A few weeks ago I made the mistake of giving son #2 the moniker "re-Tarzan" because he kept running and smacking into the couch. On purpose.
Last night, he asked me, "Can I go to college before middle school?"
"No. Why would you want to do that?"
"Well, when I'm in college, I'll be able to run and crash into walls without anyone telling me not to." He then proceeded to run into the door to the garage.
What is it with my kids and their hifalutin college expectations?
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Best Friends Forever
I just finished reading the Christian fiction book The Shack which came highly recommended by someone I trust implicitly. Not (at all) my cup of tea -- crappy writing, bad fiction, too new agey -- but it's an easy read so, even though I wanted to end my misery immediately, I felt compelled to keep reading. I'm somewhat glad that I did given that there were a couple of golden nuggets that did make me stop and think.
One point that the author made about friendship was especially poignant for me. In it, he says that with friends there is an "expectancy" of being together, of laughing and talking. It's a gift. But when it becomes an "expectation," it's more legalistic.
I loved this analogy. Sure, he was talking about our relationship with God but on a more human scale I've been living it and it doesn't feel good.
For the past few years, one of my best friends from my high school and college years rarely returned my calls. We had an absolute blast whenever we were together (typically in a foursome that another friend arranged) but, outside of our group dinners, I felt like she couldn't have cared less what was going on in my life.
I actually brought it up one night but it only served to make it worse. Whereas I truly didn't want to be that chick who you have call out of "expectation," I did think our friendship was deeper and I was feeling sorry for myself. Sadly, the only thing that changed was that she now prefaced every greeting with "I'm so sorry I haven't returned your calls; I've been really busy." Interesting, because I've been working 80 hours/week . . .
As my girlfriend Melinda would say, "Don't write her off as a friend; just re-write the friendship contract." I couldn't agree more. I really love being with that group of friends so why not give up the charade? Our "best friend-ness" was in the 80s -- I need to simply enjoy her company when I can during this millennium. So last May, after hearing her apologize one time too many, I decided to completely let her off the hook. I would stop calling her and simply spend time with her whenever she called.
One year later . . . not one call.
I remember thinking last September, "OMG it's been four months and she has never once called me!" Over the past year, my feelings have gone from utter disbelief to hurt to sadness and finally the real acceptance that I was merely feigning this time last year. It is what it is.
Last night, we all got together briefly to celebrate another friend's birthday. She and I split the bill and as we drove home, she pulled her car up alongside mine. "I just realized you paid for the hummus I'm taking home for my son!" D'oh! She then said, "I'll mail you the money." Mail? She lives less than five minutes from my house.
Thankfully, I can now laugh -- sincerely laugh -- about it.
I called out from my car, "Dude, don't mail me the money. We can go out again!" And then I shouted as I drove away laughing. "FYI: I stopped calling you a year ago and decided to wait for you to call me. Pick up the friggin' phone!" She was incredulous. The comical part: she had never once noticed. So much for kidding myself about how people may like being in my company!
Anyway, I don't think it's time to erase the second "F" in BFF; but, it is time to recognize that, like the song from Friends, some friends really will be there for you when the rain starts to pour. And others are simply one whole heck of a lot of fun to be with.
One point that the author made about friendship was especially poignant for me. In it, he says that with friends there is an "expectancy" of being together, of laughing and talking. It's a gift. But when it becomes an "expectation," it's more legalistic.
"You are now expected to perform in a way that meets my expectations.
Our living friendship rapidly deteriorates into a dead thing
with rules and requirements.
It is no longer about you and me,
but about what friends are supposed to do,
or the responsibilities of a good friend."
Our living friendship rapidly deteriorates into a dead thing
with rules and requirements.
It is no longer about you and me,
but about what friends are supposed to do,
or the responsibilities of a good friend."
I loved this analogy. Sure, he was talking about our relationship with God but on a more human scale I've been living it and it doesn't feel good.
For the past few years, one of my best friends from my high school and college years rarely returned my calls. We had an absolute blast whenever we were together (typically in a foursome that another friend arranged) but, outside of our group dinners, I felt like she couldn't have cared less what was going on in my life.
I actually brought it up one night but it only served to make it worse. Whereas I truly didn't want to be that chick who you have call out of "expectation," I did think our friendship was deeper and I was feeling sorry for myself. Sadly, the only thing that changed was that she now prefaced every greeting with "I'm so sorry I haven't returned your calls; I've been really busy." Interesting, because I've been working 80 hours/week . . .
As my girlfriend Melinda would say, "Don't write her off as a friend; just re-write the friendship contract." I couldn't agree more. I really love being with that group of friends so why not give up the charade? Our "best friend-ness" was in the 80s -- I need to simply enjoy her company when I can during this millennium. So last May, after hearing her apologize one time too many, I decided to completely let her off the hook. I would stop calling her and simply spend time with her whenever she called.
One year later . . . not one call.
I remember thinking last September, "OMG it's been four months and she has never once called me!" Over the past year, my feelings have gone from utter disbelief to hurt to sadness and finally the real acceptance that I was merely feigning this time last year. It is what it is.
Last night, we all got together briefly to celebrate another friend's birthday. She and I split the bill and as we drove home, she pulled her car up alongside mine. "I just realized you paid for the hummus I'm taking home for my son!" D'oh! She then said, "I'll mail you the money." Mail? She lives less than five minutes from my house.
Thankfully, I can now laugh -- sincerely laugh -- about it.
I called out from my car, "Dude, don't mail me the money. We can go out again!" And then I shouted as I drove away laughing. "FYI: I stopped calling you a year ago and decided to wait for you to call me. Pick up the friggin' phone!" She was incredulous. The comical part: she had never once noticed. So much for kidding myself about how people may like being in my company!
Anyway, I don't think it's time to erase the second "F" in BFF; but, it is time to recognize that, like the song from Friends, some friends really will be there for you when the rain starts to pour. And others are simply one whole heck of a lot of fun to be with.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Learning to Write a Second Grade "Personal Narrative"
The other night, son #1's homework involved writing the answers to the following three questions:
When he finished writing, I asked him if he had ever had any other problems in his life.
He responded by telling me, "Yes, but I don't want to talk about them."
When I prodded a little further, he told me that it was a secret. "Do you know what a secret means? It means that I am not going to tell it to you."
I gently told him that I respect keeping secrets and didn't want to pry but I did want him to know that he doesn't have to bottle things up. It's better to tell someone and get it off his chest.
He told me that he would just as soon forget about it which, as his mom, I'm having a hard time doing. "Was it that thing you wouldn't tell me that happened on the bus with Ethan?"
"No, it happened in the neighborhood and that's all I'm saying."
"Were any adults involved?"
"No, just kids," and he stood and began walking away. He then added, "I've actually had a lot of problems that I don't want to talk about."
I gave him a little hug, told him he can talk to me at any time, and let him leave. Inside, however, I'm still sad. What could have happened? Did he do something wrong or did someone wrong him? Is it a boy thing to not want to talk about it?
What it really amounts to is control: specifically, my lack thereof. I want to protect him from harm (especially while he's still so young) and help him make wise decisions. But he has his path in life and there's nothing I can do but be a good parent, a strong role model, and his biggest supporter in life.
And I need to learn how to give him space.
- What problem or challenge have you faced in life?
- How did you solve it?
- What did you learn from it? Or what is the moral of the story?
When he finished writing, I asked him if he had ever had any other problems in his life.
He responded by telling me, "Yes, but I don't want to talk about them."
When I prodded a little further, he told me that it was a secret. "Do you know what a secret means? It means that I am not going to tell it to you."
I gently told him that I respect keeping secrets and didn't want to pry but I did want him to know that he doesn't have to bottle things up. It's better to tell someone and get it off his chest.
He told me that he would just as soon forget about it which, as his mom, I'm having a hard time doing. "Was it that thing you wouldn't tell me that happened on the bus with Ethan?"
"No, it happened in the neighborhood and that's all I'm saying."
"Were any adults involved?"
"No, just kids," and he stood and began walking away. He then added, "I've actually had a lot of problems that I don't want to talk about."
I gave him a little hug, told him he can talk to me at any time, and let him leave. Inside, however, I'm still sad. What could have happened? Did he do something wrong or did someone wrong him? Is it a boy thing to not want to talk about it?
What it really amounts to is control: specifically, my lack thereof. I want to protect him from harm (especially while he's still so young) and help him make wise decisions. But he has his path in life and there's nothing I can do but be a good parent, a strong role model, and his biggest supporter in life.
And I need to learn how to give him space.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Memorial Day
Finally I can wear my white pumps again . . .
I took Friday off because it was (dare I say) a bit quiet at work and the kids were off from school. I slept in the hammock while soaking up the sunshine and chatted with my next door neighbor as the kids played.
Then my mom, sis and I flew to Greensboro on Saturday to hang with my brother and sister-in-law and meet their gorgeous, sweet, awesome, baby boy who made my heart swell. I have to say, what a great little city: beautiful neighborhoods, nice shops, cool relatives. I could totally live there. Maybe I could score a job at the Center for Creative Leadership? Not sure what I would do exactly but the topic of leadership is certainly one that is of great interest to me not only because I have slaved under some of the worst "leaders" on the planet but also because I have gladly served some of the best. Anyhoo, I digress.
While there -- just for a microsecond -- we somehow got on the topic of how we're all worth more dead than alive. I was thinking about it later that night. Menendez brothers aside, what keeps most families from killing each other? In addition to the fact that it would be horribly disturbing (as Lady Macbeth clearly demonstrated), life isn't about money at all: it's about love and relationships. You could have all of the money in the world but, without love, it's worthless. Conversely, one moment of pure love is worth more than gold.
Last night I had a date with Son #1. Just the two of us; his brother and dad went to the movies. We went to the Red Lobster (!) because he has been asking to go there for ages and we've been putting him off. As I was cracking our crab legs, he was dipping the crab meat in butter and repeatedly exclaiming how it was one of the best meals of his life (next to daddy's cooking). I couldn't help but think how blessed I was for these little moments in life -- just spending time with someone who is still capable of being in awe of the world.
So, yes, today it's back to work. But I'm extremely grateful to have had a four-day weekend filled with the people I love the most: my family.
I took Friday off because it was (dare I say) a bit quiet at work and the kids were off from school. I slept in the hammock while soaking up the sunshine and chatted with my next door neighbor as the kids played.
Then my mom, sis and I flew to Greensboro on Saturday to hang with my brother and sister-in-law and meet their gorgeous, sweet, awesome, baby boy who made my heart swell. I have to say, what a great little city: beautiful neighborhoods, nice shops, cool relatives. I could totally live there. Maybe I could score a job at the Center for Creative Leadership? Not sure what I would do exactly but the topic of leadership is certainly one that is of great interest to me not only because I have slaved under some of the worst "leaders" on the planet but also because I have gladly served some of the best. Anyhoo, I digress.
While there -- just for a microsecond -- we somehow got on the topic of how we're all worth more dead than alive. I was thinking about it later that night. Menendez brothers aside, what keeps most families from killing each other? In addition to the fact that it would be horribly disturbing (as Lady Macbeth clearly demonstrated), life isn't about money at all: it's about love and relationships. You could have all of the money in the world but, without love, it's worthless. Conversely, one moment of pure love is worth more than gold.
Last night I had a date with Son #1. Just the two of us; his brother and dad went to the movies. We went to the Red Lobster (!) because he has been asking to go there for ages and we've been putting him off. As I was cracking our crab legs, he was dipping the crab meat in butter and repeatedly exclaiming how it was one of the best meals of his life (next to daddy's cooking). I couldn't help but think how blessed I was for these little moments in life -- just spending time with someone who is still capable of being in awe of the world.
So, yes, today it's back to work. But I'm extremely grateful to have had a four-day weekend filled with the people I love the most: my family.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Love & Marriage
"Marriage is like an unfunny, tense version of Everybody Loves Raymond
. . . but it doesn't last 22 minutes. It lasts forever."
-------
I finally saw Knocked Up last night and, while I couldn't stop laughing throughout the film, that line was the highlight. (Doesn't hurt that it was delivered by Paul McDreamy Rudd.)Although the focus of the movie is on the hilarity of the unplanned pregnancy and the budding relationship between total opposites (i.e., a stoner and a hottie), I really enjoyed the scenes with, and droll dialog of, the married couple (i.e., the hottie's sister and brother-in-law).
Yep, it doesn't get any better than this! Till death!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Lighten up Francis
I was telling my nephew last week, who after his freshman year in college has not yet firmly decided on his primary course of study, not to sweat it. Why add so much pressure to "get it right" when you're young given that life -- in and out of school -- is a path of learning?
When I was a senior in college and graduating with the presumably useless B.A. in English, I called my mom weeping. I was grappling with some serious angst about my inability to define myself when my girlfriends were going off to medical school or jobs as graphic designers and engineers. "What am I going to do with my life?" I sobbed.
Her response, "Don't worry about it. I'm 50 and I still have no idea what I want to do either."
Although it may sound dismissive, they were the most loving and accepting words I had ever heard. And they immediately took the pressure off; I didn't need to have clarity right then and there.
What I didn't realize until much later was the profound nature of my mom's statement either. That 22 years later (and probably for the rest of my life) I would still be in the process of defining myself, trying to determine what talents I have been given (!) and searching for answers regarding what's next.
Right now, I feel confident that I am exactly where I need to be. And instead of forging my way into the next experience blindly and later assessing the collateral damage, I'm waiting for divine inspiration (intervention?) to guide my way.
You never know what God has up his sleeve. I'll probably become America's Next Top Model.
When I was a senior in college and graduating with the presumably useless B.A. in English, I called my mom weeping. I was grappling with some serious angst about my inability to define myself when my girlfriends were going off to medical school or jobs as graphic designers and engineers. "What am I going to do with my life?" I sobbed.
Her response, "Don't worry about it. I'm 50 and I still have no idea what I want to do either."
Although it may sound dismissive, they were the most loving and accepting words I had ever heard. And they immediately took the pressure off; I didn't need to have clarity right then and there.
What I didn't realize until much later was the profound nature of my mom's statement either. That 22 years later (and probably for the rest of my life) I would still be in the process of defining myself, trying to determine what talents I have been given (!) and searching for answers regarding what's next.
Right now, I feel confident that I am exactly where I need to be. And instead of forging my way into the next experience blindly and later assessing the collateral damage, I'm waiting for divine inspiration (intervention?) to guide my way.
You never know what God has up his sleeve. I'll probably become America's Next Top Model.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Son of a Gun
During the sermon this past weekend, our pastor was recounting the scene in Dead Man Walking when Sister Helen Prejean (Susan Sarandon) tells the convicted murderer/rapist (Sean Penn) whom she was counseling spiritually, "You are a son of God" and he responds with a bit of a laugh, "I've been called a son of a you-know-what plenty of times, but I've never been called a son of God."
Son #1, who just turned eight, turned to me and whispered, "I bet he's been called a son of a bitch."
Hmmm. Well, at least he was listening.
Son #1, who just turned eight, turned to me and whispered, "I bet he's been called a son of a bitch."
Hmmm. Well, at least he was listening.
Friday, May 16, 2008
The Answer My Friend
I realize that wind power, at this point in time, is expensive and doesn't yet justify a large investment -- at least economically speaking -- given that (even with government subsidies) the technology is insufficient and cannot cost effectively meet large scale production needs in a predictable fashion. Yet I do look forward to the day when wind turbines are economically viable and can provide safe, reliable, clean energy.
But I also think that people opposed to wind farms because they detract from the beauty of the landscape cannot see the forest through the windmills, so to speak. I personally think turbines are beautiful: clean lines, peaceful movement, dramatic presence.
(Image from Corus Group)
However, with all that said, I cannot help but ponder -- as I continually drive past what used to be Kodak Park and is now a barren landscape of leveled (i.e., imploded) buildings, empty parking lots and exposed pipes right in the heart of our city -- why do we need to put wind farms in areas of beauty? Why can't we put them in the midst of post-industrial urban decay? The answer may be as simple as the fact that underneath my proposed, ex-manufacturing landscape lies a sea of difficult-to-navigate, subsurface infrastructure (e.g., cables, pipes). Who knows.
I personally think an urban wind farm could redeem waste land that otherwise may remain neglected and an eyesore.
But I also think that people opposed to wind farms because they detract from the beauty of the landscape cannot see the forest through the windmills, so to speak. I personally think turbines are beautiful: clean lines, peaceful movement, dramatic presence.
(Image from Corus Group)
However, with all that said, I cannot help but ponder -- as I continually drive past what used to be Kodak Park and is now a barren landscape of leveled (i.e., imploded) buildings, empty parking lots and exposed pipes right in the heart of our city -- why do we need to put wind farms in areas of beauty? Why can't we put them in the midst of post-industrial urban decay? The answer may be as simple as the fact that underneath my proposed, ex-manufacturing landscape lies a sea of difficult-to-navigate, subsurface infrastructure (e.g., cables, pipes). Who knows.
I personally think an urban wind farm could redeem waste land that otherwise may remain neglected and an eyesore.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
La la la de de da
Son #2 has his clock alarm set to a local rock station. Because he loves music, he typically leaves it on all morning while he gets ready for school. This morning I went in to check on him and he said, “I had to turn the radio off because they were playing a really bad song.”
“What song was it?” I asked.
He leaned over and turned the radio on for a split second . . .
Sing us a song you’re the piano man
. . and quickly shut it back off.
“That.”
I hear you little guy and couldn't agree more.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
My Health Comes First
My dad used to have the 45 of a catchy little tune entitled The Drinking Man's Diet which contained the lyrics:
I was singing this on my way to work this morning after I heard the DJ on the radio state that although resveratrol is found naturally in red wine, "the dose you're getting with your nightly glass is probably nowhere near enough to make a difference."
Well then, time to polish off the bottle! My vision might get blurry but, for now, I can still read between the lines . . .
Drink, drink, everyone drink
It's not as bad as we used to think
With every Manhattan
Your stomach will flatten
So drink, drink, drink!
It's not as bad as we used to think
With every Manhattan
Your stomach will flatten
So drink, drink, drink!
I was singing this on my way to work this morning after I heard the DJ on the radio state that although resveratrol is found naturally in red wine, "the dose you're getting with your nightly glass is probably nowhere near enough to make a difference."
Well then, time to polish off the bottle! My vision might get blurry but, for now, I can still read between the lines . . .
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Happy Burfday!
According to Wikipedia, today in 1958 the trademark Velcro was registered and Vice President Nixon's car was attacked by anti-American demonstrators in Caracas, Venezuela. According to BrainyHistory, Jordan and Iraq formed the Arab Federation on that day, too.
What's not in Wikipedia is that my sister was born on this day in 1958, as well. According to my abacus, that makes her 50 years old! Closer to 100 than she is to zero . . .
So happy birthday little Susie. And happy birthday to Stevie Wonder, Stephen Colbert, Harvey Keitel, Bea Arthur, Dennis Rodman and Andrea Klump (German terrorist)--none of whom are as awesome as my sister.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Burgers & Cupcakes
Is that not a fun and compelling restaurant name? I want to go RIGHT NOW! Anyone? What a perfect combo beaten only by . . . wait. Nothing! If I lived in NYC, I think I would eat there nightly.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Jesus Loves You
My first boss -- a beautiful, perpetually tanned widow who wore high heels daily with her tight skirts and had a dancer's body, infectious laugh and a more active social life than Paris Hilton -- once received a card that had an image on the front of Jesus hanging on the cross. Along the bottom it read, "Jesus loves you" and on the inside it said, "Everyone else thinks you're an asshole."
She thought this was the funniest thing she had ever seen. I shared it with my dad, who had a penchant for anything off-color, and he concurred. I think he may have even sent one to his brother, my uncle Frank, given that they had a lifelong exchange of all-things-vile.
Lark News has a t-shirt for sale with a tamer, more Christian version of this sentiment. "Jesus loves you. Then again, he loves everybody."
They also sell a shirt that says, "I want to be a pastor's wife" which I think we should sell at my church -- where every woman who attends claims to be in love with our pastor. We could make a killing! D'oh!
She thought this was the funniest thing she had ever seen. I shared it with my dad, who had a penchant for anything off-color, and he concurred. I think he may have even sent one to his brother, my uncle Frank, given that they had a lifelong exchange of all-things-vile.
Lark News has a t-shirt for sale with a tamer, more Christian version of this sentiment. "Jesus loves you. Then again, he loves everybody."
They also sell a shirt that says, "I want to be a pastor's wife" which I think we should sell at my church -- where every woman who attends claims to be in love with our pastor. We could make a killing! D'oh!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Be Very, Very Careful!
I read on CNN.com yesterday how "San Diego State University has suspended six fraternities after a sweeping drug investigation that landed members of three fraternities in jail on suspicion of openly dealing drugs on campus." It reminded me of this guy I knew in undergrad who, upon answering a knock on his dorm room door, told an undercover cop, "Wrong room. I think you want the guys next door." He later found himself facing drug charges as an accomplice.
The following summer a letter from the D.A.'s office was sent to his parents' home simply stating that his drug charges were dropped. The funny part (or not-so depending on your viewpoint) is that he shared the same name as his father who a) opened the letter thinking it was addressed to him and b) flew through the roof.
Good news, your drug charges have been dropped! Just what every parent wants to hear . . .
My heart goes out to all of the parents of those drug-selling college kids in CA who just messed up their own, and others', lives. I'm sure it's heart wrenching for them to bear.
The following summer a letter from the D.A.'s office was sent to his parents' home simply stating that his drug charges were dropped. The funny part (or not-so depending on your viewpoint) is that he shared the same name as his father who a) opened the letter thinking it was addressed to him and b) flew through the roof.
Good news, your drug charges have been dropped! Just what every parent wants to hear . . .
My heart goes out to all of the parents of those drug-selling college kids in CA who just messed up their own, and others', lives. I'm sure it's heart wrenching for them to bear.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Birthday Meltdown
Today is Son #1's eighth birthday! Holy moly! Happy birthday dude.
Last night, I came home to have dinner with the family (as most normal parents do) and put the kids to bed before going back to work until 2:15 a.m.
Son #1 wouldn't fall asleep and I finally had to say, "Hey birthday boy, I have to get to work so that I'm not there all night long. But just think, next time I see you, you'll be eight!!!"
Bad idea.
He burst into tears exclaiming, "I don't want anything to change. I don't want to turn eight. I didn't accomplish what I wanted to accomplish for seven yet."
(Huh?)
"What did you want to accomplish for seven?"
"Lot's of things. I had goals for seven."
OMG. Since when? This is the kid that prefers video games and watching Naruto over pretty much everything else except perhaps chess. The kid who would prefer to watch Iron Chef and learn how to cook than play outside. The kid who loves to swim but can't be bothered to learn any proper strokes. The kid who, at seven, refused to learn to ride his bike until almost the last day of the summer. What goals?
After much hugging and cajoling, I got him to calm down and go back to his room. And there, hanging in a bag on his door, were the parts of one of his unfinished (or should I say "un-started"?) projects: making a Webkinz wishing well out of a paper towel roll, string, etc.
Let the waterworks begin anew. "That was one of my goals. I wanted to make that when I was seven and now it's too late!" Yes, little man, it is.
Now, thanks to Outlook and a husband who had to deal with additional sadness after I left for work last night, I now have a 9:00 a.m. "craft date" with my son scheduled and confirmed on my calendar for Saturday morning. And Son #1 and I agreed that we would begin a list of "Things I Want to Accomplish While I'm Eight" to ensure all of his goals are met this year.
I guess the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.
Last night, I came home to have dinner with the family (as most normal parents do) and put the kids to bed before going back to work until 2:15 a.m.
Son #1 wouldn't fall asleep and I finally had to say, "Hey birthday boy, I have to get to work so that I'm not there all night long. But just think, next time I see you, you'll be eight!!!"
Bad idea.
He burst into tears exclaiming, "I don't want anything to change. I don't want to turn eight. I didn't accomplish what I wanted to accomplish for seven yet."
(Huh?)
"What did you want to accomplish for seven?"
"Lot's of things. I had goals for seven."
OMG. Since when? This is the kid that prefers video games and watching Naruto over pretty much everything else except perhaps chess. The kid who would prefer to watch Iron Chef and learn how to cook than play outside. The kid who loves to swim but can't be bothered to learn any proper strokes. The kid who, at seven, refused to learn to ride his bike until almost the last day of the summer. What goals?
After much hugging and cajoling, I got him to calm down and go back to his room. And there, hanging in a bag on his door, were the parts of one of his unfinished (or should I say "un-started"?) projects: making a Webkinz wishing well out of a paper towel roll, string, etc.
Let the waterworks begin anew. "That was one of my goals. I wanted to make that when I was seven and now it's too late!" Yes, little man, it is.
Now, thanks to Outlook and a husband who had to deal with additional sadness after I left for work last night, I now have a 9:00 a.m. "craft date" with my son scheduled and confirmed on my calendar for Saturday morning. And Son #1 and I agreed that we would begin a list of "Things I Want to Accomplish While I'm Eight" to ensure all of his goals are met this year.
I guess the fruit doesn't fall far from the tree.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Why Wait?
My mom, although in perfect health, wanted her DNR (do not resuscitate) notarized and filed with her lawyer. My brother told her it wasn't necessary; we were all planning to smother her with a pillow regardless.
In preparation, maybe we should pitch in for this beautiful piece from Coffin Couches. Mother's Day is right around the corner after all and it would actually complement Grannie Annie's funky home decor.
On a side note: Isn't it interesting that used coffins cannot be resold (by law) for dead bodies due to health and safety issues; however, they can be recycled and re-purposed for the living?
Methinks that if I owned Coffin Couches -- which would be fabulous! -- I would focus on some more interesting "body" copy on the home page (given that the products have so much character they're just screaming for some left-of-center marketing support) and relegate the biohazardous text to a secondary page. Otherwise, it's a bit off-putting!
In preparation, maybe we should pitch in for this beautiful piece from Coffin Couches. Mother's Day is right around the corner after all and it would actually complement Grannie Annie's funky home decor.
On a side note: Isn't it interesting that used coffins cannot be resold (by law) for dead bodies due to health and safety issues; however, they can be recycled and re-purposed for the living?
Methinks that if I owned Coffin Couches -- which would be fabulous! -- I would focus on some more interesting "body" copy on the home page (given that the products have so much character they're just screaming for some left-of-center marketing support) and relegate the biohazardous text to a secondary page. Otherwise, it's a bit off-putting!
Friday, May 2, 2008
Multitasking Mayhem
Yesterday, I was driving across town to a client when I dropped my lipstick and it fell under the seat of my car. So, while merging onto the expressway, I quickly reached my hand down between the seat and the console -- and my wrist got stuck! I had to yank it out, bleeding, so I could again sit upright and raise my line of vision from the dashboard back toward street level before I caused an accident. Only me . . .
And now for something completely different from the hubby: Kitty Wigs! Won't Stinky be surprised on her birthday (whenever that may be)?!
And now for something completely different from the hubby: Kitty Wigs! Won't Stinky be surprised on her birthday (whenever that may be)?!
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Customer Service #1
I stopped at the Saks Off 5th at the Niagara Falls Outlet Mall on the way home from a client last night to see if I could find a cute little black dress for an upcoming fund raising event. Nothing looked great on me but two inexpensive dresses -- one Calvin Klein and the other BCBG -- were okay. Just okay.
I asked the woman manning the dressing room what the return policy was: 30 days. "Bummer, I won't be back here until June 4."
She immediately got on the phone to her manager, told her that I cannot return to the store within 30 days and the manager told her that it's okay, she'll authorize it at the register and give me a couple days of flexibility.
Wow. That's customer service!
I went out to buy the dresses (so I can show them to my hubby, mom and sis to get feedback) and lo and behold, realized I had missed a big section of the store. I kept shopping, returned to the dressing room to try on the entire store's worth of little black dresses and, of course, looked heinous in all of them.
Needless to say, an hour later I headed back to the register with my original two frocks and . . . you guessed it, no one knew what I was talking about. "Our management would never agree to that." "Our policy is written; we cannot extend it."
To quote the Eagles, (I'm) "afraid it's all been wasted time."
Late to dinner with my girlfriends for naught. But spared from spending money on something frivolous that accentuates my lumpy body? Yes.
I asked the woman manning the dressing room what the return policy was: 30 days. "Bummer, I won't be back here until June 4."
She immediately got on the phone to her manager, told her that I cannot return to the store within 30 days and the manager told her that it's okay, she'll authorize it at the register and give me a couple days of flexibility.
Wow. That's customer service!
I went out to buy the dresses (so I can show them to my hubby, mom and sis to get feedback) and lo and behold, realized I had missed a big section of the store. I kept shopping, returned to the dressing room to try on the entire store's worth of little black dresses and, of course, looked heinous in all of them.
Needless to say, an hour later I headed back to the register with my original two frocks and . . . you guessed it, no one knew what I was talking about. "Our management would never agree to that." "Our policy is written; we cannot extend it."
To quote the Eagles, (I'm) "afraid it's all been wasted time."
Late to dinner with my girlfriends for naught. But spared from spending money on something frivolous that accentuates my lumpy body? Yes.
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