Confessions of a Grammar Nazi

It is no secret that I am a Grammar Nazi. In an era of text messages and social media the ability to write well has gone to the wayside. I never succumbed to the “u” instead of “you” or “r” instead of “are.” Also, as a student I had to diagram sentences for years and years and years. I learned to enjoy the structure and design of the English (or American English) language. Prepositional Phrases are fun! I know, I’m playing fast and loose with the word “fun.”

Very early this week someone pointed out that I am not perfect. I shall pause for a moment to let the collective gasps subside. I was having an exceptionally dreadful day and decided to unplug from life for a bit by playing on Facebook. (Let me pause again for a helpful hint: When you are in the middle of a four-hour crying jag, stay off social media. It won’t help your mood.) Anyway, I commented on what I thought was a friend’s post on the ridiculous grammar. Most of my friends understand my sarcasm and graciously put up with me. The problem was that this was not my friend’s post on his page but one in a public forum AND my phone autocorrected one of my word choices. OH. DEAR. LORD. I got called everything from stupid to someone who thinks I’m better than everyone else. For the love, I couldn’t even deal. (Again, don’t de-stress on FB.)

Herein lies the confession…I am, in fact, not perfect. I am a terrible speller. Terrible! I taught myself to spell using the corrections suggested by spell check. I spelled “maybe” like “mabey” for a large chunk of my life and the word “definitely” was my arch nemesis. I have a dictionary app on the home screen of my phone and I reference it multiple times a day. I am sure that there are mistakes in this blog and when one of my friends points them out I will correct them. The edit function on FB posts is my favorite thing. I don’t even care if you can see the history, I care that I can make it right.

The thing is, we all make mistakes. English is a crazy language. It’s got all kinds of rules, synonyms, homonyms (homophones, whatever the heck they are called now), and is ever changing. “Fishes” even became acceptable plural for “fish.” O.o 

It’s not easy but it is important. Take for instance a post that I came across online today. A young man was commenting on his inability to find a job. It didn’t sound like this:

“I am having quite a challenging time locating a job in the area. I have filled out multiple applications and have not yet been successful. Is there anyone who might have a lead on a job or would be willing to share tips with me regarding your success?”

Rather, it sounded more like this:

“what is wrong with this town I cant find a job nowhere noone will call me back this town sux”

Uh, I can probably identify part of the problem…

I once heard someone say that to be successful in life you needed to be able to speak well and write well. It’s the truth! Yeah, (<<that’s the Midwesterner in me), it isn’t always easy, and we do things incorrectly, but it is important to at least try. A friend pointed out yesterday morning that I said, “I’m good,” instead of, “I am well.” Oh my gosh, I do! Sometimes I end a sentence with a preposition or use “them” as singular, but I try to fix those things. Impressions are important, and whether or not I  inherited the Davies’ mutated spelling gene, I’m going to keep trying to be better. We all should.

Handy guide in case you don’t want to read the whole thing:

1.     I am bad at spelling

2.     Dictionaries are awesome

3.     At least try to present yourself well

4.     Stay off social media if you’re having a sad day.

Spa Day Ahead!

We have been dealing with a stomach bug at the Widmer house this week and it’s a doozy. My youngest vomited for 6 days and my youngest son is now on his second day. Add to that a husband who worked two jobs all weekend, an ink pen exploding in the dryer, and a broken prong/lost diamond in my wedding ring, and I kind of want to run away.

In the middle of a conversation with someone about my week, (thank God for electronic forms of communication keeping you sane while stuck in the house), she said, “You need a spa day after all that vomit,” and I thought, “You know what? I think you’re right!” That thought had never occurred to me before but it has stuck with me providing both excitement and uncertainty.

April 9, 2014, I miscarried our sixth child. Honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing in the whole world. I wasn’t very far along and logically I knew that when that happens it’s usually for a reason. Still, I was sad and Matt had to go to Erie, PA the next day. I didn’t like the prospect of being alone so we decided that I would leave the kids with a sitter and go with him. It was at a time in our lives where we couldn’t afford a whole lot but I decided that while he did whatever it was he needed to do, I was going to go get a manicure/pedicure. It was $50 and I put it on a credit card. (I bet Dave Ramsey is rolling in his….recliner in his million-dollar mansion.) Then I took myself to lunch at Panera with a book and regrouped. It was lovely, perfect, and exactly what I needed. When I look back at that time I think of that day first. I remember all the bad and scary stuff but also that I took some time to heal and process and thus it’s much less traumatic than it could have been.

I allowed myself that “splurge” because a miscarriage was a “big deal”. I gave myself permission to feel and regroup and spend a little on myself to carry on. It probably wasn’t so much the money, but the time alone. Then I think about my week and I question. Is this a “big deal”? Does this “qualify” me needing time away? Does it make me a weenie to need it? Don’t laugh at that last one. I have certain rules for myself so I can’t be viewed as a wimp, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.

Does my week…or however long it ends up being…allow me to be justified in spending that money? Thanks to the grace of God and my husband’s work ethic I’d no longer have to put that money on a credit card but is money spent on me for “relaxation” justifiable? Seriously, don’t laugh, I’m thinking these things even though as I write them it sounds ridiculous. My motto to my children has always been, “People before things” and Matt and I have always lived with the viewpoint that people are more important than money. (Everybody calm down, I’m not talking about not paying our bills to spend money frivolously) But we’ve stretched our very tight budget to donate to those in need or buy an extravagant gift for someone just because we knew it was important.

But I’m not altogether sure that I apply this same principle to myself. In fact, I know I don’t.

We are looking at Matt deploying later this year and me being single parenting for 4 months. It’s a daunting thought and I’ve been asking God to begin preparing our family for this, to give us strategies to not just make it through, but to thrive. What if this is one of them? What if I need to allow myself to take time to regroup occasionally? I have been known to scoff at “me time” but I’m starting to think that was wrong.

I think I’m going to plan a spa day when everyone is healthy…not because I NEED to, but because it’ll be good for me. After I’m done holding puke buckets I get to look forward to more than laundry!

What do you think? Do you think that time to regroup is important and what does that look like for you?

The Ick Factor Subtitled GERMAPHOBE LIVES MATTER

My husband and I were fortunate enough to be blessed with a babysitter this past weekend. A very nice family from our church volunteered to come over and babysit all 6 minions so Matt and I could have some alone time. It took a while for us to coordinate but last Saturday was the lucky day.

I’m a creature of habit, so we ended up at a local favorite Mediterranean place for dinner. We ate hot meals without having to stop to cut up anyone’s food, wipe a butt, or clean up a spilled drink. We had a full conversation. It was lovely. After our dinner, we decided to keep our romance going by visiting the Verizon Store. What’s more romantic than being able to talk to a sales rep without having to chase children through an electronics store? After a 90-minute stint there, in a last-ditch effort to be out past 9 o’clock, we stopped at Starbucks. Here’s where this gets interesting.

OK, OK, I’m playing it fast and loose with the word interesting. Here’s where my story begins. After drinks at dinner and numerous water refills, plus an extended stay at a store without a bathroom, Matt and I both had to go. We walked into Starbucks and he ran to the bathroom while I ordered my drink. He returned and we swapped places. I walked toward the alcove in which the bathrooms were housed and stopped short. There were two individual bathrooms and both we marked with the same men/women/handicap signage.

Don’t worry, liberal friends, it’s safe to keep reading. This isn’t the conservative, Christian rant that you’re expecting. I have previously stated that I don’t care where anyone goes to the bathroom…I may alter that statement henceforth. Keep reading.

So, I am standing in front of the Starbucks bathrooms and having an anxiety attack. What was my problem? All I could think was that I didn’t want to go in the same bathroom as the gross boys...yep, that was my thought. Come on, don’t tell me that you’ve never had that thought. See, I know boys. I know how they go to the bathroom. Peeing never actually requires looking at the toilet. It’s based solely on sound. If they hear water, they’re good. Or so they think. In reality, when the sound of pee hitting water stops, it takes them 2.5 seconds to look down and locate the area where they are peeing and another second for the brain to send the signal to the body to move the stream back to the toilet. Do you know how much pee can get into unwanted places in 3.5 seconds? Come on…you all know this is true. I have cleaned up pee of the boys that I know and love in the weirdest places: shower curtain-twice, wall, bath mat…the list could go on forever.

And for real, that’s the least of the grossness than occurs in the bathroom. I won’t go into too many details but I’ll leave it with these facts. One, I cleaned bathrooms at McDonald’s for three years. Ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time the men’s room was the grossest and smelled the worst. Once, I even found an apple pie smashed in weird places….I don’t even want to know. Secondly, the term “dingleberry” did not originate in the description of women’s restroom issues.

So, what did I do? I reached back into the dark recesses of my subconscious memory and picked the bathroom in which I thought that Matt went, that way if I sat in pee I could pretend that it was at least the pee of someone I know and love.

I am now concerned however. We have solved the plight of the gender redefined, undefined…or whatever we call them, but what about the plight of the germaphobe? GERMAPHOBES MATTER TOO!!! If you find me smuggling bleach spray into bathrooms, you’ll know that I couldn’t take it anymore.