If one were to draw the caricature of a mom, I imagine it to look like a cross between Wonder Woman--constantly deflecting problems and challenges with her arm bands of gold. Lassooing people causing the family strife and sequestering them in an off-shore establishment---and Mary Poppins---providing giggles and fun while galloping on carousel horses and singing about the nonsense of the world while rooms magically clean themselves.
The following are the problems I deflected with my arm bands this week, while singing:
1. 10 year old spelling challenges: he now has to write out (grammatically correct) whatever he wants to tell or ask us. BAM!
2. Meals prepped in advance. BAM!
3. Vacuuming in the "igloo," while raising "Coco" our daughter's Arctic Fox alter ego. BAM!
4. Creating a Thing 1 Costume for school play. BAM!
5. Loads of laundry beyond comprehension due to an outbreak of diarreaha in our youngest child. BAM!
6. Invented a solution to curb constant poop laundry. BAM!
Which brings me to this...So, yes, your son is wearing a Maxi-Pad. He believes it is a specially designed strip of "diaper" for "Poop Splats." Unless you want to do laundry, don't crush the dream. BAM!
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Friday, January 10, 2014
That just happened...
Wow. So December is done. Clearly a blur of crafts and Elves (with a capital E) and chocolate covered everything. On to 2014.
We've gone "even"--with 6, 8, and 10 heading into 2014.
This first week back at school has been a jolt back to reality and the next growing year of change.
Our 8 yr old came home the other day and announced that a child at school called her a "rubber penis."
"What?!?!" I said. "What do you mean?"
"He said I was a rubber penis."
Still looking totally perplexed I said, "Did he just walk up to you, slug you on the shoulder and say 'Hey rubber penis?' I, mean...huh?"
"No. He had a made up word for it, but then he told me what it was."
My face still totally scrunched as if looking at a science exam for a class I had never attended.
"He called it a 'gilbo' or 'gilgo'....I dunno...something like that."
"A DILDO!?!?" I inquired in horror and disbelief.
"Yea. A dildo."
"First of all nice vocab...and secondly did the teacher hear him!?"
"Yea. She talked to him for a little bit."
"What's a dildo?" asked our 6 and 10 year old entering the room.
I wanted to say "this kid is," but, my inner child sat down in the back of the 'office' and I replied, "It's a rubber penis."
"Oh....why?" They inquired. What's it for?"
Again, the inner child writhing to break free, longing to say----but I pushed her down and instead said, "It's just silliness. And totally inappropriate for kids your age to talk about. Let's go eat dinner."
After everyone had eaten, fortunately, our dog's butt exploded. Poor little pooch looked terrified and confused and, for the first time in his life, feeble. It was disgusting. It happened four times, and then we sought medical treatment. Seems okay now, but it sort of wrapped up this next year in a pretty little package...Geriatric dogs, and dildos. To 2014! Game on.
We've gone "even"--with 6, 8, and 10 heading into 2014.
This first week back at school has been a jolt back to reality and the next growing year of change.
Our 8 yr old came home the other day and announced that a child at school called her a "rubber penis."
"What?!?!" I said. "What do you mean?"
"He said I was a rubber penis."
Still looking totally perplexed I said, "Did he just walk up to you, slug you on the shoulder and say 'Hey rubber penis?' I, mean...huh?"
"No. He had a made up word for it, but then he told me what it was."
My face still totally scrunched as if looking at a science exam for a class I had never attended.
"He called it a 'gilbo' or 'gilgo'....I dunno...something like that."
"A DILDO!?!?" I inquired in horror and disbelief.
"Yea. A dildo."
"First of all nice vocab...and secondly did the teacher hear him!?"
"Yea. She talked to him for a little bit."
"What's a dildo?" asked our 6 and 10 year old entering the room.
I wanted to say "this kid is," but, my inner child sat down in the back of the 'office' and I replied, "It's a rubber penis."
"Oh....why?" They inquired. What's it for?"
Again, the inner child writhing to break free, longing to say----but I pushed her down and instead said, "It's just silliness. And totally inappropriate for kids your age to talk about. Let's go eat dinner."
After everyone had eaten, fortunately, our dog's butt exploded. Poor little pooch looked terrified and confused and, for the first time in his life, feeble. It was disgusting. It happened four times, and then we sought medical treatment. Seems okay now, but it sort of wrapped up this next year in a pretty little package...Geriatric dogs, and dildos. To 2014! Game on.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Making Dinner--A Play in One Act
Action takes place in a kitchen small kitchen. Mother starts on stage. To the right of the mother we find an oven range with flames on, and to the right of the flames...knives. On the counter there are several items that need to be chopped, heated and/or sauteed. The actor playing the mother will attempt to move quickly from the counter top, around to the refrigerator and back. This should not be made easy for her by the other actors. Occasionally she will be manipulated off stage.
(Set should be designed to include a circular traffic pattern which will allow two small children to race around--as if on a mini track--behind the mother, bumping her closer to the open flames as they pass by.
Set also requires a dishwasher that opens flat creating a low, but wide hurdle for said racing children).
Prop list:
Cups
Knives
Bottle of wine
Food to be prepared
Cutting board
Dog dish with MAX painted on the side
Cast:
Mom (30's-40's)
Occasionally there is reference to "Max" the dog. No dog is needed on stage.
Child 1 (10 yr old boy who is feeling fragile and passively concerned he might be terminal with all the "flu-like" symptoms he has been having)
Child 2 (8 yr old girl who is apt to be ecstatic or deeply depressed at any moment. These moods need to be able to switch on a dime---much like an insane adult)
Child 3 (6 yr old boy who thinks life is amazing and wonderful and full of loud energy. Actor should study Will Ferrell in Elf for direction)
Child actors are encouraged to talk over each other as if no one was talking at all. Frequently.
Lights up
Child 1: Mom, when I look at something for too long, I get really sick to my stomach.
Mom squeezes past child standing by dishwasher to get butter out of fridge.
M: Why don't you go lie down for a little bit, Buddy. You haven't had much to eat lately.
1: But when I lie down, I...
2: Mom! Watch my dance! (daughter runs offstage, cranks up "So What", by PINK and runs back in striking a pose)
1: Hey! I was talking...
2: Mom! Watch! ("So What, I am a Rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you..." she is dancing as if having taken Pole dancing lessons on the sly...)
1: Moooommmm...
M: I think it's best if you go lay down for a bit... (Butter has burned in the pan. Rinse and repeat)
Child one moves off stage...
2: Mom are you watching? (Danna na na na na naaaaaaa Danna na na na naaaaa....)
3: Mom! Guess What!
M: Where did you just come from? (squeezing past both children to get to the fridge) Can you guys stand somewhere else?
3: I was drawing outside in Daddy's office. And look! I have 4 papers!
1: (from offstage) Moooom...
M: What Buddy?
2: Mom! Are you even watching me?
1: I just got a really sharp pain in my chest.
M: Is it still there?
3: And on all the papers, I have drawn dragons! And we are all dragons! And we all have powers! Do you want to know what your power is?
M: I do. (And glancing over at child 2) I am.
1: No, but it felt really weird.
2: Mom! Watch!
3: Well, Max's power is that he has tornado legs! He doesn't get sucked up in them, but bad people do. And we all have wings! Even Max!
2: Mom! Did you see that?
(Butter has burned. Rinse and Repeat.)
M: (addressing all things) I did! That was awesome! Where did you learn that move?! I love the dragons, do you want to go work on them in the living room? Take your brother this ice pack. It might help.
3: But, do you want to know my power?----
M: I need you guys out of the kitchen.
3: My power is all the powers! That's why I have all the colors!
M: That's very clever. I keep burning the pan and dinner is not getting made. Please. Go someplace else for a bit.
3, 2: Okay.
1: Mom, can they not be in the living room? I'm trying to rest.
2: I have an idea...
(2 and 3 begin to chase each other around the kitchen like a wolf chasing a chicken. As dinner progresses, the dishwasher is lowered)
There is bumping, squealing and leaping.
M: GET OUT!!!! (Mom happens to be holding large knife from cutting vegetables)
(2,3 giggle and go upstairs)
For a few minutes, there is silence on stage, Mom pours glass of wine, flips fish...sips and calls upstairs.
M: WHOSE TURN IS IT TO SET THE TABLE?!
Footsteps are heard running down the stairs.
3: Oooh! Mine! I love setting the table!
2: Ugh. Not dinner. What are we having?
1: I don't think I can eat.
Scene
(Set should be designed to include a circular traffic pattern which will allow two small children to race around--as if on a mini track--behind the mother, bumping her closer to the open flames as they pass by.
Set also requires a dishwasher that opens flat creating a low, but wide hurdle for said racing children).
Prop list:
Cups
Knives
Bottle of wine
Food to be prepared
Cutting board
Dog dish with MAX painted on the side
Cast:
Mom (30's-40's)
Occasionally there is reference to "Max" the dog. No dog is needed on stage.
Child 1 (10 yr old boy who is feeling fragile and passively concerned he might be terminal with all the "flu-like" symptoms he has been having)
Child 2 (8 yr old girl who is apt to be ecstatic or deeply depressed at any moment. These moods need to be able to switch on a dime---much like an insane adult)
Child 3 (6 yr old boy who thinks life is amazing and wonderful and full of loud energy. Actor should study Will Ferrell in Elf for direction)
Child actors are encouraged to talk over each other as if no one was talking at all. Frequently.
Lights up
Child 1: Mom, when I look at something for too long, I get really sick to my stomach.
Mom squeezes past child standing by dishwasher to get butter out of fridge.
M: Why don't you go lie down for a little bit, Buddy. You haven't had much to eat lately.
1: But when I lie down, I...
2: Mom! Watch my dance! (daughter runs offstage, cranks up "So What", by PINK and runs back in striking a pose)
1: Hey! I was talking...
2: Mom! Watch! ("So What, I am a Rockstar, I got my rock moves, and I don't need you..." she is dancing as if having taken Pole dancing lessons on the sly...)
1: Moooommmm...
M: I think it's best if you go lay down for a bit... (Butter has burned in the pan. Rinse and repeat)
Child one moves off stage...
2: Mom are you watching? (Danna na na na na naaaaaaa Danna na na na naaaaa....)
3: Mom! Guess What!
M: Where did you just come from? (squeezing past both children to get to the fridge) Can you guys stand somewhere else?
3: I was drawing outside in Daddy's office. And look! I have 4 papers!
1: (from offstage) Moooom...
M: What Buddy?
2: Mom! Are you even watching me?
1: I just got a really sharp pain in my chest.
M: Is it still there?
3: And on all the papers, I have drawn dragons! And we are all dragons! And we all have powers! Do you want to know what your power is?
M: I do. (And glancing over at child 2) I am.
1: No, but it felt really weird.
2: Mom! Watch!
3: Well, Max's power is that he has tornado legs! He doesn't get sucked up in them, but bad people do. And we all have wings! Even Max!
2: Mom! Did you see that?
(Butter has burned. Rinse and Repeat.)
M: (addressing all things) I did! That was awesome! Where did you learn that move?! I love the dragons, do you want to go work on them in the living room? Take your brother this ice pack. It might help.
3: But, do you want to know my power?----
M: I need you guys out of the kitchen.
3: My power is all the powers! That's why I have all the colors!
M: That's very clever. I keep burning the pan and dinner is not getting made. Please. Go someplace else for a bit.
3, 2: Okay.
1: Mom, can they not be in the living room? I'm trying to rest.
2: I have an idea...
(2 and 3 begin to chase each other around the kitchen like a wolf chasing a chicken. As dinner progresses, the dishwasher is lowered)
There is bumping, squealing and leaping.
M: GET OUT!!!! (Mom happens to be holding large knife from cutting vegetables)
(2,3 giggle and go upstairs)
For a few minutes, there is silence on stage, Mom pours glass of wine, flips fish...sips and calls upstairs.
M: WHOSE TURN IS IT TO SET THE TABLE?!
Footsteps are heard running down the stairs.
3: Oooh! Mine! I love setting the table!
2: Ugh. Not dinner. What are we having?
1: I don't think I can eat.
Scene
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Patience, young Jedi...
Humbled once again. Just when I throw my hands up, stomp my feet, and wish for a magic wand to solve all...the answer appears. I just needed to be patient. Time is an amazing thing, and if we can slow ourselves down long enough to move at "time's" pace, it will all be fine.
As documented in the previous "blog" I, was feeling particularly defeated by the sport of wrestling and our sons. Apparently, it takes all of us getting to that special level of frustration, mixed with undocumented hours of practice to generate one of the biggest "highs" in wrestling history (of our family) ever.
As the practice started, just like last weeks and the weeks before, the boys encircled their "head coach" looking clueless and defeated. The "head coach" (aka...you) said, in a loving, gentle and compassionate tone, "Get outta here! Go find someone to wrestle. I can't deal with this every time."
And minutes later, begat unto us, were two wrestlers. They were not only trying, but mauling, in fierce frustration, and succeeding with great glee!
While typing this, it feels very contradictory to their natural demeanor to applaud and celebrate such aggression, BUT this is not a celebration of "attacking" it is a celebration of determination, and perseverance. And the smile on their faces, after succeeding was priceless. Not only did they prove they could do it, but they proved to themselves that they really DO get less hurt if they try...which is incentive enough all on its own.
I have to admit, for the first time. Ever. I am actually looking forward to Saturday's tournament.
I may bring a sedative or something just in case though...
Proud of our boys.
As documented in the previous "blog" I, was feeling particularly defeated by the sport of wrestling and our sons. Apparently, it takes all of us getting to that special level of frustration, mixed with undocumented hours of practice to generate one of the biggest "highs" in wrestling history (of our family) ever.
As the practice started, just like last weeks and the weeks before, the boys encircled their "head coach" looking clueless and defeated. The "head coach" (aka...you) said, in a loving, gentle and compassionate tone, "Get outta here! Go find someone to wrestle. I can't deal with this every time."
And minutes later, begat unto us, were two wrestlers. They were not only trying, but mauling, in fierce frustration, and succeeding with great glee!
While typing this, it feels very contradictory to their natural demeanor to applaud and celebrate such aggression, BUT this is not a celebration of "attacking" it is a celebration of determination, and perseverance. And the smile on their faces, after succeeding was priceless. Not only did they prove they could do it, but they proved to themselves that they really DO get less hurt if they try...which is incentive enough all on its own.
I have to admit, for the first time. Ever. I am actually looking forward to Saturday's tournament.
I may bring a sedative or something just in case though...
Proud of our boys.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
The answer I have not...
Where's Yoda when you need him?
I don't know what to do. I don't. I just keep sitting here wishing for a magical parenting manual to appear in which I would thumb through the table of contents to "sports and children" and then quickly flip to the back of the book for the answer---just like I did in 6th grade math. Damn the later lesson taught of sixth grade math.
My hope is that at the back of said book there would simply be a very factual and precise answer that says "If this...'child hates it', 'weekends full of tears', than that...'quit'."
But it's not that black and white. And there is no book. And I think, like many in the workforce, that I need to go on furlough in order to return with a clear perspective.
Because what I need that book to address would involve way too many footnotes. But for the sake of seeking inner peace, I imagine it would look a little like this (Which by the way, is yes, truly all in my head on a regular basis):
If "THIS"
* Child said he wanted to do the sport.
** Child encouraged father to be head coach.
***Child wants credit for doing such a hard sport.
****Child does not feel like trying at practice nor tournaments.
*****Child swears he is trying.
******Child has been seen standing around with his finger in his mouth staring into space.
*******Child says he DOES like said sport.
********Child is getting hurt every weekend due to lack of effort.
LOTS OF CRYING
*********Parents don't want to support "quitting"...however...
**********Child swears he does not want to quit.
***********Child often says he wishes he didn't have said sport tomorrow.
************Child takes pride with friends that he is in said sport.
*************Father is watching own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
**************Mother is paying to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
MORE CRYING
***************Mother is driving great distance and surrendering each Saturday until MARCH to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
*****************Parents are encouraging the concept of "trying" through a delicate, scientifically precise method called "shaming."
******************Mother is emphasizing the importance of "trying" lest her babies get beat on.
*******************Mother has seen them be successful and wonders where those kids went.
MORE CRYING
********************Children SWEAR they want to do said sport.
*********************Children SWEAR they are trying, as they move up a level on Plants vs Zombies while waiting for next match in the bleachers.
**********************Mother and Father start to doubt every choice they ever made starting 10 years ago as they drive thru Carl's Jr. on the way home every Sat.
Than "THIS"
*Drink whenever you can. And smile and nod. It's their path. Not yours. Viva "detachment parenting!"
I don't know what to do. I don't. I just keep sitting here wishing for a magical parenting manual to appear in which I would thumb through the table of contents to "sports and children" and then quickly flip to the back of the book for the answer---just like I did in 6th grade math. Damn the later lesson taught of sixth grade math.
My hope is that at the back of said book there would simply be a very factual and precise answer that says "If this...'child hates it', 'weekends full of tears', than that...'quit'."
But it's not that black and white. And there is no book. And I think, like many in the workforce, that I need to go on furlough in order to return with a clear perspective.
Because what I need that book to address would involve way too many footnotes. But for the sake of seeking inner peace, I imagine it would look a little like this (Which by the way, is yes, truly all in my head on a regular basis):
If "THIS"
* Child said he wanted to do the sport.
** Child encouraged father to be head coach.
***Child wants credit for doing such a hard sport.
****Child does not feel like trying at practice nor tournaments.
*****Child swears he is trying.
******Child has been seen standing around with his finger in his mouth staring into space.
*******Child says he DOES like said sport.
********Child is getting hurt every weekend due to lack of effort.
LOTS OF CRYING
*********Parents don't want to support "quitting"...however...
**********Child swears he does not want to quit.
***********Child often says he wishes he didn't have said sport tomorrow.
************Child takes pride with friends that he is in said sport.
*************Father is watching own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
**************Mother is paying to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
MORE CRYING
***************Mother is driving great distance and surrendering each Saturday until MARCH to watch Father watch own children of team he is coaching "puss out."
*****************Parents are encouraging the concept of "trying" through a delicate, scientifically precise method called "shaming."
******************Mother is emphasizing the importance of "trying" lest her babies get beat on.
*******************Mother has seen them be successful and wonders where those kids went.
MORE CRYING
********************Children SWEAR they want to do said sport.
*********************Children SWEAR they are trying, as they move up a level on Plants vs Zombies while waiting for next match in the bleachers.
**********************Mother and Father start to doubt every choice they ever made starting 10 years ago as they drive thru Carl's Jr. on the way home every Sat.
Than "THIS"
*Drink whenever you can. And smile and nod. It's their path. Not yours. Viva "detachment parenting!"
**Or not...you should be their guide. Teach them right from wrong.
***But, you can only do so much...you can't do it for them.
****But what if they are doing it "to please" not because they want to?
****That is not up to you, they need to figure that out for themselves.
*****But at what price?
******I give up too. Perhaps pop a valium before a tournament...
Friday, November 15, 2013
Yer a Nus...
Last night, before you got upstairs to tuck the kids into bed, this happened...
"THAT IS SO INAPPROPRIATE!" Came the shrill reprimand of our 8yr old, scolding our six year old for something...anything.
"Bring it down a level. What is going on?" I said as I entered the room with stacks of folded laundry for each kid to put away in the morning (which is code for never).
"He keeps saying 'anus'!" Our 8yr old explained, disgusted while pointing her finger in outrage at the tiny culprit standing on his bed in his Star Wars Lego briefs.
I can only guess that given the level of outrage, and the tiny six year old's fingers firmly grasping the band of said Lego briefs, that he had been providing physical evidence to accompany the word.
Now, I would like to think that it was the late hour at the end of a long day that provoked the following, but it may have just been that I needed a timeout...or that we were out of wine...
In a loud and clear voice I began my finest speech to date as a mother...
"STOP SAYING ANUS! I'm tired of hearing 'I see your ANUS!' "That's his ANUS!' 'She's showing her ANUS!' 'What if you could see his ANUS?' ANUS ANUS ANUS ANUS!"
This worked marvelously as everybody started giggling at the crazy woman yelling "anus" in the doorway.
The six year old said, "But it's a planet." Trying to find a legal loophole.
I explained that the planet is "Uranus." Pronounced "Yeranus."
To which he replied, "Yer A Nus." And giggled.
I think that's when you came up...
"THAT IS SO INAPPROPRIATE!" Came the shrill reprimand of our 8yr old, scolding our six year old for something...anything.
"Bring it down a level. What is going on?" I said as I entered the room with stacks of folded laundry for each kid to put away in the morning (which is code for never).
"He keeps saying 'anus'!" Our 8yr old explained, disgusted while pointing her finger in outrage at the tiny culprit standing on his bed in his Star Wars Lego briefs.
I can only guess that given the level of outrage, and the tiny six year old's fingers firmly grasping the band of said Lego briefs, that he had been providing physical evidence to accompany the word.
Now, I would like to think that it was the late hour at the end of a long day that provoked the following, but it may have just been that I needed a timeout...or that we were out of wine...
In a loud and clear voice I began my finest speech to date as a mother...
"STOP SAYING ANUS! I'm tired of hearing 'I see your ANUS!' "That's his ANUS!' 'She's showing her ANUS!' 'What if you could see his ANUS?' ANUS ANUS ANUS ANUS!"
This worked marvelously as everybody started giggling at the crazy woman yelling "anus" in the doorway.
The six year old said, "But it's a planet." Trying to find a legal loophole.
I explained that the planet is "Uranus." Pronounced "Yeranus."
To which he replied, "Yer A Nus." And giggled.
I think that's when you came up...
Friday, November 8, 2013
Sea Monkeys Do...Sea Monkeys...
Because you are allergic to cats, and we have a dog, and all our daughter wanted for her birthday was a live pet---preferably a cat, I made the executive decision (because in my microcosm of a world I am a CEO and COO and sometimes a CFO) that we should all live out our childhood dreams and get Sea Monkeys! Yes, the bizarre little creatures that used to be on the back of comic books that took 6-8 weeks to arrive! Now with Amazon they are here in a matter of days---look how far we've come.
SO...the Sea Monkeys were a hit. They even made it to school for Show and Tell in their earliest days of "hatchery." However, had we waited a few more weeks, we could have had an entirely different Show and Tell.
Take for instance the other morning...
"Mom! The Sea Monkeys are fighting!"
"Hmmm...I don't think they are fighting..."
"But they are hooked on each other!"
"Yup." And at this time, I want to be more mature, but I...we gotta get breakfast and...well...Sea Monkey Sex Talk just is not on the menu this morning.
"But they are attached?!"
"I think they might be trying to have a baby."
"Oh you and daddy don't do that anymore..."
I started to get defensive...and was about to say, "well not as much as we..."
..."because you don't want any more babies..."
"Yes," I said thankful for the pause for reflection, "that is true."
SO...the Sea Monkeys were a hit. They even made it to school for Show and Tell in their earliest days of "hatchery." However, had we waited a few more weeks, we could have had an entirely different Show and Tell.
Take for instance the other morning...
"Mom! The Sea Monkeys are fighting!"
"Hmmm...I don't think they are fighting..."
"But they are hooked on each other!"
"Yup." And at this time, I want to be more mature, but I...we gotta get breakfast and...well...Sea Monkey Sex Talk just is not on the menu this morning.
"But they are attached?!"
"I think they might be trying to have a baby."
"Oh you and daddy don't do that anymore..."
I started to get defensive...and was about to say, "well not as much as we..."
..."because you don't want any more babies..."
"Yes," I said thankful for the pause for reflection, "that is true."
Friday, November 1, 2013
Documenting for a future defense
I approached our daughter today, not unlike one approaching a grenade with no knowledge as to the status of the pin. She seemed happy. She was laying on our bed playing with the iPad.
"Hey Sweetie."
"Hi Mom," she said without looking up. So I cautiously continued...
"I was thinking we could take a look at your wardrobe and see what you might need. New pants, leggings, tights, skirts?"
"MOOOOM!" she dramatically flipped on to her back, relinquishing the iPad, "Why must you terrorize my life!"
Really? Really?! I looked at her for a brief moment while my brain began "googling" ways to survive the next 10 years.
"So....'No thanks' ?" I responded.
She giggled and went back to the iPad.
It's 3pm. I'm drinking and looking for her birth certificate. I could swear she was born in 2005, but that would only make her 8.
"Hey Sweetie."
"Hi Mom," she said without looking up. So I cautiously continued...
"I was thinking we could take a look at your wardrobe and see what you might need. New pants, leggings, tights, skirts?"
"MOOOOM!" she dramatically flipped on to her back, relinquishing the iPad, "Why must you terrorize my life!"
Really? Really?! I looked at her for a brief moment while my brain began "googling" ways to survive the next 10 years.
"So....'No thanks' ?" I responded.
She giggled and went back to the iPad.
It's 3pm. I'm drinking and looking for her birth certificate. I could swear she was born in 2005, but that would only make her 8.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Celia and Jungle Boy
I don't want to brag, but while you were sitting, alone at your desk, talking with adults, alone, and occasionally surfing online....alone. I had a morning with our 6 year old that you could only dream of. It went like this...
"Mooooom! Do you want to play the monkey game with me?"
"You bet, Buddy." I had no idea what that meant.
"Okay. You are the kid and you want to buy a monkey and I am the monkey and you have to go to the store to buy me. Your room is the store and my room is your house."
"Okay." I started to head upstairs to play but was stopped at the landing.
"But first you have to ask your mom."
"Are you my mom?" I asked him looking up from the 9th step.
"Yes."
"Okay. Mom, I really want a monkey. Can I buy one?"
"No."
Wow. I tried to hide my shock and joy. Short game.
"Bummer," I said heading down the stairs.
"No, Moooooooom," he half laughed at my stupidity. "You have to keep asking for the monkey."
"Oh," I said returning to the 9th step. "Please?"
"A monkey is a lot of responsibility," said my 'mom'.
"But I really want one. I am responsible and will take good care of it. Puhleeease...."
"Well, they also cost a lot of money. And their food costs money."
I was trying to anticipate the length of this game...I was not sure at this point if I was gonna get the monkey or not.
"Oh. Well how can I get money?" I probably should've just said that I was broke and it wasn't gonna work out. I wanted to get off the stairs.
"Well," said my prepubescent male mom, "you can do jobs to earn money for the food."
"Okay." Guess I'm getting a monkey.
"But, the monkey is $1000.00"
Or not.
"Well, how can I ever get a thousand dollars?! I'm only..."
"8. You are 8. And your name is Celia."
"I'm only 8."
"Well, lucky for you there is a race starting and the winner gets $1000."
"How lucky! That is just the money that I need for my monkey."
I then performed a series of drills and sprints up and down the hallway with myself, and SPOILER ALERT, won the money.
PHASE II
"Now that you have your money, you can go into the pet store---which is your room, remember?"
"Yup."
I entered the pet store and the pet store owner, who bore a striking resemblance to my mother, showed me where the monkeys were kept. They were jumping on our bed. (The part of the monkeys--all 3---will be played by the store owner)
As they began jumping up and down the pet owner introduced each one.
"This is Bodjo. He is free, but he is naughty."
As if on cue, Bodjo began acting very naughty.
"This is Singah. She is free, but also very naughty."
Bodjo was loud and threw poop at you, Singa tried to rip your face off.
And then in the corner, a very sweet monkey named Jungle Boy came crawling out, climbed on me, and gave me a hug.
"I'll take this one," I shouted to the pet owner whom had mysteriously disappeared.
"It's a thousand dollars!" Shouted a voice from around the corner.
Wait, where was my monkey?
"I have exactly a thousand dollars!" I shouted back and handed over my winnings.
I took my monkey home and fed him, and played with him, until it was time to take him to the park---the hallway. By now, this 8 year old monkey owner needed coffee...especially if we were going to the park....and as we stepped out of the pretend upstairs world, she noticed the time.
"Jungle Boy," said Celia, "I need to vacuum, dust and do some laundry. Would you like to help me?"
He ee-ee-eeeed "yes," and eagerly followed me downstairs, but sitting on the counter was the iPad. And thus, "poof!" the demise of Jungle Boy.
"Mooooom! Do you want to play the monkey game with me?"
"You bet, Buddy." I had no idea what that meant.
"Okay. You are the kid and you want to buy a monkey and I am the monkey and you have to go to the store to buy me. Your room is the store and my room is your house."
"Okay." I started to head upstairs to play but was stopped at the landing.
"But first you have to ask your mom."
"Are you my mom?" I asked him looking up from the 9th step.
"Yes."
"Okay. Mom, I really want a monkey. Can I buy one?"
"No."
Wow. I tried to hide my shock and joy. Short game.
"Bummer," I said heading down the stairs.
"No, Moooooooom," he half laughed at my stupidity. "You have to keep asking for the monkey."
"Oh," I said returning to the 9th step. "Please?"
"A monkey is a lot of responsibility," said my 'mom'.
"But I really want one. I am responsible and will take good care of it. Puhleeease...."
"Well, they also cost a lot of money. And their food costs money."
I was trying to anticipate the length of this game...I was not sure at this point if I was gonna get the monkey or not.
"Oh. Well how can I get money?" I probably should've just said that I was broke and it wasn't gonna work out. I wanted to get off the stairs.
"Well," said my prepubescent male mom, "you can do jobs to earn money for the food."
"Okay." Guess I'm getting a monkey.
"But, the monkey is $1000.00"
Or not.
"Well, how can I ever get a thousand dollars?! I'm only..."
"8. You are 8. And your name is Celia."
"I'm only 8."
"Well, lucky for you there is a race starting and the winner gets $1000."
"How lucky! That is just the money that I need for my monkey."
I then performed a series of drills and sprints up and down the hallway with myself, and SPOILER ALERT, won the money.
PHASE II
"Now that you have your money, you can go into the pet store---which is your room, remember?"
"Yup."
I entered the pet store and the pet store owner, who bore a striking resemblance to my mother, showed me where the monkeys were kept. They were jumping on our bed. (The part of the monkeys--all 3---will be played by the store owner)
As they began jumping up and down the pet owner introduced each one.
"This is Bodjo. He is free, but he is naughty."
As if on cue, Bodjo began acting very naughty.
"This is Singah. She is free, but also very naughty."
Bodjo was loud and threw poop at you, Singa tried to rip your face off.
And then in the corner, a very sweet monkey named Jungle Boy came crawling out, climbed on me, and gave me a hug.
"I'll take this one," I shouted to the pet owner whom had mysteriously disappeared.
"It's a thousand dollars!" Shouted a voice from around the corner.
Wait, where was my monkey?
"I have exactly a thousand dollars!" I shouted back and handed over my winnings.
I took my monkey home and fed him, and played with him, until it was time to take him to the park---the hallway. By now, this 8 year old monkey owner needed coffee...especially if we were going to the park....and as we stepped out of the pretend upstairs world, she noticed the time.
"Jungle Boy," said Celia, "I need to vacuum, dust and do some laundry. Would you like to help me?"
He ee-ee-eeeed "yes," and eagerly followed me downstairs, but sitting on the counter was the iPad. And thus, "poof!" the demise of Jungle Boy.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Fairy Tale Romance
Once upon a time there was a semi-stylish 26yr old who worked in the city among skyscrapers and subways. She drank lattes, smoked Marlboro Lights and owned a key fob to her office. After socializing/working with adults all day she would often meet up with friends and/or colleagues for several drinks at a trendy downtown bar. Male friends would often buy drinks for her--on their own accord. One day, she couldn't help noticing how cute and fit one of her coworkers was, and wondered whether she could seduce him.
She could. And she did.
She was so amazing, that he decided to stick around and sealed the deal with the conception of 3 children. The children were so magical and cute that the once semi-stylish woman traded in her knee high boots and mini skirts for jeans larger than she had ever worn, old t-shirts/ cozy worn sweaters and comfy socks. She apparently lost her hairbrush in the deal, but replaced that with a coffee pot. Giving up the smokes for everyone's sake, she began collecting full wine bottles--a never ending project.
As the kids multiplied and grew older, her skin began to stretch down towards its home, "Mother Earth" and she found new and creative ways to lift it up or tuck it deep down in her newly formed waistline. Her work day started at different times each day---sometimes 4am, sometimes 2am, but most days 5:30-6:30.
As she gleefully falls down the stairs in a half sleep she blindly smiles as she slaps PB and J on one sandwich and nothing with anything nut-related on the other two sandwiches.
As the eggs start to dry out on the stove she lovingly shouts upstairs (going against everything she has told her children not to do) "COME EAT BEFORE IT GETS COLD!!!!"
Shouting wakes her up and she realizes that she is standing in the kitchen working with knives and an open flame. Averting disaster, she puts all hazzards down and makes a cup of coffee.
She can hear the songs of praise coming from the other room, "Eggs?! I didn't want eggs!" And as the little angels eat, she runs (yes runs because now she only has 3 mins to shower) skipping 2 stairs at a time, to get ready. She turns on the shower and glances at her phone. Determined to make some forward progress she plays Candy Crush, alone in the steamy bathroom, on the toilet.
It is not long before the angels are banging on the door to brush their teeth. Shower is turned off, and she emerges miraculously dry and in the same clothes.
Setting a personal goal to race the children's teeth brushing with the ability to get dressed and be at the door, car keys in hand, she frantically scours the room for something that fits.
As everybody gathers at the finish line, heading out the door to embrace another amazing day, she hears one of the angels say, "I hate school."
And knows, looking around the house at the dishes, dust and laundry awaiting her return, its gonna be a great day.
She could. And she did.
She was so amazing, that he decided to stick around and sealed the deal with the conception of 3 children. The children were so magical and cute that the once semi-stylish woman traded in her knee high boots and mini skirts for jeans larger than she had ever worn, old t-shirts/ cozy worn sweaters and comfy socks. She apparently lost her hairbrush in the deal, but replaced that with a coffee pot. Giving up the smokes for everyone's sake, she began collecting full wine bottles--a never ending project.
As the kids multiplied and grew older, her skin began to stretch down towards its home, "Mother Earth" and she found new and creative ways to lift it up or tuck it deep down in her newly formed waistline. Her work day started at different times each day---sometimes 4am, sometimes 2am, but most days 5:30-6:30.
As she gleefully falls down the stairs in a half sleep she blindly smiles as she slaps PB and J on one sandwich and nothing with anything nut-related on the other two sandwiches.
As the eggs start to dry out on the stove she lovingly shouts upstairs (going against everything she has told her children not to do) "COME EAT BEFORE IT GETS COLD!!!!"
Shouting wakes her up and she realizes that she is standing in the kitchen working with knives and an open flame. Averting disaster, she puts all hazzards down and makes a cup of coffee.
She can hear the songs of praise coming from the other room, "Eggs?! I didn't want eggs!" And as the little angels eat, she runs (yes runs because now she only has 3 mins to shower) skipping 2 stairs at a time, to get ready. She turns on the shower and glances at her phone. Determined to make some forward progress she plays Candy Crush, alone in the steamy bathroom, on the toilet.
It is not long before the angels are banging on the door to brush their teeth. Shower is turned off, and she emerges miraculously dry and in the same clothes.
Setting a personal goal to race the children's teeth brushing with the ability to get dressed and be at the door, car keys in hand, she frantically scours the room for something that fits.
As everybody gathers at the finish line, heading out the door to embrace another amazing day, she hears one of the angels say, "I hate school."
And knows, looking around the house at the dishes, dust and laundry awaiting her return, its gonna be a great day.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Never a dull moment...
I wanted to fill you in on the latest "proud parent" moment...
I went to school to pick up our youngest, and third child on the path to matriculation at the International Peace School. And when I arrived, one of the teachers kindly escorted me into the private quarters of the office and shared the following story.
"So...your son and I were talking privately about owies and boo-boos and showing our different scrapes and scars on our legs. And he said that he was really tough and didn't cry once! And I said, that I did cry when I got this owie on my leg from falling off my bike, and that I even said some inappropriate words...and then he said, 'like f*ck?'
Day done. Pouring wine.
I went to school to pick up our youngest, and third child on the path to matriculation at the International Peace School. And when I arrived, one of the teachers kindly escorted me into the private quarters of the office and shared the following story.
"So...your son and I were talking privately about owies and boo-boos and showing our different scrapes and scars on our legs. And he said that he was really tough and didn't cry once! And I said, that I did cry when I got this owie on my leg from falling off my bike, and that I even said some inappropriate words...and then he said, 'like f*ck?'
Day done. Pouring wine.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
potatoe/potato
Our 6 yr old's friend's family is spending the year in Abu Dhabi. This has come up often when he has asked where is "Jonah?" Today while driving to school, he pointed to a store, and said,"that's where Jonah is." I said, "No sweetie...he's in Abu Dhabi." To which he replied, "Oh, I thought you said, Hobby Lobby."
Then after pausing for a minute, continued, "That makes more sense, because a year would be a really long time to be in Hobby Lobby."
"Yes. Yes it would."
Then after pausing for a minute, continued, "That makes more sense, because a year would be a really long time to be in Hobby Lobby."
"Yes. Yes it would."
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
This is you
While shuttling the troops to gymnastics, I found a "crank it up loud" worthy song on the radio and indulged. When the song ended, our children were crying.
"What happened?"
The 6 yr old piped up first through his tears, "She's being so mean to m--"
"NO I'M NOT!"
"Woa." I interjected. It was my subtle way of saying "Stop f'ing yelling!!!!"
"BUT I'M NOT!"
Another "Woa." This time it stretched a little like such, "Wooooooaaaaaaa."
"MOM!"
"Seriously. Please stop yelling." The need to clarify had become apparent.
"He started it by taking a cookie and saying, "This is---"
"No, I did not start it. You did."
"That is a lie!"
Can I get a "Woa!"
With a little staccato emphasis this time.
"Until you guys can stop crying and yelling and using strong words that will upset each other like 'liar' 'lying' etc., We can't sort this out. Here," I said passing back a broken piece off the interior of the car, "it's a Peace Part."
Side note---when our third child earns his "Peace Rose" from school we will keep it in the car. One upstairs, one downstairs, and one mobile unit. There will be f'ing peace all over this goddamn family.
And thus, the Peace Talks began...
"Jackson, you started making me upset by putting the animal crackers in his mouth and biting their heads and saying 'this is you.'"
A small hand stretches across the car to reach for the part.
"I'm not finished. And, I started to do it back to you to see how it made you feel. And then you kept doing it. So I kept doing it. But then you said, 'okay no more' but I didn't get to go one last time."
The hand extends out.
"I'm still not finished. And why did you not let me play Skylanders when we were at home, and you said I could be Cynder?"
The part is passed.
"First of all," began our 6 yr old, "wait Mom, did you just go through a red light?!"
"No, it was yellow when I entered the intersection, so it's okay."
"Oh. I just thought maybe you went through a red light."
"Jackson!" Our daughter cried out, "You are supposed to talk to me."
"You are not allowed to talk unless you are holding the rose," he corrected.
"It's NOT a rose," she said correcting the correction.
"Whatever. So, first of all, you were the first person to eat the cookie and say, "this is you."
"No. I wasn't!"
"You are not allowed to talk right now!"
I moderated a tad here..."Let's use quiet voices as we talk this out, please. And please wait until you are holding the rose."
"It's NOT a rose," they said in unison, finally agreeing on something.
"You know what I mean. We are almost to gymnastics, you guys might want to solve this."
He continued, "All I know is that you ate the head off the cookie first, and I wanted to do it one more time so it was fair."
The part was passed.
"I did not eat it first, you did, and I am just really sad by all the lying that happens in the world. It happens a lot at school. And I am not a liar. I speak truths. And I wish that people would just be kind and respect each other and stop making things up to hurt people's feelings. It would make every day so much better. But, I will always speak the truth."
Can I get an "Amen?"
"Yea, I like the truth too. And you can be Cynder when we get home."
The car came to a stop. "We're here! Hop out!"
"And then maybe we can play animals after Skylanders?" added our daughter.
"Yea, or even before if you want."
As they walked into gymnastics, like the car ride never even took place, I thought that perhaps the next UN meeting or gathering of Congress might have a chance if we just passed out animal crackers and started with looking over at Syria and maybe, while taking a bite saying, "This is you!"
"What happened?"
The 6 yr old piped up first through his tears, "She's being so mean to m--"
"NO I'M NOT!"
"Woa." I interjected. It was my subtle way of saying "Stop f'ing yelling!!!!"
"BUT I'M NOT!"
Another "Woa." This time it stretched a little like such, "Wooooooaaaaaaa."
"MOM!"
"Seriously. Please stop yelling." The need to clarify had become apparent.
"He started it by taking a cookie and saying, "This is---"
"No, I did not start it. You did."
"That is a lie!"
Can I get a "Woa!"
With a little staccato emphasis this time.
"Until you guys can stop crying and yelling and using strong words that will upset each other like 'liar' 'lying' etc., We can't sort this out. Here," I said passing back a broken piece off the interior of the car, "it's a Peace Part."
Side note---when our third child earns his "Peace Rose" from school we will keep it in the car. One upstairs, one downstairs, and one mobile unit. There will be f'ing peace all over this goddamn family.
And thus, the Peace Talks began...
"Jackson, you started making me upset by putting the animal crackers in his mouth and biting their heads and saying 'this is you.'"
A small hand stretches across the car to reach for the part.
"I'm not finished. And, I started to do it back to you to see how it made you feel. And then you kept doing it. So I kept doing it. But then you said, 'okay no more' but I didn't get to go one last time."
The hand extends out.
"I'm still not finished. And why did you not let me play Skylanders when we were at home, and you said I could be Cynder?"
The part is passed.
"First of all," began our 6 yr old, "wait Mom, did you just go through a red light?!"
"No, it was yellow when I entered the intersection, so it's okay."
"Oh. I just thought maybe you went through a red light."
"Jackson!" Our daughter cried out, "You are supposed to talk to me."
"You are not allowed to talk unless you are holding the rose," he corrected.
"It's NOT a rose," she said correcting the correction.
"Whatever. So, first of all, you were the first person to eat the cookie and say, "this is you."
"No. I wasn't!"
"You are not allowed to talk right now!"
I moderated a tad here..."Let's use quiet voices as we talk this out, please. And please wait until you are holding the rose."
"It's NOT a rose," they said in unison, finally agreeing on something.
"You know what I mean. We are almost to gymnastics, you guys might want to solve this."
He continued, "All I know is that you ate the head off the cookie first, and I wanted to do it one more time so it was fair."
The part was passed.
"I did not eat it first, you did, and I am just really sad by all the lying that happens in the world. It happens a lot at school. And I am not a liar. I speak truths. And I wish that people would just be kind and respect each other and stop making things up to hurt people's feelings. It would make every day so much better. But, I will always speak the truth."
Can I get an "Amen?"
"Yea, I like the truth too. And you can be Cynder when we get home."
The car came to a stop. "We're here! Hop out!"
"And then maybe we can play animals after Skylanders?" added our daughter.
"Yea, or even before if you want."
As they walked into gymnastics, like the car ride never even took place, I thought that perhaps the next UN meeting or gathering of Congress might have a chance if we just passed out animal crackers and started with looking over at Syria and maybe, while taking a bite saying, "This is you!"
Monday, September 16, 2013
Bad Mommy
So Friday night was our friend's 40th. It was a wonderful party, full of fabulous people, and the never ending glass of wine. It was like magic. I would drink, toast, sip, but it would always be full. Amazing. And since I had a "driver" on this particular night which is very rare, I continued to indulge in the magical, bottomless wine goblet.
As the night wound down (or up, depending if you stayed later than I did) I arrived home fumbling with door keys at 11:30pm. And has I tried to put my car key in the house door, I silently prayed that the streamers had already been hung up, the cake had been assembled and frosted, balloons blown up, and all the presents had arrived and been wrapped---for tomorrow our "baby" was 6.
Well, not really being a religious individual, it was painfully obvious that my prayers were to go unanswered.
As the entryway circled around me, I visually made out not one single streamer. And as the door jam supported my passage into the kitchen, I also saw that there was nary an assembled cake.
I grabbed the Gorilla Tape and stretched a long piece (sticky-side up) across the counter top and frantically ripped strips of streamers to create a "birthday curtain" for the bottom of the stairs. Sticking it to the ceiling, I heard your groggy voice from the couch, "Stop using that tape. It takes the finish off, and it's expensive."
"Okay," I said louder than I needed to pressing the tape on firmly and then accidentally and confidently skipping a stair down to the floor and with as much regard for your comment as a teenager said, "I won't do it again." (Let me apologize in advance, for our daughter's teen years).
I then stood in the dark kitchen with a headlamp and began to assemble a two-tiered rainbow battered, out-of-my-league even if there as light and I was sober, cake. It was to be a magic portal for the new Skylander Giant that was supposed to be here. But nothing was here. The floods had triumphed over UPS and now a little six-year old would not only not have his presents, but he would especially not have the only thing that could save this cake.
As the cake crumbled into pieces, I slapped on gross amounts of icing to act as superglue in this giant mystical rainbow mound of sugar. I then stuck brownie bites all around the side. Surely, brownie bites had to be worth some points.
I stuck the cake in the microwave, for safe-keeping, strung up balloons, and went to bed, feeling like the worst mom on the planet. Fortunately he would have a gift from his great aunt, and some cards to open, and hopefully UPS would be there in the morning.
7am came really early. And as I longed to sleep in or vomit, I just lay there berating myself for poor decisions.We did our best to stall until 8:30, crossing our fingers that UPS would save the day. But they would not save the day, because they would now not deliver until Monday. And we couldn't pick up the package either.
Our six year old, bounded down the stairs, blew through the streamers, and said, "One present?" And before we could explain and apologize, said, "Well, that's okay. It looks pretty cool. Oh! and there are cards!"
It was all I could do to act like this was an awesome party. It was so beneath my expectations, and plans, and yet...he was genuinely happy! He had to be the healthiest member of our family at this point---he honestly projected his surprise and disappointment, and then overcame it quickly and had a blast. I had to wonder if he was just a "lesson" to behold at that point, or if he had been let down so many times, that like and orphan child with no shoes, he was just happy it was warm outside.
So that I didn't cry in all my hung-overness, I chose to believe the former. And stood in awe of his character.
As the night wound down (or up, depending if you stayed later than I did) I arrived home fumbling with door keys at 11:30pm. And has I tried to put my car key in the house door, I silently prayed that the streamers had already been hung up, the cake had been assembled and frosted, balloons blown up, and all the presents had arrived and been wrapped---for tomorrow our "baby" was 6.
Well, not really being a religious individual, it was painfully obvious that my prayers were to go unanswered.
As the entryway circled around me, I visually made out not one single streamer. And as the door jam supported my passage into the kitchen, I also saw that there was nary an assembled cake.
I grabbed the Gorilla Tape and stretched a long piece (sticky-side up) across the counter top and frantically ripped strips of streamers to create a "birthday curtain" for the bottom of the stairs. Sticking it to the ceiling, I heard your groggy voice from the couch, "Stop using that tape. It takes the finish off, and it's expensive."
"Okay," I said louder than I needed to pressing the tape on firmly and then accidentally and confidently skipping a stair down to the floor and with as much regard for your comment as a teenager said, "I won't do it again." (Let me apologize in advance, for our daughter's teen years).
I then stood in the dark kitchen with a headlamp and began to assemble a two-tiered rainbow battered, out-of-my-league even if there as light and I was sober, cake. It was to be a magic portal for the new Skylander Giant that was supposed to be here. But nothing was here. The floods had triumphed over UPS and now a little six-year old would not only not have his presents, but he would especially not have the only thing that could save this cake.
As the cake crumbled into pieces, I slapped on gross amounts of icing to act as superglue in this giant mystical rainbow mound of sugar. I then stuck brownie bites all around the side. Surely, brownie bites had to be worth some points.
I stuck the cake in the microwave, for safe-keeping, strung up balloons, and went to bed, feeling like the worst mom on the planet. Fortunately he would have a gift from his great aunt, and some cards to open, and hopefully UPS would be there in the morning.
7am came really early. And as I longed to sleep in or vomit, I just lay there berating myself for poor decisions.We did our best to stall until 8:30, crossing our fingers that UPS would save the day. But they would not save the day, because they would now not deliver until Monday. And we couldn't pick up the package either.
Our six year old, bounded down the stairs, blew through the streamers, and said, "One present?" And before we could explain and apologize, said, "Well, that's okay. It looks pretty cool. Oh! and there are cards!"
It was all I could do to act like this was an awesome party. It was so beneath my expectations, and plans, and yet...he was genuinely happy! He had to be the healthiest member of our family at this point---he honestly projected his surprise and disappointment, and then overcame it quickly and had a blast. I had to wonder if he was just a "lesson" to behold at that point, or if he had been let down so many times, that like and orphan child with no shoes, he was just happy it was warm outside.
So that I didn't cry in all my hung-overness, I chose to believe the former. And stood in awe of his character.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Gardener Extraordinaire
As you may have noticed our five year old has a small crop of produce sprouting in our window boxes. He checks them daily and it is often the first thing he will tell anyone he sees. His enthusiasm is wonderful and contagious. Which made it all the more wonderful, when spotting a pile of bird seed on the ground, he inquired, "Bird Seed?! If we plant that can we grow birds?!"
Freezer Genius
So our freezer, crapped out the other day. Other day...being about 10 days ago...I called the manufacturer. The following is the series of events that have taken place in an effort to restore "freeze" in the freezer. True story.
"Hi, our freezer has stopped "freezing" and says 43 degrees on the screen."
"Okay. What you need to do is hit the power freeze button, and the freezer temperature. It should say -4."
"Okay."
"Have you done that?"
"Yup. I pushed the button. It said, -4 for 2 seconds and is now back to 47 degrees."
"Okay. What I am going to do is enter your information into our system. Give the freezer some time to reset and see if it fixes itself. If not, call us back."
"Okay. Thank you."
Several hours passed and our freezer now said 58 degrees. Self-fix outlook poor.
So I called back. This time I got a very kind man from India.
"Hello?"
"Hi. I wanted to see about scheduling repair for our freezer."
"Oh-kay. Have you called us before?"
"Yes."
"Oh-kay. Let me see here."
"Oh yes. I see that you have called us before."
"Yes."
"Yes. I am going to ask you to please follow the following steps."
"Okay."
"I need you to turn the temperature way down on your refrigerator and freezer for a while and call us back."
"What?!"
"Are you not me understanding?"
"No, I understand you, I'm just not sure why I need to damage my remaining food that is in the fridge by freezing it. My refrigerator is fine. My freezer keeps getting warmer."
"Mam, I am just trying to do what it says in the manual, before I put in a service ticket in case it fixes itself."
"I appreciate that. I think I need a service ticket, please. It's not fixing itself."
"Oh-kay. What I am going to do is put in a request for service. A technician will call you in 4 days and ask if you still want service. If you do, he will tell you when he can come out to fix it."
"4 days?" I then felt a twinge of "snobby USA entitlement." As if to say, "Oh...My...Gaaawd. I cannot...live for 4 days without a freezer."
"Yes, Mam."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Thank you. Have a nice day."
"Yup. Thanks." And I hung up.
5 days later...there is a message on my vmail from an appliance technician.
I call the number. Number no good. I listen to the message again. Number no good. In a "Do do dooo..the number you have reached is not in service, please try again..." kind of no good way.
So I google the name of the company. It turns out the company is based in Washington state. Had I only known to attach the 509 area code, it would have been no problem at all. Silly me.
I call the manufacturer back. I got the same kind gentleman from India.
After reacquainting ourselves, I explain that the technician who called me was based in Washington.
"So, he cannot come to your house."
"No. Because I live in Colorado."
"And that is too far?"
"It is a (holding all expletives inside) plane ride."
"Oh. Well, let me see. Where do you live?"
"In Colorado." I start pouring some wine. It's 3pm.
"So...let me see. I am sorry for the confusion. I have the wrong address for you."
"Hmmm," I say while sipping.
"So, do you still need a technician?"
"Yes," I said, "The freezer did not fix itself." I'm catching on.
"Okay. This is a number for a local company in Colorado Springs, they will contact you shortly."
"Thank You."
"Sorry for the confusion."
"No problem. Bye."
2 hours later...right before closing...
"Hi, this is Lisa from Shox Appliance and Engineering. Do you need to schedule a repair?"
"Yes."
"Okay...well we are pretty backed up...how about the 9th?"
"Sure."
"Do you want me to schedule it, or do you want to wait and see if it fixes itself?"
In my head...."Seriously."
What I say, "Yes, please put me down. And if it miraculously fixes itself, I'll cancel."
"Okay. We have you down for Monday the 9th."
"Thank you. Bye."
From the other room...
"Mom, can we—"
"No."
"But.."
"Just, No."
"Hi, our freezer has stopped "freezing" and says 43 degrees on the screen."
"Okay. What you need to do is hit the power freeze button, and the freezer temperature. It should say -4."
"Okay."
"Have you done that?"
"Yup. I pushed the button. It said, -4 for 2 seconds and is now back to 47 degrees."
"Okay. What I am going to do is enter your information into our system. Give the freezer some time to reset and see if it fixes itself. If not, call us back."
"Okay. Thank you."
Several hours passed and our freezer now said 58 degrees. Self-fix outlook poor.
So I called back. This time I got a very kind man from India.
"Hello?"
"Hi. I wanted to see about scheduling repair for our freezer."
"Oh-kay. Have you called us before?"
"Yes."
"Oh-kay. Let me see here."
"Oh yes. I see that you have called us before."
"Yes."
"Yes. I am going to ask you to please follow the following steps."
"Okay."
"I need you to turn the temperature way down on your refrigerator and freezer for a while and call us back."
"What?!"
"Are you not me understanding?"
"No, I understand you, I'm just not sure why I need to damage my remaining food that is in the fridge by freezing it. My refrigerator is fine. My freezer keeps getting warmer."
"Mam, I am just trying to do what it says in the manual, before I put in a service ticket in case it fixes itself."
"I appreciate that. I think I need a service ticket, please. It's not fixing itself."
"Oh-kay. What I am going to do is put in a request for service. A technician will call you in 4 days and ask if you still want service. If you do, he will tell you when he can come out to fix it."
"4 days?" I then felt a twinge of "snobby USA entitlement." As if to say, "Oh...My...Gaaawd. I cannot...live for 4 days without a freezer."
"Yes, Mam."
"Okay. Thank you."
"Thank you. Have a nice day."
"Yup. Thanks." And I hung up.
5 days later...there is a message on my vmail from an appliance technician.
I call the number. Number no good. I listen to the message again. Number no good. In a "Do do dooo..the number you have reached is not in service, please try again..." kind of no good way.
So I google the name of the company. It turns out the company is based in Washington state. Had I only known to attach the 509 area code, it would have been no problem at all. Silly me.
I call the manufacturer back. I got the same kind gentleman from India.
After reacquainting ourselves, I explain that the technician who called me was based in Washington.
"So, he cannot come to your house."
"No. Because I live in Colorado."
"And that is too far?"
"It is a (holding all expletives inside) plane ride."
"Oh. Well, let me see. Where do you live?"
"In Colorado." I start pouring some wine. It's 3pm.
"So...let me see. I am sorry for the confusion. I have the wrong address for you."
"Hmmm," I say while sipping.
"So, do you still need a technician?"
"Yes," I said, "The freezer did not fix itself." I'm catching on.
"Okay. This is a number for a local company in Colorado Springs, they will contact you shortly."
"Thank You."
"Sorry for the confusion."
"No problem. Bye."
2 hours later...right before closing...
"Hi, this is Lisa from Shox Appliance and Engineering. Do you need to schedule a repair?"
"Yes."
"Okay...well we are pretty backed up...how about the 9th?"
"Sure."
"Do you want me to schedule it, or do you want to wait and see if it fixes itself?"
In my head...."Seriously."
What I say, "Yes, please put me down. And if it miraculously fixes itself, I'll cancel."
"Okay. We have you down for Monday the 9th."
"Thank you. Bye."
From the other room...
"Mom, can we—"
"No."
"But.."
"Just, No."
childhood thoughts...
Had our own "What is Goofy" (circa Stand By Me) conversation today. It was "What if Wolverine was a doctor?"
"He'd be really good at surgery," I added.
"Yea, but he wouldn't be able to stop cutting..."observed the eldest.
"Yea, he would just be like, 'chh chh chh...oops!'" our sound-effect 5 yr old added.
"Yea, someone else would have to stitch him up," noted our daughter---local surgery expert.
"What if Max, our dog (the 5yr old has jumped topics mid-Wolverine debate) was like a motorcycle, and you could sit on his back and you could twist his ears like this--he gestured a "revving" motion?"
"Yea." The older two said in unison...either bored or daydreaming about riding their dog.
"He'd be really good at surgery," I added.
"Yea, but he wouldn't be able to stop cutting..."observed the eldest.
"Yea, he would just be like, 'chh chh chh...oops!'" our sound-effect 5 yr old added.
"Yea, someone else would have to stitch him up," noted our daughter---local surgery expert.
"What if Max, our dog (the 5yr old has jumped topics mid-Wolverine debate) was like a motorcycle, and you could sit on his back and you could twist his ears like this--he gestured a "revving" motion?"
"Yea." The older two said in unison...either bored or daydreaming about riding their dog.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Days of the week...
I wanted to let you know, that I went and got the kids a few "essentials" for back to school. Namely, underwear and socks. Found a bunch of really cute and affordable pairs for both the boys and our daughter. I got her an entire set of "days of the week" socks. Each cute, colorful sock says Monday, or Tuesday, or ...you get the picture. I felt really good about this until 15 minutes after we got home when my brain turned back on and I realized I had just set the stage for a school morning nightmare.
"MOM!!!!! Where are my TUESDAY socks?"
"Dunno. Probably in the wash. Wear a different pair."
"BUT TODAY IS TUESDAY!!!
Sarcastically, I will want to yell up, "You're goddamn right it is. But in our hearts it feels like Saturday. But on the f'n Saturday socks."
Instead, it will just be the image of a broken woman, me, hitting her head against the wall, saying "Stupid, stupid, stupid." Cuz, I did this. All by myself.
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
The walls have ears
And by that, I mean literally, the walls. That is the only explanation I can come up with for what has become our new normal. Upon declaring that "This house no longer suits our family," the house has slowly begun to implode. On the glass have empty side, it appears to be giving us the finger. On the half full side, however, it is ensuring that the new owners will have lots of brand new, better than ever---certainly better than we ever treated ourselves---stuff. And you can't really put a price on that kind "do good" feeling. But if you could, it would definitely be in the thousands.
It started with the fence...and then it was the wiring for ceiling fixtures in various rooms, then the washing machine...and this morning our freezer crapped out. As I was reading to the kids tonight, a strong "lighter fluid" aroma came billowing down the hallway.
Obviously, not one for the story, the house decided to light itself on fire.
It started with the fence...and then it was the wiring for ceiling fixtures in various rooms, then the washing machine...and this morning our freezer crapped out. As I was reading to the kids tonight, a strong "lighter fluid" aroma came billowing down the hallway.
Obviously, not one for the story, the house decided to light itself on fire.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Client luncheon
In an effort to preserve sanity, I decided to pretend that lunch with our 5 yr old was a business lunch. (Yea, I recognize the irony in the sanity preservation goal). I have to say though, the lunch went surprisingly well. He explained that he is part monkey because he loves bananas and climbing on things and that his sister is part cat, because she has claws and hisses, his older brother is part star wars, his father is part gorllia because he is strong, and I (me, your wife) am "part human and part 'knows everything in the world.'"
In closing, perhaps I should go back to work because clearly I am closing deals left and right. When's the last time your client told you that you are part "knows everything in the world."
In closing, perhaps I should go back to work because clearly I am closing deals left and right. When's the last time your client told you that you are part "knows everything in the world."
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