I feel sorry for my husband more and more, I don’t think he realized when we got married that he was entering into a world of “Girl Heck”. The oldest has always been strong willed and vocal about the atrocities in her life, but the baby has always been our “Little helper”, she’s the first one to ask if you need anything, if you’re having a bad day she’s the first one to give you a hug and tell you she loves you. Slowly though we’ve started see a little tarnish on her shine, she gets a little moody now and then, and recently she’s started stomping off when someone makes fun of her or if she gets a little embarrassed. Generally I would shake it off as her being a little tired but, as I watched her stomp to her room a few weeks ago I started to do the math.
- Mood swings – check
- BO – check
- Small patches of acne – check
- More time in front of the mirror – check
It hit me suddenly that my “baby” was definitely on her way to becoming a young woman. I mentioned this to my husband, who very promptly cut me off and told me there was no way that our little girl, was anything but a little girl. I tried to explain to him, that being a woman I would know the signs better than he, but that didn’t matter to him at all, as far as he was concerned it was bad enough that he had to go to the store for “womanly things” for 2 girls in the house he had no intention of adding a third for at least 5-10 years. I laughed at his math and told him she would be out of the house and almost 21 in 10 years but that didn’t faze him, she was the baby and if she knew what was good for her she’d stay the baby until he was ready for her to not be. I dropped the subject knowing there would be no changing his mind for now and didn’t think about it for a few days. But as all unfinished business must be attended to at some point, this argument was resolved sooner than my husband would have liked.
It happened after dinner on a rather benign evening while we were watching TV, the oldest had shoveled her food as fast as she could and had promptly retreated to her cave to do whatever Emo-teenagers do, with their radio’s blaring and their fingers moving faster than can be seen, texting her friends. The baby sat on the floor in front of me, half watching the show but more interested with a spot on her shirt. My husband as usual was sitting next to me, half watching the show and searching for things on the internet with his I-phone. Our of the corner of my eye I caught the child pulling her shirt tight behind her and shaking her head back and forth, then she would let loose and pull he shirt open to look down the neck, after a few times of watching her I asked what she was doing. She startled not realizing anyone was watching her, blushed, smiled sweetly said “nothing” and went back to pulling her shirt tight. As I watched her for a few more minutes it dawned on me that she had little boobs! And as far as I could remember until that moment she had never had them before, it was like she left for school flat as a washboard and came home with super bouncing balls hidden under her shirt. After my husband sent her off to the shower I confronted him with this new evidence, he stared at me silently for a few minutes and then said softly “You’re lying”. “If you don’t believe me, go look at her in the shower”. He got up quickly and sped to the bathroom, threw open the door and yanked back the curtain. I heard a small scream from the child and something mumbled from my husband. The shower curtain was closed and the bathroom door was quietly shut. Then I heard footsteps coming back to the room. My husband stood in front of me for a few seconds staring blankly at the wall behind my head. I waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts; he finally sighed and turned to walk out of the room. “Where are you going?”
“Too the garage, our daughter has boobs!”
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Coffee Snob
I recently realized I have moved into a different level of snobdom. I love coffee, and with that I love good coffee. I buy my coffee whole bean – not some prepackaged stuff you get at the grocery store, and certainly not something you pay less than $10 for 60oz.
I blame my mother, she started going to a local coffee vendor when she was a teenager, and it didn’t matter where we lived she would trek herself and anyone else that was with her up to Berkeley so we could get her coffee. As I grew up we didn’t have a coffee maker in the house we had cone filters and press pots and for a very short while a vacuum pot to make her precious brew. She would make it so strong I swear it would put hair on your chest and sober you up from a 3 day bender. When she would grind the beans in the morning the aroma would fill the house with the air of some far off land and when the hot water hit the fresh grounds you could almost imagine people outside being able to smell her brew.
As a teenage growing up in the Berkeley/Albany area we would sit at little coffee shops for hours and discuss very important teenage things, I remember thinking how “adult” we were sitting in the back patio smoking and drinking our coffee, heavily laden with sugar and cream. But at that time I didn’t really get it, even when I moved into my first apartment I bought myself a coffee pot and grabbed some ground stuff from the store just in case someone visiting would ask for a cup. I didn’t really get into drinking “good” or better coffee until I started spending more time at my mom’s house. We would have these large family gatherings and after the meal we would sit around and drink coffee and snack on whatever lovely goodie my mother had whipped up and visit. So I started to follow the crowd and would have a cup just to be like everyone else, in the process I realized that quite a few of our family and friends liked higher end coffees and different ones from my mom, and as they shared their favorites during our visits I was opened up to a vast variety of flavors and textures – I know strange right but there really is a texture to coffee.
So now here I am a full fledged adult with 2 kids a husband, a car payment, mortgage and a job that I’ve been at for longer than 5 seconds. I get up bleary eyed after far too little sleep and trudge my way to the kitchen to get my water boiling – yes I still have the coffee pot but that’s only for when I have more than 5 people over at a time. While I’m waiting for my water to boil, I grind my beans that of course have been sitting on the counter in an air tight container, with my very new Burr grinder – it is way better than the cheaper blade one I had been using for too many years. I pull out my oxygen cleansed paper filter – bleached puts a funny flavor in the coffee, add 2 heaping tablespoons to the mix and pour. On the weekends when I do this ritual everyone in the house knows not to talk to me until I’ve gotten at least halfway through the first cup and on the really bad not until I’ve started the 2nd.
Recently though I’ve had to add another cup in the afternoon or I won’t make it past 7pm before I fall asleep on my couch and since most school and family related functions don’t usually start until then I figure I should attempt to be at least awake for them if not actually coherent. I used to have the cup when I would get home from work but I’ve moved into an office farther away and have had to resort to buying from the cart downstairs or trekking over to my favorite coffee provider. After being her for 5 months I realized the toll on my pocketbook was not good and while I love my coffee provider, sometimes what they’re brewing isn’t one of my favorite blends or regions. I did try for a little while bringing my own in with a thermos but by the end of the day, you have lukewarm and slightly bitter coffee from “resting” too much. I thought about microwaving the water or the coffee once it was here but it really just didn’t taste the same, I tried drinking it when I got home but was up way to late and would just be that much more tired the next morning. So I decided I would just have to make my own at work, I bought a little electric tea kettle, an extra filter and cups, I ground up enough beans to get me through a week and then double bagged them to keep them as fresh as I possibly can and dragged everything into the office yesterday. Promptly at 3pm I got up from my desk headed into our “break room” - it has a sink with only cold water, a microwave, and 2 vending machines. I wiggled my arm and plug around the giant microwave and waited for the water to boil. A few people came in and out while I was waiting and gave me very strange looks – I’ve decided they were thinking about how smart I was for what I was doing, as opposed to how very strange it was to see a woman literally brewing a cup of coffee in a business office was. After preparing my coffee I dropped everything off at my desk and headed out to the patio to enjoy the view with my very hot very good smelling very tasty cup of coffee and my afternoon smoke – yes I smoke don’t judge. I sat in the wooden char and looked out over the lake, favorite coffee provider logoed cup in hand, watching the ducks swim and the leaves that blew by just like in the Pocahontas movie and thought, “Yes I think I may have reached a new level in my coffee snobbiness”, although at that moment I didn’t care because there’s nothing like a good cup of coffee and a nice view to make the afternoon better.
I blame my mother, she started going to a local coffee vendor when she was a teenager, and it didn’t matter where we lived she would trek herself and anyone else that was with her up to Berkeley so we could get her coffee. As I grew up we didn’t have a coffee maker in the house we had cone filters and press pots and for a very short while a vacuum pot to make her precious brew. She would make it so strong I swear it would put hair on your chest and sober you up from a 3 day bender. When she would grind the beans in the morning the aroma would fill the house with the air of some far off land and when the hot water hit the fresh grounds you could almost imagine people outside being able to smell her brew.
As a teenage growing up in the Berkeley/Albany area we would sit at little coffee shops for hours and discuss very important teenage things, I remember thinking how “adult” we were sitting in the back patio smoking and drinking our coffee, heavily laden with sugar and cream. But at that time I didn’t really get it, even when I moved into my first apartment I bought myself a coffee pot and grabbed some ground stuff from the store just in case someone visiting would ask for a cup. I didn’t really get into drinking “good” or better coffee until I started spending more time at my mom’s house. We would have these large family gatherings and after the meal we would sit around and drink coffee and snack on whatever lovely goodie my mother had whipped up and visit. So I started to follow the crowd and would have a cup just to be like everyone else, in the process I realized that quite a few of our family and friends liked higher end coffees and different ones from my mom, and as they shared their favorites during our visits I was opened up to a vast variety of flavors and textures – I know strange right but there really is a texture to coffee.
So now here I am a full fledged adult with 2 kids a husband, a car payment, mortgage and a job that I’ve been at for longer than 5 seconds. I get up bleary eyed after far too little sleep and trudge my way to the kitchen to get my water boiling – yes I still have the coffee pot but that’s only for when I have more than 5 people over at a time. While I’m waiting for my water to boil, I grind my beans that of course have been sitting on the counter in an air tight container, with my very new Burr grinder – it is way better than the cheaper blade one I had been using for too many years. I pull out my oxygen cleansed paper filter – bleached puts a funny flavor in the coffee, add 2 heaping tablespoons to the mix and pour. On the weekends when I do this ritual everyone in the house knows not to talk to me until I’ve gotten at least halfway through the first cup and on the really bad not until I’ve started the 2nd.
Recently though I’ve had to add another cup in the afternoon or I won’t make it past 7pm before I fall asleep on my couch and since most school and family related functions don’t usually start until then I figure I should attempt to be at least awake for them if not actually coherent. I used to have the cup when I would get home from work but I’ve moved into an office farther away and have had to resort to buying from the cart downstairs or trekking over to my favorite coffee provider. After being her for 5 months I realized the toll on my pocketbook was not good and while I love my coffee provider, sometimes what they’re brewing isn’t one of my favorite blends or regions. I did try for a little while bringing my own in with a thermos but by the end of the day, you have lukewarm and slightly bitter coffee from “resting” too much. I thought about microwaving the water or the coffee once it was here but it really just didn’t taste the same, I tried drinking it when I got home but was up way to late and would just be that much more tired the next morning. So I decided I would just have to make my own at work, I bought a little electric tea kettle, an extra filter and cups, I ground up enough beans to get me through a week and then double bagged them to keep them as fresh as I possibly can and dragged everything into the office yesterday. Promptly at 3pm I got up from my desk headed into our “break room” - it has a sink with only cold water, a microwave, and 2 vending machines. I wiggled my arm and plug around the giant microwave and waited for the water to boil. A few people came in and out while I was waiting and gave me very strange looks – I’ve decided they were thinking about how smart I was for what I was doing, as opposed to how very strange it was to see a woman literally brewing a cup of coffee in a business office was. After preparing my coffee I dropped everything off at my desk and headed out to the patio to enjoy the view with my very hot very good smelling very tasty cup of coffee and my afternoon smoke – yes I smoke don’t judge. I sat in the wooden char and looked out over the lake, favorite coffee provider logoed cup in hand, watching the ducks swim and the leaves that blew by just like in the Pocahontas movie and thought, “Yes I think I may have reached a new level in my coffee snobbiness”, although at that moment I didn’t care because there’s nothing like a good cup of coffee and a nice view to make the afternoon better.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Grief
I’ve been slowly working through the grieving process with the death of my father and have come across a few interesting things I didn’t know about myself and others I didn’t realize were as prominent as I had originally thought.
- I actually have a max capacity! I didn’t learn this until recently I’ve known at times I’ve been close but never actually hit that point until a few months ago. My brain and body would just shut down, I would find myself minutes later staring into space and unable to move my limbs.
- There is a bit of time before and after a traumatic event that you actually forget, almost like the pain of childbirth and maybe for the same reasons, I will have conversations with people about things going on right around the time my father passed and I’ll have no recollection of what I did or how I did it.
- With that it seems that you go numb for a bit as well. We have a very close family friend that’s suffering through prostate cancer, I’ve spoken with him, his wife and our family about the matter and where other are very moved by the ordeal I find myself almost blasé about it. It’s not that I don’t care or that I feel the experience isn’t worthy of an emotion, at the moment though I can’t seem to dig down and find it.
- And you become a little selfish, I don’t know how many times recently I’ve looked at my husband and told him “I just can’t”. I probably could muster up the strength to do whatever it is that was asked but I don’t want to.
- I am impatient about the time it takes to grieve, I told my boss a few weeks ago that if someone could give me a timeframe and tell me things would stop hurting so much (not necessarily get better, just stop hurting) it would help. He smiled at me and went back to his typing, we both know each person is different but the unknown horizon really bothers me sometimes.
Most of this is coming to a head because a coworker that had been ill for sometime passed away yesterday. Last year when everything started I felt so horrible for his family and after numerous late night phone calls I would cry on my husbands shoulder, sharing the burden of their fear and pain. Today though I can’t seem to place my feelings, I’ve been sitting at my desk on autopilot running through a few emails and checking on some projects but….I don’t know. I wonder how long autopilot works before things start falling through the cracks, how long can someone be an observer in their own life? Is this really a good or bad thing? I’ve asked many people this question and can’t seem to get a straight answer, a lot say “Give it time” a few stare at you blankly because they have not experienced the same feelings and a small number have told me “get off your butt and do something, it’ll make you feel better” After time, blank stares and running my butt off I can tell you no one really has any better answer than where I started.
But last week I had a few days where I didn’t give my dad anything more than a passing thought and when I realized it I didn’t feel bad about it. I took a deep breath, felt around the wound and realized it hurt less – not better but definitely less. And maybe that’s what the real answer is. There isn’t a date on the calendar that will designate the end of grieving for me, and the loss of someone else won’t sting more or less than the initial shock but maybe after a time I’ll realize that I do feel small things and if I work a little at it, it will move itself into the large ones as well.
- I actually have a max capacity! I didn’t learn this until recently I’ve known at times I’ve been close but never actually hit that point until a few months ago. My brain and body would just shut down, I would find myself minutes later staring into space and unable to move my limbs.
- There is a bit of time before and after a traumatic event that you actually forget, almost like the pain of childbirth and maybe for the same reasons, I will have conversations with people about things going on right around the time my father passed and I’ll have no recollection of what I did or how I did it.
- With that it seems that you go numb for a bit as well. We have a very close family friend that’s suffering through prostate cancer, I’ve spoken with him, his wife and our family about the matter and where other are very moved by the ordeal I find myself almost blasé about it. It’s not that I don’t care or that I feel the experience isn’t worthy of an emotion, at the moment though I can’t seem to dig down and find it.
- And you become a little selfish, I don’t know how many times recently I’ve looked at my husband and told him “I just can’t”. I probably could muster up the strength to do whatever it is that was asked but I don’t want to.
- I am impatient about the time it takes to grieve, I told my boss a few weeks ago that if someone could give me a timeframe and tell me things would stop hurting so much (not necessarily get better, just stop hurting) it would help. He smiled at me and went back to his typing, we both know each person is different but the unknown horizon really bothers me sometimes.
Most of this is coming to a head because a coworker that had been ill for sometime passed away yesterday. Last year when everything started I felt so horrible for his family and after numerous late night phone calls I would cry on my husbands shoulder, sharing the burden of their fear and pain. Today though I can’t seem to place my feelings, I’ve been sitting at my desk on autopilot running through a few emails and checking on some projects but….I don’t know. I wonder how long autopilot works before things start falling through the cracks, how long can someone be an observer in their own life? Is this really a good or bad thing? I’ve asked many people this question and can’t seem to get a straight answer, a lot say “Give it time” a few stare at you blankly because they have not experienced the same feelings and a small number have told me “get off your butt and do something, it’ll make you feel better” After time, blank stares and running my butt off I can tell you no one really has any better answer than where I started.
But last week I had a few days where I didn’t give my dad anything more than a passing thought and when I realized it I didn’t feel bad about it. I took a deep breath, felt around the wound and realized it hurt less – not better but definitely less. And maybe that’s what the real answer is. There isn’t a date on the calendar that will designate the end of grieving for me, and the loss of someone else won’t sting more or less than the initial shock but maybe after a time I’ll realize that I do feel small things and if I work a little at it, it will move itself into the large ones as well.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Teenage Driving
I have always been one of those parents/people that believe that teenagers should not have drivers licenses or be allowed to operate any sort of vehicle until they are truly afraid of what the consequences are should they do something stupid. Even now looking back I believe I shouldn’t have gotten my license when I did and I was not really capable of driving or fully grasping the concept of damage for a very long time after I had it. I was also one of those teenagers that didn’t necessarily get to drive around because I wanted to, I was only given the keys to the family car when an errand needed to be run and my parents didn’t want to do it themselves. “Here run to the store and grab me this” or “I need gas in the truck for tomorrow, will you get it for me?” for the first few weeks I thought it was the greatest thing in the world tolling around in that giant bronco, I’d pick the farthest grocery store or gas station away so I’d have a longer time behind the wheel. I would try and get the stereo as loud as I could and roll the windows down thinking everyone would know how cool I was in my big truck. What I realize now is I was one of the idiots that annoy the crap out of me now. I don’t want to listen to your music and while I’m sure you truly appreciate the bass that your stereo puts out, the trunk rattle you can hear just shows how much damage your doing and how much money you didn’t put into the sound system. You couldn’t have told that to me then though.
I bring this up because I’ve reached a crossroads in my life and am not sure which direction I should take. I have become tired of being taxi mom and trying to schedule pick ups with my two daughters along with running all of the errands I need to do especially in the winter months when I have to get them all done before the sun goes down (I have night blindness and just getting home from the office before I can’t see is a daily struggle) but I also know all of the stupid things I did as a kid with a very large vehicle at my disposal and I am terrified that my children will either kill themselves or someone else ( not that I have to worry too soon about this, the oldest is just about to be 14, but when she told me the other day she could get her permit in 18 months the reality set in very quickly). I’ve always felt very blessed to have 2 men in my life that knew cars and believed that you should know your vehicles limits, it allows you to drive them better. The problem is that in order to find out said limits you for the most part have to try to kill yourself to get there. Yes the truck really will roll if you turn a corner too sharply and yes you will blow the motor if you try to downshift from 5th to 2nd accidentally, it really does take a long time to stop a vehicle when you’re going 85 miles an hour and antilock brakes only work so long before they give up the fight of your stupidity. Also power steering is a godsend, I guess that’s not something I’ll need to worry about with my girls but I really wish someone had told me how hard it is to steer without it before I learned the hard way.
My boyfriend at the time and I were taking night classes at the local community college, I was still in high school and if I remember correctly I don’t think I even had my license at that point just a permit but as young people tend to be stupid I had convinced him to let me drive his 67 Impala around the parking lot to get practice. It was a boat, and aside from having no seatbelts, heater and blankets to cover the torn seats, it did not have power steering or power brakes. Everything was going fine to begin with and I circled the different parking lot for a few minutes before I got brave enough to take it out on a side street and go around the block. As I was making my way back to the parking lot a huge truck started coming the other direction, I remember being blinded by the headlights, slowing down to a crawl and turning into the cars parked along the street to give him room. I know now what I did wrong but at that point in time all I heard as I was trying to drive away was the ear piercing screech of metal on metal as I slid my car down the side of someone else’s. I desperately tried to correct my mistake but lacked the strength to move the behemoth at such a slow speed. After getting the car into the parking lot I ran back to the other vehicle – to this day all I can tell you is it was white, and the only reason I know that is because that was the streak of color running down the side of my car. I waited around for a bit hoping the person would come out they never did, I did leave a note on the car and pushed one through the crack of the window just in case the one on the hood blew away, and ran shamefully away. I never did get a phone call from the owner to help pay for the damage, and thankfully there wasn’t a person riding a bike or walking between cars. On the upside, the very next day a pump went into the car for power steering and power brakes on the boat and from later experience I can tell you that thing whipped doughnuts like a champ.
I bring this up because I’ve reached a crossroads in my life and am not sure which direction I should take. I have become tired of being taxi mom and trying to schedule pick ups with my two daughters along with running all of the errands I need to do especially in the winter months when I have to get them all done before the sun goes down (I have night blindness and just getting home from the office before I can’t see is a daily struggle) but I also know all of the stupid things I did as a kid with a very large vehicle at my disposal and I am terrified that my children will either kill themselves or someone else ( not that I have to worry too soon about this, the oldest is just about to be 14, but when she told me the other day she could get her permit in 18 months the reality set in very quickly). I’ve always felt very blessed to have 2 men in my life that knew cars and believed that you should know your vehicles limits, it allows you to drive them better. The problem is that in order to find out said limits you for the most part have to try to kill yourself to get there. Yes the truck really will roll if you turn a corner too sharply and yes you will blow the motor if you try to downshift from 5th to 2nd accidentally, it really does take a long time to stop a vehicle when you’re going 85 miles an hour and antilock brakes only work so long before they give up the fight of your stupidity. Also power steering is a godsend, I guess that’s not something I’ll need to worry about with my girls but I really wish someone had told me how hard it is to steer without it before I learned the hard way.
My boyfriend at the time and I were taking night classes at the local community college, I was still in high school and if I remember correctly I don’t think I even had my license at that point just a permit but as young people tend to be stupid I had convinced him to let me drive his 67 Impala around the parking lot to get practice. It was a boat, and aside from having no seatbelts, heater and blankets to cover the torn seats, it did not have power steering or power brakes. Everything was going fine to begin with and I circled the different parking lot for a few minutes before I got brave enough to take it out on a side street and go around the block. As I was making my way back to the parking lot a huge truck started coming the other direction, I remember being blinded by the headlights, slowing down to a crawl and turning into the cars parked along the street to give him room. I know now what I did wrong but at that point in time all I heard as I was trying to drive away was the ear piercing screech of metal on metal as I slid my car down the side of someone else’s. I desperately tried to correct my mistake but lacked the strength to move the behemoth at such a slow speed. After getting the car into the parking lot I ran back to the other vehicle – to this day all I can tell you is it was white, and the only reason I know that is because that was the streak of color running down the side of my car. I waited around for a bit hoping the person would come out they never did, I did leave a note on the car and pushed one through the crack of the window just in case the one on the hood blew away, and ran shamefully away. I never did get a phone call from the owner to help pay for the damage, and thankfully there wasn’t a person riding a bike or walking between cars. On the upside, the very next day a pump went into the car for power steering and power brakes on the boat and from later experience I can tell you that thing whipped doughnuts like a champ.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
1st day of High School
We have a long standing tradition in my family on the first day of school. I get up early, make the kids something “special” for breakfast, they take a lunchable – don’t ask me why it’s what they’ve always wanted, and I drop them off to class. When they get out in the afternoon we go somewhere for a snack and discuss their classes, teachers and which of their friends are still there. I can remember clearly holding my eldest’s hand as we walked to the Kindergarten class for the first time. They actually let the parents stay for a little while to make sure our kids are really going to be ok and we’re allowed to sneak out once we feel comfortable. I saw parents that left their son or daughter at the gate and wished them luck. There were others that like me wanted to sneak out earlier than they did, but not look like we didn’t care and finally others that didn’t leave at all – when the rest of us wandered back in at the end of the day they were still there hovering over their child. Not to say that I’m not nostalgic and I recognize the milestone of starting kindergarten, after I dropped my “baby” off for the first time I went home and cried – yes I am one of those mothers, but I’ve also learned to try not to hold onto things longer than my girls do, I refuse to be that mother where the children are rolling their eyes and trying to get away from them in public because they’re smothering them with too much motherly love. Trust me when I embarrass my children I want to do it for the sake of embarrassing them not by accident.
Yesterday my oldest started high school, they do things a little differently at their school and she wasn’t starting class until after noon. With some things that have happened this year I just wasn’t able to take the day off to be with her and after kissing her sleepy head goodbye and wishing her luck I drove off to work with a heavy heart and guilty conscience. She did tell me earlier, that it was ok and she understood that I can’t always be there for the little things, which of course made me feel even worse. When I got through my morning calls I realized I had a break in the day and decided to take off early and meet her for our after school tradition. I pulled into the parking lot and took my normal spot looking forward to hearing how things were different but the same. As the bell rang I watched her walk out of class with one of her girlfriends and give me the “acknowledgement nod” as she headed off to her locker, after a few minutes I decided I was hot and done waiting – my car is the ultimate solar conductor for heat and met her at her locker, instead of being greeted with a warm smile or even a hello – she turns on me and says “You need to go home right now and get me my gym clothes and tennis shoes”. Slightly taken aback I recovered quickly and moved into “MOM” mode. “No, you’re in high school now and it’s your responsibility to make sure you have everything”, “but the coach won’t let me practice in my school clothes” “Well let’s go talk to him” as we walk up to the coach she becomes sullen and silent after spending a few minutes looking at each other I tell her again it’s her responsibility to take care of her stuff, she rolls her eyes and explains she didn’t bring her gym clothes for practice. He looks at me then back at her and promptly tells her she’ll have to practice in what she’s wearing and walks off to the gym. My loving daughter turns to me with exasperation grumbles something about how terrible her shoes are, which I pretend not to hear, I smile give her a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder and tell her I’ll be back to pick her up after practice. As I drive off I realize with a little anger, that all the worrying about being there for her was just in my head, I had made myself sick thinking I was letting her down and with anyone that’s every dealt with a teenager can tell you they’re not thinking the same thing when it comes to the things that they do. But I also realized that she has reached a point where she doesn’t need me to be there for her all the time, she’s actually starting to do things on her on and make her own decisions, not necessarily all good ones but she’s at least sticking to her guns. I guess it’s finally happening to me my little girls are growing up and pretty soon they’re going to be leaving the house and mom will be more of a guidance counselor instead of a bringer of things or taxi service. I guess that is until the next time one of them leaves their gym clothes or something else at home again.
Yesterday my oldest started high school, they do things a little differently at their school and she wasn’t starting class until after noon. With some things that have happened this year I just wasn’t able to take the day off to be with her and after kissing her sleepy head goodbye and wishing her luck I drove off to work with a heavy heart and guilty conscience. She did tell me earlier, that it was ok and she understood that I can’t always be there for the little things, which of course made me feel even worse. When I got through my morning calls I realized I had a break in the day and decided to take off early and meet her for our after school tradition. I pulled into the parking lot and took my normal spot looking forward to hearing how things were different but the same. As the bell rang I watched her walk out of class with one of her girlfriends and give me the “acknowledgement nod” as she headed off to her locker, after a few minutes I decided I was hot and done waiting – my car is the ultimate solar conductor for heat and met her at her locker, instead of being greeted with a warm smile or even a hello – she turns on me and says “You need to go home right now and get me my gym clothes and tennis shoes”. Slightly taken aback I recovered quickly and moved into “MOM” mode. “No, you’re in high school now and it’s your responsibility to make sure you have everything”, “but the coach won’t let me practice in my school clothes” “Well let’s go talk to him” as we walk up to the coach she becomes sullen and silent after spending a few minutes looking at each other I tell her again it’s her responsibility to take care of her stuff, she rolls her eyes and explains she didn’t bring her gym clothes for practice. He looks at me then back at her and promptly tells her she’ll have to practice in what she’s wearing and walks off to the gym. My loving daughter turns to me with exasperation grumbles something about how terrible her shoes are, which I pretend not to hear, I smile give her a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder and tell her I’ll be back to pick her up after practice. As I drive off I realize with a little anger, that all the worrying about being there for her was just in my head, I had made myself sick thinking I was letting her down and with anyone that’s every dealt with a teenager can tell you they’re not thinking the same thing when it comes to the things that they do. But I also realized that she has reached a point where she doesn’t need me to be there for her all the time, she’s actually starting to do things on her on and make her own decisions, not necessarily all good ones but she’s at least sticking to her guns. I guess it’s finally happening to me my little girls are growing up and pretty soon they’re going to be leaving the house and mom will be more of a guidance counselor instead of a bringer of things or taxi service. I guess that is until the next time one of them leaves their gym clothes or something else at home again.
Friday, August 27, 2010
The Gumby Dilemma
I come from a family of guilt, not to say we’re murderers or there’s something terrible that was done in the past and we have to pay the price for it. We’re just people that need to feel guilty, we’re not doing enough, we don’t have enough time for everything that needs to get done, we don’t have enough money to help all of the poor people in the world etc. It’s not a totally bad thing – it’s driven all of us to do more and try to achieve more in our lives than the generations before us so that our children will have better – which of course we feel guilty for but, then you have days that you just don’t know what to do with yourself you’re so torn between what you really want to do and what you really need to do.
My mother is lovingly known as the “Martyr” in our family. Yes I did inherit her guilty feelings and sometimes although not often even do it better than her. In a recent conversation she was telling me how horrible she felt because one of her friends had had something terrible happen to them and she hadn’t been there to help her out. Of course she doesn’t mention in this story that the friend didn’t tell her about it until way after the fact and there wasn’t much she could have done anyway. I mention this because I have found recently that she will at times pass the guilt along, suddenly I’m starting to feel bad that she feels so horrible and I should have done something about it to help her help her friend out. I know it’s a vicious circle. I’ve noticed also that maybe I’ve gotten lucky and my oldest may not have been given the guilt gene – her sister definitely has poor thing is always trying to make up for something she didn’t do or had no control over. The oldest though can’t be bothered, she does what she wants when she wants and doesn’t worry about it one bit, I’m very envious.
With that background I give you the “Gumby Dilemma” – you get stretched so far by guilt or habit or responsibility that you don’t know which side is up or what you were doing anything for in the first place. I found myself there this morning. I’ve been working hard to take care of my mother since my father passed away, I do it out of love always it’s just sometimes harder than others to feel gracious about it, add to it the children going back to school and all the things that need to be taken care of for that, walk through, school shopping, sports meetings, PTA meetings, forms, needing to take a second mortgage out for everything etc. Then add in my husband being out of work for a little while again – I swear he’s not “one of those guys”, he’s always the last one to get laid off of whatever construction job he’s on but I really wish we could find a company that would realize it’s cheaper to keep him than hire a few new guys to break in once everything’s said and done. Finally add in my insane idea to get farther back into the workforce and move my job 20 miles farther down the road, and attempt to train for something new. The final straw came this morning when I got a phone call from my biological father, he didn’t have anything terrible to tell me, just wanted to talk, and he was feeling a little lonely and wanted to hear a friendly voice. After a rather nice conversation with him I hung up and cried….Yes I felt guiltily because I hadn’t spoke to him in a while and he might feel bad about it. Then later at lunch I was attempting to shop for my mothers birthday lunch but was bombarded with phone calls about work and other such things. Half the time I couldn’t tell you what day of the week it is, I wake up in the middle of the night and worry that I might have a face to face meeting earlier than I think the next day. And then I feel bad because I can’t even get myself off the couch in the evening to help my daughter wither homework. I think today if you could see my arms and legs they might stretch around my office building twice in each direction.
They tell us women we can have it all, a career, children a husband and a nice home. What they neglect to tell us is the guilt will drive us insane and at the end of the day, all of our pants are either Capri’s or short shorts, all of our sweaters are short sleeved or tank tops and that multitasking lifestyle that seems so popular is just a fancy name for being Gumby!
My mother is lovingly known as the “Martyr” in our family. Yes I did inherit her guilty feelings and sometimes although not often even do it better than her. In a recent conversation she was telling me how horrible she felt because one of her friends had had something terrible happen to them and she hadn’t been there to help her out. Of course she doesn’t mention in this story that the friend didn’t tell her about it until way after the fact and there wasn’t much she could have done anyway. I mention this because I have found recently that she will at times pass the guilt along, suddenly I’m starting to feel bad that she feels so horrible and I should have done something about it to help her help her friend out. I know it’s a vicious circle. I’ve noticed also that maybe I’ve gotten lucky and my oldest may not have been given the guilt gene – her sister definitely has poor thing is always trying to make up for something she didn’t do or had no control over. The oldest though can’t be bothered, she does what she wants when she wants and doesn’t worry about it one bit, I’m very envious.
With that background I give you the “Gumby Dilemma” – you get stretched so far by guilt or habit or responsibility that you don’t know which side is up or what you were doing anything for in the first place. I found myself there this morning. I’ve been working hard to take care of my mother since my father passed away, I do it out of love always it’s just sometimes harder than others to feel gracious about it, add to it the children going back to school and all the things that need to be taken care of for that, walk through, school shopping, sports meetings, PTA meetings, forms, needing to take a second mortgage out for everything etc. Then add in my husband being out of work for a little while again – I swear he’s not “one of those guys”, he’s always the last one to get laid off of whatever construction job he’s on but I really wish we could find a company that would realize it’s cheaper to keep him than hire a few new guys to break in once everything’s said and done. Finally add in my insane idea to get farther back into the workforce and move my job 20 miles farther down the road, and attempt to train for something new. The final straw came this morning when I got a phone call from my biological father, he didn’t have anything terrible to tell me, just wanted to talk, and he was feeling a little lonely and wanted to hear a friendly voice. After a rather nice conversation with him I hung up and cried….Yes I felt guiltily because I hadn’t spoke to him in a while and he might feel bad about it. Then later at lunch I was attempting to shop for my mothers birthday lunch but was bombarded with phone calls about work and other such things. Half the time I couldn’t tell you what day of the week it is, I wake up in the middle of the night and worry that I might have a face to face meeting earlier than I think the next day. And then I feel bad because I can’t even get myself off the couch in the evening to help my daughter wither homework. I think today if you could see my arms and legs they might stretch around my office building twice in each direction.
They tell us women we can have it all, a career, children a husband and a nice home. What they neglect to tell us is the guilt will drive us insane and at the end of the day, all of our pants are either Capri’s or short shorts, all of our sweaters are short sleeved or tank tops and that multitasking lifestyle that seems so popular is just a fancy name for being Gumby!
Monday, August 2, 2010
TEXTING
I recently received a status update on facebook from one of my friends, she was amazed that her teenage daughter had send and received almost 9,000 text messages one month. Since I’m one of those types of people I started doing the math, 31 days in the month it’s a little over 290 texts a day, 16 hours a day of awake time….that’s about 9 text messages sent and 9 replies, mind you this happened during a school month so I crunched the numbers a little differently say 10 hours of texting (hoping that the kid’s not doing it during school) that’s about 15 sent and received. I can’t even imagine how much time that might take. I consider myself to be halfway decent at texting and with the I phone having a QWERTY keypad definitely helps but still, it would be a lot of work to do that many. I’ve even considered doing a test to see how long it would take me to send out 15 text messages and get 15 back but the people I am in contact with would probably think I’m a little stranger than they initially realized and may not want to talk to me ever again. . I don’t think I would even bother having the feature on my plan (and yes with 2 teenage daughters we have unlimited text on our plan) if it hadn’t become the only form of communication with my girls. As far as they’re concerned it’s much easier to text me to ask about something they want or have to do than actually dial a number and talk to me. Even my husband communicates with his friends by text rather than call them, and then he get’s annoyed when they don’t respond as quickly as he would like. I don’t know how many times I’ve had the conversation with one of them that starts with “Why don’t you call them and find out?” With a roll of the eye I generally get this response “No this is easier, I’ll let you know when I have the answer” I have actually been put on hold while my daughter is talking to me on her cell phone to answer a text she’s received - I’m not sure if that shows the instant gratification of this new generation or what kind of hold I have on my kid.
I wonder what the text’s look like, are they sending one word at a time? Maybe they’re sending out to a group of people, 30 messages in an hour seems like a lot, I’m not sure I have that many contacts in my phone to be able to send that many. I surely don’t have enough to say to anyone including my husband and kids to constitute having that many texts. Although playing carpool mom for my 13 year old and her friend I’ve noticed that instead of talking to each other on the drive home they text. I’ve decided it’s for privacy of conversation on their end, they would be mortified if I knew what was going on with “Jimmy” and his girlfriend, or what “Sally” said to so and so at lunch. So I decided to check how many texts my oldest had done last month and was stunned, 5,000! She’s not awake long enough to have that many, I swear she’s grown an allergy to sunlight since school got out and as far as I can tell she’s snoring by the time I got to bed so where is she finding the time to do all of them? As we discussed this over dinner, she puffed up with pride that she had had that many small conversations with her friend that I had to laugh, and then because I am an parent of a teenager and have far too much time on my hands I proceeded to tell her that when I receive my 120+ page bill a month I can read all of the texts that have been sent back and forth with everyone on our plan, suddenly her face changed and a small twitch started at the side of her mouth. “Really? You can read everything?” My husband who up until that point hadn’t been very interested in the conversation perked up at the sound of fear like a shark that smells blood, he went in for the kill. “Yes, we know everything, ask Jasmine how her cats doing for me” It was a shot in the dark but it hit home with such accuracy I honestly though she’d fall out of her chair. With knowing eyes my husband and I looked at each other across the table and gave each other a mental high five. Soon after she asked to be excused, and I watched her from the corner of my eye as she made a beeline for her phone, she flipped it sideways, and her fingers went to work with such fervor I imagined I could see sparks flying. Once finished she snapped her phone shut, TURNED IT OFF and breathed a sigh of relief. I’m not sure when she’ll figure out that we have no idea what she sends to her friends and in all honestly I don’t worry about it, she’s a good kid and aside from the standard teenage psychosis she gives me no reason to think otherwise. I do have a strong suspicion though that until she does realize it, her texting numbers will be WAY DOWN!
I wonder what the text’s look like, are they sending one word at a time? Maybe they’re sending out to a group of people, 30 messages in an hour seems like a lot, I’m not sure I have that many contacts in my phone to be able to send that many. I surely don’t have enough to say to anyone including my husband and kids to constitute having that many texts. Although playing carpool mom for my 13 year old and her friend I’ve noticed that instead of talking to each other on the drive home they text. I’ve decided it’s for privacy of conversation on their end, they would be mortified if I knew what was going on with “Jimmy” and his girlfriend, or what “Sally” said to so and so at lunch. So I decided to check how many texts my oldest had done last month and was stunned, 5,000! She’s not awake long enough to have that many, I swear she’s grown an allergy to sunlight since school got out and as far as I can tell she’s snoring by the time I got to bed so where is she finding the time to do all of them? As we discussed this over dinner, she puffed up with pride that she had had that many small conversations with her friend that I had to laugh, and then because I am an parent of a teenager and have far too much time on my hands I proceeded to tell her that when I receive my 120+ page bill a month I can read all of the texts that have been sent back and forth with everyone on our plan, suddenly her face changed and a small twitch started at the side of her mouth. “Really? You can read everything?” My husband who up until that point hadn’t been very interested in the conversation perked up at the sound of fear like a shark that smells blood, he went in for the kill. “Yes, we know everything, ask Jasmine how her cats doing for me” It was a shot in the dark but it hit home with such accuracy I honestly though she’d fall out of her chair. With knowing eyes my husband and I looked at each other across the table and gave each other a mental high five. Soon after she asked to be excused, and I watched her from the corner of my eye as she made a beeline for her phone, she flipped it sideways, and her fingers went to work with such fervor I imagined I could see sparks flying. Once finished she snapped her phone shut, TURNED IT OFF and breathed a sigh of relief. I’m not sure when she’ll figure out that we have no idea what she sends to her friends and in all honestly I don’t worry about it, she’s a good kid and aside from the standard teenage psychosis she gives me no reason to think otherwise. I do have a strong suspicion though that until she does realize it, her texting numbers will be WAY DOWN!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wagons East
I'm one of those people that really enjoys my job, now that's not to say that I don't have bad days or that I don't have to do things that I don't want to but for the most part the people I work with are a good group and I enjoy working with them. Unfortunately there are times that my job really sucks and I think I may have hit a low point today. Occasionally my job duties entail people leaving the company, some retire, others quit and on some occasions they get fired. My involvement is pretty minimal, I type a few keys on my computer, remind the supervisor to make sure all the paperwork gets back to me and file things away, it's all very banal. Today though I actually had to sit down and talk to the employee before they left, we moved into a conference room for privacy and they just let it go. Their health had been failing for months because of the stress of the job and things in their personal life. They just couldn’t do it any more, and after talking with their spouse, decided it was the best thing for both of them. As I walked the employee out, they stopped and gave me a hug and said thank you for the things I had done over the years, told me they had a few more months to pack up (they have had their house foreclosed on) and they were hitting the road. “I’m going to hitch up my fifth wheel and we’ll point our wagon’s east”. I waved as I watched the now ex-employee leave the parking lot and wondered if I was going to be one of those people, at the end of my “career” disenchanted with the system on a whole and slightly broken from the experience. Would I just take my husband and the kids and pack up? This person talked about getting over the Sierra’s and into the open, they could hit the cruise control, set the speed to 85 and drive with their knees the rest of the way there, I had been saddened by the loss that they had experienced initially but now that I think about it, I realized the glimmer they had in their eye wasn’t necessarily tears for a loss but also maybe a little bit of adventure. Maybe this could be the turning point for them; a new life that ends’s up a little better. I honestly don’t know but I think I like that idea more than the vision of a slightly banged up and broken person I witnessed walking to their car.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The Costco Gestapo
A few years ago while trying to get together a large fundraising campaign at work we decided that we needed supplies from Costco for a snack bar. Now I’m not one to keep a card like that, mostly I can’t afford it and when I have had it in the past it didn’t get used as often as I wanted to, to justify the price of the membership. In addition anyone that does own a Costco or Sam’s Club card knows that they tend to spend far more than they intended to, than when they walked in. Back to the story at hand, I tried in vain to find someone that would go with me that had a card; it’s amazing how busy people become in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday. Instead my boss decided to give me his card figuring there would be no problem and I wouldn’t have to bother anyone with the shopping process.
So off I go, I get into the store just fine; get my supplies, making very good time and head over to the check out aisle. Here’s where the problem starts, most of the time they scan your card and hand it back to you, I know from past experience they don’t check the name and, as long as you’re paying cash you don’t usually have a problem. My mother and I shop all the time together she has a card, pay’s for her stuff with a check or ATM card, I come through after with her card, pay cash and we’re good to go. This was not the case that day, the gentlemen behind the counter; scan’s the card, looks at it and passes it off to another guy waiting in the wings. I’m thinking this is odd but not worrying too much about it since they’re still scanning my order and making some small talk. We get to the total I pull out my cash and he stops to look at me,
“Who is Bob Brown?” he asks me loudly
I’ve prepared for this before I came in, thinking of all of the scenarios that might come up and decide the best approach is to lie – just a little fudge mind you nothing too big since most people will see right through a big lie.
“My dad.”
“Do you know he has the wrong type of card?”
Wrong type of card? Ok I had not prepared for this one, and what does that mean? He’s using a wholesale one when he’s not supposed to?
“I’m sorry no I wasn’t aware of that” I say quietly trying not to draw too much attention to myself. It’s not working too well as the annoyed crowd starts to build behind me, and it doesn’t help that now the cashier is starting to look really puffy.
“You know its people like you,” – great here we go, I’m waiting for him to grab one of the cardboard boxes and start preaching to everyone in the checkout section “that make our jobs so complicated. There should be a photo on this card so we can identify who’s using it at the start of the transaction.”
“Sir, I am truly sorry, I had no idea and I’m sure my dad didn’t either” now that I’ve gone down this road I’m going to need to play it out to the bitter end. I’m quickly deciding what my options are and if tears are going to need to be involved to get me out safely with my stash. Oh yes I’ve decided I’m leaving with my stash, most would just walk away from the situation but now I’m determined that regardless of this man who has decided I am dirt, and all of these people are staring at me, I’ll be damned if I’m walking out with my head down and empty handed.
“Well what do you want me to do about it?” he asks, “technically we’re not supposed to let you purchase anything and we should probably hold you here until your dad comes down to get his picture taken and can purchase these items himself” wonderful, he’s not buying the dad bit now what? He starts to motion to another man off to the side I’m frantically trying to figure out what to do – should the tears start now? No then he’ll know you’re caught and you’re not making out alive. Hold me? Where are they going to hold me? And can they do that? I guess so I mean you’re a paying member to get in here I’m sure they can do whatever they want to. I wonder if they have a room. I wonder what type of room it is, I bet it’s small and smells bad, like rotten food or something with lots of pallets and spare boxes. I wonder if it has an old metal chair in the middle bolted to the floor with a single bright light bulb above. Great what am I going to tell people at work about this? I got held at Costco for using Steve’s card? He had to come bail me out of Costco for fraud? “I don’t know what happened to Sarah, she went into Costco one afternoon and never came out, you know they have a secret police force there that catches you and send you off to work as a slave in foreign countries”. Ok get it together the crowd is starting to get restless and there are a number of men walking quickly towards you. Wait this one looks important he’s wearing a button down and a tie, talk to him he’s your ticket out of her.
“Sir, are you the manager? Yes? good, I am so very sorry for this confusion we had no idea that the policy had changed on your membership cards, I told my dad” I turn slightly back to the cashier with a look “since he’s so busy at work at the moment that I would come down for him and pick up the supplies for my brothers birthday party this evening. Had either of us though this would be a problem he would have gotten off his conference call with the President of his company to take care of it…..” then just for a bit of luck I managed to squeeze out one tear to show my fear and embarrassment.
“Ah oh, no dear that won’t be necessary” he stammers uncomfortably “now it’s nothing to cry about, we’ll get this taken care of right now, you ah, what’s your total? Ah a see ok do you have the money to pay for everything”
“Yes sir” I sniffle
“OK, well, we’ll ah, have to hold the card until your ah, dad comes down to take his picture but… go ahead and take your items and we’ll get this worked out later.”
“Oh thank you so much, and again I’m very sorry for all of the trouble” I smile brightly at the manager as the cashier is burning holes into the side of my face. He takes my money doesn’t bother to ask me if I need help out , which I don’t and wouldn’t have taken anyway but, they’re still supposed to ask After all I’m still a paying customer. And follows me out of the store, “You know it is people like you that make this job such a pain”
“Well, thank you for your insight I’m sure it’ll do me no good in the real world” And off I go to my car. Thinking all the while that I’ve escaped from the Costco Gestapo and they didn’t take my soul or sell me to slave traders.
So off I go, I get into the store just fine; get my supplies, making very good time and head over to the check out aisle. Here’s where the problem starts, most of the time they scan your card and hand it back to you, I know from past experience they don’t check the name and, as long as you’re paying cash you don’t usually have a problem. My mother and I shop all the time together she has a card, pay’s for her stuff with a check or ATM card, I come through after with her card, pay cash and we’re good to go. This was not the case that day, the gentlemen behind the counter; scan’s the card, looks at it and passes it off to another guy waiting in the wings. I’m thinking this is odd but not worrying too much about it since they’re still scanning my order and making some small talk. We get to the total I pull out my cash and he stops to look at me,
“Who is Bob Brown?” he asks me loudly
I’ve prepared for this before I came in, thinking of all of the scenarios that might come up and decide the best approach is to lie – just a little fudge mind you nothing too big since most people will see right through a big lie.
“My dad.”
“Do you know he has the wrong type of card?”
Wrong type of card? Ok I had not prepared for this one, and what does that mean? He’s using a wholesale one when he’s not supposed to?
“I’m sorry no I wasn’t aware of that” I say quietly trying not to draw too much attention to myself. It’s not working too well as the annoyed crowd starts to build behind me, and it doesn’t help that now the cashier is starting to look really puffy.
“You know its people like you,” – great here we go, I’m waiting for him to grab one of the cardboard boxes and start preaching to everyone in the checkout section “that make our jobs so complicated. There should be a photo on this card so we can identify who’s using it at the start of the transaction.”
“Sir, I am truly sorry, I had no idea and I’m sure my dad didn’t either” now that I’ve gone down this road I’m going to need to play it out to the bitter end. I’m quickly deciding what my options are and if tears are going to need to be involved to get me out safely with my stash. Oh yes I’ve decided I’m leaving with my stash, most would just walk away from the situation but now I’m determined that regardless of this man who has decided I am dirt, and all of these people are staring at me, I’ll be damned if I’m walking out with my head down and empty handed.
“Well what do you want me to do about it?” he asks, “technically we’re not supposed to let you purchase anything and we should probably hold you here until your dad comes down to get his picture taken and can purchase these items himself” wonderful, he’s not buying the dad bit now what? He starts to motion to another man off to the side I’m frantically trying to figure out what to do – should the tears start now? No then he’ll know you’re caught and you’re not making out alive. Hold me? Where are they going to hold me? And can they do that? I guess so I mean you’re a paying member to get in here I’m sure they can do whatever they want to. I wonder if they have a room. I wonder what type of room it is, I bet it’s small and smells bad, like rotten food or something with lots of pallets and spare boxes. I wonder if it has an old metal chair in the middle bolted to the floor with a single bright light bulb above. Great what am I going to tell people at work about this? I got held at Costco for using Steve’s card? He had to come bail me out of Costco for fraud? “I don’t know what happened to Sarah, she went into Costco one afternoon and never came out, you know they have a secret police force there that catches you and send you off to work as a slave in foreign countries”. Ok get it together the crowd is starting to get restless and there are a number of men walking quickly towards you. Wait this one looks important he’s wearing a button down and a tie, talk to him he’s your ticket out of her.
“Sir, are you the manager? Yes? good, I am so very sorry for this confusion we had no idea that the policy had changed on your membership cards, I told my dad” I turn slightly back to the cashier with a look “since he’s so busy at work at the moment that I would come down for him and pick up the supplies for my brothers birthday party this evening. Had either of us though this would be a problem he would have gotten off his conference call with the President of his company to take care of it…..” then just for a bit of luck I managed to squeeze out one tear to show my fear and embarrassment.
“Ah oh, no dear that won’t be necessary” he stammers uncomfortably “now it’s nothing to cry about, we’ll get this taken care of right now, you ah, what’s your total? Ah a see ok do you have the money to pay for everything”
“Yes sir” I sniffle
“OK, well, we’ll ah, have to hold the card until your ah, dad comes down to take his picture but… go ahead and take your items and we’ll get this worked out later.”
“Oh thank you so much, and again I’m very sorry for all of the trouble” I smile brightly at the manager as the cashier is burning holes into the side of my face. He takes my money doesn’t bother to ask me if I need help out , which I don’t and wouldn’t have taken anyway but, they’re still supposed to ask After all I’m still a paying customer. And follows me out of the store, “You know it is people like you that make this job such a pain”
“Well, thank you for your insight I’m sure it’ll do me no good in the real world” And off I go to my car. Thinking all the while that I’ve escaped from the Costco Gestapo and they didn’t take my soul or sell me to slave traders.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Lunch
I think everywhere around noon time this conversation has to be happening to dozens of people.
“I’m hungry!”
“OK, what do you want to eat?”
“I don’t know I’m just hungry.”
“Well, there’s Chinese, Japanese, Mexican, Pasta….”
“Eh, whatever…”
It got me thinking today, as I was desperately searching the internet for restaurants in the area. Why? It’s probably just us, you get two people together that don’t like to make any extra decisions and when one really doesn’t have a preference on where to go, it can put a lot of added pressure on the decision maker. It’s not like we work in the boondocks and we don’t have a vast amount of choices to go to. We could visit every continent within 10 miles of our office but almost everyday we have the same conversation. Sometimes it’s easy, “hmmm, soup and salad from Chevy’s sounds good”. Or “I think something light, like Panera” Then there’s days like today where for 15 minutes I list of places and get lukewarm responses to all. I mentioned last week that we needed to expand our horizons since it seems that we migrate to the same places all the time and the wait staff has gotten to know us on a first name basis, but, it hasn’t really motivated him to branch out. We finally ended up going to a deli and had what I thought was a pretty good lunch, a little pricy but what isn’t now a days. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get him back there because of that but, at least we did manage somewhere different. As I walked back into the office I found myself still wondering what it is about us that makes it so complicated to decide what to have for lunch. I suppose we could just bring our lunch, then the decision about what to eat would be taken care of, but, for us then we would have to decide if we wanted to sit outside at the picnic table or would we want to go to a park? We could sit in the atrium but then we’d have to talk softly and there’s not much people watching going on in an office as small as ours. For that matter we usually know what’s going on with everyone before lunch time so the entertainment value’s not there. I suppose we could pick different types of food on different days and see what alternate restaurants are out there but I think I might make too much of it and there would be charts involved, it could become really complicated really fast. I have been told that men don’t really crave things usually. It’s by some fluke that you find a man saying “You know I would kill for a Bacon Cheeseburger right now” and that may be one of the reasons that we have this conversation so often. That along with my own disillusionment with the food industry on a whole has led me to really think about where and what I'm eating, and it's made the choice far more labor intensive. I suppose I could make it easy and find a few new places that I think we might like and drag him along but….he’s a man and can get kind of whiney if 1. I don’t feed him quickly and 2. It’s anywhere out of his realm of comfort. I guess for the moment we’re going to be stuck in this rut. At least tomorrow we’re going with other people and they’ll have to decide what to eat.
“I’m hungry!”
“OK, what do you want to eat?”
“I don’t know I’m just hungry.”
“Well, there’s Chinese, Japanese, Mexican, Pasta….”
“Eh, whatever…”
It got me thinking today, as I was desperately searching the internet for restaurants in the area. Why? It’s probably just us, you get two people together that don’t like to make any extra decisions and when one really doesn’t have a preference on where to go, it can put a lot of added pressure on the decision maker. It’s not like we work in the boondocks and we don’t have a vast amount of choices to go to. We could visit every continent within 10 miles of our office but almost everyday we have the same conversation. Sometimes it’s easy, “hmmm, soup and salad from Chevy’s sounds good”. Or “I think something light, like Panera” Then there’s days like today where for 15 minutes I list of places and get lukewarm responses to all. I mentioned last week that we needed to expand our horizons since it seems that we migrate to the same places all the time and the wait staff has gotten to know us on a first name basis, but, it hasn’t really motivated him to branch out. We finally ended up going to a deli and had what I thought was a pretty good lunch, a little pricy but what isn’t now a days. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get him back there because of that but, at least we did manage somewhere different. As I walked back into the office I found myself still wondering what it is about us that makes it so complicated to decide what to have for lunch. I suppose we could just bring our lunch, then the decision about what to eat would be taken care of, but, for us then we would have to decide if we wanted to sit outside at the picnic table or would we want to go to a park? We could sit in the atrium but then we’d have to talk softly and there’s not much people watching going on in an office as small as ours. For that matter we usually know what’s going on with everyone before lunch time so the entertainment value’s not there. I suppose we could pick different types of food on different days and see what alternate restaurants are out there but I think I might make too much of it and there would be charts involved, it could become really complicated really fast. I have been told that men don’t really crave things usually. It’s by some fluke that you find a man saying “You know I would kill for a Bacon Cheeseburger right now” and that may be one of the reasons that we have this conversation so often. That along with my own disillusionment with the food industry on a whole has led me to really think about where and what I'm eating, and it's made the choice far more labor intensive. I suppose I could make it easy and find a few new places that I think we might like and drag him along but….he’s a man and can get kind of whiney if 1. I don’t feed him quickly and 2. It’s anywhere out of his realm of comfort. I guess for the moment we’re going to be stuck in this rut. At least tomorrow we’re going with other people and they’ll have to decide what to eat.