When I was in jr. high school, (and my freshman year of high school), we lived in Chino Hills. As the name implies, it was a very hilly area. We lived in the specific area of Carbon Canyon which I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. I was only supposed to say that I lived in Chino so that I wouldn't sound like an over-privileged white girl who came down from her mountaintop to visit with the peasants.
Our driveway had the steepest incline known to the western world. And it was long. Like maybe a quarter of a mile. Sometimes it seemed like half a mile. After walking up and down that driveway to and from the bus stop every day, I was finally able to complete the required running in P.E. tests. If I had that driveway now, well, first it would be impossible where it snows, but second of all I would probably be in the shape of my life. People would stop hiking the butte and just show up at my driveway.
My friends' parents refused to go up it. They would drop me off at the bottom and just let me walk up. I guess they just assumed that I made it to the house okay. I was like 75 pounds, who would worry about a kid like that? Since it was windy, they couldn't even see the end. I could have been attacked by a lizard or a coyote on the way up.
For some reason, there was a gate at the top of the driveway. There was a fence around the whole property instead of just the back yard and the gate could be locked. I seriously worry about the people that lived there before us that they thought they needed an obstacle course and layers of security to get onto the property. I really don't think the peacocks on one side or the 70-year-olds on the other side posed any kind of threat.
The only time we closed the gate was when we were gone to keep the dogs inside. The rest of the time it was open because we had English bulldogs and they're not really highly motivated to wander off if they know their food provider is nearby.
Remember how nobody but us drove up it? Or my parents, since I was 12 and didn't drive, and really, thank goodness I didn't learn to drive on that driveway because I probably would have killed us all. Well, the one person who ever drove up was the Avon lady. She must have really, really wanted that pink Cadillac to risk the Most Treacherous Driveway Known to Man.
Now, our dogs were no longer used to seeing anyone but us since nobody but us ever made the trek. Also, they could probably smell her desperation. So they barked at her. I can imagine she was frightened because most people have an irrational fear of bulldogs, but by golly, she was going to get that pink Cadillac even if she needed an artificial leg to drive it with.
By the time she got to the door the dogs were in a near frenzy. They didn't trust her, they didn't like her, they wanted her to roll herself back down the hill. So when my mom opened the front door and our kitten went darting out, George, the only boy dog, grabbed the kitten in his mouth to defend her from the evil Avon lady who obviously would stop at nothing to get to us with her overrated makeup and cheap perfume.
Bulldogs were originally bred to fight. They were bred to fight bulls, hence the name. They were designed to clamp down on the neck of a bull and hold on until they brought the bull down. It all sounds very violent and ugly and inhumane, but this is the strength that came down on our poor little kitten. And I'm sure it looked very violent. The Avon lady screamed. My mom screamed at her to leave. The Avon lady screamed and said she was sorry (because she knew it was her fault). My mother told her that the best thing she could do would be to vacate our property immediately as she had done enough damage and to never, ever return again.
Of course as soon as she was gone, George released the kitten. He was only protecting it from her. The poor boy didn't realize what he had really done because he didn't realize how strong he was. He just reacted. With the best of intentions, of course. His jaws of steel crushed our poor little kitten and we lost her in a matter of minutes. The damage was too great, there wasn't even time to rush her to the vet.
George was not reprimanded. We cried because it was sad, but we knew he was only trying to protect his family. There was nothing even to forgive him for. Besides, he was never the smart one and it was clear that he was confused by our deep sadness. He was sure that he had done a Good Thing like a Good Boy.
I have never bought anything from Avon. I never will. I've never been friends with anyone affiliated with Avon, as far as I know. We blamed that woman for her stupidity and her insensitivity. We blamed her for the death of our little kitten.
I wasn't sure what the moral of that story was until recently. For the longest time it was just that Avon and stupid Avon ladies aren't to be trusted. But I think if that incident happened today, there would have been far more serious consequences for us and for George. Sure, she ignored a steep driveway and stepped onto a property despite the warning barks of dogs, but I bet today George would be blamed for what happened that day. In today's world he would be seen as a vicious animal and vicious animals are removed from their homes. We would have been devastated had he been taken from us. We loved our dumb George. And we knew that he was only protecting us, his family.
And this is what happens in the vast majority of the cases we hear about. Dogs are being dogs. Protecting their families, their territory, acting out of a sense of responsibility and often fear. We need to remember this. Respect a dog that's barking. Respect his boundaries and pay attention to his body language. Dogs can't talk to us in our language, but they are yelling at us to get our attention in theirs.
Still, I think the second moral of the story is that if you sell Avon, bad things will happen to you.
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Sunday, February 24, 2013
How to Make People Think You Have a Mental Health Issue
You might think the title of this post refers to me. Surprisingly, it doesn't. Except in the respect that I was so disturbed by what I am about to tell you that my mental stability was at risk.
The wife and I went to breakfast yesterday. It's getting to be a regular Saturday routine, which makes me feel like a Sex and the City character, only we don't need four women, just two because the two of us make enough trouble for four people.
I digress.
When I walked to my table I saw a small baby in a high chair right next to us. It was abnormally tiny and not moving. It was also not dressed appropriately for the weather. That's because it wasn't a real baby. Silly me for assuming that restaurant high chairs are reserved for real babies. Duh. Especially in crowded restaurants where there's not enough space to start with. Yeah, let's waste it on a piece of plastic.
So that's not even the weird part. Or the real asshole part. It gets worse.
The dad had to go to the bathroom. The high chair was in his way. He very carefully slid it back so as not to disturb Fake Baby. And then he removed books from the book shelf behind him so that Fake Baby could see over the table. First it was just a few but I guess that wasn't enough. He put a whole freaking stack in the chair. For Fake Baby. And he didn't lift her up by her head, he gently asked his daughter hold her so he could get it just right. Like he didn't want to upset Fake Baby.
Okay. So maybe it was really sweet that he was showing his daughter's doll such tenderness in helping to care for her. But I really think that he believed the doll was real. It was weird. It was disturbing. And distracting. And really just fucking freaky.
I might have nightmares. Chucky has nothing on that Fake Baby bitch.
The wife and I went to breakfast yesterday. It's getting to be a regular Saturday routine, which makes me feel like a Sex and the City character, only we don't need four women, just two because the two of us make enough trouble for four people.
I digress.
When I walked to my table I saw a small baby in a high chair right next to us. It was abnormally tiny and not moving. It was also not dressed appropriately for the weather. That's because it wasn't a real baby. Silly me for assuming that restaurant high chairs are reserved for real babies. Duh. Especially in crowded restaurants where there's not enough space to start with. Yeah, let's waste it on a piece of plastic.
So that's not even the weird part. Or the real asshole part. It gets worse.
The dad had to go to the bathroom. The high chair was in his way. He very carefully slid it back so as not to disturb Fake Baby. And then he removed books from the book shelf behind him so that Fake Baby could see over the table. First it was just a few but I guess that wasn't enough. He put a whole freaking stack in the chair. For Fake Baby. And he didn't lift her up by her head, he gently asked his daughter hold her so he could get it just right. Like he didn't want to upset Fake Baby.
Okay. So maybe it was really sweet that he was showing his daughter's doll such tenderness in helping to care for her. But I really think that he believed the doll was real. It was weird. It was disturbing. And distracting. And really just fucking freaky.
I might have nightmares. Chucky has nothing on that Fake Baby bitch.
Lessons Learned at the Oregon Coast
I went on a little couple's retreat to the coast over the weekend. Actually it was kind of a family retreat since the puppies went along and left little room in the bed for us. Whatever. It's my favorite way to sleep.
Here are a few things I learned while I was there.
1. Rocks can be slippery and it hurts when one falls on them. However, I didn't bruise. Maybe I just don't have anymore blood.
2. Sea lions look like they're all best buddies when they're curled up together but they're constantly growling and biting at each other. They're nasty.
3. An excellent breakfast can't be duplicated when you order a different meal the next day. How are eggs and potatoes supposed to measure up to the best burrito ever? Also, it's good to get the one thing on the menu that sounds weird as a breakfast item. Like ham and asparagus crepes. Yum. With brandy sauce. Extra yum.
4. Ruby cares much more about her brother than she lets on. Remy wasn't feeling well after drinking salt water (duh) and spent the drive home shaking and acting pathetic. We covered him with a blanket but Ruby snuggled right up next to him to help keep him warm and comforted. She wouldn't even leave him to come snuggle with me.
5. Tables of Content is the best place for dinner on the coast. More on that later.
6. Not all clam chowders are created equal. Some of them aren't even any good. At all.
7. Traveling with dogs is awesome. They have the joy of discovery like small children without the whining or dirty diapers.
Here are a few things I learned while I was there.
1. Rocks can be slippery and it hurts when one falls on them. However, I didn't bruise. Maybe I just don't have anymore blood.
2. Sea lions look like they're all best buddies when they're curled up together but they're constantly growling and biting at each other. They're nasty.
3. An excellent breakfast can't be duplicated when you order a different meal the next day. How are eggs and potatoes supposed to measure up to the best burrito ever? Also, it's good to get the one thing on the menu that sounds weird as a breakfast item. Like ham and asparagus crepes. Yum. With brandy sauce. Extra yum.
4. Ruby cares much more about her brother than she lets on. Remy wasn't feeling well after drinking salt water (duh) and spent the drive home shaking and acting pathetic. We covered him with a blanket but Ruby snuggled right up next to him to help keep him warm and comforted. She wouldn't even leave him to come snuggle with me.
5. Tables of Content is the best place for dinner on the coast. More on that later.
6. Not all clam chowders are created equal. Some of them aren't even any good. At all.
7. Traveling with dogs is awesome. They have the joy of discovery like small children without the whining or dirty diapers.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Baby Snuggles and New Beginnings
I told you about a special family in December. I've kept in touch with Mom since then and, even though I am incredibly lame and haven't yet finished Princess's armoir that I started three months ago, she invited me to come visit and see Baby Boy.
You guys, he is the sweetest little boy in the world! He just snuggled and sighed and melted my heart. And he is so healthy! He's a big boy at the 90th percentile. Mom is doing such a good job with him and, by the way, looks incredible. It's funny meeting someone at the height of pregnancy and puffiness and then discovering what they look like under all of that. She's beautiful.
Princess is doing so well. Her room was organized and filled with Barbies and movies and cleaned up so nicely. However, she assured me that it would soon be messy again because "that's what kids do." She is an absolute delight and I was so secretly thrilled to see that she was wearing the shoes that I had bought for her.
They had another reason for me to come over. They'd made up a thank you card for my office, for everyone who had helped them get their new start in life. Princess had colored and decorated it (she showed me specifically what she did) and Mom added pictures she had taken Christmas morning. There is so much happiness and love in that card. And it's huge! It's now hanging on our bulletin board in the hall.
I think a lot of times when we help someone it's in the short-term or it's anonymous or part of a huge effort such as hurricane relief. We don't get to see if our efforts truly matter. We don't know if we've made a difference. Which isn't the point, really. Giving comes from the heart and shouldn't expect anything in return.
Still, it's nice to see the difference for a change. It's heartwarming to see this family settled into their home with all of the things we take for granted. Furniture. A toaster. A bathmat. It's nice to know that a little girl has warm clothes to wear to school and a baby boy who likes to snuggle has soft blankets to cozy into at night. And that a mom can breathe a little easier with some of the burden off of her shoulders. She can take a break and think about her options. Because she has them now. She can think about returning to school because she doesn't have to worry about whether or not her daughter is going to have a bed to sleep in. She's strong and smart and just needed a little bit of help.
I'm grateful to have been a small part of that. If she's inspired to pay it forward, wonderful. If it stops with her and her children, I'm okay with that too. Because she's not out of the clear yet, she needs to figure out how to take care of her children in the long-term. It's not easy to start over and it's especially not easy as a single mom with an infant. I know she can do it. She's come so far already.
You guys, he is the sweetest little boy in the world! He just snuggled and sighed and melted my heart. And he is so healthy! He's a big boy at the 90th percentile. Mom is doing such a good job with him and, by the way, looks incredible. It's funny meeting someone at the height of pregnancy and puffiness and then discovering what they look like under all of that. She's beautiful.
Princess is doing so well. Her room was organized and filled with Barbies and movies and cleaned up so nicely. However, she assured me that it would soon be messy again because "that's what kids do." She is an absolute delight and I was so secretly thrilled to see that she was wearing the shoes that I had bought for her.
They had another reason for me to come over. They'd made up a thank you card for my office, for everyone who had helped them get their new start in life. Princess had colored and decorated it (she showed me specifically what she did) and Mom added pictures she had taken Christmas morning. There is so much happiness and love in that card. And it's huge! It's now hanging on our bulletin board in the hall.
I think a lot of times when we help someone it's in the short-term or it's anonymous or part of a huge effort such as hurricane relief. We don't get to see if our efforts truly matter. We don't know if we've made a difference. Which isn't the point, really. Giving comes from the heart and shouldn't expect anything in return.
Still, it's nice to see the difference for a change. It's heartwarming to see this family settled into their home with all of the things we take for granted. Furniture. A toaster. A bathmat. It's nice to know that a little girl has warm clothes to wear to school and a baby boy who likes to snuggle has soft blankets to cozy into at night. And that a mom can breathe a little easier with some of the burden off of her shoulders. She can take a break and think about her options. Because she has them now. She can think about returning to school because she doesn't have to worry about whether or not her daughter is going to have a bed to sleep in. She's strong and smart and just needed a little bit of help.
I'm grateful to have been a small part of that. If she's inspired to pay it forward, wonderful. If it stops with her and her children, I'm okay with that too. Because she's not out of the clear yet, she needs to figure out how to take care of her children in the long-term. It's not easy to start over and it's especially not easy as a single mom with an infant. I know she can do it. She's come so far already.
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Priorities
Last night D and I went to dinner. She was needing some mom time, I was needing some bread. I really needed to put myself into a coma after the craptastic day I had, but I settled for empty carbs.
When it came time to pay the bill, I had a small heart attack. Actually, it was just another crappy thing to add to my crappy day. See, during the day I had to take my ID out for the life exam lady and when I put my wallet away, I just threw it in the drawer on top of my purse. The stupid thing did not magically put itself away inside of my purse. Of course I forgot until I needed it. On the other end of town. After I had eaten my grilled chicken and D had her fill of shrimp pasta.
While images of washing dishes in shame flashed through my head, D calmly said, "Don't worry Mom, I can drive home. I have my ID." Because that is the first thing she thought of as a teenager who wants desperately to drive everywhere herself and only wishes she could do it alone. She wasn't thinking about doing dishes next to me.
Luckily, I use my debit card enough that I have the number memorized. When I tried to explain this to our waitress, she immediately called a manager over. As if I had grown horns and fangs since the last time she stopped by our table. Her reaction was reflected in her tip.
D did get to drive home. She came within an inch of hitting a camper, took the extra long way out of the parking lot, and nearly parked on top of the bikes in the garage, but didn't kill anyone. At least it was a good reminder to not forget my wallet again.
When it came time to pay the bill, I had a small heart attack. Actually, it was just another crappy thing to add to my crappy day. See, during the day I had to take my ID out for the life exam lady and when I put my wallet away, I just threw it in the drawer on top of my purse. The stupid thing did not magically put itself away inside of my purse. Of course I forgot until I needed it. On the other end of town. After I had eaten my grilled chicken and D had her fill of shrimp pasta.
While images of washing dishes in shame flashed through my head, D calmly said, "Don't worry Mom, I can drive home. I have my ID." Because that is the first thing she thought of as a teenager who wants desperately to drive everywhere herself and only wishes she could do it alone. She wasn't thinking about doing dishes next to me.
Luckily, I use my debit card enough that I have the number memorized. When I tried to explain this to our waitress, she immediately called a manager over. As if I had grown horns and fangs since the last time she stopped by our table. Her reaction was reflected in her tip.
D did get to drive home. She came within an inch of hitting a camper, took the extra long way out of the parking lot, and nearly parked on top of the bikes in the garage, but didn't kill anyone. At least it was a good reminder to not forget my wallet again.
Friday, February 01, 2013
The Story of Kelsha
The first day that I met Kelsha was also the first day that I met KY's mom and his best friend. All of the important women in his life. He said his dog didn't like many people but she immediately ambled up to me on her short little legs and greeted me with a smile.
The second time I saw Kelsha she was having leg problems and was unable to get herself around. Even in her discomfort she wasn't displeased with me. I saw her a handful of times after that when she was outside and I was walking up to the house. Always friendly, always accepting of a pat on the head or scratch behind the ear.
This is not a long story because Kelsha is in her last chapter. She's slowing down and nearing the last few pages. I've been fortunate to be able to spend this last week with her. I didn't know her as a puppy or adult, but I am getting to know her senior self.
Kelsha is wonderful. In the way that only old dogs can be. She's sweet and has mastered the art of looking adorable by laying her head just so. She gently nudges my hand when I stop petting her and tolerates being covered under a blanket. Her head smells like a little cow and so that is what I call her now. Little Cow. I have fallen in love with her.
She no longer wants to eat. She might patiently take a bite or two of what's offered, but no more than that. Her back legs betray her and she often needs help getting back up. Some days she just wants to be carried. She's covered in benign tumors which can't feel good. It takes forever for her to walk anywhere and most of the time she just wants to lie down on her bed and sleep.
KY is endlessly patient with her. If I didn't love him already, this would be the way to my heart. He's so gentle and caring in a way that I haven't seen before. I think dogs have a way of bringing out our best in ways that we can't do for each other.
I may have missed the first 13 years of her life, but I'm grateful for the time I have had to get to know her. I feel privileged that they both have allowed me to spend this time together. There is now a special piece in my heart with Kelsha's name on it and in some way I will be a better person having had this precious experience.
The second time I saw Kelsha she was having leg problems and was unable to get herself around. Even in her discomfort she wasn't displeased with me. I saw her a handful of times after that when she was outside and I was walking up to the house. Always friendly, always accepting of a pat on the head or scratch behind the ear.
This is not a long story because Kelsha is in her last chapter. She's slowing down and nearing the last few pages. I've been fortunate to be able to spend this last week with her. I didn't know her as a puppy or adult, but I am getting to know her senior self.
Kelsha is wonderful. In the way that only old dogs can be. She's sweet and has mastered the art of looking adorable by laying her head just so. She gently nudges my hand when I stop petting her and tolerates being covered under a blanket. Her head smells like a little cow and so that is what I call her now. Little Cow. I have fallen in love with her.
She no longer wants to eat. She might patiently take a bite or two of what's offered, but no more than that. Her back legs betray her and she often needs help getting back up. Some days she just wants to be carried. She's covered in benign tumors which can't feel good. It takes forever for her to walk anywhere and most of the time she just wants to lie down on her bed and sleep.
KY is endlessly patient with her. If I didn't love him already, this would be the way to my heart. He's so gentle and caring in a way that I haven't seen before. I think dogs have a way of bringing out our best in ways that we can't do for each other.
I may have missed the first 13 years of her life, but I'm grateful for the time I have had to get to know her. I feel privileged that they both have allowed me to spend this time together. There is now a special piece in my heart with Kelsha's name on it and in some way I will be a better person having had this precious experience.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Meditating in Downward Dog
I've been sitting at my desk for long periods of time lately. Too long. Plus I'm kinda old so I get stiff really quickly. Tonight I thought I would do a nice, stretching yoga session to help get some of that out. I thought it would be relaxing. I forget that I live with two little Boston Terrors.
I tried to get them in relaxing mode by feeding them and turning on the fireplace. Ruby gravitates to that like a moth to a (literal) flame. Remy is normally the one who tries to distract me.
Full bellies. Warm fire. Dim the lights. Lay down the mat. Breathe.
Get interrupted. Immediately. Because of course the little beasts want to go outside. Fine. Stretch while waiting for them to finish. Let them in. They run through the house like crazy. Fine. They'll settle down. I settle into Downward Dog.
And then. The shit hits the mat. The literal shit hits the mat.
Because Ruby decides to come tearing across it and leaves a brown spot. Right in front of my face. Get up, get a wet paper towel, wipe the mat. She runs across it again thinking she's cute. She's not. Because something smells bad. She stepped in poo and then ran into the house and across my mat. Right where I will put my face in any sort of pose where I'm facing down.
I get the mat cleaned off and start again. I get through the poses and start to relax. Even though Remy is pacing around me. Then comes the meditation part. A nice mantra. How lovely. "Treat all outside noises like thoughts and push them away." Jump out of my skin when the damn dogs start barking and go racing to the front door because they apparently heard an imaginary doorbell. Little fuckers. I'd like to push them off a cliff right now.
Ruby finally curls in front of the fire. Remy finally goes to lay down in another part of the house. It could be the cold floor of the garage for all I care. I finish the last five minutes in peace. Namaste.
And then I turn around and see the poop spots on the carpet and I am conveniently out of carpet cleaner.
I think there's still some chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream in the freezer. I'm going to go self-medicate now.
Monday, January 21, 2013
The Name Change
My first name is nine letters long. My last name is also nine letters long. Add in my middle name and we get a grand total of 23 characters. Plus spaces. That's a lot of typing. With many opportunities for error. Not to mention there are roughly 83 ways to spell my first name. There's a Catholic spelling, a Greek spelling, a lazy spelling, phonetic spelling, on and on.
I thought this morning that shortening my name might be nice. People try to shorten it all the time, against my wishes. That or they come up with something completely unrelated. I mean, if you say your name is Barbara, I'm not going to say, "Oh, it's nice to meet you Francis." But people do that to me on a regular basis. Then again, people are basically stupid. (Forget good or evil, the answer is stupid.)
So I came up with Pie. Because you'd remember someone with a name like Pie, right? And everybody likes pie so they'd like me. If someone randomly said, "I love pie", I could say, "I love you too." And that would make me a nicer person. Nobody hates pie. There are too many kinds to like And even if someone did say "I hate blueberry pie" I couldn't take it personally because I'm not Blueberry Pie. I'm just Pie. But if they said "I love okra pie", even though that sounds gross, I could choose to take that personally and feel good about myself.
I think I'm onto something. If we all had nice names, then we'd all be nicer people. Your neighbor could be Chocolate. A co-worker could be Puppy Breath. Name your baby Pajamas and see what happens.
I'm going to start with Pie.
I thought this morning that shortening my name might be nice. People try to shorten it all the time, against my wishes. That or they come up with something completely unrelated. I mean, if you say your name is Barbara, I'm not going to say, "Oh, it's nice to meet you Francis." But people do that to me on a regular basis. Then again, people are basically stupid. (Forget good or evil, the answer is stupid.)
So I came up with Pie. Because you'd remember someone with a name like Pie, right? And everybody likes pie so they'd like me. If someone randomly said, "I love pie", I could say, "I love you too." And that would make me a nicer person. Nobody hates pie. There are too many kinds to like And even if someone did say "I hate blueberry pie" I couldn't take it personally because I'm not Blueberry Pie. I'm just Pie. But if they said "I love okra pie", even though that sounds gross, I could choose to take that personally and feel good about myself.
I think I'm onto something. If we all had nice names, then we'd all be nicer people. Your neighbor could be Chocolate. A co-worker could be Puppy Breath. Name your baby Pajamas and see what happens.
I'm going to start with Pie.
Socially Awkward Dog Is Not Steve Buscemi
I took the Boston Terrors out for an unprecedented, two-days-in-a-row-in-January! walk. Well, I took Ruby twice, Remy just one of those times. And he's the one that was properly socialized as a puppy, but I don't know if I ever want to be seen in public with him again.
Saturday Ruby and I went for a walk with the wife and her pug Shanaenae Laquifah Kwanza Jackson. AKA Gracie. I so want these two to be best friends, but Ruby doesn't get the concept of friendship. When she's not completely ignoring little Gracie, she's trying to kill her. Stealthily. As in no warning, no alarm, just full-on lunging for her throat.
She does, however, get the concept of shopping. After doing half of the Old Mill loop, we took them around the shops in order to get the full effect of their cuteness. Ruby window shops. It's not all stores, just the ones that catch her eye. She'll stop, peek inside, and then continue her booty-shaking strut. Then we came to Victoria's Secret, where she wanted to go inside. She tried to walk into both the Pink side and the regular side. I don't know if it was the lace or the smell that attracted her.
On Sunday KY and I took both Ruby and Remy so that I could lose a few calories before consuming my much-anticipated movie popcorn. Again, Ruby wanted to go into Vicki's. She even sat down in the doorway when I pulled her back. Maybe she's getting inspiration to lose a few pounds. Like mother, like dog.
Afterward, we took Remy to the dog park. Ruby had to sit outside because the sign clearly said "No aggressive dogs." Remy used to be the good one. He used to know how to play. Yesterday it was like he forgot how to be a normal dog.
First of all, he had to pee on the gate before we even got in. A drop of it splashed on my shoe. Gross. Then he sniffed the butts of the three giant Husky-type dogs who had zero interest in him. He looked retarded. Next, he went around trying to get anything bigger than him to chase him. Nobody took the bait. He looked like a socially retarded kid that all the other kids just turn away from. They know better than to be mean to him and they're more embarrassed for him than anything else anyway.
When nobody would play with him, he started barking for their attention. I actually heard some guy say to him, "Shut up, Steve Buscemi!" and then he laughed at him.
The darling little husky puppy wanted to play with him but she must have been too close to his size because he just growled at her to leave him alone. After that I decided I'd had enough humiliation and led him back out. Of course he had to pee on the gate again as a final embarrassment.
I think I'll stick to lunching with Ruby and Shanaenae. I am determined to make them best friends.
Saturday Ruby and I went for a walk with the wife and her pug Shanaenae Laquifah Kwanza Jackson. AKA Gracie. I so want these two to be best friends, but Ruby doesn't get the concept of friendship. When she's not completely ignoring little Gracie, she's trying to kill her. Stealthily. As in no warning, no alarm, just full-on lunging for her throat.
She does, however, get the concept of shopping. After doing half of the Old Mill loop, we took them around the shops in order to get the full effect of their cuteness. Ruby window shops. It's not all stores, just the ones that catch her eye. She'll stop, peek inside, and then continue her booty-shaking strut. Then we came to Victoria's Secret, where she wanted to go inside. She tried to walk into both the Pink side and the regular side. I don't know if it was the lace or the smell that attracted her.
On Sunday KY and I took both Ruby and Remy so that I could lose a few calories before consuming my much-anticipated movie popcorn. Again, Ruby wanted to go into Vicki's. She even sat down in the doorway when I pulled her back. Maybe she's getting inspiration to lose a few pounds. Like mother, like dog.
Afterward, we took Remy to the dog park. Ruby had to sit outside because the sign clearly said "No aggressive dogs." Remy used to be the good one. He used to know how to play. Yesterday it was like he forgot how to be a normal dog.
First of all, he had to pee on the gate before we even got in. A drop of it splashed on my shoe. Gross. Then he sniffed the butts of the three giant Husky-type dogs who had zero interest in him. He looked retarded. Next, he went around trying to get anything bigger than him to chase him. Nobody took the bait. He looked like a socially retarded kid that all the other kids just turn away from. They know better than to be mean to him and they're more embarrassed for him than anything else anyway.
When nobody would play with him, he started barking for their attention. I actually heard some guy say to him, "Shut up, Steve Buscemi!" and then he laughed at him.
The darling little husky puppy wanted to play with him but she must have been too close to his size because he just growled at her to leave him alone. After that I decided I'd had enough humiliation and led him back out. Of course he had to pee on the gate again as a final embarrassment.
I think I'll stick to lunching with Ruby and Shanaenae. I am determined to make them best friends.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Remembering Barbie
When I was little, my favorite toys were my Barbies. I had the three-story Barbie townhouse with the elevator and a pink convertible sports car. My best friend Jenny and I would play with them for hours, when we weren't playing in her mom's high heels. She come home from a summer visit with her dad once and brought a new Barbie which I then coveted until I got one of my own for my birthday. It was the Beauty Secrets Barbie and she had the longest, most beautiful hair we'd ever seen. We loved her long pink gown and braided her hair in as many ways we could think of.
What I loved about Barbie was her tiny little shoes and how you could buy them in any color to match her many outfits. I could spend hours in the Barbie aisle at Toys R' Us looking at all of the clothes and accessories and furniture and jewelry that were available for her. I'd dress her and undress her and brush her hair until she looked perfect. Sometimes I'd make furniture for her out of shoe boxes or blankets out of scraps of material.
My stepbrother visited every summer and added a very dangerous and dark element to Barbie's life. His GI Joe was well-known as a Barbie rapist and assaulted her on a regular basis. Mostly it was date rape. But aside from that, Barbie had a pretty nice life in Southern California. However, this is probably the reason that there was never a Ken in my small collection. My Barbie remained single.
D's first Barbie was actually Mulan and was a reward for potty training. She was two and a half. After that she wanted every Barbie known to man - shopping Barbie, Glinda the Good Witch, Belle, Barbie's sister, whatever was on the shelf in every season. She actually horrified me with her poor care of them. Cutting their hair, throwing them in piles in her toy box, leaving them half-naked everywhere. She loved them, but she didn't care for them the way I did.
As an adult I learned how "unhealthy" Barbie is for little girls' self-esteem. How if she were real, she'd be an Amazon and severely deformed. That she is an unrealistic role model for girls everywhere. But here's the thing. Barbie is a doll. We all knew that. She's a doll and we got to say what she wore and we got to decide what kind of life she had and we decided how she should wear her hair. We used our imaginations to create scenarios for her when we played with her. It was play and it was fun and we sadly outgrew her over the years.
Barbie wasn't real the way "role models" today are. Little girls are now exposed to the Nicki Minaj's and Snookis and Honey Boo Boos of the world. Sexuality is forced on them at too-early ages and the idea of what they "should be" is continuously dumbed down. What must little girls think life is meant to be with all of these images constantly thrust at them? Not to mention the whole phenomenon of Twilight, where a lonely girl changes who she is physically just so she can be with a boy whose family member wants to kill her.
I played quietly with Barbie in my room. She could be a doctor or a mom or as glamorous or plain as I wanted. It was up to me. I made my own choices. It's harder for girls today to make their own choices with all of the surrounding noise and images of women who behave wildly just for the attention.
All of this makes Barbie look as innocent as she is. After all, she was invented as a playmate by a mother for her daughter. As a way for her daughter to act out her own dreams and her own future.
I'd take Barbie over Bella any day.
What I loved about Barbie was her tiny little shoes and how you could buy them in any color to match her many outfits. I could spend hours in the Barbie aisle at Toys R' Us looking at all of the clothes and accessories and furniture and jewelry that were available for her. I'd dress her and undress her and brush her hair until she looked perfect. Sometimes I'd make furniture for her out of shoe boxes or blankets out of scraps of material.
My stepbrother visited every summer and added a very dangerous and dark element to Barbie's life. His GI Joe was well-known as a Barbie rapist and assaulted her on a regular basis. Mostly it was date rape. But aside from that, Barbie had a pretty nice life in Southern California. However, this is probably the reason that there was never a Ken in my small collection. My Barbie remained single.
D's first Barbie was actually Mulan and was a reward for potty training. She was two and a half. After that she wanted every Barbie known to man - shopping Barbie, Glinda the Good Witch, Belle, Barbie's sister, whatever was on the shelf in every season. She actually horrified me with her poor care of them. Cutting their hair, throwing them in piles in her toy box, leaving them half-naked everywhere. She loved them, but she didn't care for them the way I did.
As an adult I learned how "unhealthy" Barbie is for little girls' self-esteem. How if she were real, she'd be an Amazon and severely deformed. That she is an unrealistic role model for girls everywhere. But here's the thing. Barbie is a doll. We all knew that. She's a doll and we got to say what she wore and we got to decide what kind of life she had and we decided how she should wear her hair. We used our imaginations to create scenarios for her when we played with her. It was play and it was fun and we sadly outgrew her over the years.
Barbie wasn't real the way "role models" today are. Little girls are now exposed to the Nicki Minaj's and Snookis and Honey Boo Boos of the world. Sexuality is forced on them at too-early ages and the idea of what they "should be" is continuously dumbed down. What must little girls think life is meant to be with all of these images constantly thrust at them? Not to mention the whole phenomenon of Twilight, where a lonely girl changes who she is physically just so she can be with a boy whose family member wants to kill her.
I played quietly with Barbie in my room. She could be a doctor or a mom or as glamorous or plain as I wanted. It was up to me. I made my own choices. It's harder for girls today to make their own choices with all of the surrounding noise and images of women who behave wildly just for the attention.
All of this makes Barbie look as innocent as she is. After all, she was invented as a playmate by a mother for her daughter. As a way for her daughter to act out her own dreams and her own future.
I'd take Barbie over Bella any day.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
With This Stapler I Thee Wed
How many of you have a work spouse? You know, a member of the opposite sex that you work with, lunch with, and generally spend most of your day with until you go home to your real spouse? They're someone you like and have common interests with and you become dependent on them. And it can get emotional because sometimes you need someone to save your bacon when you're on a deadline and you know you can always count on that person.
My friend Sam has one of these. I think his voice sounds like Michael Jackson, but I think she's attracted to the way he talks about his family. And let's face it, ladies, family men who are truly dedicated to their wife and kids are some of the hottest guys around. So I can't blame her. And they do work together a lot. Very closely. As in he purposely presses a knee against her leg sometimes. He knows that she knows that he's doing it on purpose but they both pretend that neither one of them knows and will never admit that they know. Because if they knew for real, out loud, it would all have to stop since it would then be something less than innocent.
And work spouses can cause a bit of damage for those who don't treat it as what it is. It's a working relationship. It's not a replacement for the relationship you have in your "real" life and it can't come before your "real" relationship. It happens between work hours and then it stops.
The closest thing I have to a work husband is JZ and we're more like an old married couple than newlyweds. In fact we bypassed the whole courting stage and went straight to comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that he complains about the way my coffee smells and has no problem throwing an occasional "bitch" my way. But that's probably because I nag him about picking up cupcakes and force him to be a part of projects he really has no interest in. We came dangerously close to a divorce when we went on the same diet. If we were really married, we would have been sleeping in separate rooms and beginning to divide our assets. As it is, we take separate vacations.
If you don't have a work spouse, I highly recommend getting one. At the very least they're entertaining. You always have someone to sit next to in meetings, they can buy you coffee or lunch, and they can write complicated SQL statements when you need them. If you're lucky they can provide you some innocent flirting. And if you're really lucky, and also not already married or otherwise committed for real, then you don't have to follow any rules at all.
My friend Sam has one of these. I think his voice sounds like Michael Jackson, but I think she's attracted to the way he talks about his family. And let's face it, ladies, family men who are truly dedicated to their wife and kids are some of the hottest guys around. So I can't blame her. And they do work together a lot. Very closely. As in he purposely presses a knee against her leg sometimes. He knows that she knows that he's doing it on purpose but they both pretend that neither one of them knows and will never admit that they know. Because if they knew for real, out loud, it would all have to stop since it would then be something less than innocent.
And work spouses can cause a bit of damage for those who don't treat it as what it is. It's a working relationship. It's not a replacement for the relationship you have in your "real" life and it can't come before your "real" relationship. It happens between work hours and then it stops.
The closest thing I have to a work husband is JZ and we're more like an old married couple than newlyweds. In fact we bypassed the whole courting stage and went straight to comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that he complains about the way my coffee smells and has no problem throwing an occasional "bitch" my way. But that's probably because I nag him about picking up cupcakes and force him to be a part of projects he really has no interest in. We came dangerously close to a divorce when we went on the same diet. If we were really married, we would have been sleeping in separate rooms and beginning to divide our assets. As it is, we take separate vacations.
If you don't have a work spouse, I highly recommend getting one. At the very least they're entertaining. You always have someone to sit next to in meetings, they can buy you coffee or lunch, and they can write complicated SQL statements when you need them. If you're lucky they can provide you some innocent flirting. And if you're really lucky, and also not already married or otherwise committed for real, then you don't have to follow any rules at all.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Cat As Metaphor
My co-worker, JZ, has the seat by the window and alerts me to the interesting things that either enter into or pass by the building. The family of deer, transgenders, dogs for me to molest. Today he remarked that there is a cat that walks by on a regular basis. He is dark gray and kind of stocky and rough-looking.
Me: Oh, that's a street cat.
JZ: He could be a house kitty. At my house.
Me: No, he's definitely a street cat. He's just out there roaming the neighborhood, being a ladies' man.
JZ: Some street kitties can turn into house kitties. They just need a nice warm place to stay.
Me: Are you projecting onto that cat?
JZ: Maybe. Maybe he just wants a warm place to sleep. And food. He can have a kitty door so he can come and go as he pleases.
Me: And that's why you're still single.
Me: Oh, that's a street cat.
JZ: He could be a house kitty. At my house.
Me: No, he's definitely a street cat. He's just out there roaming the neighborhood, being a ladies' man.
JZ: Some street kitties can turn into house kitties. They just need a nice warm place to stay.
Me: Are you projecting onto that cat?
JZ: Maybe. Maybe he just wants a warm place to sleep. And food. He can have a kitty door so he can come and go as he pleases.
Me: And that's why you're still single.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Where My Mind Goes
I left work early yesterday to take D to a couple of appointments and then met up with some work peeps for a drink after. I was having a conversation with JZ, who sits next to me in the office, when the conversation took a turn for the stupid.
JZ: So who left the panties on my desk?
Me: um...... (blushing and stammering and thinking to myself, WTF?!?!?) Who left WHAT?
JZ: Who left the pennies? There was a stack of pennies when I came back from lunch.
Me: OH! I thought you said PANTIES!
JZ: ha ha ha ha.... Of course you did.
Me: Well, of course it's funny that I heard it that way, but I thought it was really pretentious of you to think that I would be the one to leave panties on your desk. I mean. Really.
JZ: ha ha ha ha ha ha......
To my credit, it was very loud in there.
JZ: So who left the panties on my desk?
Me: um...... (blushing and stammering and thinking to myself, WTF?!?!?) Who left WHAT?
JZ: Who left the pennies? There was a stack of pennies when I came back from lunch.
Me: OH! I thought you said PANTIES!
JZ: ha ha ha ha.... Of course you did.
Me: Well, of course it's funny that I heard it that way, but I thought it was really pretentious of you to think that I would be the one to leave panties on your desk. I mean. Really.
JZ: ha ha ha ha ha ha......
To my credit, it was very loud in there.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
It's Not Every Day You Have Lunch with Someone You Haven't Seen in 30 Years
We shared a boyfriend in fourth grade. We roller skated by his house in an early form of stalking. We tricked our fourth grade teacher into letting us watch Days of Our Lives at lunch by telling him it was a new colorized version of The Twilight Zone. We prank-called boys and strangers while teetering around in her mom's high heels. We swam in my pool, at the lake, and at the ocean. She wrote down the wrong lyrics to songs her brother listened to and we giggled long into the night.
The last time I saw her I was 12. It's been 30 years and we are having lunch today.
I was able to find her because I established my stalking skills early. It's been years, off and on, that I've tried to find her. We wrote once in college and lost touch after that. But I found her. Finally.
We've lived parallel lives. After college, we both altered our paths, took a few turns, did different things. We each have a daughter. And for the last 13 years, without knowing it, we have lived in the same town. We've shopped in the same stores, eaten in the same restaurants. She has unknowingly watched D dance in The Nutcracker. I substituted at her daughter's elementary school a lifetime ago.
How is it possible that I've never seen her while running into the same five or six people over and over and over? It seems like we would have at least one friend in common. One. Somewhere.
Today will change all of that. I will see her face-to-face. I will give her a huge hug and we will begin the process of catching up. Of re-establishing a friendship that started at the age of six. We will talk about our families - our parents, our siblings and, now, our children.
Her daughter is nine. The same age we were when we shared that boyfriend and wore bell-bottoms and passed notes in class. We now get to know each other as adults. As women. As moms.
I can't even begin to explain how full my heart is right now.
The last time I saw her I was 12. It's been 30 years and we are having lunch today.
I was able to find her because I established my stalking skills early. It's been years, off and on, that I've tried to find her. We wrote once in college and lost touch after that. But I found her. Finally.
We've lived parallel lives. After college, we both altered our paths, took a few turns, did different things. We each have a daughter. And for the last 13 years, without knowing it, we have lived in the same town. We've shopped in the same stores, eaten in the same restaurants. She has unknowingly watched D dance in The Nutcracker. I substituted at her daughter's elementary school a lifetime ago.
How is it possible that I've never seen her while running into the same five or six people over and over and over? It seems like we would have at least one friend in common. One. Somewhere.
Today will change all of that. I will see her face-to-face. I will give her a huge hug and we will begin the process of catching up. Of re-establishing a friendship that started at the age of six. We will talk about our families - our parents, our siblings and, now, our children.
Her daughter is nine. The same age we were when we shared that boyfriend and wore bell-bottoms and passed notes in class. We now get to know each other as adults. As women. As moms.
I can't even begin to explain how full my heart is right now.
Thursday, January 03, 2013
How Much Is That Doggy in the Window?
If you don't know how much I love dogs, then we have never met. Everyone I know points dogs out to me wherever I am. I almost stole a puppy from a co-worker, which may be the reason he keeps him in the car now. The only reason I don't have more than two is because I don't have the money or the space for them. Otherwise I would have a whole bunch of them of all kinds. But mostly the smooshy-faced, because they're my favorites.
I grew up with bulldogs. My parents got our first, Astarte, when I was four. She was actually a gift to my mom when she was dating my dad. There was a small grassy hill next to our apartment and Astarte and I would roll down that hill over and over together.
Next came George. His brother was the bulldog in the Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry movies. I was mostly mean to him and would push him out of his favorite little hidey hole under the palm trees next to the pool.
George and Astarte produced Aphrodite, who gave birth to Venus and Cassiopeia from different litters. Cassie Gave birth to Taurus. There was also Maggie, who was supposed to be mine, but she drowned in the pool as a puppy.
After they all eventually died of cancer, my parents tried once more with a pair of older dogs from a breeder friend and then switched to a chihuahua and miniature Schnauzer. As of now, I think their pack includes the mini Schnauzer, a boxer, a golden retriever, and a mini dachsund. Whew.
I've loved dogs all my life. I've played with them, been drooled on by them, held them as teeny little puppies, making sure they were clean and well-fed, and slept in beds with them. What I missed most during my college years was having a dog around and I vowed to have another as soon as I could.
Dogs are wonderful. They love us unconditionally and forgive us our flaws. They often forgive far more than any creature should have to. They only live to be loved and to make us happy. Mine have curled up next to me while I cried, kept me warm at night, and are infinitely patient with all of my moods and weirdness.
With all that they give me, I want to give back. And it feels like giving back to just two small Bostons isn't enough. I want to give something to their brothers and sisters and cousins and distant, twice-removed cousins. I want to give by making sure that all waggy-tailed, saggy-skinned, stretched-out, drooling, little kissing machines have homes and families and know what it is to be loved.
I don't make resolutions at the start of the year. They don't stick. For a while I tried calling them goals, but that didn't make them stick either. And I'm not making a resolution this year either. But I am making a commitment. I'm making a commitment to do whatever I can to help animals in need. And I'm asking you to do the same.
How much is that doggy in the window? Too much. The cost that dogs pay when bred from puppy mills is too much. They pay with their lives. Most people today, hopefully, are aware of the tragedies caused by puppy mills. If you're not, I'm not going to go into it, just understand that it is devastating. You can look up the horrors for yourself. Just don't buy a dog from a pet store. End of story.
If you're thinking of getting a dog, think seriously about adopting. I adopted my Dalmatian, but not my Bostons. I will adopt next time. Even if you want a specific breed, there are rescue groups. And they often have puppies. Adopting saves lives.
Shelters are overrun with animals. It is a crime against nature that so many of them are put down daily. That their last days are spent in a cement cell. Do what you can. Adopt, foster, volunteer, donate.
The biggest way to keep animals out of shelters in the first place is to be responsible. There are enough dogs (and cats) in the world already who desperately need homes. Don't breed yours. Unless breeding is your life because you show them or are specifically committed to the integrity of the breed, don't do it. You want to make some extra money? Your dog is not a part-time job. Your dog is not a puppy factory. And you don't know that those puppies are going to loving, forever homes when you put them on Craigslist.
I realize that there are plenty of causes out there. People are homeless. Cancer is still an asshole. Children need protection. I support anyone who feels passionately about any cause and if you already have one, I wish you the best and thank you for what you are doing. My passion just happens to be dogs and if you aren't already doing something for someone, I urge you to join me.
I no longer want to see pictures of starving dogs or abused dogs or hear about dogs being made to fight or dogs being put down unfairly because they exhibit behaviors that have been bred into them by us. We, as people, took dogs into our homes, we taught them to be pets. We taught them to be dependent on us and to need us. Let's not let them down.
“Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made. ”
― Roger Caras
I grew up with bulldogs. My parents got our first, Astarte, when I was four. She was actually a gift to my mom when she was dating my dad. There was a small grassy hill next to our apartment and Astarte and I would roll down that hill over and over together.
Next came George. His brother was the bulldog in the Clint Eastwood/Dirty Harry movies. I was mostly mean to him and would push him out of his favorite little hidey hole under the palm trees next to the pool.
George and Astarte produced Aphrodite, who gave birth to Venus and Cassiopeia from different litters. Cassie Gave birth to Taurus. There was also Maggie, who was supposed to be mine, but she drowned in the pool as a puppy.
After they all eventually died of cancer, my parents tried once more with a pair of older dogs from a breeder friend and then switched to a chihuahua and miniature Schnauzer. As of now, I think their pack includes the mini Schnauzer, a boxer, a golden retriever, and a mini dachsund. Whew.
I've loved dogs all my life. I've played with them, been drooled on by them, held them as teeny little puppies, making sure they were clean and well-fed, and slept in beds with them. What I missed most during my college years was having a dog around and I vowed to have another as soon as I could.
Dogs are wonderful. They love us unconditionally and forgive us our flaws. They often forgive far more than any creature should have to. They only live to be loved and to make us happy. Mine have curled up next to me while I cried, kept me warm at night, and are infinitely patient with all of my moods and weirdness.
With all that they give me, I want to give back. And it feels like giving back to just two small Bostons isn't enough. I want to give something to their brothers and sisters and cousins and distant, twice-removed cousins. I want to give by making sure that all waggy-tailed, saggy-skinned, stretched-out, drooling, little kissing machines have homes and families and know what it is to be loved.
I don't make resolutions at the start of the year. They don't stick. For a while I tried calling them goals, but that didn't make them stick either. And I'm not making a resolution this year either. But I am making a commitment. I'm making a commitment to do whatever I can to help animals in need. And I'm asking you to do the same.
How much is that doggy in the window? Too much. The cost that dogs pay when bred from puppy mills is too much. They pay with their lives. Most people today, hopefully, are aware of the tragedies caused by puppy mills. If you're not, I'm not going to go into it, just understand that it is devastating. You can look up the horrors for yourself. Just don't buy a dog from a pet store. End of story.
If you're thinking of getting a dog, think seriously about adopting. I adopted my Dalmatian, but not my Bostons. I will adopt next time. Even if you want a specific breed, there are rescue groups. And they often have puppies. Adopting saves lives.
Shelters are overrun with animals. It is a crime against nature that so many of them are put down daily. That their last days are spent in a cement cell. Do what you can. Adopt, foster, volunteer, donate.
The biggest way to keep animals out of shelters in the first place is to be responsible. There are enough dogs (and cats) in the world already who desperately need homes. Don't breed yours. Unless breeding is your life because you show them or are specifically committed to the integrity of the breed, don't do it. You want to make some extra money? Your dog is not a part-time job. Your dog is not a puppy factory. And you don't know that those puppies are going to loving, forever homes when you put them on Craigslist.
I realize that there are plenty of causes out there. People are homeless. Cancer is still an asshole. Children need protection. I support anyone who feels passionately about any cause and if you already have one, I wish you the best and thank you for what you are doing. My passion just happens to be dogs and if you aren't already doing something for someone, I urge you to join me.
I no longer want to see pictures of starving dogs or abused dogs or hear about dogs being made to fight or dogs being put down unfairly because they exhibit behaviors that have been bred into them by us. We, as people, took dogs into our homes, we taught them to be pets. We taught them to be dependent on us and to need us. Let's not let them down.
“Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe. We are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made. ”
― Roger Caras
Friday, December 28, 2012
This Is Why I Love Her Sense of Humor
So yesterday I came home to find D alone in the house with a boy. Apparently their ice skating date had been canceled, but he still came over to see her. Huh.
She only smiled when I asked if he's a good kisser and then denied it all, which means something definitely happened. It must mean something if she's not telling me.
Anyway, I commented that I hope she waits to have sex with someone she really cares about. She said of course she's going to and then we had the following conversation.
Me: "I'm not saying I think you'll do it tomorrow, I just don't want you throwing away what could be a nice experience."
D: "Duh, Mom. I know that. Besides, there are plenty of other things to do besides just sex."
Me: "Ugh, I don't want to hear that!"
D: "I was talking about ice skating and bowling!"
Oh, help me......
She only smiled when I asked if he's a good kisser and then denied it all, which means something definitely happened. It must mean something if she's not telling me.
Anyway, I commented that I hope she waits to have sex with someone she really cares about. She said of course she's going to and then we had the following conversation.
Me: "I'm not saying I think you'll do it tomorrow, I just don't want you throwing away what could be a nice experience."
D: "Duh, Mom. I know that. Besides, there are plenty of other things to do besides just sex."
Me: "Ugh, I don't want to hear that!"
D: "I was talking about ice skating and bowling!"
Oh, help me......
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Where Does She Get It?
The other day I picked D up from school and we went Christmas shopping. Her friend Little N came along and the two of them talked about every detail of their day, which mostly had to do with boys.
When we stopped at a light, I saw a man begging with a sign and locked my doors. D thought that was exceptionally rude, but I assured her that he didn't hear me do it.
The car in front of us rolled their window down and it looked like they gave him money. The girls started going through their backpacks to see what they had and came up with a candy cane, a gold chocolate coin, and a strawberry candy.
I rolled my window down and motioned for the man to come to the car, telling him that the girls wanted him to have their candy. He got the biggest smile, said "That's awesome!" and then asked if I had a light, which I didn't. No matter, he seemed genuinely excited to be given candy and waved us off saying, "God bless you! Merry Christmas!"
It was actually really nice and felt good. I told the girls, "You just made that guy's day."
And D replied, "Even if we didn't, he might at least have better breath now."
When we stopped at a light, I saw a man begging with a sign and locked my doors. D thought that was exceptionally rude, but I assured her that he didn't hear me do it.
The car in front of us rolled their window down and it looked like they gave him money. The girls started going through their backpacks to see what they had and came up with a candy cane, a gold chocolate coin, and a strawberry candy.
I rolled my window down and motioned for the man to come to the car, telling him that the girls wanted him to have their candy. He got the biggest smile, said "That's awesome!" and then asked if I had a light, which I didn't. No matter, he seemed genuinely excited to be given candy and waved us off saying, "God bless you! Merry Christmas!"
It was actually really nice and felt good. I told the girls, "You just made that guy's day."
And D replied, "Even if we didn't, he might at least have better breath now."
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Pigs In Blankets
I have a king-sized bed. I also have two Boston Terriers. Because they are small dogs, one would think that a king-sized bed would easily accommodate the three of us. This would be an incorrect assumption.
Even if it's only me, I sleep on one side of the bed. Reaching over to the nightstand to turn off the light, put my book down, set the alarm, or get a sip of water is just too much exercise to be done in a bed. This habit of mine leaves plenty of room for the dogs. They can stretch out. They can each have their own, separate spaces on the bed.
This doesn't happen.
My Puppy Loves like to sleep right next to me. As in right up against me. Which is kind of nice when I'm really cold, but not so great when I wake up and find myself on the very edge of the bed. With one dog at my torso and one at my legs.
My favorite thing is when they manage to pull the covers over to themselves while laying on top of them so that I'm left with only half covers and I'm cold and can't get their enormous weight to budge.
They also like to sleep under the covers. Especially Remy. If he's not under some type of cover he thinks the world is coming to an end. So several nights a week I am woken by a paw tapping my shoulder, waiting for me to lift the covers so he can find his favorite spot down by my feet.
Oh, wait. My very favorite thing is when Ruby is all snuggled up and I turn over to cuddle with her only to find that it's her butt in my face, not her face. And then she farts.
My sheets are not pretty. They are covered in hair and I know there have been dog butts on my pillows plenty of times. I find eye boogers and other, less-pleasing evidence of dogs if I dare to look closely enough.
You would think that it's time to kick them out. That I would sleep better with them in their own beds. That I would prefer clean sheets to hair and snoring and snorting and farting. You would be wrong, my friend.
Somehow it feels selfish to banish them to crates when I have such a large bed. It's also lonely without them. It's reassuring waking up to their warm bodies, knowing they find as much comfort from my half-covered, frozen, frustrated body. I love their smells and their sighs and their little frito feet. I love opening my eyes to find Ruby's little face next to mine, her look of pure contentment and trust.
Yeah, I pretty much sleep in a giant dog bed.
I wonder if I could teach them how to do laundry.....
Even if it's only me, I sleep on one side of the bed. Reaching over to the nightstand to turn off the light, put my book down, set the alarm, or get a sip of water is just too much exercise to be done in a bed. This habit of mine leaves plenty of room for the dogs. They can stretch out. They can each have their own, separate spaces on the bed.
This doesn't happen.
My Puppy Loves like to sleep right next to me. As in right up against me. Which is kind of nice when I'm really cold, but not so great when I wake up and find myself on the very edge of the bed. With one dog at my torso and one at my legs.
My favorite thing is when they manage to pull the covers over to themselves while laying on top of them so that I'm left with only half covers and I'm cold and can't get their enormous weight to budge.
They also like to sleep under the covers. Especially Remy. If he's not under some type of cover he thinks the world is coming to an end. So several nights a week I am woken by a paw tapping my shoulder, waiting for me to lift the covers so he can find his favorite spot down by my feet.
Oh, wait. My very favorite thing is when Ruby is all snuggled up and I turn over to cuddle with her only to find that it's her butt in my face, not her face. And then she farts.
My sheets are not pretty. They are covered in hair and I know there have been dog butts on my pillows plenty of times. I find eye boogers and other, less-pleasing evidence of dogs if I dare to look closely enough.
You would think that it's time to kick them out. That I would sleep better with them in their own beds. That I would prefer clean sheets to hair and snoring and snorting and farting. You would be wrong, my friend.
Somehow it feels selfish to banish them to crates when I have such a large bed. It's also lonely without them. It's reassuring waking up to their warm bodies, knowing they find as much comfort from my half-covered, frozen, frustrated body. I love their smells and their sighs and their little frito feet. I love opening my eyes to find Ruby's little face next to mine, her look of pure contentment and trust.
Yeah, I pretty much sleep in a giant dog bed.
I wonder if I could teach them how to do laundry.....
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
He's Here!!
I have news! The baby is here!! Baby Boy has arrived!
I was stuck in a meeting and writing my to-do list after the meeting got completely derailed onto another, even less-interesting subject. Some things were work things, some were not. One of them was to check in with Mom and see if the baby was here because she told me last week that she would be induced on Tuesday of this week.
Got back to my desk to find a voice mail that Baby Boy arrived last night and is perfectly healthy. I am still working on the armoire for Princess so I will be able to see him and report back on how adorably snuggly he is.
In other completely unrelated news, I have discovered the cutest, smallest animal in the world and now I must have one. I want a bumblebee bat. I think he could hang nicely from the top bars in Jellybean's cage and we could let him fly around at night to catch any gross bugs that are in the house. He'd be especially helpful in the summer with mosquitoes.
Hear that, Fat Man? He'd also fit nicely in my stocking.
I was stuck in a meeting and writing my to-do list after the meeting got completely derailed onto another, even less-interesting subject. Some things were work things, some were not. One of them was to check in with Mom and see if the baby was here because she told me last week that she would be induced on Tuesday of this week.
Got back to my desk to find a voice mail that Baby Boy arrived last night and is perfectly healthy. I am still working on the armoire for Princess so I will be able to see him and report back on how adorably snuggly he is.
In other completely unrelated news, I have discovered the cutest, smallest animal in the world and now I must have one. I want a bumblebee bat. I think he could hang nicely from the top bars in Jellybean's cage and we could let him fly around at night to catch any gross bugs that are in the house. He'd be especially helpful in the summer with mosquitoes.
Hear that, Fat Man? He'd also fit nicely in my stocking.
Monday, December 17, 2012
How to Grow Your Heart Two Sizes
I watched the president's speech in Newtown last night and cried. My heart goes out to everyone in that community. This morning I arrived at work only to find that the first email was from a co-worker whose father is very ill. It's the happiest time of the year and there is far too much sadness. So, so much of it everywhere.
It's very easy for me to get bogged down in that. I think it's hard for a lot of people this time of year, and depression makes it worse because it already tells me that life sucks. "Give up. Go back to bed. Why bother?"
But I decided that this year is going to be different. I've been so tired the last several years that I've made very little holiday effort. I've gone through the motions but my heart hasn't been in it. Most years I've only done it because of D; otherwise I wouldn't have bothered. Then this year I decided to be spirited and to enjoy the holiday. I still haven't baked enough (or at all) or watched enough Christmas movies but I'm in it more than I have been in recent years.
I loved helping our adopted family. It felt so good to be able to help people that really needed it. But then I keep hearing about more people in similar situations and it feels like I haven't done enough. That helping just one family almost isn't worth it when there are SO MANY people that need help. And I would love to help everyone, but I don't have the resources for that. My bank account only stretches so far.
So yesterday I decided to just give thanks to someone else who is doing something on a regular basis. To give them some encouragement to keep going, to know that their efforts are appreciated. They're both "friends" on Facebook.
One happens to be a little Boston Terrier who visits elderly people and sick children and many other people in need in his community. Of course there is a man with a giant heart behind this little dog who deserves most of the credit. I mean, the dog is adorable and obviously helps people, but he can't answer the phone when he's wanted for an appearance or drive himself there. Even though he does have his own motorcycle.
The other is actually a friend of a friend whom I have never met. She got tired of hearing about all of the shelter dogs who never find homes and decided to do something about it. She adopted two dogs herself from high-kill shelters and then floods my newsfeed daily with photos of other dogs whose lives are on the line. I don't mind. I'm glad someone is doing it. When she posted about how she feels like she isn't doing enough and gets discouraged knowing that so many, many dogs are still put down daily, I had to respond.
I posted messages to both thanking them for what they do. I chose people with dogs because that is my passion. And it took all of maybe 10 minutes. Probably less. They both responded so I knew that they had heard me, but it wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't heard back. The point was to put a little more niceness out in the world. A little encouragement, a little bit of gratitude.
There isn't enough kindness right now. It's easy to get frustrated at long lines in stores and say something snarky about it. But you know what? It's just as easy to be nice to that cashier when it's your turn. Because she's probably dealt with a hundred crabby people and really needs someone to have some patience with her. It's easy to send out a message to someone you know or even don't know and thank them for what they do. Shovel a neighbor's driveway, let someone in line in front of you, leave a bigger tip than normal.
Someone might be on the verge of giving up. Giving up their cause, their plans, even their life. One kind word or act from you could change that. Even if you never know, you'll at least know you've done your best.
Let's do our best today.
It's very easy for me to get bogged down in that. I think it's hard for a lot of people this time of year, and depression makes it worse because it already tells me that life sucks. "Give up. Go back to bed. Why bother?"
But I decided that this year is going to be different. I've been so tired the last several years that I've made very little holiday effort. I've gone through the motions but my heart hasn't been in it. Most years I've only done it because of D; otherwise I wouldn't have bothered. Then this year I decided to be spirited and to enjoy the holiday. I still haven't baked enough (or at all) or watched enough Christmas movies but I'm in it more than I have been in recent years.
I loved helping our adopted family. It felt so good to be able to help people that really needed it. But then I keep hearing about more people in similar situations and it feels like I haven't done enough. That helping just one family almost isn't worth it when there are SO MANY people that need help. And I would love to help everyone, but I don't have the resources for that. My bank account only stretches so far.
So yesterday I decided to just give thanks to someone else who is doing something on a regular basis. To give them some encouragement to keep going, to know that their efforts are appreciated. They're both "friends" on Facebook.
One happens to be a little Boston Terrier who visits elderly people and sick children and many other people in need in his community. Of course there is a man with a giant heart behind this little dog who deserves most of the credit. I mean, the dog is adorable and obviously helps people, but he can't answer the phone when he's wanted for an appearance or drive himself there. Even though he does have his own motorcycle.
The other is actually a friend of a friend whom I have never met. She got tired of hearing about all of the shelter dogs who never find homes and decided to do something about it. She adopted two dogs herself from high-kill shelters and then floods my newsfeed daily with photos of other dogs whose lives are on the line. I don't mind. I'm glad someone is doing it. When she posted about how she feels like she isn't doing enough and gets discouraged knowing that so many, many dogs are still put down daily, I had to respond.
I posted messages to both thanking them for what they do. I chose people with dogs because that is my passion. And it took all of maybe 10 minutes. Probably less. They both responded so I knew that they had heard me, but it wouldn't have mattered if I hadn't heard back. The point was to put a little more niceness out in the world. A little encouragement, a little bit of gratitude.
There isn't enough kindness right now. It's easy to get frustrated at long lines in stores and say something snarky about it. But you know what? It's just as easy to be nice to that cashier when it's your turn. Because she's probably dealt with a hundred crabby people and really needs someone to have some patience with her. It's easy to send out a message to someone you know or even don't know and thank them for what they do. Shovel a neighbor's driveway, let someone in line in front of you, leave a bigger tip than normal.
Someone might be on the verge of giving up. Giving up their cause, their plans, even their life. One kind word or act from you could change that. Even if you never know, you'll at least know you've done your best.
Let's do our best today.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Time for Change
Friday's school shooting is still in the headlines and still resonating with parents and will continue to do so. It is unfathomable what that community is going through. It is beyond understanding for me as a parent. I hate that I have to talk to my daughter about it when I have no answers. I hate hearing that her teachers are making escape plans and discussing them with her. I hate that she is now also afraid to go to school. School should be a safe place. A place where kids learn, not just about academics, but about friendship, how the world works, and what it is to grow up. This isn't how the world is supposed to work.
The knee-jerk reaction to this tragedy is gun control. Guns are bad. Guns kill people. I am certainly not advocating for guns. They frighten me and I don't understand the attraction to going out and shooting things up. I didn't grow up with hunters. But I do understand that thousands and thousands of people in this country own guns and those people could never conceive of using them in a way that the alleged killer did. There are people who respect guns and teach everyone around them how to use them properly. So I don't think that guns are the issue. Because happy, well-adjusted people don't take guns into school and take innocent lives just because these weapons are available.
It is time to look at the kinds of individuals that commit these horrendous crimes. What leads them to believe that taking lives, including their own, is the solution? These people are not well. They are also suffering.
I live with depression. For myself and my daughter. I can tell you that it looks very frightening at times. It feels frightening. And while seeing someone have a panic attack can be scary, it's even worse for the person having it. To be unable to leave the body and the mind that feels so uncomfortable leaves one feeling hopeless and trapped.
My daughter seems to struggle more. Whether it's her age or her particular illness, she is having a really hard time. Because she's a girl, she turns her fear and anger and confusion onto herself. As the mother who snuggled her for hours as a baby and relished in her experiences and watching her grow, this breaks my heart. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that I can't change it and make it all magically go away. It confuses me. It feels like my fault. Because I'm her mom, so it has to be, right?
I am going to share something I'd rather not, but in the hope that it helps someone else. I didn't want to believe that she was feeling so bad. I blamed it on hormones and being lazy and spoiled and anything else that could make it her fault, make it a behavior that I could change. I minimize her feelings. I yelled at her. I took away privileges. I pretended it wasn't that bad. She was making it up. I couldn't be the kind of parent whose child has serious issues. I was raised better than that.
Denial is so dangerous.
Because it is that bad. I simply can't ignore it. Not when her therapist tells me it's bad. And her school counselor. Not when she suddenly does something that is so frightening to me I am afraid of really hurting her. I have to admit that there is something wrong. Ignoring it makes it worse. I'm not a perfect parent. And while I've always joked about that, I've never taken it to heart like I have recently. I had to set my ego aside so that I can be there for her. So I can really listen and be able to offer her the love and support she really needs. So I can do everything possible to help her out of the dark places that she gets lost in.
Girls, on average, turn in on themselves. While I worry for her, and hate the things she says and feels about herself, I only have to worry about her, and about my feelings and how to help her. Boys, on the other hand, typically turn all of their anger and confusion and rage outward. And, if D were a boy with the feelings she is having, I would be worried about the people around her. Because these are the kind of people that commit unspeakable acts of violence.
I am not taking away anything from anyone who has been through this experience, but there are other victims in these crimes. How much does a person have to hurt that destroying the lives of others is the only way out they can think of? How many times and in how many ways do they ask for help before this is their last resort?
Because D asked me for help. More than once. I am fortunate enough that I listened before it was too late and there was nothing to listen to.
We, as parents, have to listen to our kids when they ask for help. We have to put aside our own agendas and fears and feelings of failure because our children need us.
Nobody asks for mental illness. Nobody gets it and thinks, "Hey, this is pretty great." And for children, they don't even know what it is. They just know that something is wrong, they don't feel good. That scares them and confuses them. Babies don't understand what hunger is, they just need something and so they cry. Children can't articulate what they're feeling in much the same way.
We, as a society, need to be more empathetic to the disabilities of others. We need to look at a child or a family and recognize that they might need a little more help, rather than turning our backs in irritation or disgust. It is time that we start advocating for mental health. There are no easy answers, but there is a starting point.
Enough is enough. There has been enough loss. Enough sadness. Enough blame. It's time to look for real answers, have some understanding, compassion, and act from kindness. Kindness towards those who are struggling, whether it's an individual with a mental illness or the family members who care about them.
We have a responsibility to each other as basic human beings. Let's humanize this issue so that it doesn't happen to another child or family or community.
The knee-jerk reaction to this tragedy is gun control. Guns are bad. Guns kill people. I am certainly not advocating for guns. They frighten me and I don't understand the attraction to going out and shooting things up. I didn't grow up with hunters. But I do understand that thousands and thousands of people in this country own guns and those people could never conceive of using them in a way that the alleged killer did. There are people who respect guns and teach everyone around them how to use them properly. So I don't think that guns are the issue. Because happy, well-adjusted people don't take guns into school and take innocent lives just because these weapons are available.
It is time to look at the kinds of individuals that commit these horrendous crimes. What leads them to believe that taking lives, including their own, is the solution? These people are not well. They are also suffering.
I live with depression. For myself and my daughter. I can tell you that it looks very frightening at times. It feels frightening. And while seeing someone have a panic attack can be scary, it's even worse for the person having it. To be unable to leave the body and the mind that feels so uncomfortable leaves one feeling hopeless and trapped.
My daughter seems to struggle more. Whether it's her age or her particular illness, she is having a really hard time. Because she's a girl, she turns her fear and anger and confusion onto herself. As the mother who snuggled her for hours as a baby and relished in her experiences and watching her grow, this breaks my heart. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that I can't change it and make it all magically go away. It confuses me. It feels like my fault. Because I'm her mom, so it has to be, right?
I am going to share something I'd rather not, but in the hope that it helps someone else. I didn't want to believe that she was feeling so bad. I blamed it on hormones and being lazy and spoiled and anything else that could make it her fault, make it a behavior that I could change. I minimize her feelings. I yelled at her. I took away privileges. I pretended it wasn't that bad. She was making it up. I couldn't be the kind of parent whose child has serious issues. I was raised better than that.
Denial is so dangerous.
Because it is that bad. I simply can't ignore it. Not when her therapist tells me it's bad. And her school counselor. Not when she suddenly does something that is so frightening to me I am afraid of really hurting her. I have to admit that there is something wrong. Ignoring it makes it worse. I'm not a perfect parent. And while I've always joked about that, I've never taken it to heart like I have recently. I had to set my ego aside so that I can be there for her. So I can really listen and be able to offer her the love and support she really needs. So I can do everything possible to help her out of the dark places that she gets lost in.
Girls, on average, turn in on themselves. While I worry for her, and hate the things she says and feels about herself, I only have to worry about her, and about my feelings and how to help her. Boys, on the other hand, typically turn all of their anger and confusion and rage outward. And, if D were a boy with the feelings she is having, I would be worried about the people around her. Because these are the kind of people that commit unspeakable acts of violence.
I am not taking away anything from anyone who has been through this experience, but there are other victims in these crimes. How much does a person have to hurt that destroying the lives of others is the only way out they can think of? How many times and in how many ways do they ask for help before this is their last resort?
Because D asked me for help. More than once. I am fortunate enough that I listened before it was too late and there was nothing to listen to.
We, as parents, have to listen to our kids when they ask for help. We have to put aside our own agendas and fears and feelings of failure because our children need us.
Nobody asks for mental illness. Nobody gets it and thinks, "Hey, this is pretty great." And for children, they don't even know what it is. They just know that something is wrong, they don't feel good. That scares them and confuses them. Babies don't understand what hunger is, they just need something and so they cry. Children can't articulate what they're feeling in much the same way.
We, as a society, need to be more empathetic to the disabilities of others. We need to look at a child or a family and recognize that they might need a little more help, rather than turning our backs in irritation or disgust. It is time that we start advocating for mental health. There are no easy answers, but there is a starting point.
Enough is enough. There has been enough loss. Enough sadness. Enough blame. It's time to look for real answers, have some understanding, compassion, and act from kindness. Kindness towards those who are struggling, whether it's an individual with a mental illness or the family members who care about them.
We have a responsibility to each other as basic human beings. Let's humanize this issue so that it doesn't happen to another child or family or community.
Friday, December 14, 2012
My Heart is Breaking
I woke up happy this morning. And then I saw the news. My heart just hurts thinking about those scared little children and the parents who must feel absolutely powerless right now. It's beyond tragic or horrific. There aren't words to describe that amount of anguish and sadness. It just hurts. A lot.
But I was so excited to tell you guys about our family so I'm going to mix in some joy with the sadness as a reminder that there are still enormous amounts of good in the world, that even though we hurt, we ease the pain a bit for others.
A small group of us delivered the tree and gifts to the family last night. When we arrived, Princess was standing and looking out the window. Mom said she had been there for the last hour anxiously awaiting the arrival of the tree.
Oh, the tree. That thing is enormous in their small apartment! It's so big the top is bent against the ceiling and it barely fit into the tree stand. But little Princess loved it and vowed to water it every day.
And she was oh-so-excited seeing all of the presents come in. She counted how many each one of them had and exclaimed, "There's so MANY of them!!" She was priceless.
But my favorite moment came when we brought her little pink bicycle in. Mom's hands flew to cover her face and she had tears sparkling in her eyes. I felt the lump in my throat and the sting in my own eyes seeing how completely surprised and happy she was for her daughter. She said that her daughter had wanted one so badly and yet they hadn't asked us for one. She must have thought it was just a bit too much. It was okay to ask for a toaster, but not a bike.
I had the fullest heart when we left after receiving hugs all around. This was one of the best experiences I've ever had and I am so grateful to have been a part of it. It has truly been invaluable and I am thankful to everyone who was a part of it. A part of giving happiness to a family that I know appreciates it wholeheartedly and with humility.
So, yes, let's take a moment to honor and remember those who are hurting and who have lost unimaginable amounts. They deserve our caring and prayers, hugs and help. But let's also remember that there is good and kindness and love in the world and choose to be a part of that. No matter the damage and harm that can be done by less-than individuals, it can't erase the kindnesses that have been given and the love that has been shared. If anything, we should be more determined to give the love we have, to show which force is stronger and work to overcome those actions that cause harm to our children, our friends, and all of those with love in their hearts.
But I was so excited to tell you guys about our family so I'm going to mix in some joy with the sadness as a reminder that there are still enormous amounts of good in the world, that even though we hurt, we ease the pain a bit for others.
A small group of us delivered the tree and gifts to the family last night. When we arrived, Princess was standing and looking out the window. Mom said she had been there for the last hour anxiously awaiting the arrival of the tree.
Oh, the tree. That thing is enormous in their small apartment! It's so big the top is bent against the ceiling and it barely fit into the tree stand. But little Princess loved it and vowed to water it every day.
And she was oh-so-excited seeing all of the presents come in. She counted how many each one of them had and exclaimed, "There's so MANY of them!!" She was priceless.
But my favorite moment came when we brought her little pink bicycle in. Mom's hands flew to cover her face and she had tears sparkling in her eyes. I felt the lump in my throat and the sting in my own eyes seeing how completely surprised and happy she was for her daughter. She said that her daughter had wanted one so badly and yet they hadn't asked us for one. She must have thought it was just a bit too much. It was okay to ask for a toaster, but not a bike.
I had the fullest heart when we left after receiving hugs all around. This was one of the best experiences I've ever had and I am so grateful to have been a part of it. It has truly been invaluable and I am thankful to everyone who was a part of it. A part of giving happiness to a family that I know appreciates it wholeheartedly and with humility.
So, yes, let's take a moment to honor and remember those who are hurting and who have lost unimaginable amounts. They deserve our caring and prayers, hugs and help. But let's also remember that there is good and kindness and love in the world and choose to be a part of that. No matter the damage and harm that can be done by less-than individuals, it can't erase the kindnesses that have been given and the love that has been shared. If anything, we should be more determined to give the love we have, to show which force is stronger and work to overcome those actions that cause harm to our children, our friends, and all of those with love in their hearts.
Sunday, December 09, 2012
Family Update and Helping Ideas
After posting both here and on HackBend about my company's adopted family, I have received offers from the community to help out. Granted, it's not the ginormous outpouring I had fantasized about, but it's still very touching and more than this family had hoped for themselves. And so I have an update.
Baby Boy will most likely arrive this week. I saw Mom last week and she was looking really ready to be done with this pregnancy. While there I was so happy to see that they had received a crib and some other furnishings. She's getting lots of clothes for Baby Boy and even Princess had a tv in her room. Mom says that she's feeling like they really have a home. Isn't that the best gift ever??
Mom and Princess still need clothes. And girls always need shoes. Gift cards to fill in the miscellaneous items or for groceries would be really great. I happened to see the price of diapers at Costco last week and almost fell on the floor. And groceries are an ongoing need. Giving this family a good start in their new life is so rewarding.
Now, I know that there are many other families in the area and across the country that need help. I've just been lucky enough to be involved with one of them. (And one that provides an opportunity for new baby snuggle time!) And I've asked for help with them because I'm so involved and if you want to help them too, that is wonderful! But if you want to help other families that you know of, that is just as wonderful.
Do you not know who to help or how to help? There are so many ways. I've heard that the shelters and soup kitchens are pretty full this time of year so it's hard to get in there. But you know when they need help? All year. So put a day on your calendar in May or August to go help out and donate your time. People are hungry and homeless all year, not just during the holidays.
There are giving trees around town. Summit High School has one for teens in need. Toys for Tots boxes are collecting. Some grocery stores have pre-packed grocery bags you can buy for around $10 to provide a holiday meal. You'll spend more than that on your own holiday ham or turkey.
Here's something I started doing a few years ago that takes very little time and even less money. You know when you go to McDonald's and they ask if you want to donate $1 for their Ronald McDonald houses? Say yes. During December I say yes every time I'm asked at a register for a dollar donation. It might add up to only $20 for me for the month, but if we all did that? How much more could that be? Of course, if it's a charity you're really against, don't do it. But do it far more often than you don't. Because Ronald McDonald houses help families with sick children at a time they most need it. Animal rescues are my biggest passion. I gave a dollar to St.Jude's yesterday. A dollar. When do you not have an extra dollar? I couldn't give a lot last year when I was unemployed, but I still stuck to my December donations. Even then I had an extra dollar that someone else needed more than me.
Help my adopted family, help your neighbor, help a stranger. Just help someone.
Happy Holidays!
Baby Boy will most likely arrive this week. I saw Mom last week and she was looking really ready to be done with this pregnancy. While there I was so happy to see that they had received a crib and some other furnishings. She's getting lots of clothes for Baby Boy and even Princess had a tv in her room. Mom says that she's feeling like they really have a home. Isn't that the best gift ever??
Mom and Princess still need clothes. And girls always need shoes. Gift cards to fill in the miscellaneous items or for groceries would be really great. I happened to see the price of diapers at Costco last week and almost fell on the floor. And groceries are an ongoing need. Giving this family a good start in their new life is so rewarding.
Now, I know that there are many other families in the area and across the country that need help. I've just been lucky enough to be involved with one of them. (And one that provides an opportunity for new baby snuggle time!) And I've asked for help with them because I'm so involved and if you want to help them too, that is wonderful! But if you want to help other families that you know of, that is just as wonderful.
Do you not know who to help or how to help? There are so many ways. I've heard that the shelters and soup kitchens are pretty full this time of year so it's hard to get in there. But you know when they need help? All year. So put a day on your calendar in May or August to go help out and donate your time. People are hungry and homeless all year, not just during the holidays.
There are giving trees around town. Summit High School has one for teens in need. Toys for Tots boxes are collecting. Some grocery stores have pre-packed grocery bags you can buy for around $10 to provide a holiday meal. You'll spend more than that on your own holiday ham or turkey.
Here's something I started doing a few years ago that takes very little time and even less money. You know when you go to McDonald's and they ask if you want to donate $1 for their Ronald McDonald houses? Say yes. During December I say yes every time I'm asked at a register for a dollar donation. It might add up to only $20 for me for the month, but if we all did that? How much more could that be? Of course, if it's a charity you're really against, don't do it. But do it far more often than you don't. Because Ronald McDonald houses help families with sick children at a time they most need it. Animal rescues are my biggest passion. I gave a dollar to St.Jude's yesterday. A dollar. When do you not have an extra dollar? I couldn't give a lot last year when I was unemployed, but I still stuck to my December donations. Even then I had an extra dollar that someone else needed more than me.
Help my adopted family, help your neighbor, help a stranger. Just help someone.
Happy Holidays!
Thursday, December 06, 2012
Enemy Mine
I have created an enemy. Because I have declared war.
D sort of fell apart in school last year. First we thought it was the mono, and then found out it was depression. At the time her health seemed more important and, unfortunately, her grades took a back seat. Way back. Like back of the bus.
This year we were determined not to let that happen. She even declared that this was going to be her year. Her year of success. And it went well at first. She came home talking about school, describing in excited detail the pig organs that they were dissecting. She was getting an A. In science, of all things!
The Fiddler play was rough. It was a lot of work and she was often tired. I let her sleep in. I even let her skip a class here and there. But I let her because her grades weren't suffering. It seemed like this really could be her year.
And then, all of a sudden, once Fiddler was over, so was she. The exhaustion caught up to her and she just quit. Literally. As in quit going to class. I talked to her. I talked to her teachers. Everyone is willing to help her. Everyone has given her second and third chances. It's up to her now. And she's smart, I know she can do it. I think she has just enjoyed the extra attention a little too much.
She's now in the throes of the Christmas choir season. The special jazz choir she's in is performing gigs all over town. Chamber of Commerce. Old Mill. High Desert Museum. Private parties. It's a lot of work but she's enjoying it. But it's a lot of work and it's all she cares about. And it's a lot of work so she's understandably exhausted. She's tired.
But you know what? So am I. I'm tired of keeping track of everywhere she has to go. I'm tired of getting up early to take her to school because she's too much of a diva to ride the bus. I'm tired of emailing her teachers to make sure she's on track and where she's supposed to be. I'm tired of the excuses. I'm tired of spending money on all of her activities. I'm tired of working, going to school myself, being depressed, and still taking care of her. I'm tired of making dinners she doesn't eat and following up on homework when I have my own to do.
So this morning I turned into That Mom. I did something I never imagined myself doing. I'm still a bit in shock over the whole ordeal.
She wouldn't get up this morning. She was tired, she needed to "rest." What she "needed" to do was play her I'm-a-star-and-deserve-special-treatment role. She wanted to miss her science class yet again. I tried to explain to her that she made the choice to be in this choir and that because she made that choice, things will be harder for her. But there is no reasoning at 6:30 in the morning. And I hadn't had a sip of coffee. So I snapped. I gave her a five-count warning, to be fair. But then I did it. I poured cold water on her bed and on her pillow. Yes. I. Did. That happened.
I wish I had a picture of her face when it happened. Or even mine, because I probably looked totally crazed. She yelled, "That's going to be wet all day now!!!!" I answered back, "Well, it's a good thing we have a dryer in the house."
But she got up. And I bet she gets up again tomorrow.
Yeah, her diva days are over. The excuses are old and used up. There's a new mom in the house and she might not like it. In fact, she'll probably hate me. But maybe she'll thank me when she's 30 and not working at McDonald's.
Maybe.
D sort of fell apart in school last year. First we thought it was the mono, and then found out it was depression. At the time her health seemed more important and, unfortunately, her grades took a back seat. Way back. Like back of the bus.
This year we were determined not to let that happen. She even declared that this was going to be her year. Her year of success. And it went well at first. She came home talking about school, describing in excited detail the pig organs that they were dissecting. She was getting an A. In science, of all things!
The Fiddler play was rough. It was a lot of work and she was often tired. I let her sleep in. I even let her skip a class here and there. But I let her because her grades weren't suffering. It seemed like this really could be her year.
And then, all of a sudden, once Fiddler was over, so was she. The exhaustion caught up to her and she just quit. Literally. As in quit going to class. I talked to her. I talked to her teachers. Everyone is willing to help her. Everyone has given her second and third chances. It's up to her now. And she's smart, I know she can do it. I think she has just enjoyed the extra attention a little too much.
She's now in the throes of the Christmas choir season. The special jazz choir she's in is performing gigs all over town. Chamber of Commerce. Old Mill. High Desert Museum. Private parties. It's a lot of work but she's enjoying it. But it's a lot of work and it's all she cares about. And it's a lot of work so she's understandably exhausted. She's tired.
But you know what? So am I. I'm tired of keeping track of everywhere she has to go. I'm tired of getting up early to take her to school because she's too much of a diva to ride the bus. I'm tired of emailing her teachers to make sure she's on track and where she's supposed to be. I'm tired of the excuses. I'm tired of spending money on all of her activities. I'm tired of working, going to school myself, being depressed, and still taking care of her. I'm tired of making dinners she doesn't eat and following up on homework when I have my own to do.
So this morning I turned into That Mom. I did something I never imagined myself doing. I'm still a bit in shock over the whole ordeal.
She wouldn't get up this morning. She was tired, she needed to "rest." What she "needed" to do was play her I'm-a-star-and-deserve-special-treatment role. She wanted to miss her science class yet again. I tried to explain to her that she made the choice to be in this choir and that because she made that choice, things will be harder for her. But there is no reasoning at 6:30 in the morning. And I hadn't had a sip of coffee. So I snapped. I gave her a five-count warning, to be fair. But then I did it. I poured cold water on her bed and on her pillow. Yes. I. Did. That happened.
I wish I had a picture of her face when it happened. Or even mine, because I probably looked totally crazed. She yelled, "That's going to be wet all day now!!!!" I answered back, "Well, it's a good thing we have a dryer in the house."
But she got up. And I bet she gets up again tomorrow.
Yeah, her diva days are over. The excuses are old and used up. There's a new mom in the house and she might not like it. In fact, she'll probably hate me. But maybe she'll thank me when she's 30 and not working at McDonald's.
Maybe.
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
The Hormone-Induced Junk Food Fest
Ladies, you know how there are certain times that you don't care what you eat even though you know you should? Like you really want to lose weight, but a pan of brownies is just way more appealing? And because you spent the previous three days crying because kittens might get sad? So you're a little vulnerable and that block of cheese looks really sympathetic to your plight?
Yeah, last night was one of those. I went to the store, roamed the aisles for 20 minutes and came home with the following:
garlic-bread pizza
Ruffles potato chips
ranch dip to go with said Ruffles
tortilla chips
Velveeta cheese dip to go with said tortilla chips
chocolate chip cookies filled with gooey caramel (yeah, they're as good as they sound!)
double chocolate ice cream with chocolate stuff added
Was I having a party? Yeah, in my belly! And did that party ever grow!
The wife came over and accused me of making her fat. Hey, join the club.
The boyfriend stopped by briefly as I was putting the dip away. Which is when the guilt crept in.
He: What are you doing?
Me: Oh, nothing.
He: Were you in the kitchen?
Me: Um. Maybe.
He: What were you doing in there?
Me: Uh..... Nothing.
He: What are you hiding?
Me: I'm not. I'm not hiding.... anything.....
I'm hiding my shame, okay? Because I complain about my weight on an hourly basis and then I still get Bad Food. And I don't want to hear that I'm not ready to do anything about it because some days I just can't. Not when it feels like I'm giving birth to a razor-blade baby or crying because one of my socks lost its matching friend or wanting to kill anyone and everyone who uses incorrect grammar on the wrong day.
There are three weeks out of the month that I can try to be good and eat less and eat better and do something that is considered exercise. But that other week? All bets are off. The hormones take over and chocolate chip cookies filled with gooey caramel are little miracle-workers. They complete me. I'm already bloated, so what difference does a bag of salt make? Who cares if I eat enough to feed a small army of pigs?
Yeah, men don't get that. Crazy, robotic-workout-warrior women don't get it (probably because their bodies aren't really female anymore as they have turned their ovaries into muscles). And those super-slim super models? They aren't human either.
But the rest of you? My sisters in suffering? You get it. Now, grab an extra spoon and help me eat this ice cream so I can hide the evidence.
Yeah, last night was one of those. I went to the store, roamed the aisles for 20 minutes and came home with the following:
garlic-bread pizza
Ruffles potato chips
ranch dip to go with said Ruffles
tortilla chips
Velveeta cheese dip to go with said tortilla chips
chocolate chip cookies filled with gooey caramel (yeah, they're as good as they sound!)
double chocolate ice cream with chocolate stuff added
Was I having a party? Yeah, in my belly! And did that party ever grow!
The wife came over and accused me of making her fat. Hey, join the club.
The boyfriend stopped by briefly as I was putting the dip away. Which is when the guilt crept in.
He: What are you doing?
Me: Oh, nothing.
He: Were you in the kitchen?
Me: Um. Maybe.
He: What were you doing in there?
Me: Uh..... Nothing.
He: What are you hiding?
Me: I'm not. I'm not hiding.... anything.....
I'm hiding my shame, okay? Because I complain about my weight on an hourly basis and then I still get Bad Food. And I don't want to hear that I'm not ready to do anything about it because some days I just can't. Not when it feels like I'm giving birth to a razor-blade baby or crying because one of my socks lost its matching friend or wanting to kill anyone and everyone who uses incorrect grammar on the wrong day.
There are three weeks out of the month that I can try to be good and eat less and eat better and do something that is considered exercise. But that other week? All bets are off. The hormones take over and chocolate chip cookies filled with gooey caramel are little miracle-workers. They complete me. I'm already bloated, so what difference does a bag of salt make? Who cares if I eat enough to feed a small army of pigs?
Yeah, men don't get that. Crazy, robotic-workout-warrior women don't get it (probably because their bodies aren't really female anymore as they have turned their ovaries into muscles). And those super-slim super models? They aren't human either.
But the rest of you? My sisters in suffering? You get it. Now, grab an extra spoon and help me eat this ice cream so I can hide the evidence.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
It's Whineter. I Mean, Winter.
I had one of those clothing dilemmas this morning. If you are female, you know what I'm talking about. It's when your bedroom is organized and everything is picked up and then you can't decide what to wear so your room looks like you were robbed during your shower.
I was set on wearing my new boots. So I put on the sweater dress that's warm. But then the tights I wanted to wear didn't match so I tore through all of them but didn't find the color I wanted. So I had to choose something else to go with the tights I do have. Which ends up being less warm than the sweater dress. Which led to this conversation in the bathroom at work:
Co-Worker: How are you?
Me: I'm good! Just cold.
CW: Well, you're wearing a dress.
Me: But I'm also wearing tights and boots and a scarf.
CW: But you're hardly covered from here to here.
Me: I don't care! I am inside!! It should be warm inside buildings! I shouldn't be subjected to freezing temperatures while I'm working! Besides, winter doesn't mean that you have to dress frumpy!! It doesn't mean that you have to look homeless in layers and layers of things that don't match!!! I had to wear these boots and this was all I could find after destroying both closets in my room!!!!
Okay. I didn't really scream that. I didn't even whisper it. I just sort of shrugged my shoulders shamefully and walked out. I could have said it though. It's all perfectly reasonable.
Winter is not my friend.
I was set on wearing my new boots. So I put on the sweater dress that's warm. But then the tights I wanted to wear didn't match so I tore through all of them but didn't find the color I wanted. So I had to choose something else to go with the tights I do have. Which ends up being less warm than the sweater dress. Which led to this conversation in the bathroom at work:
Co-Worker: How are you?
Me: I'm good! Just cold.
CW: Well, you're wearing a dress.
Me: But I'm also wearing tights and boots and a scarf.
CW: But you're hardly covered from here to here.
Me: I don't care! I am inside!! It should be warm inside buildings! I shouldn't be subjected to freezing temperatures while I'm working! Besides, winter doesn't mean that you have to dress frumpy!! It doesn't mean that you have to look homeless in layers and layers of things that don't match!!! I had to wear these boots and this was all I could find after destroying both closets in my room!!!!
Okay. I didn't really scream that. I didn't even whisper it. I just sort of shrugged my shoulders shamefully and walked out. I could have said it though. It's all perfectly reasonable.
Winter is not my friend.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Baby Countdown
I told you last week about my office's adopted family. Since posting that, I have met our family and stopped by with a few items for them last night. I got to visit with Princess and, let me tell you, she is adorable! She has this wild, curly hair and wears glasses. She's like this cute little miniature book-nerd girl. I wanted to take her to the library immediately and show her off. Mom looked like she was going to pop any day last week. Yesterday she had obviously dropped and informed me that she has already started dilating. So our Christmas baby is most likely going to make an early appearance.
Below is a list of needed baby supplies. If you have anything on the list or anything I haven't thought of that you'd like to donate, please let me know. (Baby will be a boy.) Please note that I do have a stroller, bouncy seat, and car seat already promised.
crib
crib mattress
crib sheets
blankets
burp cloths
receiving blankets
bottles
baby thermometer
diaper pail
night lights
onesies
hats
lotions, powders, rash cream
play yard
swing
changing table
booties
socks
bibs
baby monitor
diaper bag
baby wipes
I can't wait to meet this new baby and I will keep you all updated on how it goes with him!
Below is a list of needed baby supplies. If you have anything on the list or anything I haven't thought of that you'd like to donate, please let me know. (Baby will be a boy.) Please note that I do have a stroller, bouncy seat, and car seat already promised.
crib
crib mattress
crib sheets
blankets
burp cloths
receiving blankets
bottles
baby thermometer
diaper pail
night lights
onesies
hats
lotions, powders, rash cream
play yard
swing
changing table
booties
socks
bibs
baby monitor
diaper bag
baby wipes
I can't wait to meet this new baby and I will keep you all updated on how it goes with him!
Monday, November 26, 2012
Namaste, Motherfuckers
So something has been bothering me for a while. At first I just thought it was me. Me and the wife. Because we're a little louder than other people but we have a hell of a lot more fun. So we get some looks. Occasionally a comment is made. Case in point: An older "gentleman" remarked, "Well, someone's happy!" after hearing me laugh at Thanksgiving dinner in a restaurant. Well sir, I didn't realize happiness wasn't allowed on holidays. I'll change to the more appropriate wake behavior accordingly.
But then I talked to a friend today who has had similar experiences. She shared one with me that happened to her over the weekend at the mountain. So I thought maybe it's just people with money. People who think they are better than everyone else.
I've even tried to explain it away by telling myself it's PMS and I'm taking things personally. The woman who blatantly glared at me this morning while we were both dropping our kids off at school? Maybe she had PMS too. Or hadn't had her coffee.
But today, on the way home, I almost hit (with my car!) a man who was crossing the street, in the dark, wearing all dark clothes. Crossing at a random point in the street, not at a crosswalk. He was nearly impossible to see. And when I slammed on my breaks so that I wouldn't hit him? He flipped me off and sneered at me. Seriously. He fucking flipped me off.
So there it is. People are just assholes. Everywhere I go. I am surrounded by assholes. You have probably encountered them out shopping. Waiting at the gas station. At your kid's school play. People are mean. Mean, mean, mean. And there is no excuse for it.
Hey, we're all stressed out. We all feel frustrated at times. But that poor woman waiting tables might have just lost her dog and doesn't need to be yelled at because your coffee wasn't decaf. Your neighbor might have some chronic illness that prevents him from shoveling the snow in his driveway. Who knows what goes on in anyone's life on any given day? Have some fucking compassion. Life is short but the days are long and we could all use a little kindness.
Stop being assholes. Just quit it now.
Take up my new motto if you like. Feel free to share it with your friends and family. Use it as a greeting when you see the mailman or you're getting your favorite burrito.
Namaste, motherfucker.
Namaste.
****UPDATE****
Just to prove my point, an anonymous coward just tried to comment on this post, asking me politely to "Move back home you fucking Californicator." I guess he/she didn't realize I moderate my comments for this sole purpose.
Namaste, motherfucker.
But then I talked to a friend today who has had similar experiences. She shared one with me that happened to her over the weekend at the mountain. So I thought maybe it's just people with money. People who think they are better than everyone else.
I've even tried to explain it away by telling myself it's PMS and I'm taking things personally. The woman who blatantly glared at me this morning while we were both dropping our kids off at school? Maybe she had PMS too. Or hadn't had her coffee.
But today, on the way home, I almost hit (with my car!) a man who was crossing the street, in the dark, wearing all dark clothes. Crossing at a random point in the street, not at a crosswalk. He was nearly impossible to see. And when I slammed on my breaks so that I wouldn't hit him? He flipped me off and sneered at me. Seriously. He fucking flipped me off.
So there it is. People are just assholes. Everywhere I go. I am surrounded by assholes. You have probably encountered them out shopping. Waiting at the gas station. At your kid's school play. People are mean. Mean, mean, mean. And there is no excuse for it.
Hey, we're all stressed out. We all feel frustrated at times. But that poor woman waiting tables might have just lost her dog and doesn't need to be yelled at because your coffee wasn't decaf. Your neighbor might have some chronic illness that prevents him from shoveling the snow in his driveway. Who knows what goes on in anyone's life on any given day? Have some fucking compassion. Life is short but the days are long and we could all use a little kindness.
Stop being assholes. Just quit it now.
Take up my new motto if you like. Feel free to share it with your friends and family. Use it as a greeting when you see the mailman or you're getting your favorite burrito.
Namaste, motherfucker.
Namaste.
****UPDATE****
Just to prove my point, an anonymous coward just tried to comment on this post, asking me politely to "Move back home you fucking Californicator." I guess he/she didn't realize I moderate my comments for this sole purpose.
Namaste, motherfucker.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
There Are Still Good Ones Out There
I mentioned yesterday how much I abhor my neighbors and the ceaseless barking of their dogs. In anger and desperation I fired off an email to the captain of the police department, noting their mission statement and values on their website. I detailed my frustration, my numerous calls to the police department, and their seemingly complete lack of response. I even alluded to the fact that if I were to take matters into my own hands, it would not end happily for me or my family and how is that justice?
Well, I got an out-of-office response. Which was fine. It is a holiday weekend, after all. So I turned up my music and imagined all the ways in which I would like for these people to be tortured.
And then I got a real response, this one from a Lieutenant Brian Kindel. It was a long and thoughtful response, but I still sort of rolled my eyes at the usual advice. He even suggested that I file a citation with the city attorney but why should I do their job for them? He had looked up the records of my calls but only one was found under my address and he asked for the physical address of the neighbors from hell, which I gladly gave him. He then found numerous reports from me, as well as from my neighbor down the street and let me know that he would head over and "sit on the house for a while."
In all the times that I have only wanted those dogs to shut the hell up, I never imagined I would want them to keep barking. Only so that he could hear what I have been enduring for months. The beasts must have sensed my frustration as they happily complied.
About half an hour later I heard a knock at my door and it was, as I had hoped, Lieutenant Kindel. He told me that, while his neighbors' dogs often bark, it is nothing like what I have been subjected to. He said it was unacceptable and that he would have lost patience with it long ago. I cannot tell you the relief I felt from that validation. I wanted to kiss that man's bald head and supply him with doughnuts for life!
He started the citation himself, a $500 fine. Unfortunately, the court will most likely be lenient and dismiss the fine if they take measures to keep their dogs quiet before their court date. I wish it weren't that easy for them, I want them to suffer and feel a real hardship. But, really, the result I want is quiet so if that is what this accomplishes, I should be content with that.
One could argue that I only got the results I did because of contacting the captain directly. That's probably true and that's okay. However, the officer that finally addressed my concern did so with the utmost professionalism and consideration on my part and for that I am appreciative.
Thank you, Lieutenant Kindel.
Well, I got an out-of-office response. Which was fine. It is a holiday weekend, after all. So I turned up my music and imagined all the ways in which I would like for these people to be tortured.
And then I got a real response, this one from a Lieutenant Brian Kindel. It was a long and thoughtful response, but I still sort of rolled my eyes at the usual advice. He even suggested that I file a citation with the city attorney but why should I do their job for them? He had looked up the records of my calls but only one was found under my address and he asked for the physical address of the neighbors from hell, which I gladly gave him. He then found numerous reports from me, as well as from my neighbor down the street and let me know that he would head over and "sit on the house for a while."
In all the times that I have only wanted those dogs to shut the hell up, I never imagined I would want them to keep barking. Only so that he could hear what I have been enduring for months. The beasts must have sensed my frustration as they happily complied.
About half an hour later I heard a knock at my door and it was, as I had hoped, Lieutenant Kindel. He told me that, while his neighbors' dogs often bark, it is nothing like what I have been subjected to. He said it was unacceptable and that he would have lost patience with it long ago. I cannot tell you the relief I felt from that validation. I wanted to kiss that man's bald head and supply him with doughnuts for life!
He started the citation himself, a $500 fine. Unfortunately, the court will most likely be lenient and dismiss the fine if they take measures to keep their dogs quiet before their court date. I wish it weren't that easy for them, I want them to suffer and feel a real hardship. But, really, the result I want is quiet so if that is what this accomplishes, I should be content with that.
One could argue that I only got the results I did because of contacting the captain directly. That's probably true and that's okay. However, the officer that finally addressed my concern did so with the utmost professionalism and consideration on my part and for that I am appreciative.
Thank you, Lieutenant Kindel.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
More Than You Know
Dear Neighbors,
I hate you more than you will ever know. Is it weird knowing that you live next door to someone who wishes bad karma on you on an almost daily basis? And what could you have done to bring about such hatred? Oh, so much. So, so much.
It started with the POS you had sitting in your driveway for months and months. I wish this neighborhood had CC&R's just for you. A vehicle with flat tires is obviously going nowhere and just becomes an eyesore after a while. The weird curtains you have hanging in your garage window just creep me out. I don't even want to imagine what happens in there.
I'm not normally fond of children I don't know, but yours are just Children of the Corn. Seriously. What are they, vampires? They never grow!! You've lived next to me for three years now and I swear they should be a foot taller by now. All of my friends' kids grow like weeds. I hardly recognize them after not seeing them for six months, but your kids look the same all the time.
While we're talking about your Satan-spawns, will they ever stop throwing their shitty toys in my yard? I tried being nice the first year. I threw them back over the fence for them. The first 20 times. After that I just started throwing them away. That's when one of your little monsters yelled out the upstairs window at me, "Hey girl!!! That's mine. Don't throw it away!" It's awesome that your little demons spy on me.
By the way, why have you not told them not to talk to strangers? They seem to like harassing my friends when they come over. "Who are you? What's your name? What are you doing here?" Don't you know this is how children get kidnapped and why they disappear forever? They are such easy targets! They've even climbed into our vehicles more than once. I'm pretty sure it was one of your little imps that left my car door open when it was in my garage. Then again, they are Children of the Corn so maybe they don't have anything to fear.
However, I could probably live with all of this if it weren't for the fact that your fucking dogs bark constantly. As in all the fucking time. Fucking incessantly. Not just once. Over and over and over and over. I'm surprised they even have voices left. I love dogs. I love dogs more than people. But I have the most evil thoughts about yours. I want to poison them. I want to open your fence and chase them out into the street. I want to kidnap them to cut their vocal cords. If you knew how much I really, really love dogs, you would know that these are disturbing thoughts. You would also know how indicative it is that your dogs are abnormally annoying. I hate them. I hate their barking. I can't even find any compassion for them.
Because I know their behavior isn't really their fault. It's yours. You leave them outside where it's cold. You leave them alone. I've never seen you walk them once since you got them. You occasionally yell at them to be quiet when you are home and you are quiet enough to hear them bark. You don't play with them. They are insecure and unsocialized and afraid of the wind and trees and anything else. They have severe separation anxiety. They hate their lives.
For this I hate you most of all. I feel sorry for them and I hate you for the life you have given them. And then they bark and I hate them. I hate you for making me hate a dog. I hate you for making me hate you so much. I hate you for making me feel this level of hate towards anyone.
You don't deserve dogs.
Please move away. Far, far away. Tomorrow morning wouldn't be soon enough.
I hate you more than you will ever know. Is it weird knowing that you live next door to someone who wishes bad karma on you on an almost daily basis? And what could you have done to bring about such hatred? Oh, so much. So, so much.
It started with the POS you had sitting in your driveway for months and months. I wish this neighborhood had CC&R's just for you. A vehicle with flat tires is obviously going nowhere and just becomes an eyesore after a while. The weird curtains you have hanging in your garage window just creep me out. I don't even want to imagine what happens in there.
I'm not normally fond of children I don't know, but yours are just Children of the Corn. Seriously. What are they, vampires? They never grow!! You've lived next to me for three years now and I swear they should be a foot taller by now. All of my friends' kids grow like weeds. I hardly recognize them after not seeing them for six months, but your kids look the same all the time.
While we're talking about your Satan-spawns, will they ever stop throwing their shitty toys in my yard? I tried being nice the first year. I threw them back over the fence for them. The first 20 times. After that I just started throwing them away. That's when one of your little monsters yelled out the upstairs window at me, "Hey girl!!! That's mine. Don't throw it away!" It's awesome that your little demons spy on me.
By the way, why have you not told them not to talk to strangers? They seem to like harassing my friends when they come over. "Who are you? What's your name? What are you doing here?" Don't you know this is how children get kidnapped and why they disappear forever? They are such easy targets! They've even climbed into our vehicles more than once. I'm pretty sure it was one of your little imps that left my car door open when it was in my garage. Then again, they are Children of the Corn so maybe they don't have anything to fear.
However, I could probably live with all of this if it weren't for the fact that your fucking dogs bark constantly. As in all the fucking time. Fucking incessantly. Not just once. Over and over and over and over. I'm surprised they even have voices left. I love dogs. I love dogs more than people. But I have the most evil thoughts about yours. I want to poison them. I want to open your fence and chase them out into the street. I want to kidnap them to cut their vocal cords. If you knew how much I really, really love dogs, you would know that these are disturbing thoughts. You would also know how indicative it is that your dogs are abnormally annoying. I hate them. I hate their barking. I can't even find any compassion for them.
Because I know their behavior isn't really their fault. It's yours. You leave them outside where it's cold. You leave them alone. I've never seen you walk them once since you got them. You occasionally yell at them to be quiet when you are home and you are quiet enough to hear them bark. You don't play with them. They are insecure and unsocialized and afraid of the wind and trees and anything else. They have severe separation anxiety. They hate their lives.
For this I hate you most of all. I feel sorry for them and I hate you for the life you have given them. And then they bark and I hate them. I hate you for making me hate a dog. I hate you for making me hate you so much. I hate you for making me feel this level of hate towards anyone.
You don't deserve dogs.
Please move away. Far, far away. Tomorrow morning wouldn't be soon enough.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Gratitude Is More Than A Feeling
Each year the company I work for "adopts" a family in need. The family gives us their wish list and we place gift tags on a tree for employees to purchase and then deliver them all with the tree and decorations. I was involved directly with coordinating the choosing of the family and the gift delivery two years ago, which I enjoyed so much more than simply supplying a gift. Even though I knew my gifts went to a good cause, it added that extra personal dimension seeing the kids' faces and getting their personal thank yous and hugs.
This year's family just about breaks my heart. We have a single mom with a 7-year-old daughter who is pregnant. They just moved out of a shelter into an apartment last week and their belongings consist quite literally of a broken-down chair, an old TV, two twin beds, and a set of dishes. The baby boy is due on Christmas and doesn't yet have a crib.
While I think that what we provide as an office to our families is very generous and fills a need for most families, I think our adoptees this year are special and need more than we as an office can provide. I know how hard it is to be a single mom and I only have one kid and many resources. I can't imagine starting over from a shelter and being eight months pregnant.
This is where you come in. I'm asking that some or all of you help them out. Do you have a piece of furniture that doesn't fit in your new house? Clothes that your children have outgrown? Toys they no longer play with? Are you doing some shopping this weekend at the big sales? Maybe you have extra silverware or kitchen appliances that you don't use because you hardly ever cook. (Yeah, that's not the case in my house!)
I spoke to Mom this morning to find out a little more about her and her children. She said her daughter is a girly girl (I'm going to call her Princess) and likes pink, pink, and pink. Plus dolls and Spongebob Squarepants. Mom only has maternity clothes right now and won't have anything after the baby is born. The only thing she asked for besides clothes was a coffee pot. I totally get that! Baby Boy doesn't have anything, the crib offer she had fell through.
So far I have been offered an infant car seat and a coffee pot. Mr. A. is helping me refinish an armoire dresser donated by the wife for Princess. We got the cutest stuff to decoupage it with new door pulls. In pink, of course.
My wish is to fill their home with everything comfortable - soft bedding and blankets, thick socks and cozy sweaters, pillows and plush towels. What makes you feel at home?
Of course anything will help and I would be more than happy to provide additional suggestions. Please contact me if you would like to contribute anything. In addition to what is donated, we might need some help transporting bigger items. I'd also be happy to purchase for you if you hate shopping.
My life is full of love and blessings. I'd like to give this family a little bit of that.
********UPDATE**********
I got a request to supply a list of things our family might need or want. When I asked Mom, she just said everything, which I understand. I think the emptiness is overwhelming right now. Luckily, making a list is one of my favorite things, so here we go:
Soft, cozy blankets
Soft, cozy robes
Soft, cozy socks (are you sensing a theme here?)
Cozy sweats
Slippers
Rugs (their entire apartment is "wood"-floored)
Coffee pot
Coats
Sweaters
Scarves
Gloves
Warm hats
Measuring spoons and cups
Blender
Toaster
Colander
Tupperware - storage containers
Mixing bowls
Teapot
Coffee mugs
Cookie sheets
Bath mats
Bath towels
Shoes - size 2 for Princess, size 8 1/2 for Mom
Clothes - size 8-10 in girls' and 11-13 in womens' (or 10-12)
Crib
Crib mattress
Baby sheets
Baby blankets
Burp clothes
Newborn and up baby boy clothes
Baby lotions, supplies
Diapers, wipes
Barbie dolls
Girls' makeup playsets
Spongebob Squarepants stuff
Dolls
Toy box
Gift certificates for groceries, WalMart, Target, etc.
Gosh, the list goes on and on. Maybe think about what you use most every day and they probably need that! Princess loves pink, Mom likes black and bright colors but she's not the girly girl that Princess is. Incidentally, the armoire I am redoing for Princess will be green and pink if you're looking to match anything with that.
There was a group trying to supply the big furniture items but that seems to have fallen through. I'll keep you updated on how that goes.
My heart is already filling up with the offers I have received so far. My Christmas wish is to fill this family's home with, not just stuff in every room, but the kindness, caring and warm thoughts behind all of the stuff.
This year's family just about breaks my heart. We have a single mom with a 7-year-old daughter who is pregnant. They just moved out of a shelter into an apartment last week and their belongings consist quite literally of a broken-down chair, an old TV, two twin beds, and a set of dishes. The baby boy is due on Christmas and doesn't yet have a crib.
While I think that what we provide as an office to our families is very generous and fills a need for most families, I think our adoptees this year are special and need more than we as an office can provide. I know how hard it is to be a single mom and I only have one kid and many resources. I can't imagine starting over from a shelter and being eight months pregnant.
This is where you come in. I'm asking that some or all of you help them out. Do you have a piece of furniture that doesn't fit in your new house? Clothes that your children have outgrown? Toys they no longer play with? Are you doing some shopping this weekend at the big sales? Maybe you have extra silverware or kitchen appliances that you don't use because you hardly ever cook. (Yeah, that's not the case in my house!)
I spoke to Mom this morning to find out a little more about her and her children. She said her daughter is a girly girl (I'm going to call her Princess) and likes pink, pink, and pink. Plus dolls and Spongebob Squarepants. Mom only has maternity clothes right now and won't have anything after the baby is born. The only thing she asked for besides clothes was a coffee pot. I totally get that! Baby Boy doesn't have anything, the crib offer she had fell through.
So far I have been offered an infant car seat and a coffee pot. Mr. A. is helping me refinish an armoire dresser donated by the wife for Princess. We got the cutest stuff to decoupage it with new door pulls. In pink, of course.
My wish is to fill their home with everything comfortable - soft bedding and blankets, thick socks and cozy sweaters, pillows and plush towels. What makes you feel at home?
Of course anything will help and I would be more than happy to provide additional suggestions. Please contact me if you would like to contribute anything. In addition to what is donated, we might need some help transporting bigger items. I'd also be happy to purchase for you if you hate shopping.
My life is full of love and blessings. I'd like to give this family a little bit of that.
********UPDATE**********
I got a request to supply a list of things our family might need or want. When I asked Mom, she just said everything, which I understand. I think the emptiness is overwhelming right now. Luckily, making a list is one of my favorite things, so here we go:
Soft, cozy blankets
Soft, cozy robes
Soft, cozy socks (are you sensing a theme here?)
Cozy sweats
Slippers
Rugs (their entire apartment is "wood"-floored)
Coffee pot
Coats
Sweaters
Scarves
Gloves
Warm hats
Measuring spoons and cups
Blender
Toaster
Colander
Tupperware - storage containers
Mixing bowls
Teapot
Coffee mugs
Cookie sheets
Bath mats
Bath towels
Shoes - size 2 for Princess, size 8 1/2 for Mom
Clothes - size 8-10 in girls' and 11-13 in womens' (or 10-12)
Crib
Crib mattress
Baby sheets
Baby blankets
Burp clothes
Newborn and up baby boy clothes
Baby lotions, supplies
Diapers, wipes
Barbie dolls
Girls' makeup playsets
Spongebob Squarepants stuff
Dolls
Toy box
Gift certificates for groceries, WalMart, Target, etc.
Gosh, the list goes on and on. Maybe think about what you use most every day and they probably need that! Princess loves pink, Mom likes black and bright colors but she's not the girly girl that Princess is. Incidentally, the armoire I am redoing for Princess will be green and pink if you're looking to match anything with that.
There was a group trying to supply the big furniture items but that seems to have fallen through. I'll keep you updated on how that goes.
My heart is already filling up with the offers I have received so far. My Christmas wish is to fill this family's home with, not just stuff in every room, but the kindness, caring and warm thoughts behind all of the stuff.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
I Might Have a Problem
Actually, I have many problems. And technically, a bitch is one. Or many bitches. I might be turning into a crazy dog lady. Let's examine the evidence.
Exhibit A - Yesterday I went to see the new Bond movie. The 45 minutes of previews included one for a movie with Ryan Gosling, at which a friend and I made some kind of adolescent, inappropriate comment because, face it, he's hot. This same movie also features a bulldog. At which I squealed and my other friend pointed out that I squealed more over the dog than I did over Ryan Hot-Gosling.
Exhibit B - My dogs already have their costumes for next year's Halloween. They are from the Bret Michaels collection. Yeah, I might have bought them, but I'm not the one with the clothing line for dogs.
Exhibit C - A co-worker got a new puppy over the weekend and has been bringing this perfect little package of cuteness into the office. Nobody was surprised that I was both the first to go meet this sweet little baby and the first to pick him up and let him lick my face, my neck, and my eye. I was also the first to Facebook him.
Exhibit D - I will sleep on sheets covered in dog hair and dog drool but I keep track of the women in the office who don't wash their hands after using the restroom.
Exhibit E - Actually, I think we should stop here.
Let the record show that I have not yet given up on interactions with people. Yet. I am, however, considering limiting my already-limited circle of friends to those who own dogs. It's just easier to stick to my own kind.
Exhibit A - Yesterday I went to see the new Bond movie. The 45 minutes of previews included one for a movie with Ryan Gosling, at which a friend and I made some kind of adolescent, inappropriate comment because, face it, he's hot. This same movie also features a bulldog. At which I squealed and my other friend pointed out that I squealed more over the dog than I did over Ryan Hot-Gosling.
Exhibit B - My dogs already have their costumes for next year's Halloween. They are from the Bret Michaels collection. Yeah, I might have bought them, but I'm not the one with the clothing line for dogs.
Exhibit C - A co-worker got a new puppy over the weekend and has been bringing this perfect little package of cuteness into the office. Nobody was surprised that I was both the first to go meet this sweet little baby and the first to pick him up and let him lick my face, my neck, and my eye. I was also the first to Facebook him.
Exhibit D - I will sleep on sheets covered in dog hair and dog drool but I keep track of the women in the office who don't wash their hands after using the restroom.
Exhibit E - Actually, I think we should stop here.
Let the record show that I have not yet given up on interactions with people. Yet. I am, however, considering limiting my already-limited circle of friends to those who own dogs. It's just easier to stick to my own kind.
Thursday, November 08, 2012
I Didn't Need to Know That
D is dating a boy. Officially. Which in teenager-speak means she can call him her boyfriend but they haven't kissed yet. (And I thought I rushed my last relationship!) He's a ginger and I was briefly possessed by my mother when I said, "Don't have his babies."
Last night she told me that she talked to him about her boundaries. I thought, "Oh, how mature. What a way to communicate." I'm thinking of things like how she wants time with her friends, that she wants him to respect her goals, things like that. He also shared his with her. So when I asked what her boundaries are, she snapped back, "None of your business!" Oh. Gulp.
See, I don't need to know that my little baby girl is having this kind of conversation. With a boy. I do not need those images in my head. Ever.
I swear she just wants to kill me. Only she's making it slow and excruciatingly painful.
Last night she told me that she talked to him about her boundaries. I thought, "Oh, how mature. What a way to communicate." I'm thinking of things like how she wants time with her friends, that she wants him to respect her goals, things like that. He also shared his with her. So when I asked what her boundaries are, she snapped back, "None of your business!" Oh. Gulp.
See, I don't need to know that my little baby girl is having this kind of conversation. With a boy. I do not need those images in my head. Ever.
I swear she just wants to kill me. Only she's making it slow and excruciatingly painful.
Wednesday, November 07, 2012
Just A Typical Day
I felt pretty cute walking into work this morning in my new sweater and cozy, fleece-lined leggings. I tried not to let the fact that my teenage daughter is wearing practically the same outfit today deter me from my feeling of Cuteness.
And then I sat down at my desk.
I felt a cold spot and thought I had already spilled something on my chair. (Because yes, spilling things is more of a daily occurrence than I would like for it to be.) So I stood up and felt my bum and discovered a gaping hole. Yes, friends, my cozy leggings betrayed me by ripping and exposing my bare butt.
Off I trotted to the restroom to assess the damage. Yeah, it was pretty bad. No way that I could play that one off all day and I didn't trust that stupid hole would stay that size.
Away I went to change my pants. At least the dogs were happy to see me.
At least there was a doughnut waiting for me when I came back.
And then I sat down at my desk.
I felt a cold spot and thought I had already spilled something on my chair. (Because yes, spilling things is more of a daily occurrence than I would like for it to be.) So I stood up and felt my bum and discovered a gaping hole. Yes, friends, my cozy leggings betrayed me by ripping and exposing my bare butt.
Off I trotted to the restroom to assess the damage. Yeah, it was pretty bad. No way that I could play that one off all day and I didn't trust that stupid hole would stay that size.
Away I went to change my pants. At least the dogs were happy to see me.
At least there was a doughnut waiting for me when I came back.
Ouch. Ouch, I Said.
So I don't know what the new healthcare changes are doing for me. I think nothing because my insurance is going up next year and my deductible is going down. Whatever. Well, now the company I work for has instituted this wellness awareness thing. Which is great. Better health should translate into lower insurance premiums. Should. Not does. Anyhoo. What that really means is that we had to do a wellness assessment yesterday. I say we had to because not doing results in a $600 penalty on our insurance premiums.
I was told it was quick and painless. I was kind of lied to.
The first part consisted of a blood test and saliva test. What is a saliva test like? It's gross. There's this little white stick you put in your mouth and when it collects enough saliva it turns blue. But the end that goes in your mouth? Oh, that looks like the end of a pregnancy test stick. Yeah. That went in my mouth. And it made my mouth dry. I had to sit in another chair and wait for that damn thing to turn blue. Luckily, that didn't mean I was pregnant.
The blood test should have been a simple prick to my finger. Only the pricker thingy was kind of a dud and didn't make me bleed enough. So the lady sat there ans squeezed and squeezed and squeezed my poor little finger. And then she told me my blood was already clotting and told me I heal too quickly. Uh, okay. She asked if she could prick the same spot again. I told her to knock herself out. I bled better that time.
Next was the BMI calculation. The nurse asked me to take off my 4-inch heels since they would change my height. Which was the point, it would make my BMI look so much better. She added half an inch instead and took off two pounds from my weight.
When she took my blood pressure she said my heart was barely working. Between the low blood pressure and the fact that I'm not much of a bleeder, I'm starting to wonder if I'm part vampire. I didn't bring that up though because I didn't want to be flagged for a psych consult.
Oh well. I guess there are worse ways to spend my time at work.
I was told it was quick and painless. I was kind of lied to.
The first part consisted of a blood test and saliva test. What is a saliva test like? It's gross. There's this little white stick you put in your mouth and when it collects enough saliva it turns blue. But the end that goes in your mouth? Oh, that looks like the end of a pregnancy test stick. Yeah. That went in my mouth. And it made my mouth dry. I had to sit in another chair and wait for that damn thing to turn blue. Luckily, that didn't mean I was pregnant.
The blood test should have been a simple prick to my finger. Only the pricker thingy was kind of a dud and didn't make me bleed enough. So the lady sat there ans squeezed and squeezed and squeezed my poor little finger. And then she told me my blood was already clotting and told me I heal too quickly. Uh, okay. She asked if she could prick the same spot again. I told her to knock herself out. I bled better that time.
Next was the BMI calculation. The nurse asked me to take off my 4-inch heels since they would change my height. Which was the point, it would make my BMI look so much better. She added half an inch instead and took off two pounds from my weight.
When she took my blood pressure she said my heart was barely working. Between the low blood pressure and the fact that I'm not much of a bleeder, I'm starting to wonder if I'm part vampire. I didn't bring that up though because I didn't want to be flagged for a psych consult.
Oh well. I guess there are worse ways to spend my time at work.
Friday, October 12, 2012
At First Sight
She admired his jumping abilities. He had, after all, won highest jump among all of his competitors and remained undefeated. He drew her in with his wide smile and as she stared into his single eye, her heart skipped a beat. She knew he was the one. The one she had been waiting for.
He noticed her from across the desk. Unlike those that had come before and broken her heart, he found her blood-red spots charming. He held his breath when she revealed her sharp fangs. She completed him with her 360-degree vision.
Theirs was a whirlwind romance, the kind that only happens in Pixar movies. Together they can face anything - coffee spills, plastic spider rings, monitors left on all night. They will rule the cubicles of Monitorland, inspiring others with their love and setting a shining example for saving energy.
Mr. and Mrs. Monitor Monster, may you live happily ever after!
He noticed her from across the desk. Unlike those that had come before and broken her heart, he found her blood-red spots charming. He held his breath when she revealed her sharp fangs. She completed him with her 360-degree vision.
Theirs was a whirlwind romance, the kind that only happens in Pixar movies. Together they can face anything - coffee spills, plastic spider rings, monitors left on all night. They will rule the cubicles of Monitorland, inspiring others with their love and setting a shining example for saving energy.
Mr. and Mrs. Monitor Monster, may you live happily ever after!
Friday, September 28, 2012
The Gremlin in My Closet
Last week was picture day at school. D came out in one of her cutest dresses with her hair braided. I didn't notice until later that she was wearing my red cardigan. I thanked her for not asking. "It's not a big deal mom." This week I was in my room when she visited my closet. "I need to wear your black cardigan." Did you hear a request for permission in that one? No, I didn't either. Last night she had a short choir performance. As I sat there listening to her beautiful voice (and scanning the rest of the choir to figure out which is the boy that she currently likes), I noticed she was wearing an outfit I didn't recognize. Is that a dress? Where did she get that? I don't remember seeing it before. Afterward, up close, I discovered that she was wearing yet another article of clothing that doesn't belong to her.
"Is that my black shirt?"
"Ha ha, yes."
"You can't keep taking things out of my closet without asking!"
"You weren't there and I didn't have time."
"What if I wanted to wear it?"
"Oh well. I didn't have time to get anything else."
"You have to ask first."
"Again, Mom. I didn't have time."
Like I'm the one that doesn't listen.
KY said I should be flattered that a 16-year-old is even interested in anything in my closet. Maybe, but I'm not. I'm annoyed. This morning I had an outfit in mind. When I went to get the sweater I needed to complete my casual Friday ensemble, it wasn't there. D was still in bed when grit my teeth at her. "You can't keep taking my clothes!" Her response? "Ha ha. That's too bad."
I'm not enjoying this phase. I may start bleaching her clothes one item at a time. That will teach her to both stay out of my closet and do her own laundry.
Gremlins are evil little creatures after all.
"Is that my black shirt?"
"Ha ha, yes."
"You can't keep taking things out of my closet without asking!"
"You weren't there and I didn't have time."
"What if I wanted to wear it?"
"Oh well. I didn't have time to get anything else."
"You have to ask first."
"Again, Mom. I didn't have time."
Like I'm the one that doesn't listen.
KY said I should be flattered that a 16-year-old is even interested in anything in my closet. Maybe, but I'm not. I'm annoyed. This morning I had an outfit in mind. When I went to get the sweater I needed to complete my casual Friday ensemble, it wasn't there. D was still in bed when grit my teeth at her. "You can't keep taking my clothes!" Her response? "Ha ha. That's too bad."
I'm not enjoying this phase. I may start bleaching her clothes one item at a time. That will teach her to both stay out of my closet and do her own laundry.
Gremlins are evil little creatures after all.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Our New Family Member Gave Me a Genius Idea
It's been a couple or three or four weeks so I think she's going to stick around. I had to make sure one of the dogs didn't gobble her up before announcing that we have a new family member. Her name is Jellybean and she's a hamster. I think she's a dwarf hamster from what the internets told me but whatever, she's totally cute. Really, super duper cute.
And the best part is that she likes me most. D swears that every time she holds her, Jellybean bites her. I keep telling her that it's probably because she wears perfume or lotion that makes her smell like tasty candy and she just wants to take a nibble, but it's probably because she senses the evil that emanates from the teenage soul. Because she doesn't bite me. Not often. In fact, she has given me little teeny tiny hamster kisses.
Anyway, she's so totally cute that I wish everything was as small as she is. Well, not everything. Obviously. That's like crazy talk. Because size does matter. But things like kitties and puppies and ponies. (Ponies especially because they are assholes and then you could just stuff them in your purse when they start biting you and then all they'd have to bite on is the random dirty penny in the bottom of your purse.) But right? How cute would that be? Little hamster-sized pit bulls and Siameses? If you pleases.
Now, I am not advocating that we breed these poor animals down to nothing. That is immoral and unethical and wrong. It creates health problems you can't even imagine. No, this is going to take real magic, people. Like a leprechaun or Mickey as the apprentice or maybe a unicorn can poop them out. I need you to scheme on that for a while. Get back to me if you have any ideas on that.
I'm going to go hold Jellybean and get some little hamster kisses.
And the best part is that she likes me most. D swears that every time she holds her, Jellybean bites her. I keep telling her that it's probably because she wears perfume or lotion that makes her smell like tasty candy and she just wants to take a nibble, but it's probably because she senses the evil that emanates from the teenage soul. Because she doesn't bite me. Not often. In fact, she has given me little teeny tiny hamster kisses.
Anyway, she's so totally cute that I wish everything was as small as she is. Well, not everything. Obviously. That's like crazy talk. Because size does matter. But things like kitties and puppies and ponies. (Ponies especially because they are assholes and then you could just stuff them in your purse when they start biting you and then all they'd have to bite on is the random dirty penny in the bottom of your purse.) But right? How cute would that be? Little hamster-sized pit bulls and Siameses? If you pleases.
Now, I am not advocating that we breed these poor animals down to nothing. That is immoral and unethical and wrong. It creates health problems you can't even imagine. No, this is going to take real magic, people. Like a leprechaun or Mickey as the apprentice or maybe a unicorn can poop them out. I need you to scheme on that for a while. Get back to me if you have any ideas on that.
I'm going to go hold Jellybean and get some little hamster kisses.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
A Very Important Debate
A friend and I had a very serious conversation yesterday. These are the real issues, people! Pay attention!
Me: My salad has walnuts and I am sick to death of walnuts. I am. At least these are candied.
Cashew-hater: Walnuts are awesome. Don't knock the walnuts.
Me: I did. I am. Walnuts are retarded and useless.
CH: Uh huh. If any nut is retarded, it's probably the cashew.
Me: WHAT????? I love cashews!!! How dare you!
CH: Are you serious? Look at them, all curled and wrinkly-looking.
Me: And delicious!!!
CH: Eh, they're ok. Nowhere near as good as walnuts.
Me: And curled? Walnuts are wrinklly!!
CH: Walnuts look like brains, which is awesome. Cashews kind of look like deflated balloons.
Me: They look like little smiles.
CH: lol. On a demented clown maybe!
Me: Seriously? You're comparing a cashew to a clown? You have some deep-seated issues, my friend.
CH: Oh, tell me about it.
Me: This is getting blogged, you know.
CH: Yeah, I figured. What will my pseudonym be?
Me: What would you like it to be? Cashew-hater?
CH: hah Sure. Knock yourself out.
As you wish.
And cashews are better.
The End.
Me: My salad has walnuts and I am sick to death of walnuts. I am. At least these are candied.
Cashew-hater: Walnuts are awesome. Don't knock the walnuts.
Me: I did. I am. Walnuts are retarded and useless.
CH: Uh huh. If any nut is retarded, it's probably the cashew.
Me: WHAT????? I love cashews!!! How dare you!
CH: Are you serious? Look at them, all curled and wrinkly-looking.
Me: And delicious!!!
CH: Eh, they're ok. Nowhere near as good as walnuts.
Me: And curled? Walnuts are wrinklly!!
CH: Walnuts look like brains, which is awesome. Cashews kind of look like deflated balloons.
Me: They look like little smiles.
CH: lol. On a demented clown maybe!
Me: Seriously? You're comparing a cashew to a clown? You have some deep-seated issues, my friend.
CH: Oh, tell me about it.
Me: This is getting blogged, you know.
CH: Yeah, I figured. What will my pseudonym be?
Me: What would you like it to be? Cashew-hater?
CH: hah Sure. Knock yourself out.
As you wish.
And cashews are better.
The End.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Why I Now Need a Baby
Well, the number one reason I need a baby is because I no longer have one. What I have now amounts to a roommate. A roommate who doesn't have her own car and needs to be driven around regularly. She also doesn't pay rent. Or do her own laundry. Or pay any of her other bills like choir, library fees, retreat costs, clothing, food, gas that I use driving her butt around, etc, etc, etcetera!
I happen to have given birth to my roommate, which is why I suppose she thinks she is entitled to all of the free meals and the warm bed she sleeps in. I think I am entitled to her not growing up too fast but she's not holding up her end of the bargain. She ditches me on a regular basis so that she can have her own life. With friends. Whatever.
I remember the first time I knowingly broke my mom's heart. I was 16 (hmmm... like someone else I know) and she offered to set aside a day to take me shopping for school clothes. I flippantly remarked, "Oh, that's okay. I'm going with Lori next week." Now, my mom is the least sentimental person I know. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen her cry in my life (while I need both hands and feet of everyone I know to count how many times I cry in a month), but I saw the look of hurt in her eyes and heard the tinge of sadness in her reply, "Oh. Well. Okay." I immediately regretted what I'd said. As proud of myself as I was for growing up and doing things like a Big Girl, I wasn't completely insensitive to the fact that my mom didn't always feel the same way.
And now I don't feel that way about D. Of course, the times she is being a total pain I start counting down the days until she's someone else's roommate, a real one who pays her own bills. But a lot of the time I'm happy that I still get to be the one still in charge of her. And a couple of weeks ago I got a taste of what my mom felt that day.
She has been going to retreat after retreat the last few weeks for everything she's involved in. A couple of weeks ago it was the cast camping trip with the play that she is in next month. I overheard her conversation with a Boy the night before she was to leave. "Why do you need to text him tomorrow morning?" I nosily asked. She replied, "We're having coffee and then he's dropping me off at the camp carpool." Oh. Well. Okay.
The next morning the Intruder Into My Relationship With My Daughter showed up. Of course she wasn't quite ready so there was the awkwardness of having to invite him in and then I ran off to go over the packing list with her repeatedly. Sunscreen? Yes. Bug spray? Yes. Books to read? Flashlight? Toothbrush? Yes, mom. I have everything.
I hugged her tightly, glared at the Intruder, and sent her off. KY said, "Well, he seemed nice. Most guys that age don't look you in the eye when they're speaking to you." And I was like, "Whose side are you ON!?!?" So he's nice enough. So what! I am the one who is supposed to see her off on her little adventures. I am supposed to meet the adults I am passing her off to. Not some teenage boy who has no idea what it's like to worry every minute of every day about your baby her first year of life. And then every minute of every day after that. Because it doesn't stop.
And she may be growing up, but that doesn't mean I stop being her mom. It doesn't mean I stop worrying. Or making sure she has everything she needs. And it doesn't mean I want to stop. I still want to be the one to hug her before she goes off on retreats. I want to be the one that tells her she is going to be great and everyone will love her. I want to be the one making her lunch even if that's the only part she will let me take.
I want her to be my baby until she can't anymore. And, since she is absolutely, 100% opposed to there being an actual, new baby in the house, she's going to have to hold up her end of the deal.
I just wouldn't mind a little gas money now and then.
I happen to have given birth to my roommate, which is why I suppose she thinks she is entitled to all of the free meals and the warm bed she sleeps in. I think I am entitled to her not growing up too fast but she's not holding up her end of the bargain. She ditches me on a regular basis so that she can have her own life. With friends. Whatever.
I remember the first time I knowingly broke my mom's heart. I was 16 (hmmm... like someone else I know) and she offered to set aside a day to take me shopping for school clothes. I flippantly remarked, "Oh, that's okay. I'm going with Lori next week." Now, my mom is the least sentimental person I know. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen her cry in my life (while I need both hands and feet of everyone I know to count how many times I cry in a month), but I saw the look of hurt in her eyes and heard the tinge of sadness in her reply, "Oh. Well. Okay." I immediately regretted what I'd said. As proud of myself as I was for growing up and doing things like a Big Girl, I wasn't completely insensitive to the fact that my mom didn't always feel the same way.
And now I don't feel that way about D. Of course, the times she is being a total pain I start counting down the days until she's someone else's roommate, a real one who pays her own bills. But a lot of the time I'm happy that I still get to be the one still in charge of her. And a couple of weeks ago I got a taste of what my mom felt that day.
She has been going to retreat after retreat the last few weeks for everything she's involved in. A couple of weeks ago it was the cast camping trip with the play that she is in next month. I overheard her conversation with a Boy the night before she was to leave. "Why do you need to text him tomorrow morning?" I nosily asked. She replied, "We're having coffee and then he's dropping me off at the camp carpool." Oh. Well. Okay.
The next morning the Intruder Into My Relationship With My Daughter showed up. Of course she wasn't quite ready so there was the awkwardness of having to invite him in and then I ran off to go over the packing list with her repeatedly. Sunscreen? Yes. Bug spray? Yes. Books to read? Flashlight? Toothbrush? Yes, mom. I have everything.
I hugged her tightly, glared at the Intruder, and sent her off. KY said, "Well, he seemed nice. Most guys that age don't look you in the eye when they're speaking to you." And I was like, "Whose side are you ON!?!?" So he's nice enough. So what! I am the one who is supposed to see her off on her little adventures. I am supposed to meet the adults I am passing her off to. Not some teenage boy who has no idea what it's like to worry every minute of every day about your baby her first year of life. And then every minute of every day after that. Because it doesn't stop.
And she may be growing up, but that doesn't mean I stop being her mom. It doesn't mean I stop worrying. Or making sure she has everything she needs. And it doesn't mean I want to stop. I still want to be the one to hug her before she goes off on retreats. I want to be the one that tells her she is going to be great and everyone will love her. I want to be the one making her lunch even if that's the only part she will let me take.
I want her to be my baby until she can't anymore. And, since she is absolutely, 100% opposed to there being an actual, new baby in the house, she's going to have to hold up her end of the deal.
I just wouldn't mind a little gas money now and then.
Friday, September 14, 2012
9 to 5
I don't actually work 9 to 5. Who wants to stay that late? Plus most of my meetings start before 9. But I felt like writing a list about work and "The Top 10 Reasons I Like Working Where I Work" sounded too long and stupid. It's Friday, I don't want to work that hard. Just read the list.
1. We have birthday cake every month. I think we would even have it if there were a month with no birthdays.
2. Today there were three deer right outside the window. Bambi, his brother, and their momma.
3. People say bad words which makes me giggle.
4. People bring me coffee and frappuccinos. I am well-caffienated.
5. We wear costumes at Halloween and have Easter egg hunts and find eggs months later.
6. Our building is over the river with lots of things to see, depending on what you are looking for. Eagles? Got 'em. Hot guys on paddleboards? Yep. Girls in bikinis? If you like that kind of thing.
7. Our building has a deck and we have BBQ's. We make the managers do the grilling.
8. We have potlucks and Waffle Wednesdays and pizzas and bagels and holiday meals. I will never go hungry here.
9. People say things in meetings like "star-bellied Sneetches".
10. I get to leave early today.
Let the weekend begin!
1. We have birthday cake every month. I think we would even have it if there were a month with no birthdays.
2. Today there were three deer right outside the window. Bambi, his brother, and their momma.
3. People say bad words which makes me giggle.
4. People bring me coffee and frappuccinos. I am well-caffienated.
5. We wear costumes at Halloween and have Easter egg hunts and find eggs months later.
6. Our building is over the river with lots of things to see, depending on what you are looking for. Eagles? Got 'em. Hot guys on paddleboards? Yep. Girls in bikinis? If you like that kind of thing.
7. Our building has a deck and we have BBQ's. We make the managers do the grilling.
8. We have potlucks and Waffle Wednesdays and pizzas and bagels and holiday meals. I will never go hungry here.
9. People say things in meetings like "star-bellied Sneetches".
10. I get to leave early today.
Let the weekend begin!
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Why Teenagers Are Evil and Must Be Destroyed
Me: Did you take my Hydro Flask? The one I put my coffee in EVERY day?
D: ......Maybe.......
Me: YOU are in SO much trouble!!!! I tore the house apart looking for that!
D: Seriously?
Me: Yes, seriously. Do NOT mess with my coffee.
D: I'm seriously in trouble?
Me: Yes. That doesn't belong to you.
D: I didn't have any more water bottles.
Me: Then go without water.
D: Mom, I can't go without water. It won't happen again.
Later that day.....
D: Did you get your precious bottle?
Me: Yes. No thanks to you.
D: You ruined it anyway. Every sip of water tasted like coffee.
Me: HA HA HA!! That's what you get!!!!!!
D: Wow, Mom. Just wow.
D: ......Maybe.......
Me: YOU are in SO much trouble!!!! I tore the house apart looking for that!
D: Seriously?
Me: Yes, seriously. Do NOT mess with my coffee.
D: I'm seriously in trouble?
Me: Yes. That doesn't belong to you.
D: I didn't have any more water bottles.
Me: Then go without water.
D: Mom, I can't go without water. It won't happen again.
Later that day.....
D: Did you get your precious bottle?
Me: Yes. No thanks to you.
D: You ruined it anyway. Every sip of water tasted like coffee.
Me: HA HA HA!! That's what you get!!!!!!
D: Wow, Mom. Just wow.
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