How many times have you heard someone say, "So, sue me," in sarcasm? The first time I heard it I was just a kid, and I had no idea what it really even meant. It took me a few times to understand that it was sarcasm, and that people didn't *really* sue each other for silly reasons.
And those were the good old days.
The first really crazy law suit I was ever aware of was the infamous McDonald's coffee-in-the-lap law suit. I think that one really started the snowball rolling with people being awarded money over the most RIDICULOUS things.
There was a time in life when rational people would hear about one of these law suits and think, "No judge in America is going to take that seriously. He/she will be laughed out of court!"
But these days, rational people are forced to think, "Shoot. I hope my neighbor doesn't sue me over my dog pooping in his yard."
We don't talk about law suits around the house. It's not something we even say in jest, really, but Chloe has picked it up. I don't think she even understands what it means, but I had to laugh as she suggested it to me the other day.
We were shopping, and I was browsing the baby section. I was still looking for a "coming home" outfit for bebe, but not having a lot of luck.
"Ugh," I sighed. Everything cute and frilly is 0-3. Why can't they make them in newborn, too? The way things are looking, this won't be a very big baby," I said, more to myself than anyone. Then a little irritated voice chimed in.
"Ya really! Why dontcha just sue dem, mom?"
"Sue them?" I asked her.
"Ya. For not making the kind of baby clothes you need!"
And while it was hard to stifle a laugh at her oh-so-serious reaction to my problem, she made a point. Because somewhere in America there is probably a lawyer and a judge who would take time and money from serious business to hear a case of a pregnant lady who couldn't find a dress for her newborn. And somewhere a mad pregnant mama might be awarded enough money to clothe her child for life.
That's the society we live in, unfortunately. Sadly, my five year old is aware of it =/
Friday, March 16, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Customer? Not always right. Me? Usually right.
I got a text from my best friend this morning asking how my day was going. I told her that it was a good day so far, and I meant it. It's nice out, I feel well, and I'm emotionally balanced (which, let's face it, is a rare thing these days!)
I guess I was tempting the stars by saying so, because a few minutes later the business phone rang.
"Mister's Tire Shop," I greeted the customer. He wanted to talk to my father in law, but he was busy so I asked to take a message. He wanted a price on a lawn mower tire. That's my job.
"I can help you with that, what size are you looking for?" I asked politely. He couldn't read the tire, and had a couple of numbers mixed up, so I had to do some searching, but I finally found some tires in his size. Most of them were tractor-style tires, so I asked him what the tires were for specifically, and if he wanted a ribbed tire or a turf tire.
"Have you ever seen a lawn tractor with a ribbed tire on it?" he asked me, using that tone that (mostly older) men sometimes find suitable when speaking to women or children.
Yes, actually, I said to myself in my head, but refrained and simply kept looking for a turf tire.
"Give me just another second," I said, as I checked the fifth tire supplier. Sometimes mower tires are tough to find.
"Just go ask one of the guys. They ought to know how much it is. Ought to be 8-10 bucks." I giggled inside. We can't even buy a tube for that. "Just tell them the size and they can tell you how much it is," he suggested.
Have you MET my father-in-law? I thought to myself. All he will do is say, "Hell if I know, check Shumaker or something," and send me right back in here.
"Ok, here we go," I started. But I was rudely interrupted.
"There has to be one of the guys there who can tell you. They know how much they are. Just go ask them."
"Sir, they do not know the price of every size tire off the top of their heads. They always have to have me look them up, and each tire price varies by supplier. I just had to find a supplier who had that size in a turf tire. Looks like it will be 48.00," I said. NICELY.
"FORTY EIGHT DOLLARS! Check that again. You've got something wrong," he said. And I had reached my limit. He had already suggested I was stupid for thinking he might want a ribbed tire (though it's not at all uncommon in that size), and he had basically told me to find someone who knew what they were doing (when I knew EXACTLY what I was doing). Now he was telling me I did something wrong. Oooooh. Nerve struck.
"It's forty-eight, sir. I have it right here in front of me," I said, in my authoritative voice, leaving no room for argument. I repeated the size to him and affirmed that it was a turf tire, then told him the brand.
"Well, ok. But I know that's not right," he said, SNOTTILY (is snottily a word? It is now!)
"Actually, it IS right, whether YOU think so or not," I replied, HATEFULLY.
And click.
"Ass hole" I muttered as I hung up the phone.
Twenty minutes later the phone rang again, and I recognized the number.
"Hey uh I called earlier about the tires," he said.
Yeah. And now you've called around and realized that the price was not only right, but most likely a little lower than the other places you called.
"Yeah," I said in a snobby teenager tone. I was done being nice. "It's still 48.00," I added.
"What about a tube for it?" he inquired.
"Sixteen," I said, after a little looking.
"So about half the price of a new tire?" he asked.
"About a third," I corrected. Snottily.
"Hm. Ok. Thanks."
I told my FIL what had happened, just so he would be prepared if the guy called again. He wasn't mad. He just smiled.
And then the next guy who came in and gave him grief over a price heard him say, "HEY! Straighten this guy out like you did the one who called earlier!" to me. Then added, "Go talk to my secretary if you think I'm tough to deal with. She'll straighten you out."
I just smiled and said, "Have a nice day!"
This is likely why I'm not REALLY in the business of customer service. Because when I'm right, I'm right, and I'm not always polite about it :)
I guess I was tempting the stars by saying so, because a few minutes later the business phone rang.
"Mister's Tire Shop," I greeted the customer. He wanted to talk to my father in law, but he was busy so I asked to take a message. He wanted a price on a lawn mower tire. That's my job.
"I can help you with that, what size are you looking for?" I asked politely. He couldn't read the tire, and had a couple of numbers mixed up, so I had to do some searching, but I finally found some tires in his size. Most of them were tractor-style tires, so I asked him what the tires were for specifically, and if he wanted a ribbed tire or a turf tire.
"Have you ever seen a lawn tractor with a ribbed tire on it?" he asked me, using that tone that (mostly older) men sometimes find suitable when speaking to women or children.
Yes, actually, I said to myself in my head, but refrained and simply kept looking for a turf tire.
"Give me just another second," I said, as I checked the fifth tire supplier. Sometimes mower tires are tough to find.
"Just go ask one of the guys. They ought to know how much it is. Ought to be 8-10 bucks." I giggled inside. We can't even buy a tube for that. "Just tell them the size and they can tell you how much it is," he suggested.
Have you MET my father-in-law? I thought to myself. All he will do is say, "Hell if I know, check Shumaker or something," and send me right back in here.
"Ok, here we go," I started. But I was rudely interrupted.
"There has to be one of the guys there who can tell you. They know how much they are. Just go ask them."
"Sir, they do not know the price of every size tire off the top of their heads. They always have to have me look them up, and each tire price varies by supplier. I just had to find a supplier who had that size in a turf tire. Looks like it will be 48.00," I said. NICELY.
"FORTY EIGHT DOLLARS! Check that again. You've got something wrong," he said. And I had reached my limit. He had already suggested I was stupid for thinking he might want a ribbed tire (though it's not at all uncommon in that size), and he had basically told me to find someone who knew what they were doing (when I knew EXACTLY what I was doing). Now he was telling me I did something wrong. Oooooh. Nerve struck.
"It's forty-eight, sir. I have it right here in front of me," I said, in my authoritative voice, leaving no room for argument. I repeated the size to him and affirmed that it was a turf tire, then told him the brand.
"Well, ok. But I know that's not right," he said, SNOTTILY (is snottily a word? It is now!)
"Actually, it IS right, whether YOU think so or not," I replied, HATEFULLY.
And click.
"Ass hole" I muttered as I hung up the phone.
Twenty minutes later the phone rang again, and I recognized the number.
"Hey uh I called earlier about the tires," he said.
Yeah. And now you've called around and realized that the price was not only right, but most likely a little lower than the other places you called.
"Yeah," I said in a snobby teenager tone. I was done being nice. "It's still 48.00," I added.
"What about a tube for it?" he inquired.
"Sixteen," I said, after a little looking.
"So about half the price of a new tire?" he asked.
"About a third," I corrected. Snottily.
"Hm. Ok. Thanks."
I told my FIL what had happened, just so he would be prepared if the guy called again. He wasn't mad. He just smiled.
And then the next guy who came in and gave him grief over a price heard him say, "HEY! Straighten this guy out like you did the one who called earlier!" to me. Then added, "Go talk to my secretary if you think I'm tough to deal with. She'll straighten you out."
I just smiled and said, "Have a nice day!"
This is likely why I'm not REALLY in the business of customer service. Because when I'm right, I'm right, and I'm not always polite about it :)
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Butt-Wrinkle
I left my wedding set at the jewelry store a few days back. It's that time of year when it needs to be polished and dipped and cleaned so it looks brand-new again. I love having it done, but I HATE leaving my rings! Because people are nosy (and weird), often they assume if you aren't wearing your rings it means your marriage is in despair (GASP!). So when they're gone, I have a little gold diamond band I wear in their place, just to hold the finger if you will.
As I was washing Chloe's hair last night, she noticed my ring (for the first time since I changed them) and let out a shocked gasp. "Where are your rings?!" she demanded.
I explained the situation to her, and told her I was wearing this one until I got my other ones back.
"Where'd ya get it?" she quizzed.
"Actually my dad gave it to me a long, long time ago," I told her. I didn't want her thinking it was from anyone else, or telling people her mom got a new wedding ring from someone. It's hard telling what she would translate.
"Oh. I see. And so you just wear it when you don't have your rings?" she asked.
"Yeah. I just like to have a ring on that finger," I told her honestly, without explaining the whole thing in-depth. She giggled.
"Is it so boys won't ask you to marry dem?" she concluded.
"Yes," I told her with a smile.
"You'd say no anyway, wouldn't ya? Because you only love Bryan."
"You're right," I told her, then added, "besides, I don't think we'll have to worry about any boys asking me to marry them." More giggles.
"Why not? Is it because you have a butt-wrinkle?" she said, going into a full-out laugh.
"Um. I was thinking because I'm visibly pregnant, but whatever you say," I finished, not sure how to continue the conversation, and not sure I wanted to. There were questions swirling in my mind, (like, DO I have a butt-wrinkle? And if I do, when did she see it? How big is it? And does it really make me THAT unattractive that NO boys would want to marry me?) but they were all questions to which I was positive I didn't want an honest, five-year-old answer.
Just when I think she can't possibly come up with ANYTHING more hilarious or inventive, (or humiliating?)she proves me wrong.
As I was washing Chloe's hair last night, she noticed my ring (for the first time since I changed them) and let out a shocked gasp. "Where are your rings?!" she demanded.
I explained the situation to her, and told her I was wearing this one until I got my other ones back.
"Where'd ya get it?" she quizzed.
"Actually my dad gave it to me a long, long time ago," I told her. I didn't want her thinking it was from anyone else, or telling people her mom got a new wedding ring from someone. It's hard telling what she would translate.
"Oh. I see. And so you just wear it when you don't have your rings?" she asked.
"Yeah. I just like to have a ring on that finger," I told her honestly, without explaining the whole thing in-depth. She giggled.
"Is it so boys won't ask you to marry dem?" she concluded.
"Yes," I told her with a smile.
"You'd say no anyway, wouldn't ya? Because you only love Bryan."
"You're right," I told her, then added, "besides, I don't think we'll have to worry about any boys asking me to marry them." More giggles.
"Why not? Is it because you have a butt-wrinkle?" she said, going into a full-out laugh.
"Um. I was thinking because I'm visibly pregnant, but whatever you say," I finished, not sure how to continue the conversation, and not sure I wanted to. There were questions swirling in my mind, (like, DO I have a butt-wrinkle? And if I do, when did she see it? How big is it? And does it really make me THAT unattractive that NO boys would want to marry me?) but they were all questions to which I was positive I didn't want an honest, five-year-old answer.
Just when I think she can't possibly come up with ANYTHING more hilarious or inventive, (or humiliating?)she proves me wrong.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Exercising Exorcising Grammar
It was the summer before my senior year when I first remember becoming fully aware of my dialect. I was working at Walmart. It was an old-school Walmart. Closed at 9pm, still had a hyphen in the name, and the cashiers did everything from stock soda to straighten shelves.
At the end of each closing shift we were all told to go "face" the shelves and were not allowed to clock out until the manager had done his walk-through to be sure everything was in order. This was the time when my friend Levi, a stock-boy, and I would meet up in the toy department or cosmetics and chat about our days.
Levi and I had been going to school together for just a couple of years, but we had a lot of classes together and he became one of my great "school friends." You know. We didn't talk on the phone or really hang out in "real life," (this was the pre-texting, pre-Facebook era), but we were buddies at school, and at work.
Levi wore wranglers every day. He lived on a farm. He liked horses. He said things like "ain't" and listened to country music. He was about as country as they come at WHS. At that time I considered myself to be more of a "townie." Sure I indulged in country once in a while, when my windows were up or when I was home alone. I wore clothes from Maurices. I wore Dr. Martens.
Anyway. Back to the straightening. As we were doing so, we were discussing the fair and the country music singers. I told him that if I was going to go see anyone, I'd want to go see Faith Hill.
Levi BUSTED up laughing. He was doubling over.
"What's so funny?" I asked him.
"Say it again!" he said between laughs.
"Say what?"
"Faith Hill!"
"Faith Hill," I said, unamused. Laughter again. When he finally composed himself, he explained what he heard.
"Andrea, it's Hill. Hih-lllllll. Not Heuhl. Hiiiiillllll."
"Heeeeh iiiihl" I said slowly. He laughed. And for the entire following school year he would randomly walk up to me and say "Faith Hill," then start laughing. The cowboy. was mocking. MY. accent.
It began to disturb me. As I paid more attention to myself and watched some old home videos, I realized just how strong my accent was. And it wasn't strong like a cute Southern Belle. It was strong like Debutante meets Beverly Hillbilly with a touch of Darlene Connor. I remember sitting in English class thinking, "I'll never have a second date in college if I keep this up."
And so I made a concentrated effort to begin correcting myself. I looked closely at how words are spelled. I had only learned by LISTENING, not by deciphering. I never knew that "pin" and "pen" had different pronunciations. I just thought they were spelled differently. I guess that's probably when my true grammar flair started.
I did a good job. I worked hard and although I didn't remove my accent, I changed the way I spoke. As the years went by, and I became an English major, I started trying even harder. I was surrounded by proper grammar and speech.
I began teaching, and that meant making even more of an effort to understand words and language and to use them correctly. I had been failed by poor models in my life, so if I could at least speak as well as I wrote, I could model good grammar for my students.
Day in and day out I studied my lessons. Taught the same concept three to five times a day. Graded papers. Corrected misuse. I started to not only speak well, but to speak correctly. I started using phrases like, "for which," and "to whom," and I learned the difference between subjective and objective forms (I vs. me) and when it's right to use them. My speech became as perfect as my writing.
And then I quit.
I quit teaching, that is. I traded in my grade-books and red (actually purple) pens, my early alarm and my khaki pants for boots and jeans and a farm-wife life. I started sleeping in. I started working at home. I rode around with my farmer hubby all day checking cows and hauling hay. I moved to a farming community, full of boot-wearing, country music-listening, tractor-driving farmers. I love to listen to my hubby talk. I think he has the cutest accent, and it kind of comes with the territory down here. But it's not something I would pick up.
Right?
Before I knew it, I started to notice a change.
It was first when Chloe said "ain't," and I corrected her, and began to worry that she'd picked up the bad habit at school. (Yes, I got more irritated with her learning "ain't" at school than the day she called the dog a bitch haha).
Then the other night, hubby asked me what I had.
And I said.
"It ain't nothin', babe. Don't worry 'bout it."
And he laughed. The farm guy in his Levi's and boots laughed at how I was talking.
Just like Levi.
And I realized I have come full-circle. This little dialect demon that I thought I had overcome had reared his ugly head once again. I've realized that what I hear on a day-to-day basis affects me so much more than what I KNOW. And without daily practice and dedication, I quickly fall back to my old habits. Anyone know of an exorcist for speech and grammar demons? :)
At least I can still write well :)
At the end of each closing shift we were all told to go "face" the shelves and were not allowed to clock out until the manager had done his walk-through to be sure everything was in order. This was the time when my friend Levi, a stock-boy, and I would meet up in the toy department or cosmetics and chat about our days.
Levi and I had been going to school together for just a couple of years, but we had a lot of classes together and he became one of my great "school friends." You know. We didn't talk on the phone or really hang out in "real life," (this was the pre-texting, pre-Facebook era), but we were buddies at school, and at work.
Levi wore wranglers every day. He lived on a farm. He liked horses. He said things like "ain't" and listened to country music. He was about as country as they come at WHS. At that time I considered myself to be more of a "townie." Sure I indulged in country once in a while, when my windows were up or when I was home alone. I wore clothes from Maurices. I wore Dr. Martens.
Anyway. Back to the straightening. As we were doing so, we were discussing the fair and the country music singers. I told him that if I was going to go see anyone, I'd want to go see Faith Hill.
Levi BUSTED up laughing. He was doubling over.
"What's so funny?" I asked him.
"Say it again!" he said between laughs.
"Say what?"
"Faith Hill!"
"Faith Hill," I said, unamused. Laughter again. When he finally composed himself, he explained what he heard.
"Andrea, it's Hill. Hih-lllllll. Not Heuhl. Hiiiiillllll."
"Heeeeh iiiihl" I said slowly. He laughed. And for the entire following school year he would randomly walk up to me and say "Faith Hill," then start laughing. The cowboy. was mocking. MY. accent.
It began to disturb me. As I paid more attention to myself and watched some old home videos, I realized just how strong my accent was. And it wasn't strong like a cute Southern Belle. It was strong like Debutante meets Beverly Hillbilly with a touch of Darlene Connor. I remember sitting in English class thinking, "I'll never have a second date in college if I keep this up."
And so I made a concentrated effort to begin correcting myself. I looked closely at how words are spelled. I had only learned by LISTENING, not by deciphering. I never knew that "pin" and "pen" had different pronunciations. I just thought they were spelled differently. I guess that's probably when my true grammar flair started.
I did a good job. I worked hard and although I didn't remove my accent, I changed the way I spoke. As the years went by, and I became an English major, I started trying even harder. I was surrounded by proper grammar and speech.
I began teaching, and that meant making even more of an effort to understand words and language and to use them correctly. I had been failed by poor models in my life, so if I could at least speak as well as I wrote, I could model good grammar for my students.
Day in and day out I studied my lessons. Taught the same concept three to five times a day. Graded papers. Corrected misuse. I started to not only speak well, but to speak correctly. I started using phrases like, "for which," and "to whom," and I learned the difference between subjective and objective forms (I vs. me) and when it's right to use them. My speech became as perfect as my writing.
And then I quit.
I quit teaching, that is. I traded in my grade-books and red (actually purple) pens, my early alarm and my khaki pants for boots and jeans and a farm-wife life. I started sleeping in. I started working at home. I rode around with my farmer hubby all day checking cows and hauling hay. I moved to a farming community, full of boot-wearing, country music-listening, tractor-driving farmers. I love to listen to my hubby talk. I think he has the cutest accent, and it kind of comes with the territory down here. But it's not something I would pick up.
Right?
Before I knew it, I started to notice a change.
It was first when Chloe said "ain't," and I corrected her, and began to worry that she'd picked up the bad habit at school. (Yes, I got more irritated with her learning "ain't" at school than the day she called the dog a bitch haha).
Then the other night, hubby asked me what I had.
And I said.
"It ain't nothin', babe. Don't worry 'bout it."
And he laughed. The farm guy in his Levi's and boots laughed at how I was talking.
Just like Levi.
And I realized I have come full-circle. This little dialect demon that I thought I had overcome had reared his ugly head once again. I've realized that what I hear on a day-to-day basis affects me so much more than what I KNOW. And without daily practice and dedication, I quickly fall back to my old habits. Anyone know of an exorcist for speech and grammar demons? :)
At least I can still write well :)
Saturday, February 25, 2012
The Tickle Monster IS Scary.
Let me just preface this with a little tid-bit about me. I HATE BEING TICKLED. Hate it. It enrages me. I don't laugh. Ever. I kick, hit, yell, grit my teeth, whatever, to make it stop. In addition, I have a very personal bubble of space and with the exception of some close friends and family, I don't like for it to be invaded.
My mini-me is the same way, which is why I can relate to her so much in the following circumstance....
A few days back Chloe got off the bus at the tire shop. A tire shop is no easy place for a little girl (or a big one, ha!) It's full of men, and one thing men love to do is give little girls a hard time. She is used to being teased lovingly from time-to-time, and there are certain guys she sees every day who give her a high-five or ask her about school.
But the other day there was a guy in here who chased her a little bit, teasing that he was going to tickle her. We were about to leave, anyway, and she managed to dodge him. But I could tell she was uncomfortable. When we left, she told me that she didn't like that guy "boddering" her. I told her I didn't blame her, and that she NEVER has to let ANYONE "bodder" her if it makes her uncomfortable.
The mama bear was coming out in me. It's not that I think this guy is a bad guy or has bad intentions AT ALL, but the best of intentions doesn't excuse the behavior. If a child feels uncomfortable, you give her space. I don't understand why people think because a person is small it makes it ok to grab them, hug them, or pick them up.
The next day he was at it again, and this time she ran from him, screaming, and hid. And I just stood there, torn. I was NOT going to coax her and tell her it was fine, or tell her not to run away. I think that reaction is good, and she needs that in case she is ever in a situation when I am not there. The guys all looked at me, kinda like I needed to control her, but I just walked away. He assured her that he would NEVER hurt her, not to be scared, but that he LOVES to tickle little kids. He has nieces and nephews he tickles ALL the time. While that would make some feel more at ease, I think it made him even scarier to Chlo.
That night we talked about what was appropriate. Anything that makes her uncomfortable: inappropriate. Any time a grown man (who isn't a close family member) wants to touch or tickle or grab at her, even if she ISN'T uncomfortable: inappropriate.
The next day came, and I figured by this time he would have got the hint. But when she got off the bus, there he was, threatening to catch her and tickle her. This time she ran, screaming, across the parking lot out to my father-in-law's car, where she tried to get in the back seat to no avail.
I called her over, and shielded her as I took her into the office, where she hid under my desk until he left.
And I finally realized this is a problem.
But what do I do?
This isn't the big city. I can't say something like, "No offense, but my daughter feels uncomfortable when you theraten to tickle her, and I'd appreciate it if you could respect her personal space enough to not do that." He's a customer. A good acquaintance of the Mister's family. Nothing I say is going to sound anything short of calling him a child-molester to this small-minded community.
But I also feel compelled to speak up and protect my daughter, even though she's doing a great job on her own. And if it doesn't stop soon, I'll end up snapping, and what comes out may be far worse and more damaging than the PC statement above.
But if I keep failing to SHOW her I will end it, maybe she won't trust me to handle things in the future (God forbid there ever BE a situation). What if she thinks, "Well I handled the Tickle Monster with no help from Mom, so maybe I should just try to handle Mr. Molester myself." It's sickening to even think about, but as the mother of a little girl, it's something I ALWAYS have in the back of my mind.
Being a mom is tough.
My mini-me is the same way, which is why I can relate to her so much in the following circumstance....
A few days back Chloe got off the bus at the tire shop. A tire shop is no easy place for a little girl (or a big one, ha!) It's full of men, and one thing men love to do is give little girls a hard time. She is used to being teased lovingly from time-to-time, and there are certain guys she sees every day who give her a high-five or ask her about school.
But the other day there was a guy in here who chased her a little bit, teasing that he was going to tickle her. We were about to leave, anyway, and she managed to dodge him. But I could tell she was uncomfortable. When we left, she told me that she didn't like that guy "boddering" her. I told her I didn't blame her, and that she NEVER has to let ANYONE "bodder" her if it makes her uncomfortable.
The mama bear was coming out in me. It's not that I think this guy is a bad guy or has bad intentions AT ALL, but the best of intentions doesn't excuse the behavior. If a child feels uncomfortable, you give her space. I don't understand why people think because a person is small it makes it ok to grab them, hug them, or pick them up.
The next day he was at it again, and this time she ran from him, screaming, and hid. And I just stood there, torn. I was NOT going to coax her and tell her it was fine, or tell her not to run away. I think that reaction is good, and she needs that in case she is ever in a situation when I am not there. The guys all looked at me, kinda like I needed to control her, but I just walked away. He assured her that he would NEVER hurt her, not to be scared, but that he LOVES to tickle little kids. He has nieces and nephews he tickles ALL the time. While that would make some feel more at ease, I think it made him even scarier to Chlo.
That night we talked about what was appropriate. Anything that makes her uncomfortable: inappropriate. Any time a grown man (who isn't a close family member) wants to touch or tickle or grab at her, even if she ISN'T uncomfortable: inappropriate.
The next day came, and I figured by this time he would have got the hint. But when she got off the bus, there he was, threatening to catch her and tickle her. This time she ran, screaming, across the parking lot out to my father-in-law's car, where she tried to get in the back seat to no avail.
I called her over, and shielded her as I took her into the office, where she hid under my desk until he left.
And I finally realized this is a problem.
But what do I do?
This isn't the big city. I can't say something like, "No offense, but my daughter feels uncomfortable when you theraten to tickle her, and I'd appreciate it if you could respect her personal space enough to not do that." He's a customer. A good acquaintance of the Mister's family. Nothing I say is going to sound anything short of calling him a child-molester to this small-minded community.
But I also feel compelled to speak up and protect my daughter, even though she's doing a great job on her own. And if it doesn't stop soon, I'll end up snapping, and what comes out may be far worse and more damaging than the PC statement above.
But if I keep failing to SHOW her I will end it, maybe she won't trust me to handle things in the future (God forbid there ever BE a situation). What if she thinks, "Well I handled the Tickle Monster with no help from Mom, so maybe I should just try to handle Mr. Molester myself." It's sickening to even think about, but as the mother of a little girl, it's something I ALWAYS have in the back of my mind.
Being a mom is tough.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Marks of Love
"Mom, why can't I have macaroni and cheese every day?" Chloe asked me the other evening.
"Well, it's not very good for you," I explained. "It's just a lot of fat and fillers. It's ok now and then, but you don't want to eat it a lot," I told her. She pondered what I had said.
"You don't want me to be chubby like Suzie, do ya?" she concluded.
Stop. I had to stop and contemplate what I would say to her. This was a prime time to discuss body image, and I didn't want to give her the wrong idea. How did I tell her that no, I don't WANT her to be "chubby," as she put it, but that if she IS chubby, she should love herself anyway and not be obsessed with skinny. I have a hard time embracing my own body, how can I teach HER to do it?
"I want you to be healthy, but I don't care what you look like as long as you are healthy," I told her.
"Ahhh!" she said, as if having had a EUREKA moment. "I see. So you let me have mac and cheese SOMETIMES even 'doh it has fat, because I need to grow my curves."
"Huh?"
"Girls shouldn't be straight like a boy. Day need ta grow dere curves so dey will be pretty like a lady," she told me. I smiled.
She was right. I find myself struggling so often with weight and body image, and from the mouth of a five year-old comes a nugget of wisdom. Here I was trying to teach HER a lesson, and she was teaching me one.
But the kicker came just a few nights ago.
Every night after we have both taken a bath, we sit together and put on our lotion. She struggles with eczema, so I have to keep her hydrated, and it's no secret she loves getting her back and belly rubbed every night. She, in turn, likes to put my belly balm on my belly, being sure to get IN my belly button so that the baby can have some, too ;)
As she was putting it on the other night, she asked me why I just put it on my belly.
"To keep it from getting too dry," I replied. "When my skin is dry, it gets really tight, and with the baby growing and pulling my skin, it will stretch easier if it's not so dry," I went on to explain.
"Did you use it wif me?" she asked? I told her I did. She put some more on her little finger and rubbed it just below my belly button.
"Here. Let me put some on your stretch marks. I was a big girl, wasn't I? To make dose."
I was quiet. There are one or two things I'm super-sensitive about, and those scars of motherhood are definitely one of them. "I don't want to talk about those," I told her quietly.
"Why? Dere so beautiful," she said with a smile.
I know she picked up on my tone and my mood. I know she knew it bothered me and was just trying to make me feel better.
"I don't think so," I said.
"Day are. Day make your skin look like it's got pretty lace on it. Like your weddin' dress. See my belly? My skin is just (scrunchy face) all plain and boring. You have a lacey belly. I hope when I have a baby I get a lacey belly," She said with a smile.
And while I KNOW they're not pretty and they DON'T look like lace, the fact that she went to such great lenghts to try and CHANGE my perception amazes me. Now every time I see them, instead of ugly scars, I see wedding lace. And I feel love. And now it's more than just the mark of becoming a mother. It's a mark of love.
The biggest thing I learned? Teaching her about body image may not be as important as SHOWING her how to love your body. A lesson that SHE taught ME.
"Well, it's not very good for you," I explained. "It's just a lot of fat and fillers. It's ok now and then, but you don't want to eat it a lot," I told her. She pondered what I had said.
"You don't want me to be chubby like Suzie, do ya?" she concluded.
Stop. I had to stop and contemplate what I would say to her. This was a prime time to discuss body image, and I didn't want to give her the wrong idea. How did I tell her that no, I don't WANT her to be "chubby," as she put it, but that if she IS chubby, she should love herself anyway and not be obsessed with skinny. I have a hard time embracing my own body, how can I teach HER to do it?
"I want you to be healthy, but I don't care what you look like as long as you are healthy," I told her.
"Ahhh!" she said, as if having had a EUREKA moment. "I see. So you let me have mac and cheese SOMETIMES even 'doh it has fat, because I need to grow my curves."
"Huh?"
"Girls shouldn't be straight like a boy. Day need ta grow dere curves so dey will be pretty like a lady," she told me. I smiled.
She was right. I find myself struggling so often with weight and body image, and from the mouth of a five year-old comes a nugget of wisdom. Here I was trying to teach HER a lesson, and she was teaching me one.
But the kicker came just a few nights ago.
Every night after we have both taken a bath, we sit together and put on our lotion. She struggles with eczema, so I have to keep her hydrated, and it's no secret she loves getting her back and belly rubbed every night. She, in turn, likes to put my belly balm on my belly, being sure to get IN my belly button so that the baby can have some, too ;)
As she was putting it on the other night, she asked me why I just put it on my belly.
"To keep it from getting too dry," I replied. "When my skin is dry, it gets really tight, and with the baby growing and pulling my skin, it will stretch easier if it's not so dry," I went on to explain.
"Did you use it wif me?" she asked? I told her I did. She put some more on her little finger and rubbed it just below my belly button.
"Here. Let me put some on your stretch marks. I was a big girl, wasn't I? To make dose."
I was quiet. There are one or two things I'm super-sensitive about, and those scars of motherhood are definitely one of them. "I don't want to talk about those," I told her quietly.
"Why? Dere so beautiful," she said with a smile.
I know she picked up on my tone and my mood. I know she knew it bothered me and was just trying to make me feel better.
"I don't think so," I said.
"Day are. Day make your skin look like it's got pretty lace on it. Like your weddin' dress. See my belly? My skin is just (scrunchy face) all plain and boring. You have a lacey belly. I hope when I have a baby I get a lacey belly," She said with a smile.
And while I KNOW they're not pretty and they DON'T look like lace, the fact that she went to such great lenghts to try and CHANGE my perception amazes me. Now every time I see them, instead of ugly scars, I see wedding lace. And I feel love. And now it's more than just the mark of becoming a mother. It's a mark of love.
The biggest thing I learned? Teaching her about body image may not be as important as SHOWING her how to love your body. A lesson that SHE taught ME.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Why you might think twice before saying "never..."
It all started in July 2009 I suppose.
My divorce had just become finalized, and I had just started seeing the Mister regularly. (Way to give myself time to emotionally heal, eh? Well. I worked through most of my failed marriage trauma long before the papers were signed. This was just a technicality.)
My mom had just finished cancer treatments a few months prior, and I had booked us a beach vacation over her birthday in August. Just the girls. Me, Mama, and Chloe. To say I was excited would be an understatement. I had an amazing new guy in my life. I'd had a great summer so far, about to end with a memorable family trip. I had a new job about to begin. I had re-arranged the entire house to be rid of all things XWad and had made it homey and nice for a mama and baby girl making it on their own. And I had a garage full of stuff that needed to be dealt with.
Did I mention I had lost about 30 pounds over the preceeding two years? I was wearing skinny BKE jeans and cute Maurices shirts. I was enjoying my new life, and really had no desire for marriage or children (namely PREGNANCY) in my future. Don't get me wrong. I knew my Mister was meant for me. I just didn't foresee us EVER getting married at that time (fast forward to happily married pregnant me and you can see why one should never say never hehe).
So when I started going through the baby stuff, I saw dollar signs rather than practicality for the future. I priced it all. I kept a few of Chloe's special clothes and shoes, but mostly I was looking for vacation cash. And I got it. Bye bye baby furniture. Pack and play that was nearly new? Gone. Most of her clothes and sleepers gone. Baby shoes and toddler shoes? Buh bye.
People keep saying, "Oh at least since its a girl (or "your second") you won't need as much. You can use all Chloe's old stuff." I just smile and nod, and think back to that warm sand and salty air.
Maybe it wasn't the best decision for the future, but it sure was a good decision at the time. And I wouldn't trade this
for all the baby stuff in the world :)
My divorce had just become finalized, and I had just started seeing the Mister regularly. (Way to give myself time to emotionally heal, eh? Well. I worked through most of my failed marriage trauma long before the papers were signed. This was just a technicality.)
My mom had just finished cancer treatments a few months prior, and I had booked us a beach vacation over her birthday in August. Just the girls. Me, Mama, and Chloe. To say I was excited would be an understatement. I had an amazing new guy in my life. I'd had a great summer so far, about to end with a memorable family trip. I had a new job about to begin. I had re-arranged the entire house to be rid of all things XWad and had made it homey and nice for a mama and baby girl making it on their own. And I had a garage full of stuff that needed to be dealt with.
Did I mention I had lost about 30 pounds over the preceeding two years? I was wearing skinny BKE jeans and cute Maurices shirts. I was enjoying my new life, and really had no desire for marriage or children (namely PREGNANCY) in my future. Don't get me wrong. I knew my Mister was meant for me. I just didn't foresee us EVER getting married at that time (fast forward to happily married pregnant me and you can see why one should never say never hehe).
So when I started going through the baby stuff, I saw dollar signs rather than practicality for the future. I priced it all. I kept a few of Chloe's special clothes and shoes, but mostly I was looking for vacation cash. And I got it. Bye bye baby furniture. Pack and play that was nearly new? Gone. Most of her clothes and sleepers gone. Baby shoes and toddler shoes? Buh bye.
People keep saying, "Oh at least since its a girl (or "your second") you won't need as much. You can use all Chloe's old stuff." I just smile and nod, and think back to that warm sand and salty air.
Maybe it wasn't the best decision for the future, but it sure was a good decision at the time. And I wouldn't trade this
for all the baby stuff in the world :)
Friday, February 3, 2012
Let's talk about....5 Questions
It's Friday and thank goodness it is! I worked a (almost) full week this week and I haven't done that since before Christmas! Look at me go! But I'm just SO glad to be feeling well again.
I haven't done a 5QF in a while, so I thought I'd do one today. It distracts me from the BS I'm being forced to listen to right now with two old farts in here blowing hot air ;)
1. What have you done recently that you are proud of?
I think Chloe's room is my proudest accomplishment right now. We moved her to the basement, at HER request (we've had some tsk tsk moments suggesting we stuffed her in a dungeon). I painted it hot pink by myself (with some little helping hands), found a funky purple carpet and bought it, and arranged her room. It's very pre-teen meets toddler and she absolutely LOVES having her own space down there. She's never had much in the way of decor or set-up, so I feel proud that she finally has a room designed just for her.
2. What is your favorite way to work out? Or if you don't workout, what are you wanting to try?
I love to walk outside with my MP3 player. If only the weather would always be sunny, breezy, and 75.
Otherwise I don't mind doing my Wii Fit or Just Dance...or a combination of both. I like to do steps while I watch tv and I love the boxing :)
I wish I had an indoor bike. I always loved that the most when I went to the gym.
3. If you knew you best friend was cheating on spouse would you tell?
Nope.
Whether she is right or wrong, my loyalty is to my best friend. It's not my place to judge her decisions, and even if I don't approve of what she's doing, I wouldn't betray her. I might talk to her about how I felt about it. I might encourage her to "shit or get off the pot" or to tell him herself, but I would never take that into my own hands.
And I'd be there through it all, because that's what best friends do.
4. If you could afford a live-in maid or nanny, would you have one?
I wouldn't want a stranger living in my home for any reason.
But if I could afford a full-time maid I would definitely take one! With a maid I wouldn't need a nanny, and I wouldn't ever want a nanny. I like mommy-ing too much, and I'm too possessive of my babies to allow someone else to mother them.
But a maid? Bring her on!
5. Do you stress out about birthdays (specifically the age) or do you enjoy them?
It varies from year to year. Twenty six was a melt-down year. Thirty didn't bother me. Thirty one about sent me over the edge again. I'm nice and unpredictable like that :)
And, a bonus question from Scott, that I wasn't brave enough to put in as a regular question...answer at your own risk, or not at all! (Or something...)
Bonus: Lights off or on?
Lights off...but I like a little glow. Candles. Night light. Full-moon. Alarm clock...whatever ;)
I haven't done a 5QF in a while, so I thought I'd do one today. It distracts me from the BS I'm being forced to listen to right now with two old farts in here blowing hot air ;)
1. What have you done recently that you are proud of?
I think Chloe's room is my proudest accomplishment right now. We moved her to the basement, at HER request (we've had some tsk tsk moments suggesting we stuffed her in a dungeon). I painted it hot pink by myself (with some little helping hands), found a funky purple carpet and bought it, and arranged her room. It's very pre-teen meets toddler and she absolutely LOVES having her own space down there. She's never had much in the way of decor or set-up, so I feel proud that she finally has a room designed just for her.
2. What is your favorite way to work out? Or if you don't workout, what are you wanting to try?
I love to walk outside with my MP3 player. If only the weather would always be sunny, breezy, and 75.
Otherwise I don't mind doing my Wii Fit or Just Dance...or a combination of both. I like to do steps while I watch tv and I love the boxing :)
I wish I had an indoor bike. I always loved that the most when I went to the gym.
3. If you knew you best friend was cheating on spouse would you tell?
Nope.
Whether she is right or wrong, my loyalty is to my best friend. It's not my place to judge her decisions, and even if I don't approve of what she's doing, I wouldn't betray her. I might talk to her about how I felt about it. I might encourage her to "shit or get off the pot" or to tell him herself, but I would never take that into my own hands.
And I'd be there through it all, because that's what best friends do.
4. If you could afford a live-in maid or nanny, would you have one?
I wouldn't want a stranger living in my home for any reason.
But if I could afford a full-time maid I would definitely take one! With a maid I wouldn't need a nanny, and I wouldn't ever want a nanny. I like mommy-ing too much, and I'm too possessive of my babies to allow someone else to mother them.
But a maid? Bring her on!
5. Do you stress out about birthdays (specifically the age) or do you enjoy them?
It varies from year to year. Twenty six was a melt-down year. Thirty didn't bother me. Thirty one about sent me over the edge again. I'm nice and unpredictable like that :)
And, a bonus question from Scott, that I wasn't brave enough to put in as a regular question...answer at your own risk, or not at all! (Or something...)
Bonus: Lights off or on?
Lights off...but I like a little glow. Candles. Night light. Full-moon. Alarm clock...whatever ;)
Thursday, February 2, 2012
THIS makes me ANGRY.
I saw this on Facebook a few days ago and it REALLY rubbed me the wrong way.
I decided I better investigate the story thoroughly before I splattered my opinion all over the Internet.
I read the information. Listened to the news. Weighed the issues. And I'm not even going to get INTO the actual issue of SGK pulling funding from PP. That's not what I'm angry about. That whole situation is a complicated, political situation. One I can honestly see both sides on, and one I'm not going to debate.
But no matter WHAT one's opinion might be on SGK's decision, "PINK STINKS" is NO way to voice an opinion.
You know as well as I do that people aren't always educated on political and social issues. This generalized attack doesn't make it very clear what your problem is. It looks to many like you're bashing breast-cancer awareness in whole.
Pink doesn't represent SGK and the business decisions they make. PINK represents breast cancer awareness. Survivors. Mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, cousins, and nieces who fought horrible battles and survived. Or maybe they didn't. Pink represents all PEOPLE who have cared for a cancer patient, lost a family member, lost a friend, or watched one suffer.
Even if you don't approve of SGK's allocation of funds, they still do AMAZING work for cancer research and awareness. They still support MANY women who need support. If you want to help low-income women who need breast exams, donate your money DIRECTLY to PP, that's your business.
What I find SO ironic about this is that it's mostly liberals who are up in arms, slinging insults.
If the conservatives were offended about the fact that SGK donated funds to PP, (and some of them would be), and they were chanting "PINK STINKS!" and pulling their support from SGK, don't you think they'd be criticized? People would be droning on about the bitchy conservatives. The closed-minded bigots who are pro-life.
It's a free country, and I think everyone is entitled to his or her opinion. One can donate her money and support wherever she chooses. BUT. Going so far as pasting up pictures saying "Pink Stinks," in my opinion, is too far. Educate people on what's going on. Help however you feel is right. Change the way you donate your time and money to cancer research.
But ANYTHING that might in ANY way offend a cancer survivor, sufferer, or supporter, is the wrong way to go about it. Plain and simple. There has to be a line, and for me, PINK STINKS crosses that line.
I read the information. Listened to the news. Weighed the issues. And I'm not even going to get INTO the actual issue of SGK pulling funding from PP. That's not what I'm angry about. That whole situation is a complicated, political situation. One I can honestly see both sides on, and one I'm not going to debate.
But no matter WHAT one's opinion might be on SGK's decision, "PINK STINKS" is NO way to voice an opinion.
You know as well as I do that people aren't always educated on political and social issues. This generalized attack doesn't make it very clear what your problem is. It looks to many like you're bashing breast-cancer awareness in whole.
Pink doesn't represent SGK and the business decisions they make. PINK represents breast cancer awareness. Survivors. Mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, cousins, and nieces who fought horrible battles and survived. Or maybe they didn't. Pink represents all PEOPLE who have cared for a cancer patient, lost a family member, lost a friend, or watched one suffer.
Even if you don't approve of SGK's allocation of funds, they still do AMAZING work for cancer research and awareness. They still support MANY women who need support. If you want to help low-income women who need breast exams, donate your money DIRECTLY to PP, that's your business.
What I find SO ironic about this is that it's mostly liberals who are up in arms, slinging insults.
If the conservatives were offended about the fact that SGK donated funds to PP, (and some of them would be), and they were chanting "PINK STINKS!" and pulling their support from SGK, don't you think they'd be criticized? People would be droning on about the bitchy conservatives. The closed-minded bigots who are pro-life.
It's a free country, and I think everyone is entitled to his or her opinion. One can donate her money and support wherever she chooses. BUT. Going so far as pasting up pictures saying "Pink Stinks," in my opinion, is too far. Educate people on what's going on. Help however you feel is right. Change the way you donate your time and money to cancer research.
But ANYTHING that might in ANY way offend a cancer survivor, sufferer, or supporter, is the wrong way to go about it. Plain and simple. There has to be a line, and for me, PINK STINKS crosses that line.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Birthday Blahs
"Hey, Mom, whatcha wanna do fun for your birffday?" Chloe asked me just a day or two ago. It's less than a week until the "big" day, and I have to say I'm not feeling it this year. At all.
"I'm one of those unlucky January birthday people, Chlo. There's nothing fun to do on a January birthday. Can't go to the beach or have a pool party. Can't go to the park. Half the time it snows." I said, kind of sadly.
I was worried about turning 30 last year, but ended up taking it like a champ. Turns out it's being OVER 30 that bugs me. And I mean bugs me. I'm just really dreading this birthday.
Like I told Chloe, it's January. I just got the tree down. No more glow of the twinkly lights or smell of sugar cookies. The post-Christmas let-down makes it even tougher to get excited. We're expecting a baby, and have so much to buy and do before May. So shopping or anything of the sort will only cause guilt over money spent that needs to be saved.
And baby on the way means I won't even get to enjoy my two Long Island Iced Teas during my birthday dinner at Applebee's.
Sigh.
So what's left for a pregnant 31-year old to do on her January birthday? Sit on the couch and eat cake, I suppose. Two pieces. ;) I don't mean to be melodramatic, I just think this might be yet another birthday meltdown year =/ Cheers.
"I'm one of those unlucky January birthday people, Chlo. There's nothing fun to do on a January birthday. Can't go to the beach or have a pool party. Can't go to the park. Half the time it snows." I said, kind of sadly.
I was worried about turning 30 last year, but ended up taking it like a champ. Turns out it's being OVER 30 that bugs me. And I mean bugs me. I'm just really dreading this birthday.
Like I told Chloe, it's January. I just got the tree down. No more glow of the twinkly lights or smell of sugar cookies. The post-Christmas let-down makes it even tougher to get excited. We're expecting a baby, and have so much to buy and do before May. So shopping or anything of the sort will only cause guilt over money spent that needs to be saved.
And baby on the way means I won't even get to enjoy my two Long Island Iced Teas during my birthday dinner at Applebee's.
Sigh.
So what's left for a pregnant 31-year old to do on her January birthday? Sit on the couch and eat cake, I suppose. Two pieces. ;) I don't mean to be melodramatic, I just think this might be yet another birthday meltdown year =/ Cheers.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Equally Important
Disclaimer: This post is not intended to offend any service members or their families. It is in no way a generalization of service people.
I was off yesterday, and the Mister asked me if I wanted to tag along with him. Sounded better than doing dishes and laundry, so I quickly dressed and headed out the door with him. I love days when it's just the two of us, and even if we're doing nothing more than feeding cows and tying up odds and ends, I love tagging along.
Toward the later part of the afternoon we ended up at the shop, and they were swamped. I took my place behind the desk and worked for a little while until things became less crazy. While I was sitting there, an older man sat down and started speaking to me in Chinese.
I gave him the "ah ha ha" smile, and raised my eyebrows, unsure of what the point of his yammering was. He was clearly NOT Chinese AT all, so I didn't know if he thought *I* might be Asian (because my stark white skin is so misleading?) or if he was senile and reliving his war days, or what.
Finally he broke the awkward silence and revealed what he'd said (I can't remember now, it was some kind of phrase like "I don't give a damn" or something). He then proceeded to tell me about how he was a retired Marine and had been all over the world, spoken to all kinds of people, taught younger soldiers how to prepare for life over-seas, and about many of his travels. I listened as I always do when customers feel like chatting, and though he was a little hard to understand, I carried on conversation with him the best I could.
Then he asked me how old I am, and I told him. He called me a 'whipper snapper' and told me about how the younger generation these days has no respect, especially for women. I agreed with him, and we talked some more about racism and bigotry. He then went on to tell me what a rat-hole this area is, and that he would NEVER raise a child here.
I didn't say anything. I'm not going to get into a debate with some old vet.
Then he turned to me and said, "I've been all over the world and done so many wonderful things. What are you doing with your life? You just gonna sit on your can and work an office job?"
And I became greatly offended. In my irritation, I replied, "Yep. That's the plan."
He soon left and I was glad to see him go. Then I began wishing I'd said more. I wished I'd told him that my life was important and that just because I'm not fighting a war or traveling the world doesn't mean I'm worthless.
This little farm life is the happiest I've been in my whole entire life! This community may not be much to some people, but to me it's a close-knit place where people know my name. Chloe has a school where she may not have the newest technology, but she has teachers who have time to focus on her, who know her well and care about who she becomes. She has friends whose parents aren't child molesters or alcoholics. People who live close by and help their neighbors out.
I have a job that allows me to work whenever I want to, to back-talk my boss (hehe), and wear jeans and t-shirts every day. A job that allows me to give mothering my full attention, yet still have some spending money.
I have a home that is cozy and warm, and a husband who provides for his family. I am a wife and I take pride in being a good one. I am a mother and love that job more than anything in the world. I have a daughter who believes that without me in her life there is nothing. She may only be a child, but to her I am the world.
I may not have a big beautiful glamorous life. I may never leave the country or get a job that is considered "important," but the things I do every day are important. They help my family run smoothly. When I die, I may not have medals and badges and the title 'hero' etched on my stone, but I know that I have loved hard and made a difference to the people around me.
And that's enough for me.
Besides. I kinda like sittin' on my can ;)
I was off yesterday, and the Mister asked me if I wanted to tag along with him. Sounded better than doing dishes and laundry, so I quickly dressed and headed out the door with him. I love days when it's just the two of us, and even if we're doing nothing more than feeding cows and tying up odds and ends, I love tagging along.
Toward the later part of the afternoon we ended up at the shop, and they were swamped. I took my place behind the desk and worked for a little while until things became less crazy. While I was sitting there, an older man sat down and started speaking to me in Chinese.
I gave him the "ah ha ha" smile, and raised my eyebrows, unsure of what the point of his yammering was. He was clearly NOT Chinese AT all, so I didn't know if he thought *I* might be Asian (because my stark white skin is so misleading?) or if he was senile and reliving his war days, or what.
Finally he broke the awkward silence and revealed what he'd said (I can't remember now, it was some kind of phrase like "I don't give a damn" or something). He then proceeded to tell me about how he was a retired Marine and had been all over the world, spoken to all kinds of people, taught younger soldiers how to prepare for life over-seas, and about many of his travels. I listened as I always do when customers feel like chatting, and though he was a little hard to understand, I carried on conversation with him the best I could.
Then he asked me how old I am, and I told him. He called me a 'whipper snapper' and told me about how the younger generation these days has no respect, especially for women. I agreed with him, and we talked some more about racism and bigotry. He then went on to tell me what a rat-hole this area is, and that he would NEVER raise a child here.
I didn't say anything. I'm not going to get into a debate with some old vet.
Then he turned to me and said, "I've been all over the world and done so many wonderful things. What are you doing with your life? You just gonna sit on your can and work an office job?"
And I became greatly offended. In my irritation, I replied, "Yep. That's the plan."
He soon left and I was glad to see him go. Then I began wishing I'd said more. I wished I'd told him that my life was important and that just because I'm not fighting a war or traveling the world doesn't mean I'm worthless.
This little farm life is the happiest I've been in my whole entire life! This community may not be much to some people, but to me it's a close-knit place where people know my name. Chloe has a school where she may not have the newest technology, but she has teachers who have time to focus on her, who know her well and care about who she becomes. She has friends whose parents aren't child molesters or alcoholics. People who live close by and help their neighbors out.
I have a job that allows me to work whenever I want to, to back-talk my boss (hehe), and wear jeans and t-shirts every day. A job that allows me to give mothering my full attention, yet still have some spending money.
I have a home that is cozy and warm, and a husband who provides for his family. I am a wife and I take pride in being a good one. I am a mother and love that job more than anything in the world. I have a daughter who believes that without me in her life there is nothing. She may only be a child, but to her I am the world.
I may not have a big beautiful glamorous life. I may never leave the country or get a job that is considered "important," but the things I do every day are important. They help my family run smoothly. When I die, I may not have medals and badges and the title 'hero' etched on my stone, but I know that I have loved hard and made a difference to the people around me.
And that's enough for me.
Besides. I kinda like sittin' on my can ;)
Monday, December 12, 2011
Accepting what it became...
I was living my life, minding my business, when I logged into Blogger and came across this post. You don't *have* to go read it, but it's all nifty and comes up in a separate window, so you might as well.
Usually I read someone's blog and think, "ooh she's so right," or "oh that's awful," or "I can't imagine..." but reading this blog ignited something. Maybe because it hit me so close to home.
Friendship is a beautiful, wonderful, fulfilling thing. It's also a tragic thing. It's much like a boy/girl relationship, but almost MORE complicated sometimes. With boys we date, we court, we mend a few breaks in our hearts, then find that special someone who seems to fit and make us happy, and usually we commit to one guy. One at a time at least.
Friendships are different. It's ok to have lots of friends. Different relationship levels. But sometimes you find that friend who just seems to click. Like she might be "the one." The one you spend the most of your time with. The one who gets you. The one who is like you in so many ways (or at least seems to be). The one who feels like a sister to your soul.
The one who breaks your heart.
With "regular" friends you can drift quietly away and move on with life, never realizing you have diluted them out or vice versa. You can still smile and say, "It's so good to see you! How are you?" in the grocery store, and though it may be a little awkward, it's usually not a bad thing.
But THAT girl? The one you broke up with? Or the one who dumped you? She's the one you had a blow-out with. The one that took you through a range of emotions from love to enraged to sad to indifferent to crazed to numb. The one you see in the grocery store and duck behind the pyramid of tomato paste to avoid making eye contact.
Over time, though, you heal. Even though you remember what she did and what she said, you've come to a point in your life where you're over it. It's moot. You've come to a new place in life and all the junk that was SO! IMPORTANT! when you fell out, suddenly has no place in your life whatsoever.
Suddenly a song comes on the radio. Or you go to that place you always had lunch together. Or maybe there's a crispness in the air that reminds you of that season of life when she was your world. The smell of a certain food, or a show on tv. Anything that makes you remember the perfectness of what was, and helps you forget the tragedy of what it became.
And you pick up the phone. You write an email. You creep her Facebook. For just a moment you long for the comfort and ease of what was, and think just MAYBE it could be again. What it became doesn't have to matter anymore, does it?
The sad truth is that it can't be what it was. It won't. No matter how much you forgive and forget, just as soon as you start reliving the past, it comes back to remind you what happened. The only options seem to be making amends, and keeping a safe distance, becoming generalized acquaintances, or going back and doing it again, only to find that the good brings the bad back with it. Almost always.
The best thing to do? Love the good memories. Relish that smell or that song for just a minute, then move on. Don't let yourself forget for too long why you came to be without her. Call it a life lesson and deal with it. Accept what it became, and know it became that way for a reason.
Didn't it?
Usually I read someone's blog and think, "ooh she's so right," or "oh that's awful," or "I can't imagine..." but reading this blog ignited something. Maybe because it hit me so close to home.
Friendship is a beautiful, wonderful, fulfilling thing. It's also a tragic thing. It's much like a boy/girl relationship, but almost MORE complicated sometimes. With boys we date, we court, we mend a few breaks in our hearts, then find that special someone who seems to fit and make us happy, and usually we commit to one guy. One at a time at least.
Friendships are different. It's ok to have lots of friends. Different relationship levels. But sometimes you find that friend who just seems to click. Like she might be "the one." The one you spend the most of your time with. The one who gets you. The one who is like you in so many ways (or at least seems to be). The one who feels like a sister to your soul.
The one who breaks your heart.
With "regular" friends you can drift quietly away and move on with life, never realizing you have diluted them out or vice versa. You can still smile and say, "It's so good to see you! How are you?" in the grocery store, and though it may be a little awkward, it's usually not a bad thing.
But THAT girl? The one you broke up with? Or the one who dumped you? She's the one you had a blow-out with. The one that took you through a range of emotions from love to enraged to sad to indifferent to crazed to numb. The one you see in the grocery store and duck behind the pyramid of tomato paste to avoid making eye contact.
Over time, though, you heal. Even though you remember what she did and what she said, you've come to a point in your life where you're over it. It's moot. You've come to a new place in life and all the junk that was SO! IMPORTANT! when you fell out, suddenly has no place in your life whatsoever.
Suddenly a song comes on the radio. Or you go to that place you always had lunch together. Or maybe there's a crispness in the air that reminds you of that season of life when she was your world. The smell of a certain food, or a show on tv. Anything that makes you remember the perfectness of what was, and helps you forget the tragedy of what it became.
And you pick up the phone. You write an email. You creep her Facebook. For just a moment you long for the comfort and ease of what was, and think just MAYBE it could be again. What it became doesn't have to matter anymore, does it?
The sad truth is that it can't be what it was. It won't. No matter how much you forgive and forget, just as soon as you start reliving the past, it comes back to remind you what happened. The only options seem to be making amends, and keeping a safe distance, becoming generalized acquaintances, or going back and doing it again, only to find that the good brings the bad back with it. Almost always.
The best thing to do? Love the good memories. Relish that smell or that song for just a minute, then move on. Don't let yourself forget for too long why you came to be without her. Call it a life lesson and deal with it. Accept what it became, and know it became that way for a reason.
Didn't it?
Friday, November 11, 2011
I love my bulldog, my granny, and Dairy Queen
Ohhhh I'm so happy it's Friday. Not AS happy as I was a few days ago, when Chloe had a dentist appointment today that was RUDELY moved to Monday. I could be on my way to Springfield right now, holiday tunes blaring, thinking about what delicious lunch Chloe and I would be having.....
Guess I have a reason to look forward to Monday now.
Anyway, it's Friday and it doesn't feel like Friday without five questions. So here we go.
1. What's the last thing you spent too much money on?
Rocky. Our full-blooded, champion blood-line English Bulldog.
We felt so guilty after we got him that we tried to pass him off as a pound puppy...hehe. But no one was buying. And while we DID get a great deal on him AND can make mucho moolah off his er, ah..."goods," we still spent too much for a farting, stinking dog.
But at the time, we didn't think a baby was anywhere in the near future. Oh little did we know that two weeks later one would start a cookin' in there!
But look at this face. Can you REALLY put a price on it???
2. What celeb chef would you want to make you dinner?
I'm going to go with Rachel Ray. She doesn't make anything that is too "out there," she cleans as she goes, and she makes dinner in 30 minutes or less :) That's my kinda cooking. She knows how to give old favorites a new twist without going too crazy.
I also wouldn't mind having Michael Simon...but mostly just because I like to hear him talk :)
3. Where do you hide things when visitors pop over or do you let them see the real deal?
Right now everything goes in the spare bedroom. It's got everything from our gun cabinet to our wedding stuff to our photos.
But that's not going to be a "spare" bedroom for long. In about six months it will have a squishy baby inhabiting it.
At which point, I'd say I'll start packing stuff to the basement.
4. Who is your oldest living family member?
That'd be my Mimi
She is my dad's mom, my only living grandparent, and pretty much the best grandma anyone could ever even dream of! Oh my goodness I could write post after post after post about her! She lived down the street from me when I was growing up, and we did everything together! She sewed all kinds of things (even Barbie dresses) for me. She took me all kinds of shopping. She baked and cooked like a REAL grandma. She rocked me even when I was too big and too old to be rocked. She is an amazing woman and I am so glad to have had her in my life all these years!
She turned 83 in July :)
5. What is your favorite DQ treat and/or Sonic drink combo (ie: cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper)?
Oh man. I sit in the DQ drive-through debating what to get EVERY. TIME. Hubby always says, "You know what they have, why do you have to read the menu?" To which I reply, "I know, but I can't decide."
My top favorite things? The chocolate-covered strawberry waffle bowl sundae, and the chocolate brownie blizzard. But there are a million other things I LOVE.
As for Sonic flavored drinks? I like chocolate Coke and cherry Coke. But not choclate cherry Coke :)
Guess I have a reason to look forward to Monday now.
Anyway, it's Friday and it doesn't feel like Friday without five questions. So here we go.
1. What's the last thing you spent too much money on?
Rocky. Our full-blooded, champion blood-line English Bulldog.
We felt so guilty after we got him that we tried to pass him off as a pound puppy...hehe. But no one was buying. And while we DID get a great deal on him AND can make mucho moolah off his er, ah..."goods," we still spent too much for a farting, stinking dog.
But at the time, we didn't think a baby was anywhere in the near future. Oh little did we know that two weeks later one would start a cookin' in there!
But look at this face. Can you REALLY put a price on it???
I'm going to go with Rachel Ray. She doesn't make anything that is too "out there," she cleans as she goes, and she makes dinner in 30 minutes or less :) That's my kinda cooking. She knows how to give old favorites a new twist without going too crazy.
I also wouldn't mind having Michael Simon...but mostly just because I like to hear him talk :)
3. Where do you hide things when visitors pop over or do you let them see the real deal?
Right now everything goes in the spare bedroom. It's got everything from our gun cabinet to our wedding stuff to our photos.
But that's not going to be a "spare" bedroom for long. In about six months it will have a squishy baby inhabiting it.
At which point, I'd say I'll start packing stuff to the basement.
4. Who is your oldest living family member?
That'd be my Mimi
She turned 83 in July :)
5. What is your favorite DQ treat and/or Sonic drink combo (ie: cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper)?
Oh man. I sit in the DQ drive-through debating what to get EVERY. TIME. Hubby always says, "You know what they have, why do you have to read the menu?" To which I reply, "I know, but I can't decide."
My top favorite things? The chocolate-covered strawberry waffle bowl sundae, and the chocolate brownie blizzard. But there are a million other things I LOVE.
As for Sonic flavored drinks? I like chocolate Coke and cherry Coke. But not choclate cherry Coke :)
Thursday, November 10, 2011
It's the Holiday Season...
Chloe's Halloween costume still lays on the floor at home. There are still sparkles in her hair from the night before. The candy has barely been touched, and our Jack-o-lantern is still fresh, other than a black mark on the inside of his lid from his candle. It's a cool, crisp fall afternoon and we need to run to Walmart.
While other moms are devouring the 1/2 price candy aisle, and stocking up on costumes for their little cuties, I find my cart veering toward the lawn and garden area. I pretend I'm just getting my toothpaste and shampoo, but the cart and I are of one mind. We both know where we're headed.
As I push it closer, I can see the glow of twinkle lights, the green Christmas trees (and pink, and white), and I can hear the familiar sound of Christmas tunes disappearing into the high ceiling. Is it me, or is it a few degrees cooler back here?
My eyes light up like a little kid who is seeing Santa for the first time. My heart feels warm, and I can't help but smile. The smell of cinnamon permeates the air. I begin slowly trekking down each aisle, admiring the ornaments, all organized by color, thinking about the tree skirt I'd like to have, and looking at new wrapping paper.
I begin thinking about the hustle and bustle of December, and how in just a month it will be time to drag up the totes and boxes and start making the house festive. It's officially the holiday season for me. The "holiday season" being, in my mind, the time from November 1st to January 1st, which encompasses Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the New Year. A time of festivities, food, family, and friends.
For the first few weeks I keep out my pumpkin spice candles and my fall leaves and pumpkins. But, let's face it, those have been out since before Halloween, so it's not like they're new to the living room. But as soon as Halloween is over, I love beginning the process of getting "in the spirit." It's a time to anticipate the holidays, a time to start planning my gift-giving (aka SHOPPING TRIPS!), and a time to think about how to make my house all cozy for the next couple of months.
I don't buy anything. I don't go home and drag out my Christmas lights. Although, on a cold November day you might find me with my Christmas playlist at full volume. I merely begin anticipating my favorite time of the year.
Then I wake up and read a Facebook status like this: "Come on, people. It's November. We haven't had Thanksgiving yet. It's not time for Christmas!" Or "OMG Christmas stuff already? RIDICULOUS!"
To that, I say, let me have my Christmas spirit! Let me be excited and anticipate the coming holidays. It's the best time of the year for me! Don't you pull out your shorts or your fishing pole on the first warm March day? I bet so. Don't you plan your New Year party before Christmas has come and gone? And do you start shopping for summer clothes and tank tops before the 1st of June? I mean, it's not REALLY summer until June 21st, right?
Maybe it IS a little early to be decking the halls on November 1st, but for people like me, it's exciting.
Walmart gets it. They're just catering to the holiday junkies like myself.
If you don't want to start early, don't. Stay out of the Christmas area. And if you're bombarded with it beyond your control, just think to yourself, "It's too early for me, but I bet Andrea would enjoy this..."
But don't berate me for enjoying this time of year to the fullest. And I won't call YOU a Grinch. Or Ebenezer. Or Scroogy McScrooge.
Deal?
While other moms are devouring the 1/2 price candy aisle, and stocking up on costumes for their little cuties, I find my cart veering toward the lawn and garden area. I pretend I'm just getting my toothpaste and shampoo, but the cart and I are of one mind. We both know where we're headed.
As I push it closer, I can see the glow of twinkle lights, the green Christmas trees (and pink, and white), and I can hear the familiar sound of Christmas tunes disappearing into the high ceiling. Is it me, or is it a few degrees cooler back here?
My eyes light up like a little kid who is seeing Santa for the first time. My heart feels warm, and I can't help but smile. The smell of cinnamon permeates the air. I begin slowly trekking down each aisle, admiring the ornaments, all organized by color, thinking about the tree skirt I'd like to have, and looking at new wrapping paper.
I begin thinking about the hustle and bustle of December, and how in just a month it will be time to drag up the totes and boxes and start making the house festive. It's officially the holiday season for me. The "holiday season" being, in my mind, the time from November 1st to January 1st, which encompasses Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the New Year. A time of festivities, food, family, and friends.
For the first few weeks I keep out my pumpkin spice candles and my fall leaves and pumpkins. But, let's face it, those have been out since before Halloween, so it's not like they're new to the living room. But as soon as Halloween is over, I love beginning the process of getting "in the spirit." It's a time to anticipate the holidays, a time to start planning my gift-giving (aka SHOPPING TRIPS!), and a time to think about how to make my house all cozy for the next couple of months.
I don't buy anything. I don't go home and drag out my Christmas lights. Although, on a cold November day you might find me with my Christmas playlist at full volume. I merely begin anticipating my favorite time of the year.
Then I wake up and read a Facebook status like this: "Come on, people. It's November. We haven't had Thanksgiving yet. It's not time for Christmas!" Or "OMG Christmas stuff already? RIDICULOUS!"
To that, I say, let me have my Christmas spirit! Let me be excited and anticipate the coming holidays. It's the best time of the year for me! Don't you pull out your shorts or your fishing pole on the first warm March day? I bet so. Don't you plan your New Year party before Christmas has come and gone? And do you start shopping for summer clothes and tank tops before the 1st of June? I mean, it's not REALLY summer until June 21st, right?
Maybe it IS a little early to be decking the halls on November 1st, but for people like me, it's exciting.
Walmart gets it. They're just catering to the holiday junkies like myself.
If you don't want to start early, don't. Stay out of the Christmas area. And if you're bombarded with it beyond your control, just think to yourself, "It's too early for me, but I bet Andrea would enjoy this..."
But don't berate me for enjoying this time of year to the fullest. And I won't call YOU a Grinch. Or Ebenezer. Or Scroogy McScrooge.
Deal?
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Step 1: Admit you have hormones
I forgot how crazy raging pregnancy hormones can make a woman.
Some would argue that I'm borderline as it is, so throw this hormonal rampage in the mix, and you've got something scary on your hands!
Sometimes I *know* I'm being hormonal, and other times I feel I have completely just reasons for my rage/anger/uncontrollable crying/elation. Then a few days later I look back and laugh at how wrong I really was in believing it was anything BUT my hormones.
Let me walk you through myhormonal rampage day:
7:15am I'm puking. And probably crying, or seething, depending on which side of the bed I woke up on.
8:15am Breakfast time. Watch a little tv. The Pampers commercials have me bawling like a baby. So happily anticipating the arrival of my wee one.
9:00am Roll into work. Some olddoucher man has a smart-ass comment to make about me being "late," (like he sets my schedule) or about something I should be doing.
9:01am Olddoucher man gets his head snapped off, as does anyone else who crosses me between now and lunch.
12:00pm LUNCH time. I'm either happily eating, or puking from the smell of the boys' lunch. I feel better either way, and enjoy visiting with my hubby for a while. Happy happy mommy.
3:15pm Chloe gets off the bus. So happy to see her. Hugs and love.
4:00pm Chloe is bored and driving me nuts. A newdoucher man comes in and teases her. Mama bear comes out. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
5:00pm Time to go home, YAY! A quick surge of energy as I gather our things and head home. I quickly do some dishes and start dinner. Happy mama.
6:00pm I'm exhausted. The day has more than caught up with me and all I want to do is lie down. But there are more dishes to do. Chloe is out of jeans, so I have to do laundry. The supper needs cleaned up. Chlo needs a bath. I need a bath. And I just want to sleep.
Instead I cry.
Or seeth. Depending on which side of the bed I woke up on today.
7:00pm Puking resumes. More tears.
8:00pm Chloe is getting out of the tub. I'm mustetring up the strength to get off the couch. Hubby has the nerve to mention something I FORGOT to clean/do. I seeth.
8:30 I'm tucking her in. Reading a book. Her soft little cheeks are so kissable. I'm suddenly sorry that I felt irritated earlier, that I am so tired, and that I didn't want to play Polly Pockets with her. It makes me feel even more guilty that she is so understanding and loving. I hide tears as I tuck her into bed and squeeze her tight. So much love.
9:00 I can finally go to bed. Relief washes over me. I want to visit with my hubby. Snuggle and love. But instead I mumble, "I love you," as my head hits the pillow and my eyes fall shut. And somehow he knows that means I'm sorry for my hormones. I wasn't really mad, and even though I don't feel like doing anything but sleeping, I still love him more than anything.
9:05 He closes his eyes and prays I wake up on the right side of the bed :)
Some would argue that I'm borderline as it is, so throw this hormonal rampage in the mix, and you've got something scary on your hands!
Sometimes I *know* I'm being hormonal, and other times I feel I have completely just reasons for my rage/anger/uncontrollable crying/elation. Then a few days later I look back and laugh at how wrong I really was in believing it was anything BUT my hormones.
Let me walk you through my
7:15am I'm puking. And probably crying, or seething, depending on which side of the bed I woke up on.
8:15am Breakfast time. Watch a little tv. The Pampers commercials have me bawling like a baby. So happily anticipating the arrival of my wee one.
9:00am Roll into work. Some old
9:01am Old
12:00pm LUNCH time. I'm either happily eating, or puking from the smell of the boys' lunch. I feel better either way, and enjoy visiting with my hubby for a while. Happy happy mommy.
3:15pm Chloe gets off the bus. So happy to see her. Hugs and love.
4:00pm Chloe is bored and driving me nuts. A new
5:00pm Time to go home, YAY! A quick surge of energy as I gather our things and head home. I quickly do some dishes and start dinner. Happy mama.
6:00pm I'm exhausted. The day has more than caught up with me and all I want to do is lie down. But there are more dishes to do. Chloe is out of jeans, so I have to do laundry. The supper needs cleaned up. Chlo needs a bath. I need a bath. And I just want to sleep.
Instead I cry.
Or seeth. Depending on which side of the bed I woke up on today.
7:00pm Puking resumes. More tears.
8:00pm Chloe is getting out of the tub. I'm mustetring up the strength to get off the couch. Hubby has the nerve to mention something I FORGOT to clean/do. I seeth.
8:30 I'm tucking her in. Reading a book. Her soft little cheeks are so kissable. I'm suddenly sorry that I felt irritated earlier, that I am so tired, and that I didn't want to play Polly Pockets with her. It makes me feel even more guilty that she is so understanding and loving. I hide tears as I tuck her into bed and squeeze her tight. So much love.
9:00 I can finally go to bed. Relief washes over me. I want to visit with my hubby. Snuggle and love. But instead I mumble, "I love you," as my head hits the pillow and my eyes fall shut. And somehow he knows that means I'm sorry for my hormones. I wasn't really mad, and even though I don't feel like doing anything but sleeping, I still love him more than anything.
9:05 He closes his eyes and prays I wake up on the right side of the bed :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)