Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Movin' on Up!

For those who are new to this blog circus, and those who may not remember, up until two weeks ago, I was number eight on my dad's speed dial.  Yes, number eight.  Not that stellar, but a good round number.  You can read the preposterous reasoning behind my low number of importance by clicking here:

My mom has been gone a month now, and while my dad and brother were out of the country, the silence was deafening on my end of the phone.  It was during this time of quiet solitude that I had an awakening, if you will, regarding my eighth place standing on my dad's speed dial.  Suddenly, it occurred to me that there was now going to be an opening for the speed-dial #2 position.

(Speed dial #1 is for voicemail, so technically, speed dial #2 is really 1st place in importance....are you following me?)

My mom has always been #2 on Dad's phone...and rightfully so.  But Mom's gone now, and therefore won't be needing the #2 slot anymore.  My plan, if executed flawlessly, was to strike while the iron was hot.  I had to lobby my dad for a giant leap from #8 to #2.  It was a huge risky strategy, but time was of the essence.  I didn't want my brother, my grandfather, my husband, or my uncles, who hold all of the other numbers on the speed dial, to try to move up in the ranks.  I had to prove my worth.  It was a bit like making a sales pitch in the board room that would send me from the first floor cubicle to the 10th floor corner office with views of the city.  It was like trying out for the major leagues as a high school senior. I was swinging for the fence.  I was putting all of my chips in, and I would either bask in the glorious victory, or go down in flames trying.

As of right dad has told me that I'm top dog...#2. ( I have not verified this, mind you, but that was his verbal assurance.) 

With the glory of being on top comes enormous responsibility.  A burden that is much more difficult than I had anticipated.  I don't really know how Mom did it.  It's incredibly hard.  When you are #2, and the only woman on speed dial, you must be prepared to answer questions...lots of  questions.  You must be a proverbial encyclopedia of all things domestic.  Already I've been summonsed to give my wisdom about the following things:

-How to wash muddy socks
-The importance of browning roasts to seal in moisture
-When to use Oxi-Clean, and when to use bleach
-Reminders about saving receipts to enter in the checkbook
-What brand of soap and deodorant to buy

I just hope Dad doesn't ask me something I don't have the answer to, like how to make Mom's Deer Chili.  I called my mom at least twice a month for the recipe, but never wrote it down.  I'm really kicking myself for that now. I don't have all of the answers.  I don't even have half of the answers...Mom can never be replaced.

The other responsibility that comes with being #2 is always answering  the phone.  Availability is crucial.  This is a nightmare for me.  I'm not good at remembering to bring my phone with me.  It's my tragic flaw.  I hate the bulge of carrying the phone in my pocket, but my purse is a black-hole where phones get lost for days.

Being #2 is like having a new born: I'm always holding the phone, always listening for it's ring, and I take it with me everywhere. I now have an unsightly lump in my pocket from keeping it near me at all times, which is a real fashion faux-pas.  I have to put the phone on vibrate several times a day while at church functions, meetings, and libraries, and then I have to remember to actually take it OFF of vibrate when I'm through.  I take it with me on walks and in the bathroom, and put it near my bed.  It's exhausting! I do not want to miss a call.  I can't miss a call.  If I miss a call, I will go back to #8.

 Failure is not an option.

Going back to #8 is not an option.

But truthfully, I don't know how much longer I can keep up with this whole facade of responsible phone handling.  OH, the pressure of being at the top! The only place to go is down, down, down! I'm not sure I'm cut out for it.  I'm not sure I'm fact, I KNOW I'm not really qualified.  But I will carry on with the tremendous responsibility of  being #2... until I make a fatal phone leaving it on vibrate...inside my coat pocket... deep within my closet...for 3 days.  Then I will be demoted back to #8.

But for now, I will celebrate. Whether it lasts for 1 day, 1 week, or 1 month, I am QUEEN OF THE WORLD!!!!  Oh sweet victory! How I long to shout it from the roof tops!

"I am number TWOOOOO!!!!!!"

Happily taking in the view from the top,


P.S.- If Mom were reading my blog right now, she'd be laughing her butt off!

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