense. They looked at me funny (in hindsight it may be kind of creepy to hear a woman call your kid psychic in the grocery store...who knew?) and then they made some comment about how young he was to be flirting with the girls...so cute. Ah yes.

I continued shopping as to not be around when psychic boy started speaking in tongues or shouting proverbs to passerbyers. I was on a mission to get oatmeal. I have it for breakfast every morning and the grocery store is the only place I can find regular oatmeal. If you go to Target or Walgreens they only carry the 1-minute quick oats. One minute? For real? It only takes 5 minutes to make it on the stove...or 2 minutes in the microwave. Did we really need to use our resources inventing the 1 minute version? How busy are we? If you don’t have 4 extra minutes in your day you need to slow down because your head’s about to explode. On the other hand I bought steel cut oats at Trader Joes, which says you cannot make them in the microwave and it literally takes at least a half an hour to make on the stove...seriously? Those people need to be introduced to that Quaker Oat guy – apparently he knows all the secrets.

He’s great...I’m great...we’re all great.

That’s my newest great nephew Joseph Michael with my oldest great nephew Nathan John. Di commented how is baby Nathan holding a baby? Exactly. And it’s not some scandal like my niece was popping out babies when she was 9 years old – I’m the youngest of 5 and her mom is 13 years older than I am – do the math – it’s ok.

I went to officially meet the baby on Saturday. Earlier I called Trisha and told her I was making both ‘greats’ a bear and a dino. She said – good idea to get Nathan something – the day you were born everyone came in with gifts and I would say – thanks! And then they would pass me up or they’d let me unwrap it and it would be a rattle and I’d be like I’m 6 ½ what the hell am I supposed to do with a rattle?? I told my mom this story and she didn’t even let me finish – she said – come on you were the 5th – nobody was bringing gifts. It makes me laugh no matter which way you “remember” it. The other thing my siblings “remember” from the day I was born is they were all at the swimming pool and had to come home. They look like a bunch of sunburned ragamuffins in all the pictures they have with me.

Melissa has this great big back yard with a swing set and plenty of room for all the boys to run around. When we pulled up Nathan jumped out of his dad’s truck, who was leaving, and came with us around the house. There was a ladder on a picnic table so you could get to the roof where his dad had been doing some work. He showed us the ladder and then starts to climb up – as if thinking whew, now dad’s gone and I can snow these chicks. My mom however, now a great grandma for the 2nd time, was on to his scam. She stayed outside and I went in to talk to Mel – who was surprised to learn Nathan was still home. I said mom was outside negotiating with him not to go on the roof. One yell out the door from her and we were all inside playing with the baby.

The new baby is a doll. Nathan, I declared, is a crack head, after spending time playing with him in his room...but adorable none the less.

The baby likes me. I got to feed him. He loves to eat. Then the he gets these hiccups where his whole little baby body shakes. I asked Melissa if she was bottle feeding or breast feeding. Bottle she emphatically says. I told her I was going to bring her some wine but thought that would be really mean if she were breast feeding, so I’d send it later. Then my mom pipes in – you can’t drink when you breast feed? Uh, all these rules nowadays! Which then usually leads into the story about how she took a handful of aspirin when she was pregnant with me every day when my sibling got off the school bus...and I’m fine! My mom rarely drinks and has never smoked and doesn’t even really drink soda, but she loves to get riled up about how modern mothers are supposed to behave.

Nathan gave me a tour of his room. He’s very clever. I was admiring this pyramid made out of legos – he says it’s a car garage....then he pulls a truck out of it – then says...no, it’s a truck maker! It was so fun to watch the little wheels in his mind spin these new stories as they came to him. In his closet he had a monkey hanger, which looked to me like a regular coat hook, until he started swinging from it. Sure I’d been letting him stand on the low shelf of his closet, probably not allowed, but even I knew he shouldn’t be swinging from a coat hanger! Sure I can, she says, look it’s nailed in. Thanks Bob Vila – now get down.

While in his closet he said– I want to wear something nice tonight so I look really good for my grandma...and proceeds to bring out a cute long sleeved oxford. Good choice I thought. Then he pulled out a hoodie and remarked how nice it was going to look for school. Was he serious? He’d made several deadpan statements like that, including...My dad really did do a good job on the baby’s room. For real. You sound like you’re making it up when you try to repeat them to people who weren’t around. He’s 5 years old –minutes prior to that we were having a discussion on who would win in a fight between the new dino – roarasuarus I gave him – or Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. Obviously the dino.

Melissa had said Gradma Meyer was coming over so I was surprised to find my sister standing in the kitchen. Grandma Meyer is Melissa’s grandma – she’s about 75, grey hair, makes fabulous fabulous desserts and quilts. The woman in the kitchen is my sister...Shelly or even aunt Shelly – I have yet to wrap my head around the grandma-ness of her. But she is really good at it – she has this wonderfully soothing voice and she loves to sing to the babies. Even in the car my mom said – I was thinking she meant Josephine was coming over when she said Grandma Meyer. That was an eye-opener. I guess it’s like when people get married and start to call each other mom and dad – weird. When we were leaving Nathan said – bye Jessi. I said, well that explains why we got along so well today, he thought I was Jessi (my other niece). Nice. He giggled.

Notice the photos – the baby is happy and content with me (obviously he inherited my napping gene), glaring and completely peeved when being held by his brother – this will be a common theme as they grow up I’m sure.

I saw a bumper sticker on my way out to Washington and it said: Abortion – infant genocide. This made me think – when did babies become a race of people? Aren’t they just small versions of ourselves? I’m picturing them holding underground meetings, carrying little picket signs and wearing bandanas. I looked it up - genocide: the deliberate and systematic extermination of a national, racial, political, or cultural group. I don’t think babies are any of those things. Honesty crazy anti-abortion people, make your statements more clearly.

Another sign that irks me: Chipotle – we put the gourmet in burrito. I know I use spell check more than the average person, but I know there is NO gourmet in burrito. You can be: Chipotle - we put the GO in gourmet. Or Chipotle – We put the BURR in Burrito. Idiots. I thought it was just me, but Jen and I discussed on the way home from golf once when I pointed it out and she agreed.