My mother, in typical mom fashion, did her best to teach me gratitude. I think she did a decent job, but I sometimes worry that others may not agree, given my propensity to utter awkward things when given a gift.
A coworker (who often doles out candy) brought me a box wrapped in red paper. I was sitting; he was standing when he passed the box to me, and I saw a sticker on the bottom that much resembled a nutrition fact label. I took the wrapped box, and became quite conscious of the wrapping, and whether I was supposed to open it, since the label gave away the contents of the gift. Let me say that I had already thanked him for the gift, lest you think the following was all I said. But I said, "It's chocolate, right?" as my way of determining whether to unwrap the box. I hadn't quite finished the sentence when I realized how it sounded. Too bad it was 4 audible syllables too late. In good humor, he said, "Yes, it's chocolate." I am pretty sure he understood why I was asking, but I had to explain myself, just in case, "Because, y'know, I thought I saw the label that said 'chocolate'...wasn't sure if I needed to open the wrapper. Heh. Heh...Thanks again!"
Then there was the time I was at a complete loss of words when, the Christmas I'd barely begun searching for a new keyboard and hadn't even settled on all the features I wanted, my husband unexpectedly brought one home. I am not sure I even thanked him at all, I was in such shock. And since I wanted to research features on other pianos, to possibly exchange the one he'd brought me, I kept the surprise keyboard....for several years. I believe I'd had it for a year before I even took it out of the box.
The worst offense I've ever committed, though, is that I've never - not even once - worn a pair of earrings my daughter bought me. In actuality, I haven't worn any earrings in years, save another pair she bought me last year that are hypoallergenic. But this particular pair she gave me one Christmas are not hypoallergenic, and not my style- not that that matters one bit. Since they will probably irritate my sensitive ears, I even came up with the clever idea of snipping off the posts and turning the design into a charm for another piece of jewelry, like a necklace, bracelet, or even dangly earrings that I make with sterling silver wire. It's just that I keep forgetting about them. The longer I've gone not wearing them, the more covered up by other jewelry they become, exacerbating the problem. And still, occasionally, and occurring with less and less frequency, my sweet, wonderful, Cindy-Lou-Who-eyed daughter will ask me about them. I end up giving her a lame excuse about not having time to put on earrings right then, or some other thing that makes her look at the floor in disappointment, and I wish she had a mom who never ever seemed ungrateful when she is, in fact, very grateful. So this Christmas, I am going to try to be a professional gift recipient, and say nothing other than an enthusiastic "Thank you!" to any and all gift-givers. And maybe, just maybe, I'll remember to wear my earrings while I do that.
12/23/2009
12/16/2009
Ice Road Trucker
Our weather last week remained well below freezing, so the snow on the ground refused to budge. The snow was so thick that, since I didn't shovel my driveway, my car lost traction and I couldn't make it up the slight grade into my garage. And the route I take to get my daughter to school (ok, it's two streets, but still) was never plowed and was very icy. With the temperature stuck in single-digits, there were many more parents driving their children to school than normal. I certainly understand not making your kids walk to even the mailbox in such weather, let alone several blocks to school. I do not understand the loss of all established driving etiquette.
I can understand letting your kids out of the car in the street; since traffic isn't moving and you have to be stopped anyway, you may as well let them out. I can forgive not using a blinker occasionally, because sometimes a car moves to create an unexpected opening along the drop-off curb. While I'm more stingy with my understanding here, I can even get over turning left directly in front of my oncoming vehicle. I guess when traffic is at an otherwise standstill, you go when you can. But the absolute worst transgression I encounter in front of the school is when parents spontaneously pull away from the curb - sans blinker - right in front of me. No gap between my car and the vehicle in front of me, just the audacious confidence that if they start pulling into traffic, I'll not hit them. Even on dry roads, these drivers don't leave me much room to stop; why on Earth are they taking this risk when the street is an ice rink?
We tell toddlers "Use your words," so they learn to communicate to us what they want. A vehicle's turn indicator uses this basic rule of toddlerhood: it communicates to other drivers what you want. Want to turn left? Use your blinker. Want to turn right? Use your blinker. Want to merge into traffic? Use your blinker. Want to pull away from your spot by the curb and have me stop instead of crashing into you? USE. YOUR. BLINKER. If I were more adept at driving on ice, like a professional ice road trucker or something, swerving to avoid you may not be as much of an issue. But since I drive a sedan, you can clearly see that I am not. Something else you can clearly see? My blinker.
I can understand letting your kids out of the car in the street; since traffic isn't moving and you have to be stopped anyway, you may as well let them out. I can forgive not using a blinker occasionally, because sometimes a car moves to create an unexpected opening along the drop-off curb. While I'm more stingy with my understanding here, I can even get over turning left directly in front of my oncoming vehicle. I guess when traffic is at an otherwise standstill, you go when you can. But the absolute worst transgression I encounter in front of the school is when parents spontaneously pull away from the curb - sans blinker - right in front of me. No gap between my car and the vehicle in front of me, just the audacious confidence that if they start pulling into traffic, I'll not hit them. Even on dry roads, these drivers don't leave me much room to stop; why on Earth are they taking this risk when the street is an ice rink?
We tell toddlers "Use your words," so they learn to communicate to us what they want. A vehicle's turn indicator uses this basic rule of toddlerhood: it communicates to other drivers what you want. Want to turn left? Use your blinker. Want to turn right? Use your blinker. Want to merge into traffic? Use your blinker. Want to pull away from your spot by the curb and have me stop instead of crashing into you? USE. YOUR. BLINKER. If I were more adept at driving on ice, like a professional ice road trucker or something, swerving to avoid you may not be as much of an issue. But since I drive a sedan, you can clearly see that I am not. Something else you can clearly see? My blinker.
12/09/2009
Holiday Shopper
While I've already established that I may occasionally overpay for things, I do exercise caution with my money most of the time. The holidays are not such a time. Normally I budget my expenses, buy store brands, shop at thrift stores, stock up on sale items. But as Christmas is quickly approaching, having kids means toy shopping is quickly approaching. I love toy stores any other day of the year as well, but during the holidays, toy stores become absolutely magical: Magical in their ability to turn the most well-dispositioned, well-fed, well-rested child into a screaming, flailing, lump of spoiled rotten on the floor by the train table. Magical in their ability to woefully understock the most sought-after toys of the year, every year. Magical in their ability to turn clumsy me into a superbly stealthy cape-and-masked superhero of a mom. "Did you just put something in the cart, Mom?" "Just my coat, sweetie," ...which I used to cover the stocking stuffer I threw in there while you were looking at Bakugans.
But mostly, the magic of the toy store lies in its ability to make my gift budget disappear. The source of this power lies within the children for whom I am shopping. My daughter is a tween-aged clone of myself, having been replicated via a process that added artistic ability and 1,000 times the cuteness. My son is a 30 pound, curly-haired mass of adorable genius. My niece has eyes the size of former planets with eyelashes that touch her eyebrows, and never denies her Aint B a hug. By their powers combined, I am a blob of toy-purchasing putty in their hands. Utterly diabolical.
As someone who is quite indecisive, I am easily overwhelmed by options. The toy store is certainly a place with a hypnotizing amount of items that would make the children in my life happy; why choose between those items? I'll just take one of everything.
"How are we already out of money?" Husband asks, and faintly, I can hear three simultaneous "Muahahaha"s from three diabolically adorable voices.
Like a superhero guards her alter ego, so must a professional holiday shopper guard her most important item: her budget. Even against an archenemy such as the toy store, with a weapon as powerful as a precious child.
But mostly, the magic of the toy store lies in its ability to make my gift budget disappear. The source of this power lies within the children for whom I am shopping. My daughter is a tween-aged clone of myself, having been replicated via a process that added artistic ability and 1,000 times the cuteness. My son is a 30 pound, curly-haired mass of adorable genius. My niece has eyes the size of former planets with eyelashes that touch her eyebrows, and never denies her Aint B a hug. By their powers combined, I am a blob of toy-purchasing putty in their hands. Utterly diabolical.
As someone who is quite indecisive, I am easily overwhelmed by options. The toy store is certainly a place with a hypnotizing amount of items that would make the children in my life happy; why choose between those items? I'll just take one of everything.
"How are we already out of money?" Husband asks, and faintly, I can hear three simultaneous "Muahahaha"s from three diabolically adorable voices.
Like a superhero guards her alter ego, so must a professional holiday shopper guard her most important item: her budget. Even against an archenemy such as the toy store, with a weapon as powerful as a precious child.
12/02/2009
Hinter
We have officially entered the season of spending way too much time at Barnes&Noble under the guise of gift shopping. I am not patient when it comes to gifts, either giving or receiving. As a gift giver, once I have found the perfect gift, I am anxious to let the intended recipient enjoy it. As a recipient, I am a shaker, a peeker, and a shape analyzer. The longer the wait to open the gift, the worse it is for me. I've tried to convince my relatives to not tell me when they've purchased a gift for me...not that any of them adhere to this policy. My mother's argument against wanting me to know what's in the Santa-Claus-adorned gift boxes is that it won't be a surprise when I open them on Christmas day. Honestly, I find that knowing what gift I'll be getting doesn't detract from the anticipation of actually receiving it. I get the same feeling when I purchase things I have to wait for, be it online ordering or layaway.
Because I like hints that are more like exact descriptions of what the gift is, when my turn comes to provide hints, I am prone to divulging way too much information. The best example of this would be one particular Father's Day when I was about 6. An eager gift-giver even then, I was taunting Dad with, "You'll never guess what we got you!" and then, excitedly, I said, "I'll give you a hint! It's silver, and it pops up toast."
I'm not convinced that any six-year-olds are professional hinters, but perhaps there are 30-year-olds out there that don't still get teased about accidentally telling their dad he was getting a ***spoiler alert!*** toaster for Father's Day.
Because I like hints that are more like exact descriptions of what the gift is, when my turn comes to provide hints, I am prone to divulging way too much information. The best example of this would be one particular Father's Day when I was about 6. An eager gift-giver even then, I was taunting Dad with, "You'll never guess what we got you!" and then, excitedly, I said, "I'll give you a hint! It's silver, and it pops up toast."
I'm not convinced that any six-year-olds are professional hinters, but perhaps there are 30-year-olds out there that don't still get teased about accidentally telling their dad he was getting a ***spoiler alert!*** toaster for Father's Day.
11/25/2009
Baker
This is a Thanksgiving recipe I tried out years ago. Feel free to try it yourself!
You will need:
- 1 promise to bake an apple pie for Thanksgiving dinner
- 2-4 hours' sleep
- 15 presses of the "snooze" button
- 1-2 hours less prep time than required to bake said pie and have yourself and child(ren) ready to leave the house at 11:00AM
- 8-10 impatient family members
Brush teeth, shower, dress for 5-10 minutes. Using a loud voice, instruct other family members to repeat this step for themselves. Make pie crust, not allowing the 30 minute refrigeration time called for in the recipe. Prepare pie filling, place in unbaked pie shell, promise to bake pie at Mom's while eating dinner. Do not bring cookbook.
Run to the car at 11:45AM, then simmer in holiday traffic for 25-30 minutes.
Arriving at Mom's, provide half-baked excuses for lateness within earshot of all other upset relatives. Begin eating dinner, forgetting to bake pie for approximately 30 minutes.
Begin baking pie, forgetting proper baking time and substituting it for far less time than required in recipe. Serve pie. Wonder why it doesn't taste as delicious as previous times you've baked it using the same recipe.
Once back at home, review recipe and realize pie was undercooked by 25-30 minutes. Abandon dreams of becoming a professional baker.
Serves 8-10, if they'll eat it.
You will need:
- 1 promise to bake an apple pie for Thanksgiving dinner
- 2-4 hours' sleep
- 15 presses of the "snooze" button
- 1-2 hours less prep time than required to bake said pie and have yourself and child(ren) ready to leave the house at 11:00AM
- 8-10 impatient family members
Brush teeth, shower, dress for 5-10 minutes. Using a loud voice, instruct other family members to repeat this step for themselves. Make pie crust, not allowing the 30 minute refrigeration time called for in the recipe. Prepare pie filling, place in unbaked pie shell, promise to bake pie at Mom's while eating dinner. Do not bring cookbook.
Run to the car at 11:45AM, then simmer in holiday traffic for 25-30 minutes.
Arriving at Mom's, provide half-baked excuses for lateness within earshot of all other upset relatives. Begin eating dinner, forgetting to bake pie for approximately 30 minutes.
Begin baking pie, forgetting proper baking time and substituting it for far less time than required in recipe. Serve pie. Wonder why it doesn't taste as delicious as previous times you've baked it using the same recipe.
Once back at home, review recipe and realize pie was undercooked by 25-30 minutes. Abandon dreams of becoming a professional baker.
Serves 8-10, if they'll eat it.
11/18/2009
Carrier
I just spilled coffee on my only white blouse. I've had it for years, so frankly, I'm proud of myself for this mishap not happening sooner. The argument could be made that I was asking for it, trying to carry three other things tucked under my arm, unlidded coffee mug in one hand, trying to open a door with the other hand. The unfortunate truth is that even without the additional cargo, in the matter of Coffee vs. Shirt, the odds were already heavily stacked in cofee's favor. My arms and hands tend to plum forget that they're holding something. They are especially key repellant. Holding my cell phone is like Bugs Bunny trying to hold a bar of soap, and TV remotes and game controllers are almost as slippery.
At least -aside from the batteries falling out- these items don't make a mess when dropped. I also drop food as if I'm in a contest with my toddler over who can make the floor more colorful. I drop at least one grape for every handful I wash. I drop a chunk of every food I attempt to chop. In one day, I not only splashed half & half on myself twice, I also dropped an almost full container of yogurt while taking it out of the fridge. The yogurt spilled inside the refrigerator, which made cleanup a bit more complicated as I had to wipe yogurt off of soda cans and pull out the produce drawers just to find it all.
Then, there is the Pumpkin Pie Incident.
At a high school craft fair one year, I bought a pumpkin pie that a student had made. It looked great, and as soon as I bought it, thoughts of creamy, nutmeg-y, pumpkin confection perfection began to dance in my head. I was also a vendor, so I had many items beside the pie to carry back to my car at the end of the show. When I had little enough for one last trip, I piled the pie tin on top of the two boxes I was going to carry. These were not heavy boxes, so I could handle it (insert suspensful pause here). At least I made it outside before the pie slid off of the top box. There it was on the sidewalk, the pile of mashed pumpkin and broken pie crust that my tastebuds would never get to meet. My disappointment was immense, augmented by the fact that I should have known better. Two boxes and a pie tin? What do I think I am, a professional carrier? I may as well have been trying to take yogurt out of the fridge.
At least -aside from the batteries falling out- these items don't make a mess when dropped. I also drop food as if I'm in a contest with my toddler over who can make the floor more colorful. I drop at least one grape for every handful I wash. I drop a chunk of every food I attempt to chop. In one day, I not only splashed half & half on myself twice, I also dropped an almost full container of yogurt while taking it out of the fridge. The yogurt spilled inside the refrigerator, which made cleanup a bit more complicated as I had to wipe yogurt off of soda cans and pull out the produce drawers just to find it all.
Then, there is the Pumpkin Pie Incident.
At a high school craft fair one year, I bought a pumpkin pie that a student had made. It looked great, and as soon as I bought it, thoughts of creamy, nutmeg-y, pumpkin confection perfection began to dance in my head. I was also a vendor, so I had many items beside the pie to carry back to my car at the end of the show. When I had little enough for one last trip, I piled the pie tin on top of the two boxes I was going to carry. These were not heavy boxes, so I could handle it (insert suspensful pause here). At least I made it outside before the pie slid off of the top box. There it was on the sidewalk, the pile of mashed pumpkin and broken pie crust that my tastebuds would never get to meet. My disappointment was immense, augmented by the fact that I should have known better. Two boxes and a pie tin? What do I think I am, a professional carrier? I may as well have been trying to take yogurt out of the fridge.
11/11/2009
Dieter
Years ago, I really started trying to eat better. I followed the expert advice of eating fewer fried foods, more produce, whole grains, smaller portions. Instead of eating out for most of my meals, I cooked at home. There was no immediate or drastic weight loss, but I felt better about what I was consuming. While I readily admit that I have a 2-Chewy-Chips-Ahoy-a-day habit that I will not apologize for, I believe that I usually do very well limiting junk food and portion sizes. Then, some days...
Because I don't eat out often, I feel excused for overeating when I do. Even though I almost always box half of the meal immediately, half meals at most restaurants are still huge. This is not even an option with family-style dining, where I never stop at one serving. But truly, my greatest weakness is dessert. I will view the dessert menu before entrees. I rarely share dessert. I rarely leave any dessert over to take home. I do this even though I am fully aware that the dessert could very well meet my caloric intake for the whole day.
I do sometimes have days where my portions remain small. All 112 of them. Take one date night where Husband and I stayed home with a rented movie, takeout burritos, and candy. Since it was a giant Chipotle burrito, I only ate a third of it. Then I had some tortilla chips. And some more chips. Then I ate some of my candy, stopped when I thought I'd had enough, and put the bag down. Then I ate some more chips. Then I ate some of Husband's candy. Then I ate more of my candy. Then more of his. I can quit any time!
I've read that you shouldn't beat yourself up for lapses in good eating habits. Just face up to your mistakes and get back on track tomorrow. But if tomorrow's breakfast is last night's leftover pizza and ice cream? Well...you might as well confess that you are not a professional dieter.
Because I don't eat out often, I feel excused for overeating when I do. Even though I almost always box half of the meal immediately, half meals at most restaurants are still huge. This is not even an option with family-style dining, where I never stop at one serving. But truly, my greatest weakness is dessert. I will view the dessert menu before entrees. I rarely share dessert. I rarely leave any dessert over to take home. I do this even though I am fully aware that the dessert could very well meet my caloric intake for the whole day.
I do sometimes have days where my portions remain small. All 112 of them. Take one date night where Husband and I stayed home with a rented movie, takeout burritos, and candy. Since it was a giant Chipotle burrito, I only ate a third of it. Then I had some tortilla chips. And some more chips. Then I ate some of my candy, stopped when I thought I'd had enough, and put the bag down. Then I ate some more chips. Then I ate some of Husband's candy. Then I ate more of my candy. Then more of his. I can quit any time!
I've read that you shouldn't beat yourself up for lapses in good eating habits. Just face up to your mistakes and get back on track tomorrow. But if tomorrow's breakfast is last night's leftover pizza and ice cream? Well...you might as well confess that you are not a professional dieter.
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