Three little kittens they lost their mittens, and they began to cry, "Oh mother dear, we sadly fear that we have lost our mittens." Automatically, their first reaction is to confess their loss? This may be interpreted as pure catholic guilt at its most primary level, as there is no direct indication of even the most basic loss investigation. These kittens (referred to herein as “the perpetrators”) immediately blame themselves and spring into confession mode. There is no curiosity as to whether maybe, just maybe, some other nasty criminal kitten/perp mistakenly swiped or picked the mittens up? Absolutely no; instead they proceed directly to the authority figure (i.e., mother dear) to confess their error.
"What! Lost your mittens, you naughty kittens! Then you shall have no pie." Mother–dear’s reply is clear and concise. You are in trouble! If you ever attended Catholic school, this is most definitely representative of principal, who is quite likely an IHM nun. (Remember getting your hands slapped with a ruler?) Mother’s response causes the three little kittens to whine in a meowing sequence followed by crying, because they just lost their favorite treat of the day. (Oh great, just what we wanted to hear, whining, crying kittens. "Meeow, meeow, meeow, now we shall have no pie.")
To conclude, this particular nursery rhyme presents the sequence of sin, confession and redemption, which is highlighted and proven when the kitten perpetrators discover, "Oh mother dear, see here, see here for we have found our mittens." Mother dear is pleased and responds affectionately with the redemptive answer, “Put on your mittens, you silly kittens And you shall have some pie."
The story continues lyrically two more times and the former perpetrators/kittens soil their mittens and then they’re clean, etc., which is a repeat of main theme. But we get it already. No need to lather-rinse-repeat.
Finally, there’s a suggestion of a rat nearby. Whatever the religion of these sweet kittens, it really doesn't matter at this point, because they have come full circle and now they must trump evil -- the devil a/k/a the rat. No longer baby kittens, they are almost full-grown cats and fully capable of trumping a rat any day of the week -- which also provides a good vs. evil theme!
Next discussion -- The Rat – potential convert or agnostic?
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
The New Itty-Bitty Comcast Box Fiasco
By now, most folks in our area have installed their “upgrade” itty-bitty-Comcast boxes to TV sets which used to simply plug into the cable. That was too simple, so Comcast has now reinvented services to “Xfinity” which could simply indicate xfinity dollars they can charge customers.
My youngest darling daughter installed the two boxes Comcast grants with no additional cost to the bedroom televisions. Great job! That’s all we really need I figure. Not necessary to call for additional boxes (cost $1.99 per month) for the kitchen and basement sets. Right? Oh, no, my friend. It took about a month for Comcast to catch up to televisions not running off the itty-bitty. Once that happened, it was just like the old days, 40 years ago, with basic network programming. Okay, I give. I call and order two more itty-bittys for the kitchen and basement. This will be easy, yeah, right.
My first attempt to install the new itty-bitty was in the kitchen. My television in there is a tiny drop-down screen that mounts under the countertop. Hubby installed the unit and there’s a slight snag during installation. I only have about ¾” space to move to disconnect the old cable and install the new. The new-fangled cable is short and has some engineered blue plastic cover on the tip of each end which measure about one inch. Okay, Lucy, think….
I rip off the blue plastic cover in total frustration and contort my body in a way that is sending cramps up my legs while trying desperately to install the cable jack to the ¾” space on back of the mounted-under-the-cabinet tv. Are we having fun yet? After thinking I have succeeded, there’s a Comcast screen on my tv stating, “we have detected an interruption to your service…” Really? It’s go time. I dial 1-800-comcast and get the representative who helps me. We also try to sync the Comcast tv control to my television set. After several futile attempt, the tech concludes, “Okay, you’ll just have to turn the set on and off with your original control.” Isn’t technology great?
A week later I attempt installation of the itty-bitty box in the basement. The length of the cable cord is so tight, it barely reaches from the box to the tv set. Once installed, again, it’s a screen message to call Comcast. I comply. This time the tech asks for the serial number on the bottom of the itty-bitty box and let me inform you, the font is about 1.0 and virtually unable to read. When straining my vision doesn’t work, I run upstairs for the trusty magnifying glass and achieve success.
I don’t watch much television, but dang, does it have to be this difficult? Also, those little remote light thingies they gave along with the itty bitty box – are they secret cameras so that Comcast can watch our every move? They creep me out.
Just tossing this out for your consideration
My youngest darling daughter installed the two boxes Comcast grants with no additional cost to the bedroom televisions. Great job! That’s all we really need I figure. Not necessary to call for additional boxes (cost $1.99 per month) for the kitchen and basement sets. Right? Oh, no, my friend. It took about a month for Comcast to catch up to televisions not running off the itty-bitty. Once that happened, it was just like the old days, 40 years ago, with basic network programming. Okay, I give. I call and order two more itty-bittys for the kitchen and basement. This will be easy, yeah, right.
My first attempt to install the new itty-bitty was in the kitchen. My television in there is a tiny drop-down screen that mounts under the countertop. Hubby installed the unit and there’s a slight snag during installation. I only have about ¾” space to move to disconnect the old cable and install the new. The new-fangled cable is short and has some engineered blue plastic cover on the tip of each end which measure about one inch. Okay, Lucy, think….
I rip off the blue plastic cover in total frustration and contort my body in a way that is sending cramps up my legs while trying desperately to install the cable jack to the ¾” space on back of the mounted-under-the-cabinet tv. Are we having fun yet? After thinking I have succeeded, there’s a Comcast screen on my tv stating, “we have detected an interruption to your service…” Really? It’s go time. I dial 1-800-comcast and get the representative who helps me. We also try to sync the Comcast tv control to my television set. After several futile attempt, the tech concludes, “Okay, you’ll just have to turn the set on and off with your original control.” Isn’t technology great?
A week later I attempt installation of the itty-bitty box in the basement. The length of the cable cord is so tight, it barely reaches from the box to the tv set. Once installed, again, it’s a screen message to call Comcast. I comply. This time the tech asks for the serial number on the bottom of the itty-bitty box and let me inform you, the font is about 1.0 and virtually unable to read. When straining my vision doesn’t work, I run upstairs for the trusty magnifying glass and achieve success.
I don’t watch much television, but dang, does it have to be this difficult? Also, those little remote light thingies they gave along with the itty bitty box – are they secret cameras so that Comcast can watch our every move? They creep me out.
Just tossing this out for your consideration
Newsflash: tableware missing, culprit still at large...
Where, oh where, has my cutlery gone? It’s a bare cavernous abyss in my cutlery drawer. The next logical conclusion is, “…must be in the dishwasher.” So I go to the dishwasher and find two forks and a spoon. This is becoming quite frustrating. There's no way I'm resorting to a plastic spork!
We have three people currently living in our home. Within the past year I KNOW we had a service for at least eight people. Currently, our flatware might fully serve two people. I guess some family members (who shall remain nameless) didn’t get the memo that flatware is not to be put into the trash.
So, it’s off to Target where I purchase various needed supplies and eight forks and spoons. Upon checkout the cashier comments, “Well, it seems you have the same problem at home with tableware as I do. I’ve stopped purchasing replacements. I have family members who just give me their old flatware and I throw it into a drawer, all mixed up. Kind of makes it hard to find.” I respond that I feel her pain, and mention I’m not quite so lucky to have hand-me-down tableware so I have to purchase more.
Ah, the drawer fully restored to normalcy, all is right with the world – for now.
PS – Dear family members, please consider this notice to put flatware in the dishwasher or sink, not the trash, after dining. Your cooperation will be fully appreciated. Love, Mom
We have three people currently living in our home. Within the past year I KNOW we had a service for at least eight people. Currently, our flatware might fully serve two people. I guess some family members (who shall remain nameless) didn’t get the memo that flatware is not to be put into the trash.
So, it’s off to Target where I purchase various needed supplies and eight forks and spoons. Upon checkout the cashier comments, “Well, it seems you have the same problem at home with tableware as I do. I’ve stopped purchasing replacements. I have family members who just give me their old flatware and I throw it into a drawer, all mixed up. Kind of makes it hard to find.” I respond that I feel her pain, and mention I’m not quite so lucky to have hand-me-down tableware so I have to purchase more.
Ah, the drawer fully restored to normalcy, all is right with the world – for now.
PS – Dear family members, please consider this notice to put flatware in the dishwasher or sink, not the trash, after dining. Your cooperation will be fully appreciated. Love, Mom
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I'm 50 years old, I'm telling it like it is....
Fifteen years ago, I never expressed my thoughts, keeping quiet about things, accepting the status-quo and concerned with the feelings of others overall. I’m still nice to others, but I've changed. The pollyanna factor has really declined. Nowadays, if you ask me a question or seek my opinion, I give an honest answer. No more fluffy, cotton candy, buffer-your fragile feelings replies. It’s time to grow-up, woman-up, deal with life, get a life and learn to treat others with respect. Guess what? That’s always been my advice to anyone and everyone else! Gotta tell you, I’m really liking the 50 year-old me.
A friend recently contacted me and asked why I left her home during a celebration where there was not a spare inch to stand or sit. I was clearly in the way and uncomfortable about it, while knocking into another person every 30 seconds. I made a decision…to go straight to my car and drive home. I never heard a word from the host, and didn't expect to, actually didn't expect to be missed. Then yesterday, my cell phone vibrated in the middle of my weekly library visit. I did not recognize the caller. This time, I didn’t respond the old-me-way by running outside to answer. I hit the “ignore” button. It’s not an emergency, I’ll get back to them.
Safely back in the privacy of my car, I returned the call to the unknown party. Surprise, it was the host from the celebration. “What’s up?” I asked. She wanted to know why I seemed so “mad” (her words not mine) during the party and then left. Mad? Mad? Isn’t that some kind of animal emotion? Human beings become angry when agitated, and I wasn’t even close. The incorrect word choice “mad” merely underscored my host's incorrect perception of the situation and choice of vocabulary. I have to admit, I ALMOST slipped back into the old make-an-excuse person, but I quickly did a 360 degree turn back to 50-year-old me. “I wasn’t mad.” I replied, “I was uncomfortable. There was not a spare inch in which to sit or stand, and I felt like I was in everyone’s way. I attended by completing the trifecta of any bridal shower. I hugged and kissed the bride-to-be, presented my gift, stayed and hour and a half and split, and in quite pleasant manner, so not to disrupt the joyful day. Oh and FYI - I don’t get angry or upset very easily, and certainly not to cause any drama EVER.”
Honest expression behind me, WOW, I was at peace. This IS the new me. You know, Jerry Seinfeld used to have a bit he did onstage about old people just backing their car out of the driveway without looking backward to check for safety, “I’m old and I’m backing out.” Very humorous, well, I’m not QUITE that old yet, but I’m on track for a fifty-something and that's life! It's funny -- I've paid my dues, and nowadays I'm totally honest take me or leave me. Honest life, honest opinions, honest existence. Why wasn’t I this way at thirty-something? Guess it takes time. Look out, I'm just coming at you life, the true me. Get ready!
Another friend tells me that this is my signature mantra, so I'll share it with you, "I'm just tossing this out for your consideration." and I would like to add, "Keeping you posted!"
A friend recently contacted me and asked why I left her home during a celebration where there was not a spare inch to stand or sit. I was clearly in the way and uncomfortable about it, while knocking into another person every 30 seconds. I made a decision…to go straight to my car and drive home. I never heard a word from the host, and didn't expect to, actually didn't expect to be missed. Then yesterday, my cell phone vibrated in the middle of my weekly library visit. I did not recognize the caller. This time, I didn’t respond the old-me-way by running outside to answer. I hit the “ignore” button. It’s not an emergency, I’ll get back to them.
Safely back in the privacy of my car, I returned the call to the unknown party. Surprise, it was the host from the celebration. “What’s up?” I asked. She wanted to know why I seemed so “mad” (her words not mine) during the party and then left. Mad? Mad? Isn’t that some kind of animal emotion? Human beings become angry when agitated, and I wasn’t even close. The incorrect word choice “mad” merely underscored my host's incorrect perception of the situation and choice of vocabulary. I have to admit, I ALMOST slipped back into the old make-an-excuse person, but I quickly did a 360 degree turn back to 50-year-old me. “I wasn’t mad.” I replied, “I was uncomfortable. There was not a spare inch in which to sit or stand, and I felt like I was in everyone’s way. I attended by completing the trifecta of any bridal shower. I hugged and kissed the bride-to-be, presented my gift, stayed and hour and a half and split, and in quite pleasant manner, so not to disrupt the joyful day. Oh and FYI - I don’t get angry or upset very easily, and certainly not to cause any drama EVER.”
Honest expression behind me, WOW, I was at peace. This IS the new me. You know, Jerry Seinfeld used to have a bit he did onstage about old people just backing their car out of the driveway without looking backward to check for safety, “I’m old and I’m backing out.” Very humorous, well, I’m not QUITE that old yet, but I’m on track for a fifty-something and that's life! It's funny -- I've paid my dues, and nowadays I'm totally honest take me or leave me. Honest life, honest opinions, honest existence. Why wasn’t I this way at thirty-something? Guess it takes time. Look out, I'm just coming at you life, the true me. Get ready!
Another friend tells me that this is my signature mantra, so I'll share it with you, "I'm just tossing this out for your consideration." and I would like to add, "Keeping you posted!"
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Sandwich Generation?
A friend e-mails me:
“Speaking of chores, I think we are the sandwich generation regarding chores. My mother never had any because she had me! My kids have me! Where did I go wrong??”
Got a minute? Step into my office... “Sandwich Generation” is a term usually applied to folks who are responsible for the care of both their children and parents at the same time. Your creative use of the term regarding family chores, is very interesting and one to which I can relate without elaboration. (Note: Excluding my older daughters who WILL read this, but were guilty on some counts as youngsters.)
Here’s where I assess that we went wrong:
• Simple admission of the problem itself. Never complain openly regarding this dilemma unless, as you did, it is to another mom/woman. Men, primarily husbands/fathers, will initially appear interested in an open dialogue on this topic; be prepared, they will turn on a dime in order to get back to their TV show or whatever they were doing prior to your little chat. The hubby/father trump card to your challenge will be similar to my experience: “Well, how do you think it got that way and what are you going to do to change it?” Game, set, match. OUCH!
• Non-implementation of the “Is Your Room Clean?” defense before allowing a child ANYTHING. (Note: I learned to employ this defense on child #3, but admit it was way too late. Works like an absolute charm.)
• We didn’t learn from our mothers! Double-duh! Their ability to employ daughters to cook, fold clothes, take care of younger siblings, etc. was to beyond stellar. We’re dunces for failing in this department.
My final advice, friend, is there’s still time for you, save yourself. Your children are still young! Hike you pantyhose high, take a deep breath and dig in, you CAN do it. You CAN win. Be the boss. It might require baby steps, but get those babies in line. And while you’re at it, get hubby in line too! I have faith in you! Keep me posted.
“Speaking of chores, I think we are the sandwich generation regarding chores. My mother never had any because she had me! My kids have me! Where did I go wrong??”
Got a minute? Step into my office... “Sandwich Generation” is a term usually applied to folks who are responsible for the care of both their children and parents at the same time. Your creative use of the term regarding family chores, is very interesting and one to which I can relate without elaboration. (Note: Excluding my older daughters who WILL read this, but were guilty on some counts as youngsters.)
Here’s where I assess that we went wrong:
• Simple admission of the problem itself. Never complain openly regarding this dilemma unless, as you did, it is to another mom/woman. Men, primarily husbands/fathers, will initially appear interested in an open dialogue on this topic; be prepared, they will turn on a dime in order to get back to their TV show or whatever they were doing prior to your little chat. The hubby/father trump card to your challenge will be similar to my experience: “Well, how do you think it got that way and what are you going to do to change it?” Game, set, match. OUCH!
• Non-implementation of the “Is Your Room Clean?” defense before allowing a child ANYTHING. (Note: I learned to employ this defense on child #3, but admit it was way too late. Works like an absolute charm.)
• We didn’t learn from our mothers! Double-duh! Their ability to employ daughters to cook, fold clothes, take care of younger siblings, etc. was to beyond stellar. We’re dunces for failing in this department.
My final advice, friend, is there’s still time for you, save yourself. Your children are still young! Hike you pantyhose high, take a deep breath and dig in, you CAN do it. You CAN win. Be the boss. It might require baby steps, but get those babies in line. And while you’re at it, get hubby in line too! I have faith in you! Keep me posted.
Monday, April 19, 2010
I Graduate High School on June 5, 2010.....Diploma please!
On Saturday, June 5, 2010, at 11:00 a.m., our youngest daughter will graduate from high school, thus ending the long and winding road of all three daughters’ illustrious 12 year high school span, as well as my own starring role as high school mom. For many of those years, I was the editor-in-chief of the school newsletter, trip chaperone, band booster, PTSA member, general volunteer, taxi cab, sports mom and fan, last-minute all-around baker and team dinner chef. Favorite team dinner entrée: hands down, Taco Chicken! I anticipate what lies ahead with both excitement and melancholy emotions.
With youngest attending university next fall, and middle child preparing to graduate in December, I have identified specific calendar opportunities for hubby and me to reacquaint ourselves with two old
friends – Mr. Leisure Activities and Mrs. Travel. Let me not overstate our position -- having 2 children in college is our primary financial priority, possibly limiting available funding for visiting Mr. Leisure and Mrs. Travel. Nevertheless, always the optimist, I see possibilities in ANY situation.
Realistically considering our financial priorities: TWO college educations, FOUR automobiles, THREE cell phones and a partridge in a pear tree; perhaps a day trip to Atlantic City in December might be along the lines of what the budget can handle. Still, I’m joyously reveling (imagine cartwheels) in the knowledge that there will be NO two-week August sports pre-season, NO last-minute sports physical, NO blackout dates for any plans in August and September, and NO nighttime meetings. Oh, sweet freedom! Sweet joy!
Yes, your honor, I’m ready for graduation. But not before I share this final thought to my daughters: Girls, I seriously had the time of my life. High school, the second, third and fourth time around presented me with so many joyful, memorable experiences, life-long friends and heartfelt laughter, I wouldn’t trade one minute. I truly thank God for the blessing to have been able to share each treasured high school day, sun-shiny or not, with each of my precious daughters.
Who knows? Maybe university life will provide a few more blogs….
With youngest attending university next fall, and middle child preparing to graduate in December, I have identified specific calendar opportunities for hubby and me to reacquaint ourselves with two old
friends – Mr. Leisure Activities and Mrs. Travel. Let me not overstate our position -- having 2 children in college is our primary financial priority, possibly limiting available funding for visiting Mr. Leisure and Mrs. Travel. Nevertheless, always the optimist, I see possibilities in ANY situation.
Realistically considering our financial priorities: TWO college educations, FOUR automobiles, THREE cell phones and a partridge in a pear tree; perhaps a day trip to Atlantic City in December might be along the lines of what the budget can handle. Still, I’m joyously reveling (imagine cartwheels) in the knowledge that there will be NO two-week August sports pre-season, NO last-minute sports physical, NO blackout dates for any plans in August and September, and NO nighttime meetings. Oh, sweet freedom! Sweet joy!
Yes, your honor, I’m ready for graduation. But not before I share this final thought to my daughters: Girls, I seriously had the time of my life. High school, the second, third and fourth time around presented me with so many joyful, memorable experiences, life-long friends and heartfelt laughter, I wouldn’t trade one minute. I truly thank God for the blessing to have been able to share each treasured high school day, sun-shiny or not, with each of my precious daughters.
Who knows? Maybe university life will provide a few more blogs….
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Wilma Flintstone or Jane Jetson?
Having no current revelations on which to blog on this week, I decided to include a column I wrote as editor of the high school newsletter. This post was written in 2003, but still applies today to moms and dads who serve as transport for their kiddies. God Bless You!
Picture the image of the future we all became familiar with when watching THE JETSONS as children. The future consisted of nothing less than space age everything! Sadly, I contend the notion has become nothing more than a tease. Although mornings greet many of us with the opportunity to engage in a George Jetson-like walk on treadmills and sidewalks across the county, I have finally accepted a very stark reality:
My children will never travel to school or anywhere else via jet-pack just like Elroy and Judy Jetson! Their only means of travel is mom-taxi.
One may argue that microwaving food is relatively Jetson-esque, as well as the use of cell phones, etc. Generally speaking, our generation has made many space age advancements. However, I argue that the task of driving back and forth to school two, three, (dare I say four?) times a day, leaves me feeling more like Wilma Flintstone than Jane Jetson. As the primary driving parent of a non-driving high school student, I clearly remember the sweet experience of ride freedom, and daydream of innovative ways of improvement. Linking necessity as the true mother of all invention and being a mother myself, I share my top three solutions:
• Air-chute transport: Just as we send checks and money in an air-chute to the drive-in bank teller, students could be airlifted to school via a giant plastic cylinder travelling through tunnels. Less expensive than a car, this solution requires no insurance, gas or license.
• Star-Trek transport: Similar to Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock and the gang, our beloved offspring would be transported to school via the use of affordable in-home transporters. Students would be physically placed directly in front of his/her locker with plenty of time to prepare for the day. This concept works well with items students leave behind as well (i.e., lunches, money, homework, sports gear, etc.)
• Career Change: Parent(s) could volunteer to quit their job and become full-time bus driver(s), continually looping a pre-designated course for approximately 10 hours daily. This would be a paid position including salary, medical benefits and yearly vacations to any destination. Ultimately, the goal is to keep our drivers very happy until our children can drive for themselves. Until a real solution is found, or our students become drivers, I'll see you on the road. Keep on driving -- and daydreaming (it helps. . .)
Picture the image of the future we all became familiar with when watching THE JETSONS as children. The future consisted of nothing less than space age everything! Sadly, I contend the notion has become nothing more than a tease. Although mornings greet many of us with the opportunity to engage in a George Jetson-like walk on treadmills and sidewalks across the county, I have finally accepted a very stark reality:
My children will never travel to school or anywhere else via jet-pack just like Elroy and Judy Jetson! Their only means of travel is mom-taxi.
One may argue that microwaving food is relatively Jetson-esque, as well as the use of cell phones, etc. Generally speaking, our generation has made many space age advancements. However, I argue that the task of driving back and forth to school two, three, (dare I say four?) times a day, leaves me feeling more like Wilma Flintstone than Jane Jetson. As the primary driving parent of a non-driving high school student, I clearly remember the sweet experience of ride freedom, and daydream of innovative ways of improvement. Linking necessity as the true mother of all invention and being a mother myself, I share my top three solutions:
• Air-chute transport: Just as we send checks and money in an air-chute to the drive-in bank teller, students could be airlifted to school via a giant plastic cylinder travelling through tunnels. Less expensive than a car, this solution requires no insurance, gas or license.
• Star-Trek transport: Similar to Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock and the gang, our beloved offspring would be transported to school via the use of affordable in-home transporters. Students would be physically placed directly in front of his/her locker with plenty of time to prepare for the day. This concept works well with items students leave behind as well (i.e., lunches, money, homework, sports gear, etc.)
• Career Change: Parent(s) could volunteer to quit their job and become full-time bus driver(s), continually looping a pre-designated course for approximately 10 hours daily. This would be a paid position including salary, medical benefits and yearly vacations to any destination. Ultimately, the goal is to keep our drivers very happy until our children can drive for themselves. Until a real solution is found, or our students become drivers, I'll see you on the road. Keep on driving -- and daydreaming (it helps. . .)
Sunday, April 11, 2010
My "I Drive Safely" Driving Course Fiasco
If even one member of my family successfully passes an approved online driving course, the entire family is eligible for a 10% savings on their auto liability policy for three years. Sweet deal, I promptly added it to my “to do” list.
About a week ago, a flash went off in my brain -- the driving course – oh, no. I somehow recall hubby assigning the task to daughter who was now conveniently vacationing with friends on spring break. I locate the original email and realize that I had just days to complete the six hour class, pass the exam and get the certificate to my agent. Guess who’s taking the course? Later that day, I grabbed my computer and worked for about two hours refreshing my knowledge of the rules of the road.
Time Check: Happy Saturday morning, large coffee in hand, I proceed to “git ‘er done.” Let me share one of the more “handy” tidbits of knowledge acquired during my instruction:
Did you know if your vehicle stalls or you experience engine failure while on railroad tracks and a train is heading straight for your vehicle, the recommended procedure is as follows:
A) Everyone should evacuate the vehicle, run 50 feet away from the tracks, then turn 90 degrees and continue to run from the vehicle. The driving course preparers decide to illustrate the seriousness of this situation via a cartoon video with a train impacting the vehicle just moments after everyone escapes. The video concludes with the driver and passengers standing safely by as their vehicle explodes into a huge cartoon fireball. I guess they weren’t able to get any real people/actors for that dangerous scenario.
Time check: 4.5 course hours and only just more than halfway finished. Ugggg! Why is youngest daughter always away on some fabulous vacation when I need her? Following the train wreck, it’s time to take a computer break, but not before yet another revelation: Remember good old, “10 and 2” position for hands on the steering wheel? Well that’s history, baby! The new hand placement is “8 and 4”, partially due to injuries (and I’m guessing lawsuits) which have resulted to arms and hands when airbags deploy. I must’ve missed the DMV’s memo on that one. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to flash these facts on the info screen at the DMV instead of names of bail bondsmen and lawyers?
Time check: 7:45 PM – back to computer driving course. What better way to spend Saturday evening? The Final chapters consist of vehicle maintenance, road courtesy and trip planning. I want to skip these because they really have nothing to do with my driving ability, but the program won’t let me. My reasoning --
Vehicle maintenance: not my department, talk to my husband.
Road courtesy: yes, please. Thank you.
Trip planning: unless it’s on an airplane to some exotic location and they’re footing the bill, I’m not interested.
Time check: 9:15 PM – The Final Exam – 25 questions. I figure it’ll take about 20 minutes, maybe 30 if I take my time. At this very un-perfect moment, hubby who has witnessed my torture all day, enters the study chuckling aloud and asks if he can help me “cheat” on the final exam. Not being in the mood for jokes, I kick him out of the room. It’s totally “go” time.
Time check: 10 PM – Success! Final exam passed, certificate on its way, I sashay into the kitchen for my reward – A celebratory glass of wine. How was your weekend? I hope it was so much better than this!
About a week ago, a flash went off in my brain -- the driving course – oh, no. I somehow recall hubby assigning the task to daughter who was now conveniently vacationing with friends on spring break. I locate the original email and realize that I had just days to complete the six hour class, pass the exam and get the certificate to my agent. Guess who’s taking the course? Later that day, I grabbed my computer and worked for about two hours refreshing my knowledge of the rules of the road.
Time Check: Happy Saturday morning, large coffee in hand, I proceed to “git ‘er done.” Let me share one of the more “handy” tidbits of knowledge acquired during my instruction:
Did you know if your vehicle stalls or you experience engine failure while on railroad tracks and a train is heading straight for your vehicle, the recommended procedure is as follows:
A) Everyone should evacuate the vehicle, run 50 feet away from the tracks, then turn 90 degrees and continue to run from the vehicle. The driving course preparers decide to illustrate the seriousness of this situation via a cartoon video with a train impacting the vehicle just moments after everyone escapes. The video concludes with the driver and passengers standing safely by as their vehicle explodes into a huge cartoon fireball. I guess they weren’t able to get any real people/actors for that dangerous scenario.
Time check: 4.5 course hours and only just more than halfway finished. Ugggg! Why is youngest daughter always away on some fabulous vacation when I need her? Following the train wreck, it’s time to take a computer break, but not before yet another revelation: Remember good old, “10 and 2” position for hands on the steering wheel? Well that’s history, baby! The new hand placement is “8 and 4”, partially due to injuries (and I’m guessing lawsuits) which have resulted to arms and hands when airbags deploy. I must’ve missed the DMV’s memo on that one. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to flash these facts on the info screen at the DMV instead of names of bail bondsmen and lawyers?
Time check: 7:45 PM – back to computer driving course. What better way to spend Saturday evening? The Final chapters consist of vehicle maintenance, road courtesy and trip planning. I want to skip these because they really have nothing to do with my driving ability, but the program won’t let me. My reasoning --
Vehicle maintenance: not my department, talk to my husband.
Road courtesy: yes, please. Thank you.
Trip planning: unless it’s on an airplane to some exotic location and they’re footing the bill, I’m not interested.
Time check: 9:15 PM – The Final Exam – 25 questions. I figure it’ll take about 20 minutes, maybe 30 if I take my time. At this very un-perfect moment, hubby who has witnessed my torture all day, enters the study chuckling aloud and asks if he can help me “cheat” on the final exam. Not being in the mood for jokes, I kick him out of the room. It’s totally “go” time.
Time check: 10 PM – Success! Final exam passed, certificate on its way, I sashay into the kitchen for my reward – A celebratory glass of wine. How was your weekend? I hope it was so much better than this!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Walking Balance Class
featuring the teacher who was a former dancer
My youngest daughter plays lacrosse and was experiencing back pain, so we visited the doctor. He recommended a trip to our chiropractor. Through the door we were instantly relaxed with the sounds of their trickling waterfall, soothing scents and visually cozy surroundings. Daughter’s name is called and following our discussion as to whether or not I should accompany her, she sallies forth to go into the exam room alone. This is a first, and I’m wishing I was permitted admittance, not by my doctor but by my daughter. Surprisingly, the doctor invites me in for the assessment.
Cheerfully, I agree. (Experienced mom note: Children NEVER disclose enough info to doctors, which is why moms should be present.) We discuss daughter’s health and back pain problem. Doctor determines she’s fine, but her overall posture and balance could improve. With marketing hat on, he recommends an on-site balance class conducted by a woman who was a former dancer and now is teaching the art of proper posture and balance to others. He suggests that I attend as well and pick up few pointers.
In all honesty, I’m a complete and total spaz with a layer of dysfunctional balance as icing on the cake. Having had two surgeries -- neck and back, I count my successes by rooms I can still paint, driveways I can still shovel and stairs I haven’t fallen down recently. Because of my balance or lack thereof, I no longer decorate staircase handrails at Christmas and always grip both sides going up or down stairs. This is learned behavior resulting from past trips, falls and stumbles. If I’m half asleep in the morning coming down the stairs, I’ll take the last two stairs as one and “boom” make a big sound sending hubby out to see if it’s just another spazy moment or I’m actually hurt. Fortunately, it’s usually the former rather than the latter, and that was a result of attempting to turn off the alarm on my cell phone while descending stairs. You’re likely thinking, can the woman walk and chew gum? Not anymore really. I used to be able to roast a chicken, clean the house and wash the car all at the same time. That was then, this is now.
It’s balance class day and we arrive at 9 AM promptly through the torrential rain. The class consists of myself, daughter and two women a bit younger than me. So there’s four students and one teacher (the former dancer) who arrives 10 minutes late due to the inclement weather. At first glance, teacher is NOT what I expected. She’s about 60-70 years of age, very overweight, gray-haired and has an enormous bandage on her whole right hand thumb. To complete the picture, the bandage has a few dots of blood on it. The class is scheduled from 10 AM – 1 PM and I can’t imagine how we’re going to do so little in so long. Daughter is furious and in her non-participation mode, which I ignore.
Teacher begins, “Stretch and scream b-l-a-a-h-h-h-h-h-h. This is our tension releasing exercise.” Done. Now, walk around the room. She’s watching and critiquing our walking strut and balance. My daughter gives me the dagger eyes. “How does that feel?” she asks. “You’re all looking so much lighter on your feet. Don’t they feel lighter?” Oh, yeah, they’re so different everyone replies. The other women, to whom I’ll refer as classmate #1 and #2 begin to report some problems. Mind you, these women weight about 100 lbs each.
Classmate #1: “I feel better on my feet but now my gerd is acting up.”
Classmate #2: “My back is hurting now."
I think to myself, “Seriously? Is this where we’re going?" I resist the temptation to report some stupid health blip but decide to take the high road with the hope of qualifing as one of the more sane people in the room.
More balance exercises and snack time. No one eats the snacks, teacher performs a dancer’s stretch on the floor and informs us that none of us is able to do such a thing at this time because we are not in physical shape to do so. I think to myself, “At least I can use a knife without cutting off my thumb…”
Daughter is so angry that she’s even there she has completely stopped interacting with anyone. I ignore it and attempt to come away from the class having learned SOMETHING. Teacher informs me that my lower torso and neck areas are extremely tight, boxy and controlled. What DOES that mean? I must learn to loosen the protective control on them. Seriously? Did she conclude this from the disclosure that I’ve had surgeries? Let’s see, how does one loosen the area surrounding a cervical neck fusion? Just tossing that out, but I’m feeling MUCH lighter on my toes! And we’re walking in circles around the room….
It’s feedback time again:
Classmate #1: “I beginning to get a migrane headache now.”
Classmate #2: “I’m feeling very ill, kind of dizzy, perhaps it’s all of this walking in circles…”
Daughter is staring at the clock silently and counting the minutes until we outta here.
Upon conclusion of our class, we bid farewell and daughter and I proceed to the car. She begins texting madly to catch up for the last three hours of cell phone silence and announces that we deserve to go to lunch together. Silently driving down the road, I smile, slip into my smart-ass mode and say aloud, “Teacher, my feet feel twinkle-toes light, but now I have a tension headache and my teeth are falling out. ”
Daughter finally cracks a smile, continues texting and without missing a beat replies loudly while shaking her arms, “B-L-A-A-A-H-H-H”, which if you recall, is our brand-new tension releasing exercise assigned to us by the dancing teacher.
The class was kind of a bust, but look at the myriad of material it provided. Quality daughter time with laughs to boot. Not too shabby for a rainy Saturday.
My youngest daughter plays lacrosse and was experiencing back pain, so we visited the doctor. He recommended a trip to our chiropractor. Through the door we were instantly relaxed with the sounds of their trickling waterfall, soothing scents and visually cozy surroundings. Daughter’s name is called and following our discussion as to whether or not I should accompany her, she sallies forth to go into the exam room alone. This is a first, and I’m wishing I was permitted admittance, not by my doctor but by my daughter. Surprisingly, the doctor invites me in for the assessment.
Cheerfully, I agree. (Experienced mom note: Children NEVER disclose enough info to doctors, which is why moms should be present.) We discuss daughter’s health and back pain problem. Doctor determines she’s fine, but her overall posture and balance could improve. With marketing hat on, he recommends an on-site balance class conducted by a woman who was a former dancer and now is teaching the art of proper posture and balance to others. He suggests that I attend as well and pick up few pointers.
In all honesty, I’m a complete and total spaz with a layer of dysfunctional balance as icing on the cake. Having had two surgeries -- neck and back, I count my successes by rooms I can still paint, driveways I can still shovel and stairs I haven’t fallen down recently. Because of my balance or lack thereof, I no longer decorate staircase handrails at Christmas and always grip both sides going up or down stairs. This is learned behavior resulting from past trips, falls and stumbles. If I’m half asleep in the morning coming down the stairs, I’ll take the last two stairs as one and “boom” make a big sound sending hubby out to see if it’s just another spazy moment or I’m actually hurt. Fortunately, it’s usually the former rather than the latter, and that was a result of attempting to turn off the alarm on my cell phone while descending stairs. You’re likely thinking, can the woman walk and chew gum? Not anymore really. I used to be able to roast a chicken, clean the house and wash the car all at the same time. That was then, this is now.
It’s balance class day and we arrive at 9 AM promptly through the torrential rain. The class consists of myself, daughter and two women a bit younger than me. So there’s four students and one teacher (the former dancer) who arrives 10 minutes late due to the inclement weather. At first glance, teacher is NOT what I expected. She’s about 60-70 years of age, very overweight, gray-haired and has an enormous bandage on her whole right hand thumb. To complete the picture, the bandage has a few dots of blood on it. The class is scheduled from 10 AM – 1 PM and I can’t imagine how we’re going to do so little in so long. Daughter is furious and in her non-participation mode, which I ignore.
Teacher begins, “Stretch and scream b-l-a-a-h-h-h-h-h-h. This is our tension releasing exercise.” Done. Now, walk around the room. She’s watching and critiquing our walking strut and balance. My daughter gives me the dagger eyes. “How does that feel?” she asks. “You’re all looking so much lighter on your feet. Don’t they feel lighter?” Oh, yeah, they’re so different everyone replies. The other women, to whom I’ll refer as classmate #1 and #2 begin to report some problems. Mind you, these women weight about 100 lbs each.
Classmate #1: “I feel better on my feet but now my gerd is acting up.”
Classmate #2: “My back is hurting now."
I think to myself, “Seriously? Is this where we’re going?" I resist the temptation to report some stupid health blip but decide to take the high road with the hope of qualifing as one of the more sane people in the room.
More balance exercises and snack time. No one eats the snacks, teacher performs a dancer’s stretch on the floor and informs us that none of us is able to do such a thing at this time because we are not in physical shape to do so. I think to myself, “At least I can use a knife without cutting off my thumb…”
Daughter is so angry that she’s even there she has completely stopped interacting with anyone. I ignore it and attempt to come away from the class having learned SOMETHING. Teacher informs me that my lower torso and neck areas are extremely tight, boxy and controlled. What DOES that mean? I must learn to loosen the protective control on them. Seriously? Did she conclude this from the disclosure that I’ve had surgeries? Let’s see, how does one loosen the area surrounding a cervical neck fusion? Just tossing that out, but I’m feeling MUCH lighter on my toes! And we’re walking in circles around the room….
It’s feedback time again:
Classmate #1: “I beginning to get a migrane headache now.”
Classmate #2: “I’m feeling very ill, kind of dizzy, perhaps it’s all of this walking in circles…”
Daughter is staring at the clock silently and counting the minutes until we outta here.
Upon conclusion of our class, we bid farewell and daughter and I proceed to the car. She begins texting madly to catch up for the last three hours of cell phone silence and announces that we deserve to go to lunch together. Silently driving down the road, I smile, slip into my smart-ass mode and say aloud, “Teacher, my feet feel twinkle-toes light, but now I have a tension headache and my teeth are falling out. ”
Daughter finally cracks a smile, continues texting and without missing a beat replies loudly while shaking her arms, “B-L-A-A-A-H-H-H”, which if you recall, is our brand-new tension releasing exercise assigned to us by the dancing teacher.
The class was kind of a bust, but look at the myriad of material it provided. Quality daughter time with laughs to boot. Not too shabby for a rainy Saturday.
Friday, March 26, 2010
E-Mail Delivery Status Notification
Ever get one of these e-mail returns?
---------------------------------------------------------------
Mail Delivery System [mailer-daemon@comcast.net]
This is an automatically generated Delivery Status Notification.
Delivery to the following recipients is still underway after 49.9 hour(s):
*persons-wrong-address-you-thought-you-knew@yourinternetprovider.net
Will keep trying and contact you if the message can't be delivered permanently.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks, but no thanks, I get it. The e-mail I sent isn’t going through. It's been almost 50 hours and you're still trying.... Seriously, is it necessary to be notified a dozen times daily that I’m wrong and they know it? Listen, IP (short for internet provider but it should mean incessant pesterer) Here’s my authorization:
STOP TRYING TO SEND THE MESSAGE! It’s really not THAT urgent…
I think to myself “Why do they keep reminding me with their automatically-generated-delivery-status-notification?” Because they enjoy torturing me, that’s why…and for this, I pay them money.
Here’s the bait: I see a new message in my inbox. Oh, no, it’s not a real e-mail, just another reminder/spank-across-the-ego from “Oh-so-better-than-thou IP” that the e-mail address I used was incorrect, or the recipient purposely changed his/her address solely to avoid all communications from me. This notification is a flagrant reminder that I screwed up. Oh yeah, it was me, because as far as “IP” Mailer Delivery System is a computer, and they NEVER make mistakes -- so much better than real humans....
What “IP” really wants to bleep is “Yeah, we’ll keep trying to send… but the only way that message is going anywhere other than the recycle bin is for you print it out, put it in a bottle and launch it into the Atlantic Ocean.
For now, we’ll continue attempting to send, while e-mailing you we can’t because, BLEEP -- that’s what we do - BLEEP!
---------------------------------------------------------------
Mail Delivery System [mailer-daemon@comcast.net]
This is an automatically generated Delivery Status Notification.
Delivery to the following recipients is still underway after 49.9 hour(s):
*persons-wrong-address-you-thought-you-knew@yourinternetprovider.net
Will keep trying and contact you if the message can't be delivered permanently.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks, but no thanks, I get it. The e-mail I sent isn’t going through. It's been almost 50 hours and you're still trying.... Seriously, is it necessary to be notified a dozen times daily that I’m wrong and they know it? Listen, IP (short for internet provider but it should mean incessant pesterer) Here’s my authorization:
STOP TRYING TO SEND THE MESSAGE! It’s really not THAT urgent…
I think to myself “Why do they keep reminding me with their automatically-generated-delivery-status-notification?” Because they enjoy torturing me, that’s why…and for this, I pay them money.
Here’s the bait: I see a new message in my inbox. Oh, no, it’s not a real e-mail, just another reminder/spank-across-the-ego from “Oh-so-better-than-thou IP” that the e-mail address I used was incorrect, or the recipient purposely changed his/her address solely to avoid all communications from me. This notification is a flagrant reminder that I screwed up. Oh yeah, it was me, because as far as “IP” Mailer Delivery System is a computer, and they NEVER make mistakes -- so much better than real humans....
What “IP” really wants to bleep is “Yeah, we’ll keep trying to send… but the only way that message is going anywhere other than the recycle bin is for you print it out, put it in a bottle and launch it into the Atlantic Ocean.
For now, we’ll continue attempting to send, while e-mailing you we can’t because, BLEEP -- that’s what we do - BLEEP!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Techno-savy no More!
When I turned 50 last year, my family gifted me with a laptop computer because my hubby was ALWAYS doing research on the desktop in the study. Ever so slowly during the past year, he has adopted the use of my laptop 24/7 making it extremely difficult to obtain access, exiling me to the desktop in the study or texting from my cellphone. Yeah, I'm a pretty techo-savy, happening 50-year-old computer/cellphone whiz mom I'd say. That is until I was "de-throned" yesterday by disrespectful, bratty children. You see, not having access to MY computer once again, I attempted to text a message to the children on Monday evening. My cellphone has a touchscreen, not buttons with letters, making life difficult. Not to mention that if one spaces two times, the phone chooses to put a period after the last letter assuming you are ending a sentence. It also CAPITALIZES things randomly. It's definitely some glitch in the phone, because I'm postive that it is not caused by operator-error :)
Here’s the text they received (I have to admit it is pretty bad…..
"Hi all. Sat is dads actual bday but we r celebrating with his havertown pals and staying over. At Gerr’s. My plan was a family dinner. On SUN here and Elisa and Jon could cook. I'll buy u guys cook. Laura could u do the cake? Tori it would be good of Kay could come and u guys help out. Dad is researching ear buds so I'll buy them (app $70) and u guys can split it if u want or choose ur own gift. Let me know if this works for u. Love mom"
After receiving the text, they discussed amongst themselves how many glasses of wine had been consumed before sending the treasured text to them. The topic was the highlight of their day and I'm sure they shared many laughs on my behalf....aren't they just darling?
Here's my reply:
Dearest Children who are making fun of my text from last night:
Please be advised that I had to send it on my quite “touchy” cell phone (which puts a period after every two spaces and CAPITALIZES everything) because **SHOCKER** dad was on my computer all night, yet again, this time searching for the ear buds from heaven suitable for his tender and discriminating ears . I will make sure that, in the future, I make a special effort to send an email from the desktop in the study rather than send a quick note, lest I be drawn and quartered verbally amongst yourselves via cellphone and over the internet.
Remember the gift you all gave me last year for my 50th birthday? Well, I might draft a birthday card to dad re-gifting it to him this year, as it might as well be his sole possession.
As a sidebar, I would like to mention that I don’t recall any of you have a phone with a touch screen rather than buttons to send texts and until you do, please keep your smart-a** opinions and comments to yourselves.
P.S. Remember the woman to whom you run when your computer(s) are acting up. That can change, you know! Fondly,
Mother
Here’s the text they received (I have to admit it is pretty bad…..
"Hi all. Sat is dads actual bday but we r celebrating with his havertown pals and staying over. At Gerr’s. My plan was a family dinner. On SUN here and Elisa and Jon could cook. I'll buy u guys cook. Laura could u do the cake? Tori it would be good of Kay could come and u guys help out. Dad is researching ear buds so I'll buy them (app $70) and u guys can split it if u want or choose ur own gift. Let me know if this works for u. Love mom"
After receiving the text, they discussed amongst themselves how many glasses of wine had been consumed before sending the treasured text to them. The topic was the highlight of their day and I'm sure they shared many laughs on my behalf....aren't they just darling?
Here's my reply:
Dearest Children who are making fun of my text from last night:
Please be advised that I had to send it on my quite “touchy” cell phone (which puts a period after every two spaces and CAPITALIZES everything) because **SHOCKER** dad was on my computer all night, yet again, this time searching for the ear buds from heaven suitable for his tender and discriminating ears . I will make sure that, in the future, I make a special effort to send an email from the desktop in the study rather than send a quick note, lest I be drawn and quartered verbally amongst yourselves via cellphone and over the internet.
Remember the gift you all gave me last year for my 50th birthday? Well, I might draft a birthday card to dad re-gifting it to him this year, as it might as well be his sole possession.
As a sidebar, I would like to mention that I don’t recall any of you have a phone with a touch screen rather than buttons to send texts and until you do, please keep your smart-a** opinions and comments to yourselves.
P.S. Remember the woman to whom you run when your computer(s) are acting up. That can change, you know! Fondly,
Mother
Monday, March 22, 2010
I am a Catholic. In case of an accident ....
A "Cradle Catholic" is someone who has been born and raised Catholic rather than having converted into the religion later in life. Having been baptized as an infant and attended Catholic elementary and high schools, I am the former rather than latter.
I love my faith and try live a dedicated, spiritual life according to the church and its docrine. When my children were younger, it was very important for me to teach them their faith. I even volunteered to teach Catechism (religion) classes in my parish.
My high school identification card was recently discovered by my youngest daughter, a senior in a non-Catholic high school. She was fascinated by the ID card on a multitude of levels, which intrigued and actually "creeped me out" that she was carrying it around in her wallet. What the fascination was, I'll probably never know, but I suspect that unlike my current driver's license with the prison-shot photo, my high school picture didn't have the capacity to scare white-off-rice, which in her probable opinion was miraculous. Additionally, on the back of the ID card, there was a statement that read: "I am a Catholic, in case of an accident, please call a priest."
Whle hanging out in the kitchen washing dishes while she watched, I could not ignore hyenia-like laughter from my daughter as she repeated over and over again "...in case of accident, please call a priest."
"What's IS so funny?" I questioned her as she almost fell out of the chair laughing.
"I don't know..." she answered, "I just find it strange that someone is supposed to call a priest if you get hurt. I mean, what are people 'supposed to do -- look up the phone number of a priest and tell them that you had to go to the emergency room to get stiches or something?"
It was at this very moment that any joy, pride or happiness at having passed along a shred of Catholic knowledge to my daughters was washed down the kitchen drain with the water from the dishes.
"No, dufus (another loving motherly expression I frequently choose) it's in case of a life-threatening emergency so that you can recieve the Sacrament of the Sick; not if you scrape your knee to please call the priest and leave a message on his answering machine that you got hurt and then hang up. Just keeping him "posted."
Ahhh, just another humbling moment in motherhood, the kind when you imagine someone saying, "Outta line, lady, you must be dreaming or something, you lose! Imagine a piece of loose-leaf with a big red grade "F". Ouch!
As I write this, I realize it doesn't matter how she learned this Catholic lesson. She learned it even though it was in some round-about dufus, hyenia laughing way. I found the ID card on the kitchen counter the other day, picked it up and popped it into the big bucket marked "photo archive."
Perhaps someday, even 50 years from now, she'll see it again and remember our conversation and smile.
I love my faith and try live a dedicated, spiritual life according to the church and its docrine. When my children were younger, it was very important for me to teach them their faith. I even volunteered to teach Catechism (religion) classes in my parish.
My high school identification card was recently discovered by my youngest daughter, a senior in a non-Catholic high school. She was fascinated by the ID card on a multitude of levels, which intrigued and actually "creeped me out" that she was carrying it around in her wallet. What the fascination was, I'll probably never know, but I suspect that unlike my current driver's license with the prison-shot photo, my high school picture didn't have the capacity to scare white-off-rice, which in her probable opinion was miraculous. Additionally, on the back of the ID card, there was a statement that read: "I am a Catholic, in case of an accident, please call a priest."
Whle hanging out in the kitchen washing dishes while she watched, I could not ignore hyenia-like laughter from my daughter as she repeated over and over again "...in case of accident, please call a priest."
"What's IS so funny?" I questioned her as she almost fell out of the chair laughing.
"I don't know..." she answered, "I just find it strange that someone is supposed to call a priest if you get hurt. I mean, what are people 'supposed to do -- look up the phone number of a priest and tell them that you had to go to the emergency room to get stiches or something?"
It was at this very moment that any joy, pride or happiness at having passed along a shred of Catholic knowledge to my daughters was washed down the kitchen drain with the water from the dishes.
"No, dufus (another loving motherly expression I frequently choose) it's in case of a life-threatening emergency so that you can recieve the Sacrament of the Sick; not if you scrape your knee to please call the priest and leave a message on his answering machine that you got hurt and then hang up. Just keeping him "posted."
Ahhh, just another humbling moment in motherhood, the kind when you imagine someone saying, "Outta line, lady, you must be dreaming or something, you lose! Imagine a piece of loose-leaf with a big red grade "F". Ouch!
As I write this, I realize it doesn't matter how she learned this Catholic lesson. She learned it even though it was in some round-about dufus, hyenia laughing way. I found the ID card on the kitchen counter the other day, picked it up and popped it into the big bucket marked "photo archive."
Perhaps someday, even 50 years from now, she'll see it again and remember our conversation and smile.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Fluffy Noodles for My Patient
Men are miserable when they are not feeling well. This includes the entire array of sicknesses from severe head colds to splinters and ingrown toe nails. What does a caregiver do when this happens? I like to refer to it as the "poor baby" treatment.
Recently my significant other had a nasty head cold and was achy all over. I called him to question what I could purvey for him from the supermarket to assist in his recovery. "Soup with egg noodles was his stuffy reply."
My first inclination was to make the soup myself, but it was already 8 PM when I arrived at the supermarket and as I approached the aisle, I'll admit, I sold out and went directly to the cans. of soup. Asurprisingly limited supply of canned chicken sat upon the shelf. The kind we usually like chicken-wise, such as Italian Wedding, Chicken rice, etc. were there, but I didn't see anything clearly labeled "contains egg noodles." I found one with wide yellow noodles (not the skinny Campbell's kind) and thought, "sold." My purchased consisted of 6-8 cans of soup for my love.
Next morning, while preparing for work, my sweetheart stepped into the bedroom and asked, "Did you get me the soup yesterday?"
"Yes, there's like 50 cans of soup downstairs." I replied exaggerating.
"Not with egg noodles -- they all have pasta." I stared at him for a moment and continued applying eye makeup while explaining, "Look, I spent almost 20 minutes in the soup aisle looking for what you wanted. I thought the can with the picture of the wide-yellow-ruffley noodles were egg noodles. What's the difference between the two? Seriously?"
"Well, the egg noodles are lighter and not so heavy. They're easier to eat when you're sick." I stared at him thinking oh so silently, "This from a man who will consume four meals before lunctime today, which most likely will include pizza and maybe a can of chili." In reality I smiled, looked up and responded sympathetically, "Poor baby, I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time :)"
Upon listening to my explanation of the story to a friend that morning, she asked "Did you smack him?"
"Oh no," I smiled, "I just apologized and said next time I'll read the label closer."
Who could be angry at someone with a severe head cold who just wanted light-fluffy- egg-noodles? Plus, this kind of material is priceless! The entire dialogue amused me --I love it when life and family members provide me with humorous moments like these. Believe me, there's so much more to come :)
PS -- Just went to the cabinet, (see picture) I think I was right all along. No surprise :)
LMN
Recently my significant other had a nasty head cold and was achy all over. I called him to question what I could purvey for him from the supermarket to assist in his recovery. "Soup with egg noodles was his stuffy reply."
My first inclination was to make the soup myself, but it was already 8 PM when I arrived at the supermarket and as I approached the aisle, I'll admit, I sold out and went directly to the cans. of soup. Asurprisingly limited supply of canned chicken sat upon the shelf. The kind we usually like chicken-wise, such as Italian Wedding, Chicken rice, etc. were there, but I didn't see anything clearly labeled "contains egg noodles." I found one with wide yellow noodles (not the skinny Campbell's kind) and thought, "sold." My purchased consisted of 6-8 cans of soup for my love.
Next morning, while preparing for work, my sweetheart stepped into the bedroom and asked, "Did you get me the soup yesterday?"
"Yes, there's like 50 cans of soup downstairs." I replied exaggerating.
"Not with egg noodles -- they all have pasta." I stared at him for a moment and continued applying eye makeup while explaining, "Look, I spent almost 20 minutes in the soup aisle looking for what you wanted. I thought the can with the picture of the wide-yellow-ruffley noodles were egg noodles. What's the difference between the two? Seriously?"
"Well, the egg noodles are lighter and not so heavy. They're easier to eat when you're sick." I stared at him thinking oh so silently, "This from a man who will consume four meals before lunctime today, which most likely will include pizza and maybe a can of chili." In reality I smiled, looked up and responded sympathetically, "Poor baby, I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time :)"
Upon listening to my explanation of the story to a friend that morning, she asked "Did you smack him?"
"Oh no," I smiled, "I just apologized and said next time I'll read the label closer."
Who could be angry at someone with a severe head cold who just wanted light-fluffy- egg-noodles? Plus, this kind of material is priceless! The entire dialogue amused me --I love it when life and family members provide me with humorous moments like these. Believe me, there's so much more to come :)
LMN
Today is my 28th Wedding Anniversary! Here's my job description :)
HOUSEHOLD MANAGER
This is not an opportunity for employment -- just my thoughts on a mother's job:
Our household is seeking a selfless individual with experience in the following areas:
• Financial Manager: budget implementation, expense allocation, investment supervision. This includes removal of coins from the washer/dryer and elsewhere.
• Human Relations: possess the ability to counsel and hit “reset” buttons on those who need it, with the ability to handle conflict resolution. A minimum of at least five years experience in psychological counseling is required. Counseling is to be administered on a “no appointment necessary basis”, as breakdowns occur often and are unpredictable.
• Procurement: Responsible for purchasing all necessities in order to keep the household running smoothly while remaining within the parameters of annual budget. A financial bonus for cost-reductions reducing budget forecast sat year’s end will be considered.
• Culinary: Meal preparation including three tasty, healthy meals daily for household members. This would include the production of brown-bag lunches as well as healthy snacks. Meal prep may not be redundant and the suggestion of consumption of left-overs (although healthy for the annual budget) will not be tolerated on an ongoing basis. Breakfast MAY not consist solely of cereal, tuna salad for lunch will be accepted on an occasional basis, especially during lent.
• Janitorial: Household cleaning responsibilities including window washing, bed making, floor sweeping and mopping, snow shoveling, toilet cleaning, vacuuming, dish washing, laundering of clothes and dusting of everything from ceiling fans to baseboards.
*NOTE: NO household member will be available for assistance for any listed janitorial duties. Additionally, trash removal as well as toilet paper replacement will be the SOLE responsibility of the Household Manager.
• Medical: Complete medical knowledge of the human body is a plus. The ability to administer medicine to members as well as band-aids and salve is required.
• Chauffeur: Must possess automobile in order to move household members from point “a” to point ”b”. This task may have to be performed multiple times daily and include waiting for over 30 minutes for household members to arrive at vehicle.
• General: Applicant should possess cheerful ability to implement “wake-up” calls for household members, even the most cranky, and be able to push said members out of the home daily if required. Applicant should NEVER rely that any household member has had the forethought to set a morning alarm clock or figured out what breakfast will be, etc. Strict compliance to this item is necessary. If required, applicant must secure outside employment to supplement overall budget.
• Vacation: No vacation plan is currently available.
• Medical: Medical plan is available. Manager will be expected to perform all of the above-listed duties regardless of illness.
• Fringe Benefits : Endless cups of coffee.
Interested individuals should forward their resume to the address listed below
Household Manager
Department of Marriage and Parenthood
111 Calgon-Take-Me-Away Blvd.
Anywhere, USA
This is not an opportunity for employment -- just my thoughts on a mother's job:
Our household is seeking a selfless individual with experience in the following areas:
• Financial Manager: budget implementation, expense allocation, investment supervision. This includes removal of coins from the washer/dryer and elsewhere.
• Human Relations: possess the ability to counsel and hit “reset” buttons on those who need it, with the ability to handle conflict resolution. A minimum of at least five years experience in psychological counseling is required. Counseling is to be administered on a “no appointment necessary basis”, as breakdowns occur often and are unpredictable.
• Procurement: Responsible for purchasing all necessities in order to keep the household running smoothly while remaining within the parameters of annual budget. A financial bonus for cost-reductions reducing budget forecast sat year’s end will be considered.
• Culinary: Meal preparation including three tasty, healthy meals daily for household members. This would include the production of brown-bag lunches as well as healthy snacks. Meal prep may not be redundant and the suggestion of consumption of left-overs (although healthy for the annual budget) will not be tolerated on an ongoing basis. Breakfast MAY not consist solely of cereal, tuna salad for lunch will be accepted on an occasional basis, especially during lent.
• Janitorial: Household cleaning responsibilities including window washing, bed making, floor sweeping and mopping, snow shoveling, toilet cleaning, vacuuming, dish washing, laundering of clothes and dusting of everything from ceiling fans to baseboards.
*NOTE: NO household member will be available for assistance for any listed janitorial duties. Additionally, trash removal as well as toilet paper replacement will be the SOLE responsibility of the Household Manager.
• Medical: Complete medical knowledge of the human body is a plus. The ability to administer medicine to members as well as band-aids and salve is required.
• Chauffeur: Must possess automobile in order to move household members from point “a” to point ”b”. This task may have to be performed multiple times daily and include waiting for over 30 minutes for household members to arrive at vehicle.
• General: Applicant should possess cheerful ability to implement “wake-up” calls for household members, even the most cranky, and be able to push said members out of the home daily if required. Applicant should NEVER rely that any household member has had the forethought to set a morning alarm clock or figured out what breakfast will be, etc. Strict compliance to this item is necessary. If required, applicant must secure outside employment to supplement overall budget.
• Vacation: No vacation plan is currently available.
• Medical: Medical plan is available. Manager will be expected to perform all of the above-listed duties regardless of illness.
• Fringe Benefits : Endless cups of coffee.
Interested individuals should forward their resume to the address listed below
Household Manager
Department of Marriage and Parenthood
111 Calgon-Take-Me-Away Blvd.
Anywhere, USA
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