How can the last 21--no TWENTY TWO years have gone by so fast? Honestly. It has just hit me while sitting here at 3:30 in the morning as thoughts of my daughters wedding in 39 hours awaken me. I have had little bouts of tears, thinking about her "leaving" us. I have had solemn moments of wondering if she'll be okay. I've thought about seeing her walk down that aisle with her dad. I've thought about seeing all our family and friends who we love so dearly when I enter the church. I've thought about parties, and invitations, and flowers, and clothing and food and decorations. Extra socks, programs, guestbooks, transportation, makeup, hair, appointments, schedules and photographers...but the thing I can't quite quit thinking about is something I saw a couple nights ago.
We were watching home movies from about fifteen years ago. My daughter was turning seven I think. I sat still that night and watched that video--I watched her open her birthday gifts, I watched her take care of her little brother, I watched her admire her older brother, I watched her excitement opening her gifts, I watched her hug me while I was filming all this and then I watched her open a card from her grandparents...
One of her granddads loved teasing her when she was little about "Dancing Goat". I'm not quite sure how all that started but, nonetheless she wasn't extremely fond of it. On this particular birthday she opened a "special" certificate from him that referenced the Dancing Goat. She looked at it with exasperation and promptly went over and gave that particular grandfather the "what for". We played it back three times to try and figure out exactly what she was saying and still couldn't get it! But by the end of her tongue-lashing (she was smiling the whole time) everyone was laughing, including Big Pa. She was praised for being such a good sport and she accepted that praise with the graciousness of a person far older than her seven years.
This same girl will be getting married in about 39 hours. She has been a true source of pride and joy for the last 22 years. She has been loving, kind and thoughtful the last 22 years. She has worked hard at every single thing she decided to do for the last 22 years. She has earned respect, admiration, friendship and true love over the last 22 years. She has been beautiful inside and out for the last 22 years. She has read, created, learned, experienced and soaked in as much life as possible for the last 22 years. She has done that with dignity, pride, respect and endless grace for the last 22 years. For the last 22 years, she has added countless treasured moments, years of fun, and unending love to the lives of her siblings and her father and me.
I watched that video and could have sworn that it had just happened. I had a true "rush" of memories flood my thoughts. It has made me feel somewhat helpless, as if her life is happening too fast. Just like mine, it is. So for the next 39 hours or so, I'm going to devote every minute I can in enjoying one of the most extraordinary blessings God has bestowed upon me for the last 22 years-my child.
Maybe He'll be kind enough to slow those 39 hours down a bit...or maybe He's already taught me the value of that time and now it's up to me to do my best to live these next 39 hours to the fullest. I will.
Friday, June 04, 2010
Out of the mouths of Babes...and wonderful Daughters
I went to my daughters wedding website just now. Just as a matter of curiousity I clicked on the Guest Book page. This is exactly what I read:
"OMfreakinG! I am so excited and I have a great summer ahead of me! Like my sisters wedding, ( and I can't wait to see everybody who is coming for that matter! We are going to party hardy all ight long!!) the pool, the lake, my birthday, and my trip to Dallas to see Aunt Tess and Uncle Fred! Now I officially get to say Hip Hip freakin hurray! My bridesmaid dress finally fit today and that was the fifth time I went to try it on! By the way for those of you who know my dads dad keep him in your prayers because he had s pacemaker put in yesterday. Thanks to those who are praying for him. And, yes I know this is gonna sound super dramatic and cheesy but thanks to those who are (well iI don't wanna say supporting but I'm gonna say it anyway!) Thanks to those who have supported our family and have kept us in your prayers. One last thing before I go. Sam you are a beautiful, wonderful, amazingly talented, funny,(sometimes!) smart, and most time the most happiest big sister on this planet and you are like more then a sister your my BFF. Yes, I know I can be annoying around you and Mike but it's because I don't want you to leave me but I guess I will have to let you go. You picked a great guy and a great family and I am Grateful to have Mike as a brother! I love you with all my heart! Best wishes!"
I am blessed.
"OMfreakinG! I am so excited and I have a great summer ahead of me! Like my sisters wedding, ( and I can't wait to see everybody who is coming for that matter! We are going to party hardy all ight long!!) the pool, the lake, my birthday, and my trip to Dallas to see Aunt Tess and Uncle Fred! Now I officially get to say Hip Hip freakin hurray! My bridesmaid dress finally fit today and that was the fifth time I went to try it on! By the way for those of you who know my dads dad keep him in your prayers because he had s pacemaker put in yesterday. Thanks to those who are praying for him. And, yes I know this is gonna sound super dramatic and cheesy but thanks to those who are (well iI don't wanna say supporting but I'm gonna say it anyway!) Thanks to those who have supported our family and have kept us in your prayers. One last thing before I go. Sam you are a beautiful, wonderful, amazingly talented, funny,(sometimes!) smart, and most time the most happiest big sister on this planet and you are like more then a sister your my BFF. Yes, I know I can be annoying around you and Mike but it's because I don't want you to leave me but I guess I will have to let you go. You picked a great guy and a great family and I am Grateful to have Mike as a brother! I love you with all my heart! Best wishes!"
I am blessed.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Thank You
Dear Jarman folks,
I just want to thank everyone at Jarman--new, old, young, “seasoned” (you know who you are!), teachers, support staff, building people…the whole lot of you—for doing your jobs every day. My family has benefitted from all of your efforts for years. All four of our children have wonderful memories of their time at Jarman, they have all loved being there, been loved while they were there and, most importantly they were all well-educated there.
To the teachers, I can’t thank you enough for the endless hours of effort that goes into your work…not just for my child, but for all the children. I can’t imagine doing your job every day, and I know some days you can’t either! Please remember that it still remains a very important job. I know that is very hard for some of you who have seen such changes over the last 10-20 years…it is hard for me too. Sadly, schools are now often expected to be not only the child’s teacher, but the child’s disciplinarian, manners coach and moral compass—an impossible task in addition to educating. Please know that there are still a few parents left out here who would prefer to do that work at home and leave the teaching to the schools. And, we truly appreciate you doing just that—teaching our kids.
To all the support staff…you truly make it run like clockwork at Jarman. It’s so nice to go back each year and see the same number of people doing the same work and making the work look easy. I know it’s not. Thank you for not hanging up on me when I call the school! Thank you for letting me hang over that counter and vent, and thank you for at least talking about me later behind my back!!! You guys always put a smile on my face and made me feel lucky to live where I do and know the great people I’ve been fortunate enough to meet at Jarman.
To all my kids teachers and those near and dear to the Biddicks—we have always loved that you love our kids (or faked it well!), putting up with them (and us) and encouraging our family throughout the years. Each and every one of you have played an integral part in my kids successes and helped them to learn how to better handle their failures. The unending patience (and sometimes your ending patience!), smiles, words of wisdom, care, concern and knowledge you shared will continue to be immeasurable in all our lives.
Speaking personally, to all of you I have known and encountered over the last 19 years--I have grown tremendously not only as a person, but especially as a mom because of you. I have become a better mom—truly the most important job I believe--thanks to many of you. I have become a more patient person thanks to many of you. I have learned what to care a lot more about and what to care a little less about, thanks to many of you. I have experienced some of my very best, most memorable life “moments” with you. And you allowed me to share some less-than-stellar moments with you. I have been so incredibly blessed to be a part of the Jarman family for the last 19 years. I will miss it terribly and fully intend on hanging over Carolyn’s desk some next year griping about something stupid my kids have done.
I love you all and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
With sincerest thanks,
Stephanie
(and I’m sure my less-than-wordy family!)
I just want to thank everyone at Jarman--new, old, young, “seasoned” (you know who you are!), teachers, support staff, building people…the whole lot of you—for doing your jobs every day. My family has benefitted from all of your efforts for years. All four of our children have wonderful memories of their time at Jarman, they have all loved being there, been loved while they were there and, most importantly they were all well-educated there.
To the teachers, I can’t thank you enough for the endless hours of effort that goes into your work…not just for my child, but for all the children. I can’t imagine doing your job every day, and I know some days you can’t either! Please remember that it still remains a very important job. I know that is very hard for some of you who have seen such changes over the last 10-20 years…it is hard for me too. Sadly, schools are now often expected to be not only the child’s teacher, but the child’s disciplinarian, manners coach and moral compass—an impossible task in addition to educating. Please know that there are still a few parents left out here who would prefer to do that work at home and leave the teaching to the schools. And, we truly appreciate you doing just that—teaching our kids.
To all the support staff…you truly make it run like clockwork at Jarman. It’s so nice to go back each year and see the same number of people doing the same work and making the work look easy. I know it’s not. Thank you for not hanging up on me when I call the school! Thank you for letting me hang over that counter and vent, and thank you for at least talking about me later behind my back!!! You guys always put a smile on my face and made me feel lucky to live where I do and know the great people I’ve been fortunate enough to meet at Jarman.
To all my kids teachers and those near and dear to the Biddicks—we have always loved that you love our kids (or faked it well!), putting up with them (and us) and encouraging our family throughout the years. Each and every one of you have played an integral part in my kids successes and helped them to learn how to better handle their failures. The unending patience (and sometimes your ending patience!), smiles, words of wisdom, care, concern and knowledge you shared will continue to be immeasurable in all our lives.
Speaking personally, to all of you I have known and encountered over the last 19 years--I have grown tremendously not only as a person, but especially as a mom because of you. I have become a better mom—truly the most important job I believe--thanks to many of you. I have become a more patient person thanks to many of you. I have learned what to care a lot more about and what to care a little less about, thanks to many of you. I have experienced some of my very best, most memorable life “moments” with you. And you allowed me to share some less-than-stellar moments with you. I have been so incredibly blessed to be a part of the Jarman family for the last 19 years. I will miss it terribly and fully intend on hanging over Carolyn’s desk some next year griping about something stupid my kids have done.
I love you all and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
With sincerest thanks,
Stephanie
(and I’m sure my less-than-wordy family!)
Thursday, May 20, 2010
There's this Woman I Know
There's this woman I know who is ....
Amazing, wonderful, awesome, fantastic, outstanding, super...??? No, not really. We hear those words all the time. Honestly...do we really pay attention to those superlatives? I think not.
This woman is interesting. She is smart. She is kind. She is hysterical. She has thousands of children. She has no children. She is respected. She is tough. She is tender. She is unique. She is clever. She is sneaky. She is good-hearted. She is wise. She is active. She is tired. She is tenacious. She is unwavering. She is fair. She is a wife. She is a daughter. She is an aunt. She is a boss. She is an employee. She is a leader. She is memorable. This woman is a principal.
Being an elementary school principal is a special job in it's own right. But take an extraordinary person and put them in that job and you have something beyond simply "special". You have kids and parents who feel secure. You have kids and parents who learn. You have ingenious solutions to seemingly unsolvable problems. You have kids who learn to lead by example. You have an advocate insistent on the very best for ALL "her kids". You have kids learning to be ambassadors of good stewardship, honesty, integrity, intellect, kindness. You have parents and kids learning to cooperate in order to achieve goals. You have fun times and fond memories. You have nothing short of a host of angels helping to lift you and your child up to the highest levels of success. And when there are failures, disappointments or struggles, you have a shoulder upon which you and your child may cry. You have an advisor, a coach, a counselor and sometimes a referee.
This woman is the only elementary principal my children have ever known. For some kids she is their principal for all years, for others only part of a single year. But every year, this woman knows every childs name...not by the end of the year...by the beginning of the year. She knows their strengths, she knows their weaknesses. She knows their parents. She knows where they are from. She knows each and every child's "story". She knows your child and she knows mine.
And throughout the last nineteen years, this
woman I know has become an integral, important, meaningful part of our family's story...more importantly, this woman, she is our friend.
Thank you Patti.
Amazing, wonderful, awesome, fantastic, outstanding, super...??? No, not really. We hear those words all the time. Honestly...do we really pay attention to those superlatives? I think not.
This woman is interesting. She is smart. She is kind. She is hysterical. She has thousands of children. She has no children. She is respected. She is tough. She is tender. She is unique. She is clever. She is sneaky. She is good-hearted. She is wise. She is active. She is tired. She is tenacious. She is unwavering. She is fair. She is a wife. She is a daughter. She is an aunt. She is a boss. She is an employee. She is a leader. She is memorable. This woman is a principal.
Being an elementary school principal is a special job in it's own right. But take an extraordinary person and put them in that job and you have something beyond simply "special". You have kids and parents who feel secure. You have kids and parents who learn. You have ingenious solutions to seemingly unsolvable problems. You have kids who learn to lead by example. You have an advocate insistent on the very best for ALL "her kids". You have kids learning to be ambassadors of good stewardship, honesty, integrity, intellect, kindness. You have parents and kids learning to cooperate in order to achieve goals. You have fun times and fond memories. You have nothing short of a host of angels helping to lift you and your child up to the highest levels of success. And when there are failures, disappointments or struggles, you have a shoulder upon which you and your child may cry. You have an advisor, a coach, a counselor and sometimes a referee.
This woman is the only elementary principal my children have ever known. For some kids she is their principal for all years, for others only part of a single year. But every year, this woman knows every childs name...not by the end of the year...by the beginning of the year. She knows their strengths, she knows their weaknesses. She knows their parents. She knows where they are from. She knows each and every child's "story". She knows your child and she knows mine.
And throughout the last nineteen years, this
woman I know has become an integral, important, meaningful part of our family's story...more importantly, this woman, she is our friend.Thank you Patti.
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
BLACK NAVIGATOR LADY
First of all, please know that this is simply a venting…I have read the newsletter pleas, etc., etc., and I know there truly is nothing you guys haven’t done already to encourage parents to drop their kids off in an appropriate “driving” manner!
Ok, so I decided it would be a “good idea” to take Anne to school today instead of riding the bus…
What on earth was I thinking?
I have never seen such crappy displays of A. rude driving behavior, or B. idiotic, ignorance behind some very nice vehicles, or C. just s**t-heads for adults/parents. (did I mention that I wanted to vent…and not in such a “PC” manner?)
I’m pulling up to Jarman from the east since we’d dropped off some stuff at a friend’s house this morning. I get in the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line on the right side of the road and pretty soon this big-ass black truck drives by on my left. I think, no problem…the guy needs to get through to Memorial…he’s off to work. (clearly he’s late, but he’s off to work nonetheless). But no…he pulls around the cars in line into the parking lot. “No problem”, I say to myself. Surely he’s pulling into the parking area. Nope, not that either, he pulls around and cuts off a car about six cars in front of me in the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line and goes about his merry way taking his precious child up to the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line in a very rude, but expedient fashion. Ok, maybe I would have wanted to get that kid dropped off faster too.
Anne is yelling, “HEY…HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT”! Well, Anne he’s probably in a hurry and let’s just let it go.
About that time, Black Navigator Lady pulls up to my left. Again I am naïve enough to think, “well she just needs on through here, but I’m not pulling over because I’m only about three or four car lengths from being able to turn into this god-forsaken parking lot and she can get through the middle to get past on her way to her ever-important job that helps her afford this nice big shiny Black Navigator”. So I stay my course in my scratched up silvery gray land yacht. As she inches through, it becomes painfully clear that she is, in fact not inching through, but instead inching (and more like lurching) into my silvery gray land yacht. Now, I realize that at one time I thought I had the fanciest car in south Tulsa. I had moved up from a blue Dodge Caravan with 158,000 miles on it to a Eggplant Purple Suburban extra long model, to now the ever-sporty silvery gray Suburban XLT with 4WD. Did Black Navigator Lady not know this? Did she not see me? Well of course Black Navigator Lady saw me…how could you not—I’m in the land yacht for pete’s sake!
Black Navigator Lady has no turn signal on indicating that this is the very first day she’s ever done this and “oops” she’s made a mistake and just missed the fact that there were eight or nine cars in the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line and now she’s stuck and really, really sorry and could we please let her and her nice big shiny Black Navigator in to the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line now. Nope, by gosh, Black Navigator Lady has done this all intentionally and does not mind one bit if she hits the front driver’s side of my silvery gray land yacht. This is the point at which things take a turn in the silvery gray land yacht of mine. Anne is yelling, “HEY…THERE’S ANOTHER ONE…THEY ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT”! And, I, being of sound mind and having a few years of driving/parental/adult/good-decision-making experience under my belt calmly say, “nope she’s not” as I pull forward in an attempt to signal to Black Navigator Lady to move on down the road with her nice big shiny Black Navigator. Just as I pull forward, Black Navigator Lady makes a nice angular move in front of me all the while blocking all the traffic that truly is trying to get east and west on the through street.
At the first possible moment she can, Black Navigator Lady whips in front of my tiny little silvery gray land yacht with her kid bouncing around unbelted. We all stop and I am about 5 seconds from getting out of my car and “politely” walking up to tap on Black Navigator Lady’s window and explain to her how this whole system works. Instead I choose a nice little horn honk. That didn’t seem to make me feel better so I ever-so-quietly murmured the phrase, “bitch” under my breath. Clearly not low enough as my 11-yr old daughter’s head swung my direction. I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing and in a minute or so simply said, “honey, would you see if you know who gets out of that nice big shiny black car in front of us?”. “yeah, sure…pull up some more mom”. Uh-huh…and exactly what do I think I’m going to do with THAT information??? Hunt the little girl down who hops out of the nice big shiny Black Navigator? Find out who her moron parents are so I can go give them a piece of my mind? Keying the nice big shiny Black Navigator did cross my mind.
Instead, I hurried Little Anne out of the car at the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line several car lengths from the door (another thing…do these parents think that the kids can’t walk a whole three car lengths to the door without dying before they get inside?). I said, “have a great day…love you”, pulled out of the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line, pulled up by nice big shiny Black Navigator Lady, watched her bouncy, dressed in pink, fluffy black-haired daughter get out of Black Navigator Lady’s car, and when Black Navigator Lady finally wondered who the schmuck was sitting next to her in the scratched up silvery gray land yacht she nearly hit, I scowled at her and her nice big shiny Black Navigator and drove off.
Next year can I get a part-time job directing traffic out there in one of those fluorescent vests? And, I liked to be carrying a large visible weapon while I pleasantly direct all those impatient, morally bankrupt, egotistical, self-centered, idiotic, rude drivers who attempt to cut in front of a whole line of patient car drivers at the drop-your-kid-off-at-the-curb car line, to the back of the line or else I blow their tires out with my handy dandy weapon. Is that too harsh for the district? I’m thinking the kids would love seeing the old lady with the bright vest taking on little "Ashley’s" mom who never, ever waits her turn…just like little Ashley.
For now, I guess I’ll go take it out on that stupid, condescending Wii Fit “trainer”.
Venting over…thanks.
Ok, so I decided it would be a “good idea” to take Anne to school today instead of riding the bus…
What on earth was I thinking?
I have never seen such crappy displays of A. rude driving behavior, or B. idiotic, ignorance behind some very nice vehicles, or C. just s**t-heads for adults/parents. (did I mention that I wanted to vent…and not in such a “PC” manner?)
I’m pulling up to Jarman from the east since we’d dropped off some stuff at a friend’s house this morning. I get in the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line on the right side of the road and pretty soon this big-ass black truck drives by on my left. I think, no problem…the guy needs to get through to Memorial…he’s off to work. (clearly he’s late, but he’s off to work nonetheless). But no…he pulls around the cars in line into the parking lot. “No problem”, I say to myself. Surely he’s pulling into the parking area. Nope, not that either, he pulls around and cuts off a car about six cars in front of me in the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line and goes about his merry way taking his precious child up to the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line in a very rude, but expedient fashion. Ok, maybe I would have wanted to get that kid dropped off faster too.
Anne is yelling, “HEY…HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT”! Well, Anne he’s probably in a hurry and let’s just let it go.
About that time, Black Navigator Lady pulls up to my left. Again I am naïve enough to think, “well she just needs on through here, but I’m not pulling over because I’m only about three or four car lengths from being able to turn into this god-forsaken parking lot and she can get through the middle to get past on her way to her ever-important job that helps her afford this nice big shiny Black Navigator”. So I stay my course in my scratched up silvery gray land yacht. As she inches through, it becomes painfully clear that she is, in fact not inching through, but instead inching (and more like lurching) into my silvery gray land yacht. Now, I realize that at one time I thought I had the fanciest car in south Tulsa. I had moved up from a blue Dodge Caravan with 158,000 miles on it to a Eggplant Purple Suburban extra long model, to now the ever-sporty silvery gray Suburban XLT with 4WD. Did Black Navigator Lady not know this? Did she not see me? Well of course Black Navigator Lady saw me…how could you not—I’m in the land yacht for pete’s sake!
Black Navigator Lady has no turn signal on indicating that this is the very first day she’s ever done this and “oops” she’s made a mistake and just missed the fact that there were eight or nine cars in the little drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line and now she’s stuck and really, really sorry and could we please let her and her nice big shiny Black Navigator in to the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line now. Nope, by gosh, Black Navigator Lady has done this all intentionally and does not mind one bit if she hits the front driver’s side of my silvery gray land yacht. This is the point at which things take a turn in the silvery gray land yacht of mine. Anne is yelling, “HEY…THERE’S ANOTHER ONE…THEY ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT”! And, I, being of sound mind and having a few years of driving/parental/adult/good-decision-making experience under my belt calmly say, “nope she’s not” as I pull forward in an attempt to signal to Black Navigator Lady to move on down the road with her nice big shiny Black Navigator. Just as I pull forward, Black Navigator Lady makes a nice angular move in front of me all the while blocking all the traffic that truly is trying to get east and west on the through street.
At the first possible moment she can, Black Navigator Lady whips in front of my tiny little silvery gray land yacht with her kid bouncing around unbelted. We all stop and I am about 5 seconds from getting out of my car and “politely” walking up to tap on Black Navigator Lady’s window and explain to her how this whole system works. Instead I choose a nice little horn honk. That didn’t seem to make me feel better so I ever-so-quietly murmured the phrase, “bitch” under my breath. Clearly not low enough as my 11-yr old daughter’s head swung my direction. I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing and in a minute or so simply said, “honey, would you see if you know who gets out of that nice big shiny black car in front of us?”. “yeah, sure…pull up some more mom”. Uh-huh…and exactly what do I think I’m going to do with THAT information??? Hunt the little girl down who hops out of the nice big shiny Black Navigator? Find out who her moron parents are so I can go give them a piece of my mind? Keying the nice big shiny Black Navigator did cross my mind.
Instead, I hurried Little Anne out of the car at the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line several car lengths from the door (another thing…do these parents think that the kids can’t walk a whole three car lengths to the door without dying before they get inside?). I said, “have a great day…love you”, pulled out of the drop-off-your-kid-at-the-curb car line, pulled up by nice big shiny Black Navigator Lady, watched her bouncy, dressed in pink, fluffy black-haired daughter get out of Black Navigator Lady’s car, and when Black Navigator Lady finally wondered who the schmuck was sitting next to her in the scratched up silvery gray land yacht she nearly hit, I scowled at her and her nice big shiny Black Navigator and drove off.
Next year can I get a part-time job directing traffic out there in one of those fluorescent vests? And, I liked to be carrying a large visible weapon while I pleasantly direct all those impatient, morally bankrupt, egotistical, self-centered, idiotic, rude drivers who attempt to cut in front of a whole line of patient car drivers at the drop-your-kid-off-at-the-curb car line, to the back of the line or else I blow their tires out with my handy dandy weapon. Is that too harsh for the district? I’m thinking the kids would love seeing the old lady with the bright vest taking on little "Ashley’s" mom who never, ever waits her turn…just like little Ashley.
For now, I guess I’ll go take it out on that stupid, condescending Wii Fit “trainer”.
Venting over…thanks.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
The Humming of the Clothes Dryer
D-E-E-P E-X-H-A-L-E............
Here is what I am experiencing right at this very moment: the low hum of a clothes dryer working overtime, the clinks, clashes and beeps of a new wii Mario Cart game, a yearning to have not a single Christmas decoration in sight, a constant "need" to check American Airlines flight status for the next 16 hours to make sure my son returns to Germany safely, and an overwhelming desire to cry!
No, it's not possible for it to be hormonal. Stress...nope, that's all gone too. Relief...maybe somewhat. You know I think it's just everything. Everything all lumped into one big fat culmination of reality. Reality that a.) Norman Rockwell must have painted only fictional scenes. b.) Planning and executing are two TOTALLY different things c.) letting things take their course is usually best d.) Having your husband repeatedly tell you "c" while you (me) are still fighting the urge to "plan" means that he was right and you were...well...misguided e.) regardless of plans, families are unique and wonderful and funny and growing and changing entities that we are blessed to experience and be participants within.
Now, having said all that, what is up with this post-Christmas blues stuff? Is it the weather? Is it having to put all this Christmas junk up? (Of course, some around here contend that if not as much were put out, then it would be far easier to take everything down--odd logic, don't you agree?) It's just weird after Christmas--that's all there is to it. We had one heckuva Christmas here. We really did. We were all together. We had a truly WHITE Christmas. We were blessed to give and receive wonderful gifts.
So why is it that now I have this odd uncomfortable feeling of ... peace. A couple friends have just posted some clever comments relating to my perceived inability to relax, however, I'll have you all know that I just sat up in my bed and folded three loads of laundry while watching Desperate Housewives and quietly weeping at a hearty episode of Brothers & Sisters. Is that not relaxing? Surely it is. Does the fact that I also sucked on some sunflower seeds make the whole scenario lean more toward the relaxing side?
Here is my reality. My reality is that relaxing, at least for me, is a bit over-rated. A few examples: A TWO HOUR AND FORTY MINUTE movie about a science fiction character called Avatar who just doesn't like the idea of their "hood" (a tree of life) gettng blown to smitherenes by the evil militia group wanting to take over the universe....SERIOUSLY??? You mean to tell me that sitting and watching the blood curdling screech of girl avatar should be more relaxing than...say...vacuuming? At least when I vacuum I can hear the nice low hum of that little machine I am pushing, my floor ends up cleaner. When I sat "relaxing" for TWO HOURS AND FORTY MINUTES all I ended up with was a ringing headache and a sore butt.
I think the whole clothes dryer/decorations/crying thing is about change. I think that we humans don't necessarily "do" change well...at least not innately. And, sisters and brothers, we got a whole lotta change goin' on around here. I thought I liked change, I think I still may. And maybe it's not really about change, maybe it's about all the unknowns. About an innate fear of things not being as "okay" as they are now. Of our children failing, of our children being put in harms way, of losing a loved one, of not being able to manage everything, of meeting new people, of losing friends, of not doing a good enough job, of not understanding something, of being tired.
So for now my reality is that I fear my life will be very different a year from now and maybe there's really nothing to be afraid of, but if there is, I'm going to embrace it with everything I've got and if that means "suffering" through a TWO HOUR AND FORTY MINUTE movie about blue people in order to be with the people I love the very most, then by golly I'll do it!
But I think they should sit quietly with me soon and listen to the clothes dryer running.
Here is what I am experiencing right at this very moment: the low hum of a clothes dryer working overtime, the clinks, clashes and beeps of a new wii Mario Cart game, a yearning to have not a single Christmas decoration in sight, a constant "need" to check American Airlines flight status for the next 16 hours to make sure my son returns to Germany safely, and an overwhelming desire to cry!
No, it's not possible for it to be hormonal. Stress...nope, that's all gone too. Relief...maybe somewhat. You know I think it's just everything. Everything all lumped into one big fat culmination of reality. Reality that a.) Norman Rockwell must have painted only fictional scenes. b.) Planning and executing are two TOTALLY different things c.) letting things take their course is usually best d.) Having your husband repeatedly tell you "c" while you (me) are still fighting the urge to "plan" means that he was right and you were...well...misguided e.) regardless of plans, families are unique and wonderful and funny and growing and changing entities that we are blessed to experience and be participants within.
Now, having said all that, what is up with this post-Christmas blues stuff? Is it the weather? Is it having to put all this Christmas junk up? (Of course, some around here contend that if not as much were put out, then it would be far easier to take everything down--odd logic, don't you agree?) It's just weird after Christmas--that's all there is to it. We had one heckuva Christmas here. We really did. We were all together. We had a truly WHITE Christmas. We were blessed to give and receive wonderful gifts.
So why is it that now I have this odd uncomfortable feeling of ... peace. A couple friends have just posted some clever comments relating to my perceived inability to relax, however, I'll have you all know that I just sat up in my bed and folded three loads of laundry while watching Desperate Housewives and quietly weeping at a hearty episode of Brothers & Sisters. Is that not relaxing? Surely it is. Does the fact that I also sucked on some sunflower seeds make the whole scenario lean more toward the relaxing side?
Here is my reality. My reality is that relaxing, at least for me, is a bit over-rated. A few examples: A TWO HOUR AND FORTY MINUTE movie about a science fiction character called Avatar who just doesn't like the idea of their "hood" (a tree of life) gettng blown to smitherenes by the evil militia group wanting to take over the universe....SERIOUSLY??? You mean to tell me that sitting and watching the blood curdling screech of girl avatar should be more relaxing than...say...vacuuming? At least when I vacuum I can hear the nice low hum of that little machine I am pushing, my floor ends up cleaner. When I sat "relaxing" for TWO HOURS AND FORTY MINUTES all I ended up with was a ringing headache and a sore butt.
I think the whole clothes dryer/decorations/crying thing is about change. I think that we humans don't necessarily "do" change well...at least not innately. And, sisters and brothers, we got a whole lotta change goin' on around here. I thought I liked change, I think I still may. And maybe it's not really about change, maybe it's about all the unknowns. About an innate fear of things not being as "okay" as they are now. Of our children failing, of our children being put in harms way, of losing a loved one, of not being able to manage everything, of meeting new people, of losing friends, of not doing a good enough job, of not understanding something, of being tired.
So for now my reality is that I fear my life will be very different a year from now and maybe there's really nothing to be afraid of, but if there is, I'm going to embrace it with everything I've got and if that means "suffering" through a TWO HOUR AND FORTY MINUTE movie about blue people in order to be with the people I love the very most, then by golly I'll do it!
But I think they should sit quietly with me soon and listen to the clothes dryer running.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Lay down with me five more minutes...
These are the words that melted my heart tonight. These are the words that make me know what I am here for. These are the words that send me right back to an eleven year old girl to scoop her up in my arms and tell her--again--how much I love her. These are the words that not so long ago seemed a bit inconvenient at times...how could I have been so wrong.
WARNING: If you couldn't tell--Sappy Post Follows!
I just finished putting a child to bed. A precious little eleven year old girl who was the best surprise of my and my family's life, a girl who still seems so tiny to me and yet it's as if I am watching her grow every minute of every day at a pace that makes me want to scream for time to stop, a girl who is oblivious to anything but the very best the world around her offers, a girl who, for some inexplicable reason and without her knowing it, has taught me the value of being a mom.
Like I said, there was a time when hearing "Please lay down with me five more minutes mom..." resulted in me thinking things along the lines of, "oh my gosh, I have got to get that laundry off my bed...when am I ever going to get the rest of the bills paid...those dishes are never going to get done...if I lay down for five minutes I will be the one falling asleep."
Not any more. I'd take everyone of those times back now if I could. It's not to say that I now have undying attentiveness toward my children at every waking moment. Anyone who knows me knows that to not be the case. However, I would bet a kid or two on the fact that anyone who has known me for very long would also say I am not the same mom I was thirteen years ago when my oldest child was eleven. I may not even be as attentive as often as I was with my other children. BUT my attentiveness is finely tuned, sharpened to a fault and hones in on far fewer trivialities than in the past. Now let's get something straight right now--I deeply love each and every one of my children equally and in a way that only a parent can know...yes, I would stand in front of a moving train for any one of them...well....yeah...I think I would do that. Anyhow, from here on out it goes without saying that I do not love one child more than any other, nor do I value one's existence more than any other. However, with every child, and with every year of motherhood comes more and more enlightenment.
Enlightenment for me tonight was thinking about tonight being next year's tonight, when "my baby" would be entering a school of a thousand strangers. I mentioned that to her (not the "stranger" part, for pete's sake!) and she shared her hesitation; it being a little "scary". I assured her it wouldn't be (at least not nearly as much as it would be for her mother this time next year!), and that I shouldn't have even brought it up because tomorrow she would be Top Dog at her elementary! How exciting. How comforting. How...sad.
Yep, this is a downer, but I got so sad thinking about this next year being (another) last for me. We will have been in attendance at Jarman Elementary for eighteen years. Yes, eighteen years. OK, if I must be totally honest, our family was not represented one of those eighteen years. Only one, the other seventeeen we had full representation of at least one child and sometimes two. Seventeen Meet the Teacher days, seventeen Back To School Nights, seventeen PTA sign-ups, seventeen volunteer forms, seventeen First Days of School and seventeen Last Days of School. Not to mention all the other activities year in and year out over this span of time. As much as I have teased about it, it has been one of the most rewarding, fullfilling experiences of my life, and certainly my kids' lives. So the thought of this being the last year made me cry.
I don't want all my kids to be out there in the big, fat, scary world. I don't want to be looked at funny when I bring their lunch up to the school for the sixth time even though I've told them I will never do that again. I don't want to be a parent of a student ID#. I don't want them to learn about sex, drugs and rock and roll. (ok, we have already had some of those discussions, but in Leave It To Beaver land here it is a bit different than the Land of Reality coming up). I don't want this to be the end of these wonderful, wonderful times.
For all you who know me well enough to know how sappy this all is---you'd better watch out for me...Good Lord, I even mentioned homeschooling! I mean, can you imagine??! When my other kids would start complaining about their school, or the classes or the teachers, that was all I had to say..."well, you knowwwww, I could always homeschool you". I'd say it in the sincerest tone with all the motherly compassion I could possibly muster up. "Uh, nope...no thanks...it will be fine...uh, I can work this out...really...no problem mom, don't worry about it...really". Yep, that's all it would take.
Well guess what...guess who said, "you know, I might want to do that next year mom"! Most amazing part was I thought "oh thank goodness, there's just got to be some good homeschooling websites...maybe even a facebook group".
Alrighty, so clearly this isn't so much about her. It's about me.
It's about the great (and often not-so-great) life of Mom-dom. The ups, the downs, the unepected curve balls. It's about the most valuable and noble and honest and gut-wrenching and spectacular "profession" in the world. Some would say I need a life. I strongly disagree. I have such a full and blessed life that I can't imagine filling it with anything else. That's the problem...I can't imagine. I can't imagine filling it with different things.. I can't imagine what it will be like not walking into that elementary next year and seeing those familiar (seasoned) friendly faces, not getting to know the less familiar (youthful) but equally friendly "newbies", not having my daughter at a school where everyone knows her, knows who she is and what she's like.
You know what it is, it's that I simply can't imagine what The Plan is. That's what this boils down to. I guess a lot of it really isn't my call. I mean, what's He cooking up for me...or us? I know He's not cruel; I know He's got a sense of humor; and I know He's got a plan. I try and do the right thing, I try and think about how things will effect these kids of mine, I think I'm on the right track most times. I guess the "not knowing for sure" part is the part that's supposed to make it all more exciting--make us try and do our very best. However, instead, I find myself looking back and thinking how much I've learned, how many "if I knew then, what I know now"s I have, how valuable my job has really been and how serious a job it is.
But right now I'm just wallowing in the bittersweet moments of this "final" year. I'm hoping that eleven year old girl will ask me to lay down with her five more minutes this time next year too.
WARNING: If you couldn't tell--Sappy Post Follows!
I just finished putting a child to bed. A precious little eleven year old girl who was the best surprise of my and my family's life, a girl who still seems so tiny to me and yet it's as if I am watching her grow every minute of every day at a pace that makes me want to scream for time to stop, a girl who is oblivious to anything but the very best the world around her offers, a girl who, for some inexplicable reason and without her knowing it, has taught me the value of being a mom.
Like I said, there was a time when hearing "Please lay down with me five more minutes mom..." resulted in me thinking things along the lines of, "oh my gosh, I have got to get that laundry off my bed...when am I ever going to get the rest of the bills paid...those dishes are never going to get done...if I lay down for five minutes I will be the one falling asleep."
Not any more. I'd take everyone of those times back now if I could. It's not to say that I now have undying attentiveness toward my children at every waking moment. Anyone who knows me knows that to not be the case. However, I would bet a kid or two on the fact that anyone who has known me for very long would also say I am not the same mom I was thirteen years ago when my oldest child was eleven. I may not even be as attentive as often as I was with my other children. BUT my attentiveness is finely tuned, sharpened to a fault and hones in on far fewer trivialities than in the past. Now let's get something straight right now--I deeply love each and every one of my children equally and in a way that only a parent can know...yes, I would stand in front of a moving train for any one of them...well....yeah...I think I would do that. Anyhow, from here on out it goes without saying that I do not love one child more than any other, nor do I value one's existence more than any other. However, with every child, and with every year of motherhood comes more and more enlightenment.
Enlightenment for me tonight was thinking about tonight being next year's tonight, when "my baby" would be entering a school of a thousand strangers. I mentioned that to her (not the "stranger" part, for pete's sake!) and she shared her hesitation; it being a little "scary". I assured her it wouldn't be (at least not nearly as much as it would be for her mother this time next year!), and that I shouldn't have even brought it up because tomorrow she would be Top Dog at her elementary! How exciting. How comforting. How...sad.
Yep, this is a downer, but I got so sad thinking about this next year being (another) last for me. We will have been in attendance at Jarman Elementary for eighteen years. Yes, eighteen years. OK, if I must be totally honest, our family was not represented one of those eighteen years. Only one, the other seventeeen we had full representation of at least one child and sometimes two. Seventeen Meet the Teacher days, seventeen Back To School Nights, seventeen PTA sign-ups, seventeen volunteer forms, seventeen First Days of School and seventeen Last Days of School. Not to mention all the other activities year in and year out over this span of time. As much as I have teased about it, it has been one of the most rewarding, fullfilling experiences of my life, and certainly my kids' lives. So the thought of this being the last year made me cry.
I don't want all my kids to be out there in the big, fat, scary world. I don't want to be looked at funny when I bring their lunch up to the school for the sixth time even though I've told them I will never do that again. I don't want to be a parent of a student ID#. I don't want them to learn about sex, drugs and rock and roll. (ok, we have already had some of those discussions, but in Leave It To Beaver land here it is a bit different than the Land of Reality coming up). I don't want this to be the end of these wonderful, wonderful times.
For all you who know me well enough to know how sappy this all is---you'd better watch out for me...Good Lord, I even mentioned homeschooling! I mean, can you imagine??! When my other kids would start complaining about their school, or the classes or the teachers, that was all I had to say..."well, you knowwwww, I could always homeschool you". I'd say it in the sincerest tone with all the motherly compassion I could possibly muster up. "Uh, nope...no thanks...it will be fine...uh, I can work this out...really...no problem mom, don't worry about it...really". Yep, that's all it would take.
Well guess what...guess who said, "you know, I might want to do that next year mom"! Most amazing part was I thought "oh thank goodness, there's just got to be some good homeschooling websites...maybe even a facebook group".
Alrighty, so clearly this isn't so much about her. It's about me.
It's about the great (and often not-so-great) life of Mom-dom. The ups, the downs, the unepected curve balls. It's about the most valuable and noble and honest and gut-wrenching and spectacular "profession" in the world. Some would say I need a life. I strongly disagree. I have such a full and blessed life that I can't imagine filling it with anything else. That's the problem...I can't imagine. I can't imagine filling it with different things.. I can't imagine what it will be like not walking into that elementary next year and seeing those familiar (seasoned) friendly faces, not getting to know the less familiar (youthful) but equally friendly "newbies", not having my daughter at a school where everyone knows her, knows who she is and what she's like.
You know what it is, it's that I simply can't imagine what The Plan is. That's what this boils down to. I guess a lot of it really isn't my call. I mean, what's He cooking up for me...or us? I know He's not cruel; I know He's got a sense of humor; and I know He's got a plan. I try and do the right thing, I try and think about how things will effect these kids of mine, I think I'm on the right track most times. I guess the "not knowing for sure" part is the part that's supposed to make it all more exciting--make us try and do our very best. However, instead, I find myself looking back and thinking how much I've learned, how many "if I knew then, what I know now"s I have, how valuable my job has really been and how serious a job it is.
But right now I'm just wallowing in the bittersweet moments of this "final" year. I'm hoping that eleven year old girl will ask me to lay down with her five more minutes this time next year too.
Friday, July 31, 2009
WARNING TO FUTURE SON-IN-LAW
So, we're leaving for vacation in 35 hours. No, I'm not packed. This is far more important. As noted in a previous post, my daughter is getting married. Her wonderful fiance is coming with us. The car ride is 14 hours long. We are not that bad of a family, but we are a family. I felt obligated to send him the following:
Hello Dear Future Son-In-Law!
I am writing this to let you know how excited I am for next week AND that you are coming! I know Sam is excited ;-) Now, as your mother-in-law to be I would be remiss to not inform you of the situation you are about to enter. Let me start by saying that you will see Biddicks at their best, and you will surely see Biddicks at their worst…hopefully not their very worse. These are the things you need to be fully prepared to witness and deal with: cramped legs from an exhaustingly long car ride; arguments over music, movies, personal space and seat arrangement; whining about driver—regardless of who the driver is; there will be personal character attacks, accusations and bold-face lying; there will be few stops associated with anything besides “necessity”; and there could be foul odors, all of which will likely be blamed on the “new guy”…you. That’s just the car ride.
When we get there, there will be discussion on where and how to park; the best method of unpacking the car; who should be carrying what; there should be some critique and complaining about something to do with our accommodations; there will rarely be a time when everyone is hungry or tired all at the same time; there could be outright yelling matches and perhaps even a slap or two (however this is unlikely—but always possible); there will be periodic foul language; there will be nagging regarding “helping”; disagreements on activities, food, and, again, seating arrangements; there will be races for the bathroom and lines waiting for the bathroom; and there will be the proverbial “time-out” for various individuals. And, you my dear get to be in on all of that!
Having forewarned you of said “issues”, I will now let you in on some other less distasteful things that may or may not happen. There could be some type of minor catastrophe that pulls everyone together in a very interesting and comical way (i.e., losing only pair of prescription glasses in ocean, car breaking down, allergic reaction to jelly fish stings), there will likely be some decent enough food; very likely game-playing will occur several times; a good and healthy amount of chastising, teasing, mimicking and ribbing will occur; reading, laying and/or sitting around doing nothing, sunbathing, ocean romping, beach walking will all occur; 89 trips to Publix will be made for the BEST Light Caesar Salad Dressing on the planet and other various “forgotten” items; inordinate amounts of time will be spent at the corner junk (a/k/a – souvenir) shops finding just the right t-shirt; more games will be played; more beach time; more laying around will be done and lots and lots of laughing, cajoling, smiling and more laughing…hopefully!
At least that’s the idea for these fun-filled family adventures. We’ll see. But, we’re all really glad you’re coming! And I, by no means want to scare you off, but I did want to make sure that you had the opportunity to come down with a mysterious terrible communicable disease, just in case it all sounds too crazy and kind of scary! I’m guessing you won’t cause you’re a stand-up guy and all. But I sure hope you still like us when it’s all over!!
Looking forward to our week and really glad you are joining us!
Stephanie
It's like a bad test where set-ups to fail are everywhere. I really don't expect him to be the one taking the test...it's more like "us" taking the test...and poor daughter! We'll do our best though. I know he'll be fine, but maybe I should have waited to buy the dress AFTER this, just in case!
Hello Dear Future Son-In-Law!
I am writing this to let you know how excited I am for next week AND that you are coming! I know Sam is excited ;-) Now, as your mother-in-law to be I would be remiss to not inform you of the situation you are about to enter. Let me start by saying that you will see Biddicks at their best, and you will surely see Biddicks at their worst…hopefully not their very worse. These are the things you need to be fully prepared to witness and deal with: cramped legs from an exhaustingly long car ride; arguments over music, movies, personal space and seat arrangement; whining about driver—regardless of who the driver is; there will be personal character attacks, accusations and bold-face lying; there will be few stops associated with anything besides “necessity”; and there could be foul odors, all of which will likely be blamed on the “new guy”…you. That’s just the car ride.
When we get there, there will be discussion on where and how to park; the best method of unpacking the car; who should be carrying what; there should be some critique and complaining about something to do with our accommodations; there will rarely be a time when everyone is hungry or tired all at the same time; there could be outright yelling matches and perhaps even a slap or two (however this is unlikely—but always possible); there will be periodic foul language; there will be nagging regarding “helping”; disagreements on activities, food, and, again, seating arrangements; there will be races for the bathroom and lines waiting for the bathroom; and there will be the proverbial “time-out” for various individuals. And, you my dear get to be in on all of that!
Having forewarned you of said “issues”, I will now let you in on some other less distasteful things that may or may not happen. There could be some type of minor catastrophe that pulls everyone together in a very interesting and comical way (i.e., losing only pair of prescription glasses in ocean, car breaking down, allergic reaction to jelly fish stings), there will likely be some decent enough food; very likely game-playing will occur several times; a good and healthy amount of chastising, teasing, mimicking and ribbing will occur; reading, laying and/or sitting around doing nothing, sunbathing, ocean romping, beach walking will all occur; 89 trips to Publix will be made for the BEST Light Caesar Salad Dressing on the planet and other various “forgotten” items; inordinate amounts of time will be spent at the corner junk (a/k/a – souvenir) shops finding just the right t-shirt; more games will be played; more beach time; more laying around will be done and lots and lots of laughing, cajoling, smiling and more laughing…hopefully!
At least that’s the idea for these fun-filled family adventures. We’ll see. But, we’re all really glad you’re coming! And I, by no means want to scare you off, but I did want to make sure that you had the opportunity to come down with a mysterious terrible communicable disease, just in case it all sounds too crazy and kind of scary! I’m guessing you won’t cause you’re a stand-up guy and all. But I sure hope you still like us when it’s all over!!
Looking forward to our week and really glad you are joining us!
Stephanie
It's like a bad test where set-ups to fail are everywhere. I really don't expect him to be the one taking the test...it's more like "us" taking the test...and poor daughter! We'll do our best though. I know he'll be fine, but maybe I should have waited to buy the dress AFTER this, just in case!
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Downhill, On Wheels
Some of you are going to think that because of my recent posts inferring my less than perky and attentive demeanor of late, that I am making this next one up. Maybe someone out there can vouch for this to verify that, in fact, I am not. Yesterday, in one of my many, many miles of driving, I was headed west on 71st Street. I've lived here a long time. I remember when 71st was truly "out in the country". I've seen 71st Street grow and grow and reshape in different sections. I've seen a lot of weird stuff on 71st Street before. I've seen weird stuff that was temporary and gone by the time I drove back by ten minutes later and I've seen weird semi-permanent stuff that's lingered for days, sometimes weeks. But to date, in my nearly 49 years of off and on living in this town, I have never, EVER seen a guy (whom I will refrain from calling "Jesus") walking down 71st carrying a cross on wheels.
Yep, I saw it with my own eyes. There were many things about it that I found terribly interesting, but my first thought was, "my gosh, I need to pull over and find out what the heck this guy is doing and does he need a hand". Honestly! That was my first thought and I got tickled thinking how that conversation might go:
"Sir....SIRRRR....Yes, YOU sir....you with the cross...yeah, could you hold on a sec" (he was moving at quite some pace--I decided it was not so much that he was in a hurry as it was that he was going downhill and carrying the most massive cross I've ever seen). "...uh, sir, uh..do you need a hand with that?" (well, DUH! He's carrying a CROSS--a big, heavy cross...of course he needs a hand with it!) Or should it be "excuse me sir, but what on God's green earth are you doing?" (clearly, the answer is: Carrying a cross down the street)
I didn't stop. I gawked as best as one can gawk going 40 mph. Here's the visual: Caucasian male, approximately mid-to-late 30's, blue jeans, t-or polo type shirt, shorter light brown hair. The guy is walking on the north side of Sheridan headed east. And, well, he's carrying a cross. Now before we go any further please let me disclose that I am a full-fledged cross supporter. Truly--I have no cross issues. It's just not every day when you see a cross of this magnitude. It appeared to be made out of wood. Based on how far it was dragging behind it's bearer, it was about ten feet long. The crossbars were square block-like construction about 6x6 inches thick. At the bottom of the cross was a set of wheels.
Wheels you say? Yes, wheels. Nice sturdy rubber wheels. Herein lies my perplexity with the scene unfolding before me. I know a little about the "Real Cross-Carrying Dude". I know He was pretty worn out before even being forced to carry His cross. I know He did this somewhat unwillingly, or at least with grave hesitation. I know His cross was not quite so finely sawn. And I, absolutely, without one teeny tiny doubt, know His cross had no wheels. Nope, not even one rickety one. Not even an itty bitty wheel. No wheels, no where, no how.
So this brings me to my possible question above...what in the world is this guy-with-cross doing? What is he trying to say? Trying to prove? What is his motivation? Well, I'm going to be generous in my theory of this situation. Of the above-mentioned Cross facts I know, I'm giving 71st Street TCG (Tulsa Cross Guy) huge benefit of the doubt and I'm offering him three...yes, THREE of the above mentioned similarities:
Perhaps TCG was tired. Maybe he'd had a really bad day before, exhausted from work pressures, overwhelmed with life's curveballs. Heck, maybe he'd even been beat up a little. Who knows. Again, just trying to give benefit of the doubt here.
In some weird way, maybe he was being forced to do this. Maybe TCG felt his calling was to cross carry down 71st Street. Maybe someone was blackmailing him. Maybe he lost a bet. Again, no way to tell for certain, but it could be entirely possible that he was in no way a willing participant in all this. (Not quite sure how one would prove that, but we'll go with it being a possibility)
Finely sawn wood is what I believe TCG's cross wood was, but I've got to give an out on two counts here. Maybe TCG's cross was prickly and splintering and rough. It very well could have been. Remember, gawking at 40 mph does not necessarily give you the most accurate perception. Or, and I find this far more unlikely, could it be that MFCG's (Most Famous Cross Guy's) cross had been sanded down a touch. Maybe there was a sympathetic follower who smoothed out some of the rough edges as a form of compassion. I should probably know this one, but I don't. Regardless, I'm giving TCG the benefit of the doubt here also.
BUT WHEELS??? Nope, NO WAY MFCG definately did not have wheels on the cross He beared. No discussion, no questioning, no doubt.
So that leads us to exactly what is TCG trying to say? I think we must assume that he, in some way, is trying to emulate MFCG. I'm guessing there is some statement of "...man, can you believe MFCG did this way back when?", or maybe it's more "please know that there was this guy who's done this before". But context??? Could we have a little context please? I mean I believe, have faith in and fully acknowledge MFCG life and death and the redemption I believe comes from that. But for those who are a little less faithful, perhaps, no faith at all or maybe even totally clueless to the whole cross thing, then this could have been just a smidge confusing, dontcha think? And, if you are trying to sway the masses, wouldn't you try a bit more authenticity? Maybe a robe of some sort. Some sandals? Longer hair. Rougher terrain. And yeah TCG--ditch the wheels.
I mean...come onnnnnn. You have got to be kidding! WHEELS? If the whole cross thing wasn't enough, then the wheels just sent the whole deal into "uh-huh" mode. I ain't believin' anything you got to say dude. No pain, no gain. In fact the more I think about it, the more I think this was insulting. What a cheat. I guess if MFCG isn't your deal, then the wheels seem logical;
"I'm going to go out in Tulsa today and try and prove some insane point and, hey...I know...I think I'm going to carry a giant cross to help prove that whacked out point of mine. But man...that cross thing is gonna be a drag to carry around...HEY PHIL...Phil, you got any small wheels in your shop? You mind putting some on my big giant cross here? That'll make it a whole lot easier to lug around today"
But to me it's like saying "yeah, see this little kitty, it's really a mean tiger" or "hey, wanna go work out?" and you meet at the icecream shop instead or "I want to tell you a story about Cinderella, but she's really an heiress when she starts out." It's bastardizing the story. It's saying I want to tell you about something really special, something I really believe in, but you know...I want to leave out all the tough parts. I don't want it to be so hard for me to tell, and I sure hope you get the point.
It is entirely possible that I am making too much out of Tulsa Cross Guy. At first I thought, how odd. Maybe he needed a job. Maybe this was his way of making 71st Street drivers think about Most Famous Cross Guy that day. It made me think about it. And then I wondered if those wheels got going very quickly down that really steep hill if TCG would stumble, fall into traffic and get run over. Nahhhh, I think even MFCG would save him from that peril. In an odd sort of way I'm glad that the real MOST FAMOUS CROSS GUY didn't have wheels. No doubt wheels would have been nice--but I think it would have changed up His story a bit.
Yep, I saw it with my own eyes. There were many things about it that I found terribly interesting, but my first thought was, "my gosh, I need to pull over and find out what the heck this guy is doing and does he need a hand". Honestly! That was my first thought and I got tickled thinking how that conversation might go:
"Sir....SIRRRR....Yes, YOU sir....you with the cross...yeah, could you hold on a sec" (he was moving at quite some pace--I decided it was not so much that he was in a hurry as it was that he was going downhill and carrying the most massive cross I've ever seen). "...uh, sir, uh..do you need a hand with that?" (well, DUH! He's carrying a CROSS--a big, heavy cross...of course he needs a hand with it!) Or should it be "excuse me sir, but what on God's green earth are you doing?" (clearly, the answer is: Carrying a cross down the street)
I didn't stop. I gawked as best as one can gawk going 40 mph. Here's the visual: Caucasian male, approximately mid-to-late 30's, blue jeans, t-or polo type shirt, shorter light brown hair. The guy is walking on the north side of Sheridan headed east. And, well, he's carrying a cross. Now before we go any further please let me disclose that I am a full-fledged cross supporter. Truly--I have no cross issues. It's just not every day when you see a cross of this magnitude. It appeared to be made out of wood. Based on how far it was dragging behind it's bearer, it was about ten feet long. The crossbars were square block-like construction about 6x6 inches thick. At the bottom of the cross was a set of wheels.
Wheels you say? Yes, wheels. Nice sturdy rubber wheels. Herein lies my perplexity with the scene unfolding before me. I know a little about the "Real Cross-Carrying Dude". I know He was pretty worn out before even being forced to carry His cross. I know He did this somewhat unwillingly, or at least with grave hesitation. I know His cross was not quite so finely sawn. And I, absolutely, without one teeny tiny doubt, know His cross had no wheels. Nope, not even one rickety one. Not even an itty bitty wheel. No wheels, no where, no how.
So this brings me to my possible question above...what in the world is this guy-with-cross doing? What is he trying to say? Trying to prove? What is his motivation? Well, I'm going to be generous in my theory of this situation. Of the above-mentioned Cross facts I know, I'm giving 71st Street TCG (Tulsa Cross Guy) huge benefit of the doubt and I'm offering him three...yes, THREE of the above mentioned similarities:
Perhaps TCG was tired. Maybe he'd had a really bad day before, exhausted from work pressures, overwhelmed with life's curveballs. Heck, maybe he'd even been beat up a little. Who knows. Again, just trying to give benefit of the doubt here.
In some weird way, maybe he was being forced to do this. Maybe TCG felt his calling was to cross carry down 71st Street. Maybe someone was blackmailing him. Maybe he lost a bet. Again, no way to tell for certain, but it could be entirely possible that he was in no way a willing participant in all this. (Not quite sure how one would prove that, but we'll go with it being a possibility)
Finely sawn wood is what I believe TCG's cross wood was, but I've got to give an out on two counts here. Maybe TCG's cross was prickly and splintering and rough. It very well could have been. Remember, gawking at 40 mph does not necessarily give you the most accurate perception. Or, and I find this far more unlikely, could it be that MFCG's (Most Famous Cross Guy's) cross had been sanded down a touch. Maybe there was a sympathetic follower who smoothed out some of the rough edges as a form of compassion. I should probably know this one, but I don't. Regardless, I'm giving TCG the benefit of the doubt here also.
BUT WHEELS??? Nope, NO WAY MFCG definately did not have wheels on the cross He beared. No discussion, no questioning, no doubt.
So that leads us to exactly what is TCG trying to say? I think we must assume that he, in some way, is trying to emulate MFCG. I'm guessing there is some statement of "...man, can you believe MFCG did this way back when?", or maybe it's more "please know that there was this guy who's done this before". But context??? Could we have a little context please? I mean I believe, have faith in and fully acknowledge MFCG life and death and the redemption I believe comes from that. But for those who are a little less faithful, perhaps, no faith at all or maybe even totally clueless to the whole cross thing, then this could have been just a smidge confusing, dontcha think? And, if you are trying to sway the masses, wouldn't you try a bit more authenticity? Maybe a robe of some sort. Some sandals? Longer hair. Rougher terrain. And yeah TCG--ditch the wheels.
I mean...come onnnnnn. You have got to be kidding! WHEELS? If the whole cross thing wasn't enough, then the wheels just sent the whole deal into "uh-huh" mode. I ain't believin' anything you got to say dude. No pain, no gain. In fact the more I think about it, the more I think this was insulting. What a cheat. I guess if MFCG isn't your deal, then the wheels seem logical;
"I'm going to go out in Tulsa today and try and prove some insane point and, hey...I know...I think I'm going to carry a giant cross to help prove that whacked out point of mine. But man...that cross thing is gonna be a drag to carry around...HEY PHIL...Phil, you got any small wheels in your shop? You mind putting some on my big giant cross here? That'll make it a whole lot easier to lug around today"
But to me it's like saying "yeah, see this little kitty, it's really a mean tiger" or "hey, wanna go work out?" and you meet at the icecream shop instead or "I want to tell you a story about Cinderella, but she's really an heiress when she starts out." It's bastardizing the story. It's saying I want to tell you about something really special, something I really believe in, but you know...I want to leave out all the tough parts. I don't want it to be so hard for me to tell, and I sure hope you get the point.
It is entirely possible that I am making too much out of Tulsa Cross Guy. At first I thought, how odd. Maybe he needed a job. Maybe this was his way of making 71st Street drivers think about Most Famous Cross Guy that day. It made me think about it. And then I wondered if those wheels got going very quickly down that really steep hill if TCG would stumble, fall into traffic and get run over. Nahhhh, I think even MFCG would save him from that peril. In an odd sort of way I'm glad that the real MOST FAMOUS CROSS GUY didn't have wheels. No doubt wheels would have been nice--but I think it would have changed up His story a bit.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Do You KNOW How Cool I Have Just Become?
Getting fancy now!
(read the comment section...yeah, right HERE underneath this sentence, right next to the time...go ahead click "comments" and just see how cool I am now!)
(read the comment section...yeah, right HERE underneath this sentence, right next to the time...go ahead click "comments" and just see how cool I am now!)
Dog Park for People
We just got back from the dog park. Not many dogs were there at all and only one "trouble maker"...always the little dog with "little dog" complex...they are ornery! Opal played HARD! She wanted to play ball with a Golden Retriever who would ONLY retrieve one particular ball. Golden Retriever would chase any ball, but would only retrieve the one large, yellow, squeaky football. Opal decided it would be fun to try and play "take away". Opal quickly changed her mind when Golden Retriever snapped BIG TIME at Opal, the pesky dog trying to steal Golden Retriever's large, yellow, squeaky football--FUN-NEEEEE!
What's also funny and sometimes not so fun-neeeee (I really need to enhance my writing skills) is how people act at the dog park. In the old days when you took your dog to the park, your dog knew it was at a people park and it was to respect the rights of other people and it was going to do what you, its owner told it to--hopefully--plus 99% of the time it had a big shiny silver thick chain around it's neck reminding it of it's place in the people park. Well, at the dog park, the people are supposed to know and respect the rights of other dogs, right? At the people park, the people are supposed to look out for their dogs. At the dog park the dogs look out for their people. But there's always one dog, not so concerned with it's person's reputation.
Case in point...all dogs, like people are different and for the sake of argument, we, as a human and canine beings are to be respectful of those differences. So, if Spot and Blackie are playing and Lucky decides to play too, then Spot and Blackie sort of "decide" whether Lucky gets in the game or not. Now if they decide Lucky passes the sniff test and they are down with Lucky playing, then it's Lucky's lucky day. But let's say they aren't too keen on Lucky's demeanor--for whatever reason...they just don't want to include Lucky. Well in dog world, there is no need for a conference, a sit-down mediation, an intervention...in dog world Spot and Blackie simply don't play with Lucky. Now Lucky has a choice to make here: does Lucky; a. want to force Lucky's self into Spot & Blackie's romp-fest, or b. decide to move on to more inviting rear-end sniffing elsewhere. If Lucky picks "b", then all is well in dog world and at the dog park. But if Lucky picks "a", a multitude of things could happen. Herein lies the problem with "people" at the dog park.
Lucky's owner is usually some person who thinks their Lucky is the most precious animal on God's green earth. Who on earth would not want to play with my sweet little Lucky. Well, Spot and Blackie for one...um, two. I see this all the time in "people" world: at the park, the zoo, the mall, youth sports activities, oh yeah...and at school. I finally had to tell my daughter, "look, we love you. We will stand in front of a freight train to save you. But see those other people out there? They are not nearly as nuts about you as we are and some of them even think it's kind of creepy that you hug everybody. Regardless of your cuteness, you, my dear, are invading their personal space. But remember, you are always welcome to invade ours and we love you no matter what. This is what Lucky's owner needs to convey to Lucky.
But instead, Lucky's owner invariably either watches Lucky running around annoying all the other dogs (again--no acknowledgment of respect for the other dogs), or runs around with Lucky saying things like, "oh...Lucky thinks he's such a big dog", or "hahaha, that Lucky of mine sure never meets a stranger", "oh don't worry, Lucky here just wants to get in the game". About that time Spot or Blackie or some other dog have had just about enough of this annoying intruder, and decide to engage in a little pest control. That generally begins with a quick snap or snarl and perhaps a display of a nice mohawk down the spine. Depending on how obstinate, egotistical or simply dumb Lucky is, Lucky either picks up on it and moves on to more welcoming canine companionship, or, Lucky thinks that perhaps the fun romping game has been ramped up a notch and by golly he can hang "with the big dogs". Hopefully Lucky is not foolish enough to make that mistake, but from what I've observed that is the very thing that makes Lucky the sort of ostracised dog he is. He and his owner just refuse to get that it's just not always about Lucky.
So dogs like Spot, Blackie and others have to take matters into their own hands much the same as we people finally do at our people parks. Hair flies, snarling escallates, teeth gnashing begin and then, once Lucky has been shown his place, his owner generally scoops Lucky up and leaves the park. Owner continues to be clueless as to what all the hub-bub was about and Lucky is insulted at the lack of acceptance by the dog group and vows to never go back there again.
Much like our dogs who wouldn't have any other owner besides their one and only "us", much the same as they have complete and total loyalty to us regardless of our faults and distasteful characteristics, we seem to be the same way with our dogs; bragadocious ("well, you know the Grand Welch Corgi has a proven intellect the same as an above-average intellect of a 38 year old human"), apologetic ("she can hardly help letting people know just how much she is a people dog but you can tell her to get off you lap if you want to"), over-indulgent ("I just have to feed him prime rib when he looks at me with that cute little puppy face") and proud ("nice coat of fur your dog has...Lucky has won three regional competitions for shiniest dog").
What's also funny and sometimes not so fun-neeeee (I really need to enhance my writing skills) is how people act at the dog park. In the old days when you took your dog to the park, your dog knew it was at a people park and it was to respect the rights of other people and it was going to do what you, its owner told it to--hopefully--plus 99% of the time it had a big shiny silver thick chain around it's neck reminding it of it's place in the people park. Well, at the dog park, the people are supposed to know and respect the rights of other dogs, right? At the people park, the people are supposed to look out for their dogs. At the dog park the dogs look out for their people. But there's always one dog, not so concerned with it's person's reputation.
Case in point...all dogs, like people are different and for the sake of argument, we, as a human and canine beings are to be respectful of those differences. So, if Spot and Blackie are playing and Lucky decides to play too, then Spot and Blackie sort of "decide" whether Lucky gets in the game or not. Now if they decide Lucky passes the sniff test and they are down with Lucky playing, then it's Lucky's lucky day. But let's say they aren't too keen on Lucky's demeanor--for whatever reason...they just don't want to include Lucky. Well in dog world, there is no need for a conference, a sit-down mediation, an intervention...in dog world Spot and Blackie simply don't play with Lucky. Now Lucky has a choice to make here: does Lucky; a. want to force Lucky's self into Spot & Blackie's romp-fest, or b. decide to move on to more inviting rear-end sniffing elsewhere. If Lucky picks "b", then all is well in dog world and at the dog park. But if Lucky picks "a", a multitude of things could happen. Herein lies the problem with "people" at the dog park.
Lucky's owner is usually some person who thinks their Lucky is the most precious animal on God's green earth. Who on earth would not want to play with my sweet little Lucky. Well, Spot and Blackie for one...um, two. I see this all the time in "people" world: at the park, the zoo, the mall, youth sports activities, oh yeah...and at school. I finally had to tell my daughter, "look, we love you. We will stand in front of a freight train to save you. But see those other people out there? They are not nearly as nuts about you as we are and some of them even think it's kind of creepy that you hug everybody. Regardless of your cuteness, you, my dear, are invading their personal space. But remember, you are always welcome to invade ours and we love you no matter what. This is what Lucky's owner needs to convey to Lucky.
But instead, Lucky's owner invariably either watches Lucky running around annoying all the other dogs (again--no acknowledgment of respect for the other dogs), or runs around with Lucky saying things like, "oh...Lucky thinks he's such a big dog", or "hahaha, that Lucky of mine sure never meets a stranger", "oh don't worry, Lucky here just wants to get in the game". About that time Spot or Blackie or some other dog have had just about enough of this annoying intruder, and decide to engage in a little pest control. That generally begins with a quick snap or snarl and perhaps a display of a nice mohawk down the spine. Depending on how obstinate, egotistical or simply dumb Lucky is, Lucky either picks up on it and moves on to more welcoming canine companionship, or, Lucky thinks that perhaps the fun romping game has been ramped up a notch and by golly he can hang "with the big dogs". Hopefully Lucky is not foolish enough to make that mistake, but from what I've observed that is the very thing that makes Lucky the sort of ostracised dog he is. He and his owner just refuse to get that it's just not always about Lucky.
So dogs like Spot, Blackie and others have to take matters into their own hands much the same as we people finally do at our people parks. Hair flies, snarling escallates, teeth gnashing begin and then, once Lucky has been shown his place, his owner generally scoops Lucky up and leaves the park. Owner continues to be clueless as to what all the hub-bub was about and Lucky is insulted at the lack of acceptance by the dog group and vows to never go back there again.
Much like our dogs who wouldn't have any other owner besides their one and only "us", much the same as they have complete and total loyalty to us regardless of our faults and distasteful characteristics, we seem to be the same way with our dogs; bragadocious ("well, you know the Grand Welch Corgi has a proven intellect the same as an above-average intellect of a 38 year old human"), apologetic ("she can hardly help letting people know just how much she is a people dog but you can tell her to get off you lap if you want to"), over-indulgent ("I just have to feed him prime rib when he looks at me with that cute little puppy face") and proud ("nice coat of fur your dog has...Lucky has won three regional competitions for shiniest dog").
I'm afraid we will see this scenario play out time and time again. So far, four dog park trips, four "Lucky's" and their owners there. I guess the dogs and the people really aren't so much different from each other. I just hope I can continue to respect all the Spots and Blackies our there, regardless of Opal's vast amount of charm, talent and outstanding demeanor!
Friday, July 24, 2009
Now THIS is EXCITEMENT
I wasn't "allowed" to divulge my exciting news. It happened May 17th. It was a nice and pleasant evening when all the sudden the phone rang...and who could it be but my oldest daughter..
.and what on earth did she have to tell us other than that she was now formally, officially ENGAGED! We weren't even allowed to divulge said information to family members for an entire week so that the newly engaged couple could come tell everyone in person. Do you have any idea how underwhelmed the electrician, nail tech and landscape guy were with my exciting secret?
We couldn't be more happy for her. Of course we had a bit of a head's up on this one since her nearly perfect now-fiance had come to our house a mere two weeks ago (which seemed more like two months to me!) to ask her father's blessing that he be allowed to ask her to marry him. How totally wonderful is that? I wanted to say "sweet", but "sweet" is just not it. "Sweet" is not serious and committed enough. "Sweet" is just cute. This was wonderful, this was responsible, this was, and is serious business. This is the kind of wonderful, marvelous business that makes a mom cry--tears of happiness, tears of joy, and yes, a few bittersweet tears of days gone by.
It's interesting. Do I think these kids of mine are going to morph back into their toddler years again so that I can relive and re"do" any of those
mistakes I may have made? Is it possible that if life did not move forward for them, that I could somehow stop, or even better-reverse time to live those forgotten, unappreciated moments that escaped me? I think that's where the tears come from. They are happy tears. Happy for her. Happy for her happiness. Happy for her determination to make the right choices. But there is a twinge of sadness, of wishing I could go back, stop time, make everything slow down. Had I just known. Had I listened to all those old people who told me that very thing. Had I understood how quickly it would all make sense. Well, coulda, shoulda, woulda's always leave you hanging with that not-quite-finished feeling, but that's life.
Anyhow since the announcement of said engagement I have succeeded in bringing her to tears only once (that I know of and accept responsibility for). We all knew it was coming. We all knew "mom would eventually screw up this happy time" and far be it from me to let everyone down. I did have to have the "are-you-sure-you-MUST-have-this-wedding-only-a-mere-three-weeks-or-so-after-not-one-but-TWO-graduations-and-during-the-most-expensive-oops-i-mean-popular-time-of-year?" talk with both her and her fiance. I gotta say, this guy she's picked is good...he is very, very good! Upon the onset of tears I, of course, felt very guilty (yes, really I did). He sat very composed, listened carefully to my reasoning, nodded his head all the while patting my lovely daughter's leg. When I realized I had nearly reached full "lose 'em" potential, I quickly suggested that the subject be changed, they think about what I had said and we go inside and talk about fun wedding stuff.
Within 48 hours she called and they had thought about it and no, did not want to change their date. OK...alrighty...mom is going to have a little breakdown during her eldest daughters most precious moment in life to date...great...this is great. Quickly, I pulled myself together and thought NO--YOU ARE NOT! You are MOM, you CAN and, more importantly, you WILL do this! You will overcome for the greater good! You will formulate a plan, move into action, you will CONQUER! And with the confidence of a great leader, KAMINSKI-BIDDICK WEDDING TWO THOUSAND AND TEN, kicked into high gear!
To date we have: Secured ceremony venue (our church of course); Met with ceremony planner; Secured reception venue; Met with and secured caterer, baker, photographer, music & chair-bow vendor (a seemingly meaningless, but ever so important detail); Had first round of engagement pictures taken; Composed guest list; Chosen Save-a-Date announcements (ready to be rolled off the press); Decided upon invitations (ready to be rolled off the press); Designed and posted wedding website; Submitted engagement announcement for local newspaper; Purchased miscellaneous favors and bridesmaids gifts; Chosen bridesmaids dresses; hosted a small engagement party; and said YES TO THE DRESS, measured, ordered and paid for!
I can go into immense detail on these fun activities (and I won't unless begged to do so), but suffice it to say the wedding industry is NOT caught up in the economic downturn folks...not! Regardless, the process has been relatively pain-free--no, that is not true, it has been TOTALLY pain-free. I think to both of our surprise and amazement, Sam and I have had the best time doing this together. I cannot really think of anything much more "bonding" than participating in and preparing with your daughter for her most important journey...away from her parents. As mentioned earlier, a very bittersweet and sometimes surreal experience for me, "the mom", but one I wouldn't trade for anything. I am lucky to have an extremely level-headed daughter who has chosen the most magnificent guy on planet earth. Truly, all you girls out there, take lessons from this girl--she calculated cleverly and waited patiently and hit the husband-to-be jackpot! (I have that little fluttery happy feeling just typing that!)
Now having said all that "he's a great guy" stuff. We are embarking on a journey here very soon that will be the most telling of all....Biddick Family Vacation (think Griswolds), complete with all family members packed into the burb for a 14 hour road trip to the beach. THIS will be a true test of said "great guy's" stamina, patience, sense of humor and bladder control. More to come later.
.and what on earth did she have to tell us other than that she was now formally, officially ENGAGED! We weren't even allowed to divulge said information to family members for an entire week so that the newly engaged couple could come tell everyone in person. Do you have any idea how underwhelmed the electrician, nail tech and landscape guy were with my exciting secret?We couldn't be more happy for her. Of course we had a bit of a head's up on this one since her nearly perfect now-fiance had come to our house a mere two weeks ago (which seemed more like two months to me!) to ask her father's blessing that he be allowed to ask her to marry him. How totally wonderful is that? I wanted to say "sweet", but "sweet" is just not it. "Sweet" is not serious and committed enough. "Sweet" is just cute. This was wonderful, this was responsible, this was, and is serious business. This is the kind of wonderful, marvelous business that makes a mom cry--tears of happiness, tears of joy, and yes, a few bittersweet tears of days gone by.
It's interesting. Do I think these kids of mine are going to morph back into their toddler years again so that I can relive and re"do" any of those
mistakes I may have made? Is it possible that if life did not move forward for them, that I could somehow stop, or even better-reverse time to live those forgotten, unappreciated moments that escaped me? I think that's where the tears come from. They are happy tears. Happy for her. Happy for her happiness. Happy for her determination to make the right choices. But there is a twinge of sadness, of wishing I could go back, stop time, make everything slow down. Had I just known. Had I listened to all those old people who told me that very thing. Had I understood how quickly it would all make sense. Well, coulda, shoulda, woulda's always leave you hanging with that not-quite-finished feeling, but that's life.Anyhow since the announcement of said engagement I have succeeded in bringing her to tears only once (that I know of and accept responsibility for). We all knew it was coming. We all knew "mom would eventually screw up this happy time" and far be it from me to let everyone down. I did have to have the "are-you-sure-you-MUST-have-this-wedding-only-a-mere-three-weeks-or-so-after-not-one-but-TWO-graduations-and-during-the-most-expensive-oops-i-mean-popular-time-of-year?" talk with both her and her fiance. I gotta say, this guy she's picked is good...he is very, very good! Upon the onset of tears I, of course, felt very guilty (yes, really I did). He sat very composed, listened carefully to my reasoning, nodded his head all the while patting my lovely daughter's leg. When I realized I had nearly reached full "lose 'em" potential, I quickly suggested that the subject be changed, they think about what I had said and we go inside and talk about fun wedding stuff.
Within 48 hours she called and they had thought about it and no, did not want to change their date. OK...alrighty...mom is going to have a little breakdown during her eldest daughters most precious moment in life to date...great...this is great. Quickly, I pulled myself together and thought NO--YOU ARE NOT! You are MOM, you CAN and, more importantly, you WILL do this! You will overcome for the greater good! You will formulate a plan, move into action, you will CONQUER! And with the confidence of a great leader, KAMINSKI-BIDDICK WEDDING TWO THOUSAND AND TEN, kicked into high gear!
To date we have: Secured ceremony venue (our church of course); Met with ceremony planner; Secured reception venue; Met with and secured caterer, baker, photographer, music & chair-bow vendor (a seemingly meaningless, but ever so important detail); Had first round of engagement pictures taken; Composed guest list; Chosen Save-a-Date announcements (ready to be rolled off the press); Decided upon invitations (ready to be rolled off the press); Designed and posted wedding website; Submitted engagement announcement for local newspaper; Purchased miscellaneous favors and bridesmaids gifts; Chosen bridesmaids dresses; hosted a small engagement party; and said YES TO THE DRESS, measured, ordered and paid for!
I can go into immense detail on these fun activities (and I won't unless begged to do so), but suffice it to say the wedding industry is NOT caught up in the economic downturn folks...not! Regardless, the process has been relatively pain-free--no, that is not true, it has been TOTALLY pain-free. I think to both of our surprise and amazement, Sam and I have had the best time doing this together. I cannot really think of anything much more "bonding" than participating in and preparing with your daughter for her most important journey...away from her parents. As mentioned earlier, a very bittersweet and sometimes surreal experience for me, "the mom", but one I wouldn't trade for anything. I am lucky to have an extremely level-headed daughter who has chosen the most magnificent guy on planet earth. Truly, all you girls out there, take lessons from this girl--she calculated cleverly and waited patiently and hit the husband-to-be jackpot! (I have that little fluttery happy feeling just typing that!)
Now having said all that "he's a great guy" stuff. We are embarking on a journey here very soon that will be the most telling of all....Biddick Family Vacation (think Griswolds), complete with all family members packed into the burb for a 14 hour road trip to the beach. THIS will be a true test of said "great guy's" stamina, patience, sense of humor and bladder control. More to come later.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
I Like to Be Grumpy When I Work
Well, my new blinds for the living room came today. There's nothing all that special about my new blinds other than they are replacing the 17 year old shutters and (probably) the 10 year old "bra" fabric topper that has adorned out living room window for as many years. I was excited not only because they are here, but because they came super fast. I ordered them just four or five nights ago.
My husband is a lovely man. He really is. But while in the process of, or while trying to complete household "to-do's" that loveliness sometimes escapes him. Apparently tonight he had that very same revelation about himself.
I had made no bones that I would "love" to have the blinds hung tonight. Being the lovely husband he is, he agreed to do that. Our neighbor had requested we run by to see some things and I asked Steve to go. "No, I'm going to stay here and get the blinds hung". "Are you sure?" Yes. So an hour later I return and he is hanging bracket #2 of blind #1. Anne went in to talk with him and quickly learned he was also not nearly as lovely a dad during blind hanging time. Nothing terrible, but I think his comment was, "no, I really don't like doing this at all".
So being the supportive wife I am, I thought, ohhhh he just wants someone around while he's working. You know people like that? I'm sort of like that. You don't really need help, but it's nice to have a person who can fetch things close by preventing you from making sixteen trips up and down the stepstool. Someone to make conversation so to take your mind off the tedious nature of the job. Someone to give you a quick opinion (higher or lower? to the left or right?) when you need it. So I decided I would go sit in the rocker by the windows and be that supportive person. I sat and asked if he'd read the instructions (knowing full well he hadn't, but didn't need to either), I read the tools needed list to prove that there was no need for a great husband like mine to read the directions, we chatted briefly about the extra sliver of sample wood that was in the packaging, I then shared my observations at the neighbors house, shared the fact that the wife is quite the artist, shared that I wanted her to paint the kids pictures, shared...well, I shared for a bit...apparently too long...
Bracket #2 was completed and it was time to move the stepstool and reconfigure his tool placement:
Him: You're kind of in my workspace.
Me: Well, I thought I would just sit here and talk to you and keep you company. You don't want me to do that?
Him: No. I like to be grumpy when I work and with you here, you are just going to get the brunt of it.
Me: (Huge belly laugh) Are you serious?
Him: Well at least I can be honest. Here, can you go throw this away?
And there, my friends is the sort of revelation one must wait for nearly twenty five years to finally hear.
My husband is a lovely man. He really is. But while in the process of, or while trying to complete household "to-do's" that loveliness sometimes escapes him. Apparently tonight he had that very same revelation about himself.
I had made no bones that I would "love" to have the blinds hung tonight. Being the lovely husband he is, he agreed to do that. Our neighbor had requested we run by to see some things and I asked Steve to go. "No, I'm going to stay here and get the blinds hung". "Are you sure?" Yes. So an hour later I return and he is hanging bracket #2 of blind #1. Anne went in to talk with him and quickly learned he was also not nearly as lovely a dad during blind hanging time. Nothing terrible, but I think his comment was, "no, I really don't like doing this at all".
So being the supportive wife I am, I thought, ohhhh he just wants someone around while he's working. You know people like that? I'm sort of like that. You don't really need help, but it's nice to have a person who can fetch things close by preventing you from making sixteen trips up and down the stepstool. Someone to make conversation so to take your mind off the tedious nature of the job. Someone to give you a quick opinion (higher or lower? to the left or right?) when you need it. So I decided I would go sit in the rocker by the windows and be that supportive person. I sat and asked if he'd read the instructions (knowing full well he hadn't, but didn't need to either), I read the tools needed list to prove that there was no need for a great husband like mine to read the directions, we chatted briefly about the extra sliver of sample wood that was in the packaging, I then shared my observations at the neighbors house, shared the fact that the wife is quite the artist, shared that I wanted her to paint the kids pictures, shared...well, I shared for a bit...apparently too long...
Bracket #2 was completed and it was time to move the stepstool and reconfigure his tool placement:
Him: You're kind of in my workspace.
Me: Well, I thought I would just sit here and talk to you and keep you company. You don't want me to do that?
Him: No. I like to be grumpy when I work and with you here, you are just going to get the brunt of it.
Me: (Huge belly laugh) Are you serious?
Him: Well at least I can be honest. Here, can you go throw this away?
And there, my friends is the sort of revelation one must wait for nearly twenty five years to finally hear.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
EXCITEMENT LIKE NO OTHER
Yep, that's what I've got right now at 12:30 pm--no, I guess it's am really. I can't even talk about it till later, but suffice it to say that this is big...really, really big.
A quick follow up from my last post. When Anne came home from school on Thursday, just three days after my "Mr. Crabs isn't doing so hot" post, I wasn't home yet. I called her to tell her I would not be long and to go ahead and do her normal after school routine...check on pet(s), check backpack, wash hands, get snack, start on homework, etc. No problem. So when I arrive I have her take a quick break to "visit with mom" a bit. She comes up to me and ..., well it went something like this:
Me: Hey you! Give me a hug! How was your day?
AMB: Good.
Me: Much homework?
AMB: Just math and I've already done it.
Me: Good for you! Have you had a snack?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Did you let Opal out?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Check her water?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Mr. Crabs?
AMB: (without a hint of hesitation) Dead.
Me: Excuse me?
AMB: Dead.
Yes, that's all she said, and emphatically so. About the time I replied with the "excuse me?", I could tell it was going to be impossible to refrain from the hysterical laugh that was building up within me. By her second reply of simply and matter-of-factly, "dead", my premonition came true and I burst out with the most insane laughter all the while thinking, "this could be a real life altering blow to everything she believes about her mother, but I CANNOT HELP IT"!! Thank God, she immediately began laughing right along with me too. I felt a little guilty for not exhibiting a better example of bereavement, but was glad that she had enough sense to not be terribly torn up about our now deceased crustacean friend, Mr. Crabs, may he rest in peace.
Oh, by the way, apparently it really doesn't bother her at all since he is in fact, still dead as a doornail in the borrowed box in her room. Just haven't quite had time to get around to that, but please note that, unlike other creatures, fiddler crabs lose their earthy smell once they die. So a positive was realized regarding the crustacean world after all--yay!
Had my first dog training session with AMB and Opal today. Steve had taken her last week because I wasn't feeling great, and far less great enough to deal with dog(s). The Dog Whisperer (Steve) returned last week with glowing reports of Opal's high intellect and obedient and eager-to-please nature, so my expectations were high today. Today was the "real dog" class though. Steve had gone to a make-up class with only 3 or 4 other dogs in it, half of which were young puppies. Today was our regular class with dogs 10 months and older.
Dogs and People are a funny mix.
Suffice it to say that I've never thought of myself much as a dog person, people person yes, dog person so-so, and cats are out of the question. But over the years and the dogs who have tried desperately to make their way in our family, I think I have come to appreciate a good dog. Hence my irritation today.
Today's lesson was "off" and "down". Didn't spend much time on "off", because basically you whack them on the nose with a soft rolled up towel when they jump up on you and who wants a room full of people trying to instigate their dog to jump on them only to have all those people whacking their dogs. So most of the lesson was spent with "down". First thing is you don't get to say the word "down", which even after asking why not and getting a perfectly sensible answer, I still thought it odd. Nevertheless watching the teacher of the class work with the dogs, she clearly knew something about all this and she's funny. So, although I was still a bit perplexed I did as told...or so I thought.
After being taught the lesson and what to do and having her use a couple of the dogs in class ("teacher's pet" Opal as reported last week, being one of them) as examples, it was then our turn to practice the commands with our dogs ourselves. There are all kinds of dogs in this class, big dogs, little dogs, black and white dogs, blue dogs, green dogs...I digress. Like the dogs, there are also all kinds of people there, old people, young people, smart people, dumb people. When one signs up for "training" for one's dog, doesn't one expect to actually do that "training"? Well, we had the pleasure of sitting next to Mr. & Mrs. We Love Our Little Worthless Furball who, because they couldn't get Little Worthless Furball to mind them decided it would be more fun to see if they could walk him (or her, who knows) back and forth trying to "socialize" Little Worthless Furball and maybe, just maybe Little Worthless Furball would quit snarling at every dog that came up to it.
So here you are with your dog and it's like having a child who hasn't had their Ritalin meds for days--the dog is flipping all around, looking around, up, down, left, right at every unfamiliar noise it hears and up comes Little Worthless Furball with his/her "daddy". So what does your normal I'm-trying-to-be-attentive-and-learn-what-you-want-me-to-for-this-teeny-tiny-treat-you-are-taunting-me-with dog do but get distracted by LWF, begins sniffing LWF only to be snarled and snapped at by LWF.
Well, you'd better not do that a. to Opal, and b. to any dog that has been around the Biddick house for long. We may let you snarl or snap once, but that's it. Do it the second time and our tail stops wagging, we get in "pounce and kill" position, and you will likely pay for your error if you don't back away pretty darned quick. So, when Opal began the "I don't THINK so Little Worthless Furball" stance, I calmly said to "daddy" in front of "mommy", "I don't think she's liking your dog too much right now".
OH MY GAWD! At that moment, I realized I had become one of "them"! One of those people who are as protective and bleeding hearted about their dogs as they are their kids. Although it WAS the truth, and "mommy" told "daddy" that maybe he ought to back LWF out of our training space, I still, at that moment, had gone to the dark side.
Worse part was, about that time the training teacher came by, "let's see what you can do with her"! Oh yay. Minutes earlier I felt like Opal had lost about as much interest in the stupid treats as I had in working this hard to get her to lay on the ground. I think that was fairly evident when the teacher said to me at one point, "don't KICK her to get her to move". Had I kicked her? I hadn't even realized I KICKED her! Did anyone actually hear the teacher say that to me? Did Anne think I'd kicked Opal? Nope, Anne was sitting slunked in the chair asking if she could go look out in the store (knowing full well it was a ploy to go look at Webkinz merchandise). Ok, I'll TRY not to kick the dog. This was after the trainer told me I was doing everything wrong--too much name calling (not what you are thinking, just me saying "Opal" too much), not holding the stupid treat right, not moving with the dog. I was a failure--a dog training failure. But we were still better than Little Worthless Hairball and his/her people. Training lady took over again with Opal, realized our distraction and cut me some slack. I was then instructed to try the manuever again and did so under the ever-critiquing eyes of Ms. Training Teacher, finding her less humorous than I had earlier. Opal cooperated helping to keep me from looking like a total moron. I quickly told Anne she had better practice with Opal too and was glad to see she was even worse than me.
While sitting down waiting to be dismissed, I begin to watch "Dixie", the other "teacher's pet" smart dog in the class. Dixie was two dogs to our left and is a Golden Poodle that looks like a giant sandy brown curly haired stuffed teddy bear you'd win on tv. Dixie and Opal had met out in the hallway before class. Dixie is perfect, nice, well-behaved, good-mannered, polite, friendly and cute. Opal ended up snapping at Dixie for those traits I am sure. Jealously runs rampant in the Biddick house. Dixie's parents are perfect too and they smile a lot at Dixie's quick mastering of the hand signal signifying Dixie to her perfect "down" position. I could not believe it. Dixie was already just laying "down" without even nashing her parent's nails trying to get the treat, without her parents breaking their backs bending ever-so-slowly over to the floor to get her to lay down...Dixie already knew when her parents moved their arm from up to down by their leg, Dixie knew to lay down.
Opal and I will be spending a lot of time together this week. Dixie will NOT have one up on Opal. Opal has come from nothing. Dixie has come from a long line of fine pedigree. Opal came begging to us. Dixie was "chosen". But Opal's got stamina, she's hearty, she's seen bad stuff and lived to tell about it. So we're gonna show up NEXT week with something to show Miss Dixie...and we're not sitting by that Little Worthless Hairball distraction either.
A quick follow up from my last post. When Anne came home from school on Thursday, just three days after my "Mr. Crabs isn't doing so hot" post, I wasn't home yet. I called her to tell her I would not be long and to go ahead and do her normal after school routine...check on pet(s), check backpack, wash hands, get snack, start on homework, etc. No problem. So when I arrive I have her take a quick break to "visit with mom" a bit. She comes up to me and ..., well it went something like this:
Me: Hey you! Give me a hug! How was your day?
AMB: Good.
Me: Much homework?
AMB: Just math and I've already done it.
Me: Good for you! Have you had a snack?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Did you let Opal out?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Check her water?
AMB: Yes.
Me: Mr. Crabs?
AMB: (without a hint of hesitation) Dead.
Me: Excuse me?
AMB: Dead.
Yes, that's all she said, and emphatically so. About the time I replied with the "excuse me?", I could tell it was going to be impossible to refrain from the hysterical laugh that was building up within me. By her second reply of simply and matter-of-factly, "dead", my premonition came true and I burst out with the most insane laughter all the while thinking, "this could be a real life altering blow to everything she believes about her mother, but I CANNOT HELP IT"!! Thank God, she immediately began laughing right along with me too. I felt a little guilty for not exhibiting a better example of bereavement, but was glad that she had enough sense to not be terribly torn up about our now deceased crustacean friend, Mr. Crabs, may he rest in peace.
Oh, by the way, apparently it really doesn't bother her at all since he is in fact, still dead as a doornail in the borrowed box in her room. Just haven't quite had time to get around to that, but please note that, unlike other creatures, fiddler crabs lose their earthy smell once they die. So a positive was realized regarding the crustacean world after all--yay!
Had my first dog training session with AMB and Opal today. Steve had taken her last week because I wasn't feeling great, and far less great enough to deal with dog(s). The Dog Whisperer (Steve) returned last week with glowing reports of Opal's high intellect and obedient and eager-to-please nature, so my expectations were high today. Today was the "real dog" class though. Steve had gone to a make-up class with only 3 or 4 other dogs in it, half of which were young puppies. Today was our regular class with dogs 10 months and older.
Dogs and People are a funny mix.
Suffice it to say that I've never thought of myself much as a dog person, people person yes, dog person so-so, and cats are out of the question. But over the years and the dogs who have tried desperately to make their way in our family, I think I have come to appreciate a good dog. Hence my irritation today.
Today's lesson was "off" and "down". Didn't spend much time on "off", because basically you whack them on the nose with a soft rolled up towel when they jump up on you and who wants a room full of people trying to instigate their dog to jump on them only to have all those people whacking their dogs. So most of the lesson was spent with "down". First thing is you don't get to say the word "down", which even after asking why not and getting a perfectly sensible answer, I still thought it odd. Nevertheless watching the teacher of the class work with the dogs, she clearly knew something about all this and she's funny. So, although I was still a bit perplexed I did as told...or so I thought.
After being taught the lesson and what to do and having her use a couple of the dogs in class ("teacher's pet" Opal as reported last week, being one of them) as examples, it was then our turn to practice the commands with our dogs ourselves. There are all kinds of dogs in this class, big dogs, little dogs, black and white dogs, blue dogs, green dogs...I digress. Like the dogs, there are also all kinds of people there, old people, young people, smart people, dumb people. When one signs up for "training" for one's dog, doesn't one expect to actually do that "training"? Well, we had the pleasure of sitting next to Mr. & Mrs. We Love Our Little Worthless Furball who, because they couldn't get Little Worthless Furball to mind them decided it would be more fun to see if they could walk him (or her, who knows) back and forth trying to "socialize" Little Worthless Furball and maybe, just maybe Little Worthless Furball would quit snarling at every dog that came up to it.
So here you are with your dog and it's like having a child who hasn't had their Ritalin meds for days--the dog is flipping all around, looking around, up, down, left, right at every unfamiliar noise it hears and up comes Little Worthless Furball with his/her "daddy". So what does your normal I'm-trying-to-be-attentive-and-learn-what-you-want-me-to-for-this-teeny-tiny-treat-you-are-taunting-me-with dog do but get distracted by LWF, begins sniffing LWF only to be snarled and snapped at by LWF.
Well, you'd better not do that a. to Opal, and b. to any dog that has been around the Biddick house for long. We may let you snarl or snap once, but that's it. Do it the second time and our tail stops wagging, we get in "pounce and kill" position, and you will likely pay for your error if you don't back away pretty darned quick. So, when Opal began the "I don't THINK so Little Worthless Furball" stance, I calmly said to "daddy" in front of "mommy", "I don't think she's liking your dog too much right now".
OH MY GAWD! At that moment, I realized I had become one of "them"! One of those people who are as protective and bleeding hearted about their dogs as they are their kids. Although it WAS the truth, and "mommy" told "daddy" that maybe he ought to back LWF out of our training space, I still, at that moment, had gone to the dark side.
Worse part was, about that time the training teacher came by, "let's see what you can do with her"! Oh yay. Minutes earlier I felt like Opal had lost about as much interest in the stupid treats as I had in working this hard to get her to lay on the ground. I think that was fairly evident when the teacher said to me at one point, "don't KICK her to get her to move". Had I kicked her? I hadn't even realized I KICKED her! Did anyone actually hear the teacher say that to me? Did Anne think I'd kicked Opal? Nope, Anne was sitting slunked in the chair asking if she could go look out in the store (knowing full well it was a ploy to go look at Webkinz merchandise). Ok, I'll TRY not to kick the dog. This was after the trainer told me I was doing everything wrong--too much name calling (not what you are thinking, just me saying "Opal" too much), not holding the stupid treat right, not moving with the dog. I was a failure--a dog training failure. But we were still better than Little Worthless Hairball and his/her people. Training lady took over again with Opal, realized our distraction and cut me some slack. I was then instructed to try the manuever again and did so under the ever-critiquing eyes of Ms. Training Teacher, finding her less humorous than I had earlier. Opal cooperated helping to keep me from looking like a total moron. I quickly told Anne she had better practice with Opal too and was glad to see she was even worse than me.
While sitting down waiting to be dismissed, I begin to watch "Dixie", the other "teacher's pet" smart dog in the class. Dixie was two dogs to our left and is a Golden Poodle that looks like a giant sandy brown curly haired stuffed teddy bear you'd win on tv. Dixie and Opal had met out in the hallway before class. Dixie is perfect, nice, well-behaved, good-mannered, polite, friendly and cute. Opal ended up snapping at Dixie for those traits I am sure. Jealously runs rampant in the Biddick house. Dixie's parents are perfect too and they smile a lot at Dixie's quick mastering of the hand signal signifying Dixie to her perfect "down" position. I could not believe it. Dixie was already just laying "down" without even nashing her parent's nails trying to get the treat, without her parents breaking their backs bending ever-so-slowly over to the floor to get her to lay down...Dixie already knew when her parents moved their arm from up to down by their leg, Dixie knew to lay down.
Opal and I will be spending a lot of time together this week. Dixie will NOT have one up on Opal. Opal has come from nothing. Dixie has come from a long line of fine pedigree. Opal came begging to us. Dixie was "chosen". But Opal's got stamina, she's hearty, she's seen bad stuff and lived to tell about it. So we're gonna show up NEXT week with something to show Miss Dixie...and we're not sitting by that Little Worthless Hairball distraction either.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Mr. Crabs Isn't Going to Make It Much Longer
This is what I have to tell my 10-yr old today. I was commissioned this morning to change Mr. Crabs water (which I did, nearly forgetting Mr. Crabs is a salt-water lover which entails adding a dechlorination solution and salt crystals) and "maybe try and clean out his sand". Well the latter was much more difficult than anticipated and after observing Mr. Crabs behavior, I came to the "mom conclusion" that mixing the sand up thereby burying the icky stuff to the bottom, would be sufficient for what I think will be Mr. Crabs last few days of living on this earth.
Now, I know that many a parent has performed these same duties for their young sons and daughters. And I know that many a child has beemed with joy as mine did lugging their crab, their frog, their tadpole home from their loving teacher's left-over science project. Here's what I don't know...is this some kind of conspiracy? Is it a conspiracy to keep the crustacean accessories industry afloat? I think so!
As I understand it, the teacher orders these short-lived creatures for her classroom to observe in as close to a "natural habitat" as can be created in a flourescent lit, formica cladden science lab full of 9 and 10 year olds. Then those creatures arrive, most are alive, however some have not traveled as well and are "discarded". Of course the kids know the exact count of DOA's and have also attentively observed the "poor little frog" or "poor little crabs" peril upon arrival.
Now, here's the problem. We all know that these creatures do not live long under any circumstance, far less under the care of a 4th grader...or her busy mother...or brother...or pet dog. I mean, would someone please stand up and tell me, give me the evidence that they have, know of or can prove a crab or frog or tadpole that has lived post-elementary science lab past the age of 26 days or so? There is a prize for any one who can prove that to me.
So, here's where the conspiracy comes in. There must be some agreement that the teacher must make with the company providing these creatures that says all remaining living creatures must be lugged home in a stinky, sticky, noise filled busload of children, then dragged down a few blocks to a home of a caring child who foresees her crab living beyond the day she will leave for college. When the teacher accepts this aggreement, the company then mails said science experiments to teacher. At some point the pet stores and crustacean lobbyists across the country come in to play. They must pay the companies that supply these creatures to the teachers. They must pay them a percentage for every agreement these companies can get the teacher to make. Because before your caring, creature-loving child is allowed to bring this still-living (lucky) creature home, you TOO have to sign saying that it is ok and that you will provide the very lucky creature with the proper environment...herein lies the conspiracy.
So, you get the child running in the door with a clear plastic cup commonly used for rainbow sherbet punch at a wedding reception. Instead the cup contains a little sand and, in our case, two crabs...fiddler crabs so they say. My daughter is immediately needing an aquarium, salt water, dechlorination drops, fish food, or even better crustacean food and washed grass from outside (I immediately draw the line at washing grass from outside seeing as our own clothing is still piled up in various stages of dirty, washed not dried, dried not folded and buried throughout the house). Did that form I signed yesterday mention all this? Surely they can make it one day without their special needs...we'll go tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes and little fiddler crab has already perished. Time is running out. The 10 year old suggest an early morning run to the local pet store BEFORE school to assure remaining crabs life. Fortunately I can vouch that said pet store is not even open then and we will just have to wait till she returns from school. When she gets home, she hits the door yelling out if "Mr. Crabs" is still alive, I reply in the affirmative. She then begins a multi-tasking venture the likes of which I have never seen her do before. She leaps upstairs runs into the shower and does all after-school chores faster than she's ever done all year. This is big---really big.
We are off to the pet store. Yes, this IS a conspiracy. One teeny tiny fiddler crab. About the size of the tip of my thumb. Does this creature need a $24.99 tank to "have room to run around in"? I think not. We finally find something around the $15 mark. But then there's food, and salt and sand. Can't we just use dirt from outside? What about table salt, I'm sure that's ok. Must Mr. Crab dine on dried miniature shrimp? I would like shrimp tonight too. Ok, we're in negotiating phase now. I'll buy these "necessities" (who came up with glow-in-the-dark sand? Secretly, I find it a pretty cool idea!), but Mr. Crabs is residing in a tupperware dish until we see if he will acclamate to our efforts in making him part of the family.
That evening after purchasing the "necessities" for Mr. Crabs, I find out from another mom that just last year, she too purchased same "necessities" and was able to get all of 12 days use out of them. She still had all the supplies complete with the air vented, color topped plastic aquarium giving your special fiddler crab that extra running room they yearn for...sucker! She tells me to return everything we've bought (fortunately we'd yet to make it home with the supplies at that point) and she would let us borrow everything she had--yay!! Bet the aquarium, fish food, special salt companies didn't plan on THAT now did they!
Well, Mr. Crabs has been set up now for 5 or 6 days. My daughters room smells like the building at the zoo where they keep the alligators...all from this one little crustacean and his (?) dried mini-shrimp food, I'm sure. But after completely my requested tasks today, I noticed Mr. Crabs isn't quite as lively as in days past. The big pincher isn't flailing about, he's not crabbing around with quite the same pep in his step and I really think he's starting to change color a little. So this is the part where we learn (and have the privilege of teaching) all about the circle of life, God's plan and conspiratorial agreements made between public education, science experiment providers and crab food companies...wonder how THAT conversation is going to go?!
Now, I know that many a parent has performed these same duties for their young sons and daughters. And I know that many a child has beemed with joy as mine did lugging their crab, their frog, their tadpole home from their loving teacher's left-over science project. Here's what I don't know...is this some kind of conspiracy? Is it a conspiracy to keep the crustacean accessories industry afloat? I think so!
As I understand it, the teacher orders these short-lived creatures for her classroom to observe in as close to a "natural habitat" as can be created in a flourescent lit, formica cladden science lab full of 9 and 10 year olds. Then those creatures arrive, most are alive, however some have not traveled as well and are "discarded". Of course the kids know the exact count of DOA's and have also attentively observed the "poor little frog" or "poor little crabs" peril upon arrival.
Now, here's the problem. We all know that these creatures do not live long under any circumstance, far less under the care of a 4th grader...or her busy mother...or brother...or pet dog. I mean, would someone please stand up and tell me, give me the evidence that they have, know of or can prove a crab or frog or tadpole that has lived post-elementary science lab past the age of 26 days or so? There is a prize for any one who can prove that to me.
So, here's where the conspiracy comes in. There must be some agreement that the teacher must make with the company providing these creatures that says all remaining living creatures must be lugged home in a stinky, sticky, noise filled busload of children, then dragged down a few blocks to a home of a caring child who foresees her crab living beyond the day she will leave for college. When the teacher accepts this aggreement, the company then mails said science experiments to teacher. At some point the pet stores and crustacean lobbyists across the country come in to play. They must pay the companies that supply these creatures to the teachers. They must pay them a percentage for every agreement these companies can get the teacher to make. Because before your caring, creature-loving child is allowed to bring this still-living (lucky) creature home, you TOO have to sign saying that it is ok and that you will provide the very lucky creature with the proper environment...herein lies the conspiracy.
So, you get the child running in the door with a clear plastic cup commonly used for rainbow sherbet punch at a wedding reception. Instead the cup contains a little sand and, in our case, two crabs...fiddler crabs so they say. My daughter is immediately needing an aquarium, salt water, dechlorination drops, fish food, or even better crustacean food and washed grass from outside (I immediately draw the line at washing grass from outside seeing as our own clothing is still piled up in various stages of dirty, washed not dried, dried not folded and buried throughout the house). Did that form I signed yesterday mention all this? Surely they can make it one day without their special needs...we'll go tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes and little fiddler crab has already perished. Time is running out. The 10 year old suggest an early morning run to the local pet store BEFORE school to assure remaining crabs life. Fortunately I can vouch that said pet store is not even open then and we will just have to wait till she returns from school. When she gets home, she hits the door yelling out if "Mr. Crabs" is still alive, I reply in the affirmative. She then begins a multi-tasking venture the likes of which I have never seen her do before. She leaps upstairs runs into the shower and does all after-school chores faster than she's ever done all year. This is big---really big.
We are off to the pet store. Yes, this IS a conspiracy. One teeny tiny fiddler crab. About the size of the tip of my thumb. Does this creature need a $24.99 tank to "have room to run around in"? I think not. We finally find something around the $15 mark. But then there's food, and salt and sand. Can't we just use dirt from outside? What about table salt, I'm sure that's ok. Must Mr. Crab dine on dried miniature shrimp? I would like shrimp tonight too. Ok, we're in negotiating phase now. I'll buy these "necessities" (who came up with glow-in-the-dark sand? Secretly, I find it a pretty cool idea!), but Mr. Crabs is residing in a tupperware dish until we see if he will acclamate to our efforts in making him part of the family.
That evening after purchasing the "necessities" for Mr. Crabs, I find out from another mom that just last year, she too purchased same "necessities" and was able to get all of 12 days use out of them. She still had all the supplies complete with the air vented, color topped plastic aquarium giving your special fiddler crab that extra running room they yearn for...sucker! She tells me to return everything we've bought (fortunately we'd yet to make it home with the supplies at that point) and she would let us borrow everything she had--yay!! Bet the aquarium, fish food, special salt companies didn't plan on THAT now did they!
Well, Mr. Crabs has been set up now for 5 or 6 days. My daughters room smells like the building at the zoo where they keep the alligators...all from this one little crustacean and his (?) dried mini-shrimp food, I'm sure. But after completely my requested tasks today, I noticed Mr. Crabs isn't quite as lively as in days past. The big pincher isn't flailing about, he's not crabbing around with quite the same pep in his step and I really think he's starting to change color a little. So this is the part where we learn (and have the privilege of teaching) all about the circle of life, God's plan and conspiratorial agreements made between public education, science experiment providers and crab food companies...wonder how THAT conversation is going to go?!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Didn't die--or finish that ebay stuff
Holy freakin' cow!! I absolutely can NOT believe it has been nearly one year since that post. That is hysterical. I remember writing that post as if it were yesterday. Man, can things happen in a year or what. Today I was just reminiscing the last five days of stuff around here and could barely keep my head from spinning. And now an entire YEAR to catch up on--???!!! I don't think so. My fingers would just turn into sand like something out of The Mummy.
Well let me just give you the last five days worth...Starting Tuesday night when I insisted that we should buy a bed insuring that by this weekend or at least the next weekend (4th of July & both weekends having overnight guests) most people sleeping in our house would have an elevated place of rest. After much discussion and little to no successful negotiating, a new mattress and "foundation" (no longer the boxsprings of days gone by), and the final sales pitched mattress cover were purchased. Not to mention the lovely new KING SIZE 4-poster bed we ordered in celebration of Mother's Day, Father's Day, Anniversary #24, Steve's birthday, my birthday, Memorial Day, Flag Day and generally a celebration of no longer sleeping on a 21 year old mattress. However, there is yet another member of our family much excited about the new acquisition...that would be RRB. He is still young and small and agile and has a pain-free back and no bunk bed to sleep on thanks to last week's garage sale (more on that later)
For some reason our bed has always been the "favored" bed in the house. Even with new mattresses being bought periodically through the years. After moving it into RRB's room, I now know why. It is like the Princess and the Pea bed. There is enough fluffy, quilted, spongy material on top of that thing you couldn't feel sharp piercing blades if the mattress were made out of a slab of swords. No wonder my old sheets barely fit the pre-pillowtop style mattress!
Ok, so sometime Tuesday or Tuesday evening, I also made the enormous error of "forgetting" plans I apparently had made with eldest daughter SGB. I won't make THAT mistake again. Guess I said something about "yes...I am absolutely going to the pool tomorrow" and I got the huff and the puff and my house was nearly blown down. Of course the response to my inquiring of the problem was..."nothing". HA!! Well SGB and I had talked earlier in the week about doing some shopping for her new apartment. I guess I had thought that was a discussion "in passing" and you know kids...never is what you say "in passing" unless it is something like, "I need you to mow the lawn", "could you pick up your sister from swim lessons today?", "don't make plans for tomorrow--we are cleaning house". Then all the sudden it's "WHAT? I thought you were just saying that!" "I didn't know you really wanted me to use my gas to go get her." "Didn't we just clean a few weeks ago and I already told so and so I would do such and such". uh-huh.
Wednesday--shopping with SGB. Our departure was delayed an hour by the delivery of bed! yay! It should be noted that the bed is nearly as high as our old one and it is simply sitting on the floor! After some huffiness regarding the delay we were off to wherever she chose to go. Quickly learned that the best way to shop with a 19 year old girl with extremely set ideas is to #1. Offer no suggestions...particularly when asked to do so. #2. Follow, never lead, in given store. Otherwise you will be accused of shopping for yourself when you said that you were going with her. #3. Leave store with no comment other than a nodding head and an indescript "uh-huh" ("yeah", even in agreement, will indicate a combative attitude) #4. When getting back in to car, turn on AC immediately before engaging any other controls, leave said store quickly, and drive as fast as possible to next destination. And the most important way to shop with a 19 year old girl with extremely set ideas is to #5. SHUT UP & SAY NOTHING. If you follow these things precisely you may get off with only a few minor rude comments and slight eye rolling. Just a tip. Needless to say we came home with zero of the "large ticket items" on her list. But some nifty pillows, wall hangings, bracelets, room scents and lamps were found. Of course none of these items can you sit at to eat a meal, sit on to watch tv, set a tv on to watch, do your homework on or stack your books on. Oh well, that was my Wednesday.
Thursday was exhausting. Up early to send Steve off to watch Ryan wrestle in Kansas City for the National Dual Championships. Began moving all furniture out of living room for carpet cleaner. Changed up previously laid plans for AMB to be at my sisters. Waited for carpet cleaner. Waited some more. Went over carpet items with said cleaner. Loaded dogs into car and drove clear across town to drop them off at the only groomer left in town who will touch Frankie with a ten foot pole (he's not very fond of "grooming"). Had a little time before Meals on Wheels so showed AMB our first house and then made a stop at Sonic for our road drinks. Picked up MOW, drove route, dropped off stuff and headed to nail place. Pit stop at Big Lots for goodie bag items for girls coming this weekend. Made it to nail place and sat down for a nice long pedicure and manicure. AMB got festive fireworks on alternating red and blue nails--so cute!! Shortly after we had nice nails, it was time to go have the final two baby teeth removed. AMB was a real trooper and kept her flinching to a minimum. Think Dr. Bevins may be a bit speedier than Dr. Craig!
Shortly after 2:00 we headed for the dentist for AMB's final tooth extraction. Didn't take long at all because he was a little impatient waiting for the pain medication to kick in. But she was an absolute trooper (nothing the "happy gas", as they call it, wouldn't take care of!)--far more than me, who could barely look at the general vicinity seeing her little body tense up with every "mosquito bite" shot and prod and yank of those teeth. They got them though and they were gigantic baby teeth that were NOT going anywhere. She had a hard time stopping bleeding and didn't feel so great when everything was finished, so we headed to pick up dogs and get home. After she was settled in a bit we decided all was well again and we could get out and finish up some more of those shopping errands (bedding for RRB's new bed, more gifties for the bags, SGB's bedding for apt., and a few other things)
We carried on our evening with even more shopping for girlie gifts and boy bedding and then a nice salad dinner at Olive Garden with my two daughters. I think by Thursday night I was starting to be in pain!
Friday it rained...thank goodness...not! Who was out in the pouring rain with the electric sheers trimming the bushes? Yep, that would be Edward Scissorhands Stephanie! But dang they look good--really good. Green perfectly shaped leaf balls surrounding my angular barn shaped house..love it!
Well let me just give you the last five days worth...Starting Tuesday night when I insisted that we should buy a bed insuring that by this weekend or at least the next weekend (4th of July & both weekends having overnight guests) most people sleeping in our house would have an elevated place of rest. After much discussion and little to no successful negotiating, a new mattress and "foundation" (no longer the boxsprings of days gone by), and the final sales pitched mattress cover were purchased. Not to mention the lovely new KING SIZE 4-poster bed we ordered in celebration of Mother's Day, Father's Day, Anniversary #24, Steve's birthday, my birthday, Memorial Day, Flag Day and generally a celebration of no longer sleeping on a 21 year old mattress. However, there is yet another member of our family much excited about the new acquisition...that would be RRB. He is still young and small and agile and has a pain-free back and no bunk bed to sleep on thanks to last week's garage sale (more on that later)
For some reason our bed has always been the "favored" bed in the house. Even with new mattresses being bought periodically through the years. After moving it into RRB's room, I now know why. It is like the Princess and the Pea bed. There is enough fluffy, quilted, spongy material on top of that thing you couldn't feel sharp piercing blades if the mattress were made out of a slab of swords. No wonder my old sheets barely fit the pre-pillowtop style mattress!
Ok, so sometime Tuesday or Tuesday evening, I also made the enormous error of "forgetting" plans I apparently had made with eldest daughter SGB. I won't make THAT mistake again. Guess I said something about "yes...I am absolutely going to the pool tomorrow" and I got the huff and the puff and my house was nearly blown down. Of course the response to my inquiring of the problem was..."nothing". HA!! Well SGB and I had talked earlier in the week about doing some shopping for her new apartment. I guess I had thought that was a discussion "in passing" and you know kids...never is what you say "in passing" unless it is something like, "I need you to mow the lawn", "could you pick up your sister from swim lessons today?", "don't make plans for tomorrow--we are cleaning house". Then all the sudden it's "WHAT? I thought you were just saying that!" "I didn't know you really wanted me to use my gas to go get her." "Didn't we just clean a few weeks ago and I already told so and so I would do such and such". uh-huh.
Wednesday--shopping with SGB. Our departure was delayed an hour by the delivery of bed! yay! It should be noted that the bed is nearly as high as our old one and it is simply sitting on the floor! After some huffiness regarding the delay we were off to wherever she chose to go. Quickly learned that the best way to shop with a 19 year old girl with extremely set ideas is to #1. Offer no suggestions...particularly when asked to do so. #2. Follow, never lead, in given store. Otherwise you will be accused of shopping for yourself when you said that you were going with her. #3. Leave store with no comment other than a nodding head and an indescript "uh-huh" ("yeah", even in agreement, will indicate a combative attitude) #4. When getting back in to car, turn on AC immediately before engaging any other controls, leave said store quickly, and drive as fast as possible to next destination. And the most important way to shop with a 19 year old girl with extremely set ideas is to #5. SHUT UP & SAY NOTHING. If you follow these things precisely you may get off with only a few minor rude comments and slight eye rolling. Just a tip. Needless to say we came home with zero of the "large ticket items" on her list. But some nifty pillows, wall hangings, bracelets, room scents and lamps were found. Of course none of these items can you sit at to eat a meal, sit on to watch tv, set a tv on to watch, do your homework on or stack your books on. Oh well, that was my Wednesday.
Thursday was exhausting. Up early to send Steve off to watch Ryan wrestle in Kansas City for the National Dual Championships. Began moving all furniture out of living room for carpet cleaner. Changed up previously laid plans for AMB to be at my sisters. Waited for carpet cleaner. Waited some more. Went over carpet items with said cleaner. Loaded dogs into car and drove clear across town to drop them off at the only groomer left in town who will touch Frankie with a ten foot pole (he's not very fond of "grooming"). Had a little time before Meals on Wheels so showed AMB our first house and then made a stop at Sonic for our road drinks. Picked up MOW, drove route, dropped off stuff and headed to nail place. Pit stop at Big Lots for goodie bag items for girls coming this weekend. Made it to nail place and sat down for a nice long pedicure and manicure. AMB got festive fireworks on alternating red and blue nails--so cute!! Shortly after we had nice nails, it was time to go have the final two baby teeth removed. AMB was a real trooper and kept her flinching to a minimum. Think Dr. Bevins may be a bit speedier than Dr. Craig!
Shortly after 2:00 we headed for the dentist for AMB's final tooth extraction. Didn't take long at all because he was a little impatient waiting for the pain medication to kick in. But she was an absolute trooper (nothing the "happy gas", as they call it, wouldn't take care of!)--far more than me, who could barely look at the general vicinity seeing her little body tense up with every "mosquito bite" shot and prod and yank of those teeth. They got them though and they were gigantic baby teeth that were NOT going anywhere. She had a hard time stopping bleeding and didn't feel so great when everything was finished, so we headed to pick up dogs and get home. After she was settled in a bit we decided all was well again and we could get out and finish up some more of those shopping errands (bedding for RRB's new bed, more gifties for the bags, SGB's bedding for apt., and a few other things)
We carried on our evening with even more shopping for girlie gifts and boy bedding and then a nice salad dinner at Olive Garden with my two daughters. I think by Thursday night I was starting to be in pain!
Friday it rained...thank goodness...not! Who was out in the pouring rain with the electric sheers trimming the bushes? Yep, that would be Edward Scissorhands Stephanie! But dang they look good--really good. Green perfectly shaped leaf balls surrounding my angular barn shaped house..love it!
Monday, September 10, 2007
I've Become "One of Those Moms"
Wow---two weeks can go by quick! And, just think of all the clever missed blogging opportunities. Only one stellar occurrence sticks out in my mind...well now two....well, maybe...
OK, well the first is last week's Jarman Open House. Lord knows there is no one on the planet who loves a good Open House night more than me, but I had issues this year. PSB had been gone for a while (he's back as of Saturday--yay!), so I was on my own with the kid schedule. You would think that down to two, it would be a breeze, but noooooo. I didn't have anyone to watch AMB for the night. Even though it was her school, they really aren't supposed to be there so that the teachers can "speak freely", which, of course, I am SO supportive of (no, really). But I'm also not to the point to leave my 9-yr old home alone! So here's what I sent the Principal:
Dear (lovely-principal-whom-i've-known-for-YEARS)--
I have a dilemma. Considered not mentioning it, but have decided to be up front about it.
I have no one (well, short of the queer little man in the cul-de-sac or some insane 10th grade girl who smokes dope at the bus stop) to watch Anne this evening. Although I feel certain that she could fin for herself perfectly and probably have the entire house in order and cleaned up after whatever party she decided to host, I just feel “funny” leaving a 9-yr old home alone. Far be it from me to have her older brother miss his “fun night” (yeah, right) at the I-Hi, where hormones will rage significantly, and stay home with her. Also, far be it from me to push my luck with Grandma who is my only hope to be able to go see OU-Miami this weekend (even though Grandma doesn’t know that yet).
So here it is…I either miss my 14th (yes, fourteenth---one, four) Open House, which of course I would rather pour acid in my eyes than miss my 14th Open House, or….I bring Little “Miss Anne” tonight with her book in hand, and plop her down in the lobby, or outside on the bench, and threaten her within every inch of her life is she does anything but appear to be a stellar example of Patriot Pride. She could sit outside and read like that statue at Helmerich Library (we could stack a bunch of books under her), and maybe all the newbies would think, “wow, this school must really do a great job, since this little girl is just sitting here outside, reading. Where is her ipod? (I’ll have her hide it) Where is her hand held electronic game thingy? Where is her portable dvd player? Her cell phone? Why isn’t she text messaging someone? My gosh, is that a chapter book she is reading? Wow, I can’t wait for my beloved child to learn how to do that”
So, I wanted you to know in advance that I have, in fact, become one of “those moms”, who has to drag her kid around with her everywhere she goes. This way you can all talk about me amongst yourselves freely now. But I’m pretty sure I can bribe Anne sufficiently enough to pull all that off…that is, if it’s ok with Mrs. Pitcock. Let me know.
(Lovely-parent-patron-of-MANY-years!)
Yep, so that's me being oh so clever...or so I thought. Here's what I received back:
Read on…I sent this to everyone at Jarman…they are enjoying your humor and many have guessed who it is, even with me leaving out the name...
Everyone needs a laugh on Friday…so here is an email I received from a humorous parent of ours that is asking to bring her daughter to Curr Night Tonight…I didn’t receive it on time, but she came and was well behaved…Read on for a laugh…some of you may guess who this parent is…
(That same lovely principal of which I spoke earlier)
Well, now...guess that shows ME. I don't think I'll ever be clever again. Who knows who this went out to? Who knows who was offended by my lack of sensitivity? Ohhhhh, this list could go on and on. I guess the best thing to do is move forward and make sure and not wear any make-up, have shaggy hair and walk with my head hung low so no one notices me.
Let's see, other news, or at least really time-consuming activity around here is this Financial Peace University class I mentioned earlier. Man, this stuff is nuts. I find myself thinking about it all the time. Last night my bedtime read was a Suzie Orman book where I find myself obssessing over Revocable Living Trusts or trusts. Can you imagine something that completely boring keeping you up at night---well, it did me. I cannot believe what a geek I have turned into. It's almost embarrassing. And, yes, I really couldn't sleep last night because of thinking about all this--how ridiculous.
(I've fast forwarded to Jun 2008, re-read this draft and decided to publish "as is"!)
OK, well the first is last week's Jarman Open House. Lord knows there is no one on the planet who loves a good Open House night more than me, but I had issues this year. PSB had been gone for a while (he's back as of Saturday--yay!), so I was on my own with the kid schedule. You would think that down to two, it would be a breeze, but noooooo. I didn't have anyone to watch AMB for the night. Even though it was her school, they really aren't supposed to be there so that the teachers can "speak freely", which, of course, I am SO supportive of (no, really). But I'm also not to the point to leave my 9-yr old home alone! So here's what I sent the Principal:
Dear (lovely-principal-whom-i've-known-for-YEARS)--
I have a dilemma. Considered not mentioning it, but have decided to be up front about it.
I have no one (well, short of the queer little man in the cul-de-sac or some insane 10th grade girl who smokes dope at the bus stop) to watch Anne this evening. Although I feel certain that she could fin for herself perfectly and probably have the entire house in order and cleaned up after whatever party she decided to host, I just feel “funny” leaving a 9-yr old home alone. Far be it from me to have her older brother miss his “fun night” (yeah, right) at the I-Hi, where hormones will rage significantly, and stay home with her. Also, far be it from me to push my luck with Grandma who is my only hope to be able to go see OU-Miami this weekend (even though Grandma doesn’t know that yet).
So here it is…I either miss my 14th (yes, fourteenth---one, four) Open House, which of course I would rather pour acid in my eyes than miss my 14th Open House, or….I bring Little “Miss Anne” tonight with her book in hand, and plop her down in the lobby, or outside on the bench, and threaten her within every inch of her life is she does anything but appear to be a stellar example of Patriot Pride. She could sit outside and read like that statue at Helmerich Library (we could stack a bunch of books under her), and maybe all the newbies would think, “wow, this school must really do a great job, since this little girl is just sitting here outside, reading. Where is her ipod? (I’ll have her hide it) Where is her hand held electronic game thingy? Where is her portable dvd player? Her cell phone? Why isn’t she text messaging someone? My gosh, is that a chapter book she is reading? Wow, I can’t wait for my beloved child to learn how to do that”
So, I wanted you to know in advance that I have, in fact, become one of “those moms”, who has to drag her kid around with her everywhere she goes. This way you can all talk about me amongst yourselves freely now. But I’m pretty sure I can bribe Anne sufficiently enough to pull all that off…that is, if it’s ok with Mrs. Pitcock. Let me know.
(Lovely-parent-patron-of-MANY-years!)
Yep, so that's me being oh so clever...or so I thought. Here's what I received back:
Read on…I sent this to everyone at Jarman…they are enjoying your humor and many have guessed who it is, even with me leaving out the name...
Everyone needs a laugh on Friday…so here is an email I received from a humorous parent of ours that is asking to bring her daughter to Curr Night Tonight…I didn’t receive it on time, but she came and was well behaved…Read on for a laugh…some of you may guess who this parent is…
(That same lovely principal of which I spoke earlier)
Well, now...guess that shows ME. I don't think I'll ever be clever again. Who knows who this went out to? Who knows who was offended by my lack of sensitivity? Ohhhhh, this list could go on and on. I guess the best thing to do is move forward and make sure and not wear any make-up, have shaggy hair and walk with my head hung low so no one notices me.
Let's see, other news, or at least really time-consuming activity around here is this Financial Peace University class I mentioned earlier. Man, this stuff is nuts. I find myself thinking about it all the time. Last night my bedtime read was a Suzie Orman book where I find myself obssessing over Revocable Living Trusts or trusts. Can you imagine something that completely boring keeping you up at night---well, it did me. I cannot believe what a geek I have turned into. It's almost embarrassing. And, yes, I really couldn't sleep last night because of thinking about all this--how ridiculous.
(I've fast forwarded to Jun 2008, re-read this draft and decided to publish "as is"!)
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Describe an ECLIPSE so I don't have to wake up
Well, apparently I'm not so terribly exhausted that I can't churn something out at 11:37 PM now! The most exciting thing (and this could quite possibly be the most pathetic exciting thing) about today was that I got up in time to witness the Lunar Eclipse. Yep, sure did. Jealous, aren't ya. Well, just know that I stared at it for as long as I possibly could without falling over my new walking shoes shoelaces and also without walking backwards. It did make me walk pretty darned fast this morning though, as it was at my back the first part of the walk and I wanted to be able to multi-task by not only getting my walk in, but having something sort of cool to stare at...and then there is my cool & oh so groovy ipod. Diversion.
ok, so I told the kids tonight, "guess what I saw this morning"? And, they, of course didn't want to play the guessing game, so I quickly told them..."THE ECLIPSE"!! Well, far be it from little AMB to not give mom the desperately needed reaction she was hoping for---"wow---REALLY?". uh-huh. Then, from the back seat RRB asked about what time was it & I told him around 5:45 & that I had thought about getting him up. Of course he said "you should have. I could have seen it and then fallen right back to sleep" Oh yeah! Can you imagine....tap, tap, tap....RRB...wake up...the Lunar Eclipse is outside...you'll have to get some pants on and walk down the street to see it around the trees....what?...5:45...yes, in the morning...ok, sorry to bother you" Yeah RIGHT!!
But, the Eclipse conversation did not stop there...oh no, there was MORE excitement. Since I hadn't been thoughtful enough to awaken him from his beauty sleep, RRB was at least curious..."what'd it look like?". Have you EVER had anyone ask you what an eclipse looks like? Well, like a moon with a dark orange drapery over it. I thought that was pretty cleverly descriptive, but nope...not so much. "Well, so the moon was in front of it?" "In front of what?" "In front of the sun". "No, not in front of the sun...it had a shadow over it" Well, I think it's fairly apparent that at this point the eclipse conversation had pretty much lost its interest.
But then the strangest thought flittered (a form of fluttering, not quite as consistent) through my head. ---what if that is the last eclipse I ever see?--- I sure hope that's not some sort of weird premonition. If so, it's really gonna stink.
We skipped swim tonight for AMB. It's been a weird day. I am determined to fulfill my Ebay obligations and, for at least TWO days now, I have done so. But, it's all crap--sorry, but that IS the most accurate word for this stuff. We'll see. Anyhow, after fulfilling my obligation which was after laundry which was before dishes, I realized I had let RRB go do something fun, when he really was supposed to be grounded. Boy I hate it when I do stuff like that. It's such an enormous pain in the rear to then go back and "re-mean"--you know...that state you are in when you actually follow through with your punishment cause you know at that very moment it is the most correct parental thing you can do. Anyhow, I screwed it up. And all that while taking a look at finances in preparation for my FPU class tomorrow night.
Went from being mad about forgetting grounding, to being mad about spending too much money. Wow...major parent fouls all over the place today. Hopefully I'll do much better tomorrow.
Oh and I found the most giant turtle this morning under Ms. Beth's car! I swear this guy has been here years. He just looks old. And he's sort of red-skinned--he's pretty cool. Of course he promptly ran off. After the bunny incident from last week, I think he had heard through the cul-de-sac creature grapevine, that this would not be the wisest spot for him to end up in.
I need to take pictures. Maybe I'll just take my camera out tomorrow and shoot weird stuff...with my camera that is! Good idea. However, for now I think it is fairly obvious that my creativity is waning (sp check), so good night to all and to all a good night. tygftd
ok, so I told the kids tonight, "guess what I saw this morning"? And, they, of course didn't want to play the guessing game, so I quickly told them..."THE ECLIPSE"!! Well, far be it from little AMB to not give mom the desperately needed reaction she was hoping for---"wow---REALLY?". uh-huh. Then, from the back seat RRB asked about what time was it & I told him around 5:45 & that I had thought about getting him up. Of course he said "you should have. I could have seen it and then fallen right back to sleep" Oh yeah! Can you imagine....tap, tap, tap....RRB...wake up...the Lunar Eclipse is outside...you'll have to get some pants on and walk down the street to see it around the trees....what?...5:45...yes, in the morning...ok, sorry to bother you" Yeah RIGHT!!
But, the Eclipse conversation did not stop there...oh no, there was MORE excitement. Since I hadn't been thoughtful enough to awaken him from his beauty sleep, RRB was at least curious..."what'd it look like?". Have you EVER had anyone ask you what an eclipse looks like? Well, like a moon with a dark orange drapery over it. I thought that was pretty cleverly descriptive, but nope...not so much. "Well, so the moon was in front of it?" "In front of what?" "In front of the sun". "No, not in front of the sun...it had a shadow over it" Well, I think it's fairly apparent that at this point the eclipse conversation had pretty much lost its interest.
But then the strangest thought flittered (a form of fluttering, not quite as consistent) through my head. ---what if that is the last eclipse I ever see?--- I sure hope that's not some sort of weird premonition. If so, it's really gonna stink.
We skipped swim tonight for AMB. It's been a weird day. I am determined to fulfill my Ebay obligations and, for at least TWO days now, I have done so. But, it's all crap--sorry, but that IS the most accurate word for this stuff. We'll see. Anyhow, after fulfilling my obligation which was after laundry which was before dishes, I realized I had let RRB go do something fun, when he really was supposed to be grounded. Boy I hate it when I do stuff like that. It's such an enormous pain in the rear to then go back and "re-mean"--you know...that state you are in when you actually follow through with your punishment cause you know at that very moment it is the most correct parental thing you can do. Anyhow, I screwed it up. And all that while taking a look at finances in preparation for my FPU class tomorrow night.
Went from being mad about forgetting grounding, to being mad about spending too much money. Wow...major parent fouls all over the place today. Hopefully I'll do much better tomorrow.
Oh and I found the most giant turtle this morning under Ms. Beth's car! I swear this guy has been here years. He just looks old. And he's sort of red-skinned--he's pretty cool. Of course he promptly ran off. After the bunny incident from last week, I think he had heard through the cul-de-sac creature grapevine, that this would not be the wisest spot for him to end up in.
I need to take pictures. Maybe I'll just take my camera out tomorrow and shoot weird stuff...with my camera that is! Good idea. However, for now I think it is fairly obvious that my creativity is waning (sp check), so good night to all and to all a good night. tygftd
Friday, August 24, 2007
you WILL be my friend--dammit
yep--that's how it is with me. Once my friend, always my friend...well almost. Except for the folks who have decided they can't stand me and vice versa. But TODAY was it for one friend. She got the Here's-How-It's-Gonna-Be-Sista email from me! I hadn't heard from her, we haven't had any of those heart-to-hearts, and I was missing her! So that's what happened this morning, I shot off one of my ever-so-clever emails and within 10-15 minutes, lo and behold...CONTACT! She WAS alive, no one had DIED & she still considers me friend (although we have a little work to do on the "active" part of that on her end!) Anyhow, we finally got to talk this afternoon, with the standard 47 interruptions, but it was nice and I love catching up with her.
It was a crazy day though. Met Steve for a banking appointment downtown--whoa, wasn't THAT weird! Picked up the santa puzzle that had been sitting at Zieglers for 2 or 3 months, hit the Scrapbook Convention Vendor Faire (thank you Jamie !), then over to sign up (late) for Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University, then to pick up RRB, then AMB, then Macy's for a birthday gift for AMB's friend tonight, then home for a bit, (when quick talk with above-mentioned friend occurred), then PSB home for 10 minutes before leaving with friend to go watch a well being logged by Biddick bros, then took AMB to birthday slumber party, picked up RRB's buddy, took them out to eat, home for all of one hour then a dreadfully needed Blockbuster run (and we all know how much i LOVE watching movies....NOT!), and finally, here I sit. KIDS**ATTENTION KIDS**THIS IS WHAT I "DO" ALL DAY!!
...and I love it.
Funny line today - PSB after meeting with private banking rep, "...they just don't know what white trash we really are" LOLOLOL!! Just love it. tygftd.
It was a crazy day though. Met Steve for a banking appointment downtown--whoa, wasn't THAT weird! Picked up the santa puzzle that had been sitting at Zieglers for 2 or 3 months, hit the Scrapbook Convention Vendor Faire (thank you Jamie !), then over to sign up (late) for Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University, then to pick up RRB, then AMB, then Macy's for a birthday gift for AMB's friend tonight, then home for a bit, (when quick talk with above-mentioned friend occurred), then PSB home for 10 minutes before leaving with friend to go watch a well being logged by Biddick bros, then took AMB to birthday slumber party, picked up RRB's buddy, took them out to eat, home for all of one hour then a dreadfully needed Blockbuster run (and we all know how much i LOVE watching movies....NOT!), and finally, here I sit. KIDS**ATTENTION KIDS**THIS IS WHAT I "DO" ALL DAY!!
...and I love it.
Funny line today - PSB after meeting with private banking rep, "...they just don't know what white trash we really are" LOLOLOL!! Just love it. tygftd.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
you do know what a number grid is, right mom?
Nope--not a clue. That is what just transpired between my 9-yr old and me. Remember that "life lessons" spiel from last post...yeah. Why can't math be taught the Old-Fashioned way anymore? Memorize your math facts (you know, addition, subtraction, multiplication--and hold on to your hat...division), line the little numbers up in little ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousands, (yes you get the point) columns, draw a line beneath them and DO THE MATH!
I love my daughter's teachers. I really do. I feel sorry for them having to visualize every stinkin concept. Let the kids learn it like we did---get the math wrong, get a red mark, go home, get in a little trouble and know it next time. I know...I'm old and certainly out of touch. But I can do math without a math grid.
Today I had a b'day lunch with friend JH. We dropped in a local design/decorator store--Signature Interiors. The one and only thing I fell in love with was a gargantuan Greek or Roman head. Nope, not a bust...a head. This thing was huge!! About hip high. The tag read "Golden Boy Bust". But there was no bust. It was just this giant head chopped off at the neck sitting on the floor. I was so all over that. Of course a guy approached us, I am sure wondering if we were finally going to be the suckers to take this $360.00 (but wait, everything was 25-40% off!) atrocity home. And, then we got to hear all about how the salesman (or so I assumed) had one of these out on his 40 acres greeting visitors and what people thought and why they had it--yada, yada, yada.
I'm tellin' ya--this was a decorator's item that would have made any Truvy Jones drool. As we parted ways with this wonderful piece of fine art, I longingly looked back and said to JH, "why does this guy remind me so much of Steve? I mean, take away the flowing curls falling gently on his forhead and he's a dead ringer". Jenene, in all her glorious wisdom replies, "cause he's not smilin'".
Funny thing...they had Golden Boy perched on the floor way in the back of the store near a dead end storeroom door. Jeez I have odd taste--but I can do math. tygftd.
I love my daughter's teachers. I really do. I feel sorry for them having to visualize every stinkin concept. Let the kids learn it like we did---get the math wrong, get a red mark, go home, get in a little trouble and know it next time. I know...I'm old and certainly out of touch. But I can do math without a math grid.
Today I had a b'day lunch with friend JH. We dropped in a local design/decorator store--Signature Interiors. The one and only thing I fell in love with was a gargantuan Greek or Roman head. Nope, not a bust...a head. This thing was huge!! About hip high. The tag read "Golden Boy Bust". But there was no bust. It was just this giant head chopped off at the neck sitting on the floor. I was so all over that. Of course a guy approached us, I am sure wondering if we were finally going to be the suckers to take this $360.00 (but wait, everything was 25-40% off!) atrocity home. And, then we got to hear all about how the salesman (or so I assumed) had one of these out on his 40 acres greeting visitors and what people thought and why they had it--yada, yada, yada.
I'm tellin' ya--this was a decorator's item that would have made any Truvy Jones drool. As we parted ways with this wonderful piece of fine art, I longingly looked back and said to JH, "why does this guy remind me so much of Steve? I mean, take away the flowing curls falling gently on his forhead and he's a dead ringer". Jenene, in all her glorious wisdom replies, "cause he's not smilin'".
Funny thing...they had Golden Boy perched on the floor way in the back of the store near a dead end storeroom door. Jeez I have odd taste--but I can do math. tygftd.
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