When I was a kid, my mom would communicate with no ambiguity that she disliked driving. I didn't understand, because I couldn't wait to start driving. I couldn't get enough of my cozy coupe. I longed for a Power Wheels. Driving a golf cart and a boat was the highlight of my twelfth summer. I literally dreamed - multiple times - of driving an actual automobile on an actual street. Now that I've been driving for nearly 20 years and sometimes have multiple car trips a day between myself and the kids, I do understand. There are laws regarding commuting - laws which you don't even realize are laws until you have some driving experience under your timing belt.
Laws such as:
If the speed limit increases, the sign will be visible to the driver behind you from 5 miles away.
If the speed limit decreases, the sign will be visible to no one but you at any time.
If you are in the left lane and traffic requires that you slow down to get into the right lane, your blinker will be ignored and you will be passed on the right repeatedly.
If your blinker is working, it will be ignored by all.
If your blinker is somehow not working, you will be honked at by all.
No other driver knows what hazard lights are for but you. Prepare to be honked at.
When you decide to run a yellow light, it will turn red faster.
When you decide to stop for a yellow light, three more cars will go through before it turns red.
Potholes only get filled on streets you take twice a year.
Upon driving through a slow construction zone, your bladder will immediately shrink to the size of a pinhead.
When you finally decide to take the route your husband swears is fastest, that is where the construction will be.
There are many more that I'm not able to think of at the moment, but give me a long enough commute and I'll be more than confident that I could plan the roadways better than these current jokers.
9/19/2012
9/12/2012
Older Sibling
Bug, my youngest, just began kindergarten. He's been in day care for a couple of years, but this is "real school." Big kid stuff. Not for the fainthearted. Daughter is in high school, so of course is very experienced in the matters of the schoolyard. Older siblings are supposed to guide the younger ones, I understand. I didn't have an older sibling, so I had to wing it growing up. I don't recall imparting much knowledge upon my younger siblings, either. But the other night at dinner, I got to witness it firsthand:
We are discussing school in general. I'm not paying too much attention to what exactly is being said until I hear, "...and if anyone tells you to hold onto your tongue and say 'apple', do NOT do it." Daughter says this in the way we tell him not to get in a car with a stranger; not to cross the street without an adult; not to eat anything he doesn't read the ingredients of - as if it will kill him. As if nothing in all 13 years of public schooling is more important.
"Why?" he asks. Of course he does, my curious boy. He asks why stars go supernova.
"Trust me. Just..." she trails off, shakes her head solemnly, and waves her hand, as if the thought of this occurring is too much to bear.
They're so cute. Daughter would kill me for saying that; she's way past the cute ages. I think it's such an adorable, sweet moment. I giggle. I suppose my mother had these moments, but I don't remember ever being such a helpful sibling.
We are discussing school in general. I'm not paying too much attention to what exactly is being said until I hear, "...and if anyone tells you to hold onto your tongue and say 'apple', do NOT do it." Daughter says this in the way we tell him not to get in a car with a stranger; not to cross the street without an adult; not to eat anything he doesn't read the ingredients of - as if it will kill him. As if nothing in all 13 years of public schooling is more important.
"Why?" he asks. Of course he does, my curious boy. He asks why stars go supernova.
"Trust me. Just..." she trails off, shakes her head solemnly, and waves her hand, as if the thought of this occurring is too much to bear.
They're so cute. Daughter would kill me for saying that; she's way past the cute ages. I think it's such an adorable, sweet moment. I giggle. I suppose my mother had these moments, but I don't remember ever being such a helpful sibling.
9/05/2012
Oral Surgeon (I've said this before)
September 4th, 2012, at approximately 1 second after the dentist's office closing, my tooth became a raging inferno of pain. I took ibuprofen, only to ask Husband less than an hour later WHERE THE HELL IS THE VICODIN?! PLEEEEAAAASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL PETE'S SAKE DON'T TELL ME WE THREW IT OUT! ...but we had. of course.
I was near tears. I didn't finish dinner (not me). I was warm and sweaty, and my sub-zero basement felt good (also not me). I knew exactly which tooth, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted it gone. With the assistance of many anti-inflammatory pills and topical gel, I barely held out until the dentist opened. Luckily they could see me today. Also luckily, the tooth could be pulled today. I actually responded, "Yay," albeit not enthusiastically, since I was still in severe pain. Surprising I had a word, considering I suspect all my interactions so far had sounded thus:
"Hey! Good morning!"
"Ow."
"How are you?"
"Ouchie, ow owie."
"Do you have your TPS report ready for the meeting?"
"Owwwww. Ouch."
Actual words made me optimistic that I was on my road to recovery, with a lighter oral load.
A few minutes later, I was in the chair, weathering bouts of severe pain interspersed with slightly less severe pain, more anxious for Novocaine than I have ever been, and then finally - it happened. The injections hurt, sure, but sweet relief was on its way. I asked if he could put something against my cheek, since last time my cheek was pretty mangled and it hurt me worse than the empty tooth socket. He said, "I don't usually do that. Your cheek really shouldn't be involved." Music to my ears. The doctor then warned me that I'd feel pressure, and that was such an understatement that I barely held my composure. He asked if I was okay, and I sort of waved my hand to indicate "not really." The pressure stopped. The doctor poked at me with a couple more instruments, but there was no more pain. He and his assistant began to pull away.
"You got it?" I and my widened eyes asked.
"Yep."
"Thank goodness. It is such a relief."
I was so relieved that I didn't whine too much at the doctor trying to talk me into having my last (not quite erupted) wisdom tooth pulled as soon as possible. I'm certainly not looking forward to that one, but compared to the last time, I actually didn't hate this procedure. I didn't even hate the doctor.
I was near tears. I didn't finish dinner (not me). I was warm and sweaty, and my sub-zero basement felt good (also not me). I knew exactly which tooth, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted it gone. With the assistance of many anti-inflammatory pills and topical gel, I barely held out until the dentist opened. Luckily they could see me today. Also luckily, the tooth could be pulled today. I actually responded, "Yay," albeit not enthusiastically, since I was still in severe pain. Surprising I had a word, considering I suspect all my interactions so far had sounded thus:
"Hey! Good morning!"
"Ow."
"How are you?"
"Ouchie, ow owie."
"Do you have your TPS report ready for the meeting?"
"Owwwww. Ouch."
Actual words made me optimistic that I was on my road to recovery, with a lighter oral load.
A few minutes later, I was in the chair, weathering bouts of severe pain interspersed with slightly less severe pain, more anxious for Novocaine than I have ever been, and then finally - it happened. The injections hurt, sure, but sweet relief was on its way. I asked if he could put something against my cheek, since last time my cheek was pretty mangled and it hurt me worse than the empty tooth socket. He said, "I don't usually do that. Your cheek really shouldn't be involved." Music to my ears. The doctor then warned me that I'd feel pressure, and that was such an understatement that I barely held my composure. He asked if I was okay, and I sort of waved my hand to indicate "not really." The pressure stopped. The doctor poked at me with a couple more instruments, but there was no more pain. He and his assistant began to pull away.
"You got it?" I and my widened eyes asked.
"Yep."
"Thank goodness. It is such a relief."
I was so relieved that I didn't whine too much at the doctor trying to talk me into having my last (not quite erupted) wisdom tooth pulled as soon as possible. I'm certainly not looking forward to that one, but compared to the last time, I actually didn't hate this procedure. I didn't even hate the doctor.
7/08/2012
Server
In my early stages toward becoming a non-professional, I have worked food service, yet I have never actually been a server. I worked behind counters at an ice cream shop and a pizza shop. I didn't have to be nice, because I didn't rely on tips. I didn't have to be accurate, because I couldn't have cared less if my manager had to refund a customer's money. "There's like, a ton of hot fudge back here," I thought, "I'll just make them another sundae...and one for myself while I'm at it." I'm sure some special orders irked me, but I tried to accommodate them. Since I usually made the food myself or worked with a small crew, communication wasn't too difficult. I don't think it compares to being a food server in a busy chain restaurant. Therefore, with the integrity of this blog's name intact, I'll relate a recent dining experience.
It was simple enough: a double date including a movie, then dinner after. We chose a restaurant in the same parking lot as the theater, which had opened fairly recently. We had been to other restaurants in this franchise so expected nothing unusual. Our server, Smiley, was very friendly and seemed very attentive when taking our orders. Beetle's girlfriend Christina Hendricks ordered a steak "between medium-well and well. Done, but not burned." I ordered a deliciously described salad. The menu showed that this particular salad did not come with chicken on it; chicken cost extra. Smiley asked if I wanted chicken, and I emphatically stated (I think all 3 of my table mates may have also chimed in here) "NO. Chicken."
When Smiley came around a few minutes later, I ordered a drink. Smiley said, "Sure! And your chicken salad will be out shortly as well." "NO! No. Chicken." I reminded him, though my memory is hazy as to whether or not my teeth were clenched at the time. "Right! No chicken. Got it." And off he ran, leaving the omen looming over me and my honey-buttered croissants.Yet the salad arrived with no chicken in sight. No chicken in sight. After three bites, I found a chunk of dead animal. I sighed and set down my fork. "They put the chicken on and then picked it off," I told Husband. Smiley was actually quite attentive, and when he checked on us again a few minutes later, Husband sent back the salad, explaining to him the chicken debacle. As Smiley brought back my chicken-free salad, Christina made known her dissatisfaction with her steak, which was decidedly, bent-her-knife-trying-to-cut-into-it burnt. Unlike salad, steak has to be cooked, so - although Smiley offered - she did not get a replacement.
Hearing of Table 7's impending negative Yelp review, Manager comes to ask what he can do to set things right. He offers two things: to take the steak off the bill, and a free dessert. While us girls decided against the dessert, Beetle's will was shattered by the prospect of a free giant cookie topped with free ice cream for free. The bill arrived, and, like the meals themselves, had to be sent back, because they had charged us for the steak.
The experience had its frustrations, but ultimately, we all kind of laughed in wonder at how this has never happened to us before now. I have to give props to Smiley, who kept cool in spite of all these missteps. Because the service was good and he and Manager did make things right overall, no one suggested never dining there again. And we tipped him, of course, because we knew that most of the trouble wasn't his fault. I know that if I worked for tips, I'd probably have to learn to survive on ramen noodles.
It was simple enough: a double date including a movie, then dinner after. We chose a restaurant in the same parking lot as the theater, which had opened fairly recently. We had been to other restaurants in this franchise so expected nothing unusual. Our server, Smiley, was very friendly and seemed very attentive when taking our orders. Beetle's girlfriend Christina Hendricks ordered a steak "between medium-well and well. Done, but not burned." I ordered a deliciously described salad. The menu showed that this particular salad did not come with chicken on it; chicken cost extra. Smiley asked if I wanted chicken, and I emphatically stated (I think all 3 of my table mates may have also chimed in here) "NO. Chicken."
When Smiley came around a few minutes later, I ordered a drink. Smiley said, "Sure! And your chicken salad will be out shortly as well." "NO! No. Chicken." I reminded him, though my memory is hazy as to whether or not my teeth were clenched at the time. "Right! No chicken. Got it." And off he ran, leaving the omen looming over me and my honey-buttered croissants.Yet the salad arrived with no chicken in sight. No chicken in sight. After three bites, I found a chunk of dead animal. I sighed and set down my fork. "They put the chicken on and then picked it off," I told Husband. Smiley was actually quite attentive, and when he checked on us again a few minutes later, Husband sent back the salad, explaining to him the chicken debacle. As Smiley brought back my chicken-free salad, Christina made known her dissatisfaction with her steak, which was decidedly, bent-her-knife-trying-to-cut-into-it burnt. Unlike salad, steak has to be cooked, so - although Smiley offered - she did not get a replacement.
Hearing of Table 7's impending negative Yelp review, Manager comes to ask what he can do to set things right. He offers two things: to take the steak off the bill, and a free dessert. While us girls decided against the dessert, Beetle's will was shattered by the prospect of a free giant cookie topped with free ice cream for free. The bill arrived, and, like the meals themselves, had to be sent back, because they had charged us for the steak.
The experience had its frustrations, but ultimately, we all kind of laughed in wonder at how this has never happened to us before now. I have to give props to Smiley, who kept cool in spite of all these missteps. Because the service was good and he and Manager did make things right overall, no one suggested never dining there again. And we tipped him, of course, because we knew that most of the trouble wasn't his fault. I know that if I worked for tips, I'd probably have to learn to survive on ramen noodles.
7/01/2012
Confidence Builder
I had a proud mom moment. One of those moments where you realize you did something right despite having taken so many naps while you parked the kids in front of the TV. One of those moments that make you smile smugly but then instantly try to hide that smugness. One of those proud mom moments.
I was at the park with my kids and a friend. Daughter, the fashionista, was wearing a hot pink top with glitter, bright blue shorts, and knee socks. My friend thought Daughter had gotten those sartorial ideas from somewhere, and asked, "Who are you trying to look like?"
And Daughter said, "Myself."
<Insert beaming ear-to-ear grin here>
I have had other proud mom moments, of course, but this one came from my thirteen-year-old. Does anyone remember being 13? Do you remember the peer pressure? How everyone looked alike and if you didn't look a certain way you were labeled and probably snickered at? My daughter most certainly notices this, and gives not a fuck.
Which makes me THE GREATEST PARENT EVER WHO EVER LIVED EVER (suck it, every other parent worldwide including my husband!), and I will laugh maniacally all the way home.
In all seriousness, I have to confess that I don't know where I fall into the nature-vs.-nurture argument here - and that, in fact, her attitude may have nothing to do with my genes nor my guidance. I am still staunchly proud of the young lady I'm helping prepare for the world. Or perhaps, the young lady I'm helping prepare the world for.
I was at the park with my kids and a friend. Daughter, the fashionista, was wearing a hot pink top with glitter, bright blue shorts, and knee socks. My friend thought Daughter had gotten those sartorial ideas from somewhere, and asked, "Who are you trying to look like?"
And Daughter said, "Myself."
<Insert beaming ear-to-ear grin here>
I have had other proud mom moments, of course, but this one came from my thirteen-year-old. Does anyone remember being 13? Do you remember the peer pressure? How everyone looked alike and if you didn't look a certain way you were labeled and probably snickered at? My daughter most certainly notices this, and gives not a fuck.
Which makes me THE GREATEST PARENT EVER WHO EVER LIVED EVER (suck it, every other parent worldwide including my husband!), and I will laugh maniacally all the way home.
In all seriousness, I have to confess that I don't know where I fall into the nature-vs.-nurture argument here - and that, in fact, her attitude may have nothing to do with my genes nor my guidance. I am still staunchly proud of the young lady I'm helping prepare for the world. Or perhaps, the young lady I'm helping prepare the world for.
6/30/2012
Firefighter
I live in Colorado Springs. A fire erupted just west of here Saturday, June 23rd. On Tuesday, June 26th, it blazed through a canyon into some of the city's west side neighborhoods, prompting mass evacuations and presenting a very real danger to our city. Our hearts raced as we watched the fire come down the mountain, knowing there would be lives forever changed, if not altogether claimed. In the following days, as things calmed some, we learned that 347 homes were destroyed, yet there were only two confirmed deaths. This is entirely due to the diligence and sheer bravery of the approximately 1,000 firefighters who stood there keeping us safe. Thank you cannot be said enough.
6/24/2012
Public Restroom Engineer
Murphy's Law of Public Restrooms
General Public:
If carrying a purse or wearing a coat, the hook on the back of the stall door will be missing.
If there is a door to the restroom, there will be a hand dryer, resulting in no paper towels with which to pull open the door.
If there is no door, there will be plenty of paper towels but the trash can will be overflowing.
The touchless paper towel dispenser will be broken, requiring one to touch the machine.
The automatic flush is a precisely tuned machine which only flushes during those precious seconds between placing the seat protector on and sitting oneself down. It otherwise does not work.
Once a month, women will not fail to locate the one public restroom with no trash can inside the stall.
Soap only exists in bathrooms with push-button faucets that spit out water for 5 seconds at a time.
There will be ample toilet paper only on those oblong rolls that dispense one square at a time.
When Accompanied by Kids:
If a changing pad is forgotten, there will be no diaper changing station.
Diaper changing stations exist in men's rooms only when the father is not with the baby.
Even in the most kid-friendly of places - establishments in which they have placed a second, lower handle to the restroom door and shortened the height of the toilets themselves - the sinks, soap dispensers, and paper towels will be out of reach of anyone not yet in middle school.
When children need to wash their hands, the only faucets available will be those whose temperature cannot be adjusted and that temperature is set to "Skin Graft Now Required."
The automatic flush is a precisely tuned machine which senses young children's fear and flushes only when in the presence of a child in whom it can cause a panicked meltdown. It otherwise does not work.
Public restrooms have a restraining order on children requiring their usage, and must maintain a distance of no less than 100 yards at those times.
General Public:
If carrying a purse or wearing a coat, the hook on the back of the stall door will be missing.
If there is a door to the restroom, there will be a hand dryer, resulting in no paper towels with which to pull open the door.
If there is no door, there will be plenty of paper towels but the trash can will be overflowing.
The touchless paper towel dispenser will be broken, requiring one to touch the machine.
The automatic flush is a precisely tuned machine which only flushes during those precious seconds between placing the seat protector on and sitting oneself down. It otherwise does not work.
Once a month, women will not fail to locate the one public restroom with no trash can inside the stall.
Soap only exists in bathrooms with push-button faucets that spit out water for 5 seconds at a time.
There will be ample toilet paper only on those oblong rolls that dispense one square at a time.
When Accompanied by Kids:
If a changing pad is forgotten, there will be no diaper changing station.
Diaper changing stations exist in men's rooms only when the father is not with the baby.
Even in the most kid-friendly of places - establishments in which they have placed a second, lower handle to the restroom door and shortened the height of the toilets themselves - the sinks, soap dispensers, and paper towels will be out of reach of anyone not yet in middle school.
When children need to wash their hands, the only faucets available will be those whose temperature cannot be adjusted and that temperature is set to "Skin Graft Now Required."
The automatic flush is a precisely tuned machine which senses young children's fear and flushes only when in the presence of a child in whom it can cause a panicked meltdown. It otherwise does not work.
Public restrooms have a restraining order on children requiring their usage, and must maintain a distance of no less than 100 yards at those times.
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