Looking at my title, you're probably wondering if I'm going to be diatribing about my daughter and her phone issues again? My answer is "you betcha"! Funniest thing of all is that her initials really are ET!
The 'ol pink phone is back in it's happy little resting place (her pink backpack) gathering dust. Sounds good, huh? Leave it to Mom to ask for Child's assistance in getting some needed info. Info that might need to be obtained by *gulp* phone....
Mother: "I think that we are going to cook on the grill this weekend when your Friend comes over . Can you please ask him if he's a hot dog, brat, or burger guy?"
Child: "hmmmmmmmm"
Mother: "You are kind of the co-hostess of this whole shebang, and I need to know what to have on hand: help is needed!"
Child: "hmmmmmmpppppp"
Mother: "Can you please ask him when you see him during 4th hour?"
Child: "hmmmmppppsure"
(A day passes, and Mother decides to "check in" with Child to see if the necessary info has been gathered)
Mother: "Well, what did you find out?"
Child: "Huh?"
Mother: "Dinner on Sunday! What did you find out?"
Child: "hmmmpppp"
Mother: "You didn't ask, did you?"
Child: "hmmmpppppno!"
Mother: (going out on a limb) "Are you planning on calling him to ask, since you can't find the time at school?"
Child: (rage and panic erupt on hearing the dreaded word, phone): "nooooooooo! Just buy some stuff! You never ask anyone else who is coming what they like!"
Mother: (taking a deep breath, and using the meditative mantra mentioned in previous post) "Actually, I always check with people that we have over as to their food preferences (sigh)....."
(Child is not impressed, nor is moved to help the cause at hand. Mother realizes that she will probably need to concede on this one.)
Mother: "Do you think that you could e-mail his Mom and ask ("Friend's Mom" is a very understanding person, having once been 12 herself)?"
Child: "Yeah, probably."
Planning to bring a picnic on the outing the four of us are planning on going on, I needed to know the "sandwich preferences" of Child's Friend. Luckily, his Stepfather happened to be hanging in my backyard with me, and I was able to get the info from him. I knew well enough that the info would not be provided by Child....
When we all do get together this weekend, Child has made it clear that she wants time and space to talk/hang with her Friend. I'm guessing that she'll probably talk/laugh non-stop for the whole time. I'll probably have her bring along the pink phone, and if things get too loud, I'll call her at that number: that'll stop her from talking!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Do they have exterminators for "Bold-faced Lies"???
The last 24 hours have been a bit trying in "Thomasville". As a parent, I have three major "hot buttons": not working hard in school, not performing basic hygiene, and being lied to. I have been lucky enough to have gotten a heapin' helping of number three....
Yesterday, my daughter had a friend over. Well, she sort of had a friend over; she had drum lessons with his Dad, and I did some baking with her friend. After the baking/drumming were completed, the kids had some time to hang. I sat with the two of them for awhile, and then excused myself to go sit with the menfolk. Prior to me leaving the table where they were, my daughter had asked if she (like her friend) could have some chips. I reminded her that she just downed a good sized bag of chips at lunch (in addition to 3 of her friend's freshly baked cookies), and that the answer was "no". As I sat in the sunshine with the guys, I heard the distinct sound of chip bags crumpling. I had to decide whether or not to go back in the house, and decided to give my daughter the benefit of the doubt. Later, when wiping down the counters from "cookie time", I found a pile of blue tortilla chip crumbs/pieces on the counter. Interesting, as I had not served those that day. Time to call in the daughter....
Mother: "_____, come down to the kitchen now, please."
Child: "What do you want?"
Mother: "I am wondering why there are blue corn chip crumbs all over the counter? I told you specifically that you could not have chips. What's the deal?"
Child: "( stare that would melt an iceberg)"
Mother: "Look, I'm not dumb. The crumbs are right here....see??? I am looking for the truth here- let's hear it!"
Child: "( blank, rebellious stare)"
Mother: "Alright, you've just lost your iPod for a day for not telling me the truth. I would suggest that you spill it already, or your penalties will compound!"
Child: "( stare-down at the OK Corral)"
Mother: "All right, your bedtime is now 8 (rather than the usual 9). Are you ready to tell me the story behind this?"
Child: (running from the room) "You'remeanandyoujustliketoruinEVERYTHING!"
(Husband follows daughter up to her room. She is told that she can come down when she is ready to explain the "chip incident")
(With loud, thudding steps, Child returns to kitchen)
Mother: "Well?"
Child: " (the "they just can't break me" stare)"
Husband: (to child) "You were told that the only reason you were to leave your room was to explain yourself- well????"
Child: "( the "Mother couldn't possibly take anything else away" stare)"
Mother: "Ok then. Now you have lost your books on CD tonight (Child is addicted to books on CD at bedtime in order to sleep) !"
Child: " (unintelligible screaming, howling, and yelling)"
After the whole "boom boom huckjam meltdown of the century", Child finally admitted that she had helped herself to the chips after specifically being told "no". My husband and I told her that the chips weren't the big issue here; it was the fact that she chose to disobey, and then lied like pinocchio trying to dodge accountability. Some kids might have caved with just the thought of losing a privilege; mine was so stubborn that she willfully managed to lose three of her most important ones before "coming to Jesus".
Lesson to Mother from the whole ordeal: The teenage years are going to be a wild ride, woman, come up with a meditative mantra NOW! Lesson to Child from whole ordeal: When setting out to be deceptive, don't forget to dispose of the evidence of your act!
Yesterday, my daughter had a friend over. Well, she sort of had a friend over; she had drum lessons with his Dad, and I did some baking with her friend. After the baking/drumming were completed, the kids had some time to hang. I sat with the two of them for awhile, and then excused myself to go sit with the menfolk. Prior to me leaving the table where they were, my daughter had asked if she (like her friend) could have some chips. I reminded her that she just downed a good sized bag of chips at lunch (in addition to 3 of her friend's freshly baked cookies), and that the answer was "no". As I sat in the sunshine with the guys, I heard the distinct sound of chip bags crumpling. I had to decide whether or not to go back in the house, and decided to give my daughter the benefit of the doubt. Later, when wiping down the counters from "cookie time", I found a pile of blue tortilla chip crumbs/pieces on the counter. Interesting, as I had not served those that day. Time to call in the daughter....
Mother: "_____, come down to the kitchen now, please."
Child: "What do you want?"
Mother: "I am wondering why there are blue corn chip crumbs all over the counter? I told you specifically that you could not have chips. What's the deal?"
Child: "( stare that would melt an iceberg)"
Mother: "Look, I'm not dumb. The crumbs are right here....see??? I am looking for the truth here- let's hear it!"
Child: "( blank, rebellious stare)"
Mother: "Alright, you've just lost your iPod for a day for not telling me the truth. I would suggest that you spill it already, or your penalties will compound!"
Child: "( stare-down at the OK Corral)"
Mother: "All right, your bedtime is now 8 (rather than the usual 9). Are you ready to tell me the story behind this?"
Child: (running from the room) "You'remeanandyoujustliketoruinEVERYTHING!"
(Husband follows daughter up to her room. She is told that she can come down when she is ready to explain the "chip incident")
(With loud, thudding steps, Child returns to kitchen)
Mother: "Well?"
Child: " (the "they just can't break me" stare)"
Husband: (to child) "You were told that the only reason you were to leave your room was to explain yourself- well????"
Child: "( the "Mother couldn't possibly take anything else away" stare)"
Mother: "Ok then. Now you have lost your books on CD tonight (Child is addicted to books on CD at bedtime in order to sleep) !"
Child: " (unintelligible screaming, howling, and yelling)"
After the whole "boom boom huckjam meltdown of the century", Child finally admitted that she had helped herself to the chips after specifically being told "no". My husband and I told her that the chips weren't the big issue here; it was the fact that she chose to disobey, and then lied like pinocchio trying to dodge accountability. Some kids might have caved with just the thought of losing a privilege; mine was so stubborn that she willfully managed to lose three of her most important ones before "coming to Jesus".
Lesson to Mother from the whole ordeal: The teenage years are going to be a wild ride, woman, come up with a meditative mantra NOW! Lesson to Child from whole ordeal: When setting out to be deceptive, don't forget to dispose of the evidence of your act!
Friday, May 21, 2010
Phone Follies... Part Deux
If you read my previous post, you are aware that "phone issues" run rampant in my household. Yesterday afternoon, my lovely daughter got brave, only to be demolished by her arch nemesis- the phone...
A couple of days ago, my daughter thought it would be nice to get the cell phone number of her friend, so that she could perhaps (gulp) actually call him. She accomplished goal #1, and secured the phone number. The next day in school, he asked her if she had received his number (as she had secured that privileged info through a third party). She did not summon enough courage to call him that night. Trying to raise a kid that doesn't play "head games", I explained to her yesterday that when you ask someone for their phone number, it is generally understood/expected that you actually intend to call him/her. We talked about it all the way home from school, and she decided that she would make "the call" later that afternoon.
So... she had a snack, petted the neighbor's dog, chatted nervously at me for awhile... then it was time to "----, or get off the pot". I had a bunch of things I needed to finish up that afternoon, and started to leave the room. Like a young child suffering from separation anxiety, she looked at me desperately. And so the drama began....
Child: "Mommy, where are you goooooiiinnggg?????"
Mother: "I'm running outside to tarp my big 'ol pile of brown dirt, then I have to get dinner going."
Child: (glassy-eyed staring begins, color drains from face) "Stay with me while I do this!"
Mother: "I can stay with you for a few minutes, but I really need to get going on my stuff."
(Child rotates pink cell phone in one hand, gripping her friend's cell number in the other. Upon closer examination of Child, it is obvious that her breathing rate has accelerated, and the glassy-eyed stare has been replaced by a look of utter panic)
Child: "I....think....I.....can.....do....this...."
Mother: "Of course you can! You guys are friends! Just go ahead, it'll be fine"
(Child nervously looks back-and-forth between the piece of paper, and the cell phone. It appears that all of the numbers have been entered, yet the phone is nowhere near Child's ear)
Mother: "Uh, you might want to lift that phone up to your ear so you can hear when he answers."
Child: "I haven't hit "talk" yet. I'm scared!!!"
Mother: "You can do it, and you will be fine. That pile of dirt needs to be covered, and dinner's not going to make itself. I have got to get going here...."
Child: "Okay..... OKAY!"
(Child enters all of the digits, and takes the plunge to press "talk". Child's eyes widen in terror, while Mother sits nearby, trying to fade into the back of the ottoman)
"Friend": (answers his phone, for some reason, the volume is soooo loud on the phone that Mother can hear the "goings on" from across the room) "Hello?"
Child: "(shell-shocked silence)"
"Friend": "Hello?"
Child: "Who is this?"
(Mother looks away from child, as to not start laughing. Mother cannot believe that Child has asked the solo owner of the cell phone who he is in such a rude, abrupt tone. Mother starts contemplating whether professional etiquette lessons on the art of telephoning might be in order...)
"Friend": "It's _____."
(Now here is where I need you to put on your "vision goggles", and work with me. If you remember the series "Twin Peaks", on the series finale, some of the characters started talking so fast, that subtitles appeared on the bottom of the screen. Hold this image in your mind now...)
Child: (miraculously, while beginning to hyperventilate, takes a breath big enough to belt out what will follow) "It's_____.Iwaswonderingifyouandyourfriendsmightwanttositinthecafeteriatomorrowatlunchwithmeandmyfriends?
"Friend": "Umm (pause...................pause), I could ask them tomorrow."
Child: "okaybye"
"Friend": "seeyoubye"
After my daughter hung up, she sat and looked at her cell phone silently for about thirty seconds. She then looked up at me, and then the "waterworks" started:
Child: "I am so bad on the phone. He won't like me anymore. I am not going to school tomorrow!!!! He hates me....he HATES me!!!!!"
Mother: "The only thing you need to change is when you call someone, don't ask them in a harsh tone who they are: rather, start with 'Hi, this is _____, can I please speak with_____?' Memorize this and just use it as your mantra. Problem solved."
Problem was not so easily solved, as my daughter went outside to stew about the phone follies for almost an hour in the backyard. Believing that nature can heal a multitude of sins, I felt it was best to leave her out there to "work things through" in her head. Eventually, she decided that she needed her Mom, and came back into the house.
Mother: "Are you feeling any better?"
Child: (speaking softly, looking at the ground) "Sort of."
Mother: "Do you want to practice talking on the phone? You can go upstairs with your cell, and call me on the house phone."
Child: (smile appearing on face) "Yeah, let's do that!"
So... we practiced the "mantra", and general small talk for awhile. When we were done, she charged up the pink phone, and put it away in her backpack. Equilibrium was restored in the "tween universe"; at least until the next time an ocassion to "reach-out-and-touch-someone" transpires....
A couple of days ago, my daughter thought it would be nice to get the cell phone number of her friend, so that she could perhaps (gulp) actually call him. She accomplished goal #1, and secured the phone number. The next day in school, he asked her if she had received his number (as she had secured that privileged info through a third party). She did not summon enough courage to call him that night. Trying to raise a kid that doesn't play "head games", I explained to her yesterday that when you ask someone for their phone number, it is generally understood/expected that you actually intend to call him/her. We talked about it all the way home from school, and she decided that she would make "the call" later that afternoon.
So... she had a snack, petted the neighbor's dog, chatted nervously at me for awhile... then it was time to "----, or get off the pot". I had a bunch of things I needed to finish up that afternoon, and started to leave the room. Like a young child suffering from separation anxiety, she looked at me desperately. And so the drama began....
Child: "Mommy, where are you goooooiiinnggg?????"
Mother: "I'm running outside to tarp my big 'ol pile of brown dirt, then I have to get dinner going."
Child: (glassy-eyed staring begins, color drains from face) "Stay with me while I do this!"
Mother: "I can stay with you for a few minutes, but I really need to get going on my stuff."
(Child rotates pink cell phone in one hand, gripping her friend's cell number in the other. Upon closer examination of Child, it is obvious that her breathing rate has accelerated, and the glassy-eyed stare has been replaced by a look of utter panic)
Child: "I....think....I.....can.....do....this...."
Mother: "Of course you can! You guys are friends! Just go ahead, it'll be fine"
(Child nervously looks back-and-forth between the piece of paper, and the cell phone. It appears that all of the numbers have been entered, yet the phone is nowhere near Child's ear)
Mother: "Uh, you might want to lift that phone up to your ear so you can hear when he answers."
Child: "I haven't hit "talk" yet. I'm scared!!!"
Mother: "You can do it, and you will be fine. That pile of dirt needs to be covered, and dinner's not going to make itself. I have got to get going here...."
Child: "Okay..... OKAY!"
(Child enters all of the digits, and takes the plunge to press "talk". Child's eyes widen in terror, while Mother sits nearby, trying to fade into the back of the ottoman)
"Friend": (answers his phone, for some reason, the volume is soooo loud on the phone that Mother can hear the "goings on" from across the room) "Hello?"
Child: "(shell-shocked silence)"
"Friend": "Hello?"
Child: "Who is this?"
(Mother looks away from child, as to not start laughing. Mother cannot believe that Child has asked the solo owner of the cell phone who he is in such a rude, abrupt tone. Mother starts contemplating whether professional etiquette lessons on the art of telephoning might be in order...)
"Friend": "It's _____."
(Now here is where I need you to put on your "vision goggles", and work with me. If you remember the series "Twin Peaks", on the series finale, some of the characters started talking so fast, that subtitles appeared on the bottom of the screen. Hold this image in your mind now...)
Child: (miraculously, while beginning to hyperventilate, takes a breath big enough to belt out what will follow) "It's_____.Iwaswonderingifyouandyourfriendsmightwanttositinthecafeteriatomorrowatlunchwithmeandmyfriends?
"Friend": "Umm (pause...................pause), I could ask them tomorrow."
Child: "okaybye"
"Friend": "seeyoubye"
After my daughter hung up, she sat and looked at her cell phone silently for about thirty seconds. She then looked up at me, and then the "waterworks" started:
Child: "I am so bad on the phone. He won't like me anymore. I am not going to school tomorrow!!!! He hates me....he HATES me!!!!!"
Mother: "The only thing you need to change is when you call someone, don't ask them in a harsh tone who they are: rather, start with 'Hi, this is _____, can I please speak with_____?' Memorize this and just use it as your mantra. Problem solved."
Problem was not so easily solved, as my daughter went outside to stew about the phone follies for almost an hour in the backyard. Believing that nature can heal a multitude of sins, I felt it was best to leave her out there to "work things through" in her head. Eventually, she decided that she needed her Mom, and came back into the house.
Mother: "Are you feeling any better?"
Child: (speaking softly, looking at the ground) "Sort of."
Mother: "Do you want to practice talking on the phone? You can go upstairs with your cell, and call me on the house phone."
Child: (smile appearing on face) "Yeah, let's do that!"
So... we practiced the "mantra", and general small talk for awhile. When we were done, she charged up the pink phone, and put it away in her backpack. Equilibrium was restored in the "tween universe"; at least until the next time an ocassion to "reach-out-and-touch-someone" transpires....
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The Amazing, Mystifying, Puzzling Telephone....
My little family has always had "issues" with the telephone. For some reason, I am the only one who hears the darn thing ring. Also, unless, specifically asked/confronted, knowledge of someone calling our abode isn't always forthcoming. The first two issues are shared by my husband and me: when we added our daughter to the mix, things got a whole lot more interesting.
When I was my daughter's age (12), I used to gab on the phone with my friends all of the time. If we weren't in each other's physical space, we were on the phone. From the time that she was quite young, I have encouraged her to call a friend herself (after clearing plans with me, of course) to initiate a playdate. The whole scene would go down like this:
Child: "IIIIIII'mmmmmm boooorrrred!"
Mother: "Why don't you call a friend to have over? I can drive one way."
Child: "What if someone answers the phhoonneee?"
Mother: "That's kind of how those devices work, dear."
Child: "Whhaaat dooo IIIII saaayyyy theeeennn?"
Mother: "I've instructed you on phone manners for years (sigh). Introduce yourself to whoever answers, and then ask for ___."
(Child turns on her heel, and leaves the room)
Mother: "Where are you going? Aren't you going to call someone?"
Child: "Nevermind"
Knowing well that my daughter had "issues" with using a phone, I still felt that she should get a cell phone for the start of Middle School. We had a nice "family trip" to the Sprint Store to obtain a most pleasing communication device. Here were the highlights:
Mother: "Well, let's see what they have here. See anything you like?"
Child: "I like THAT one! It's pink and looks like a Blackberry! Cool!" (Father has a Blackberry that he's leashed to for work)
(Mother, Father, and Daughter go to find a helpful Sprint Associate to "close the deal")
Mother ( to Sprint Guy): "Hi, we'd like to get our daughter this phone here, and then add her to our plan. I would like you to disable texting and the internet on her phone, please."
Sprint Guy: "( glazed-over stare of disbelief, as getting rid of said features is just unheard of. He looks over at Daughter with a sympathetic look, as, obviously, Mother is just so clueless)"
Daughter: (in a mildly huffy tone) "If I can't text with it, what's the point of having a cell phone?"
Mother: "It's a phone... you can use it to reach Father or me in an emergency... with your actual voice!"
(Child looks at Sprint Guy, who is powerless to do anything but Mother's bidding- darn!!)
Turns out that within the first couple months of school, daughter actually used her voice on her phone to summon me back to school to get her, as a power outage closed down the school. Since then, powered only by sweet tween voice, the lovely pink "blackberry" is sporting some pretty serious dust...
Yesterday, the phone issues took quite the humorous turn. Daughter has a good friend, who is a guy. They have been friends for about two years now. Although they were in the same homeroom in 5th Grade (and saw each other for most of the day), they only were in one class this year, for all of 7 weeks. Because her friend's parents are divorced, he travels between homes; therefore, there are twice as many homes to call in order to locate him, and (gulp) twice as many people who could possibly answer a phone (gasp). Because of "parental cruise directing", they have been able to get together this year w/o having to use a phone. Recently, Daughter got wind of the fact that he had a cell phone. Now things became interesting:
Child: "Mom, I think I'd like to have ___'s cell phone number. Can you get it from his Mom?"
Mother: "Here's her number, you can call."
Child: "(Blank, horrified look. She expects ME to initiate phone contact????)"
Mother: "Oh, for heaven's sake already! Do you want to send an e-mail to her?"
Child: (smile creeps across her face, voice-to-voice contact can be avoided)"Yes."
So, Daughter wrote a nice e-mail, and sent it off to her friend's Mom. The next day in school, her friend asked her if she got his cell number, appearing not to mind that she had "the digits". When she got home from school, I showed her where I wrote it down, for her use. This, of course, led to the nosy/stupid "Mother Question of the Day":
Mother: "So, are you going to give him a buzz?"
Child: "Why would I do that? What am I supposed to say?"
Mother: "YOU...just...requested...HIS...phone...number!!!! When the two of you get together, you talk non-stop! I don't know! Ask about how his soccer is going... talk about school... you know, STUFF!"
Child: "Aren't girls not supposed to call boys?"
Mother: (taking a deep breath)"I don't believe that's a guideline for this time in history on Planet Earth!"
Child: (walking out of the room) "Oh."
I feel sorry for the poor kid. He's probably wondering why his friend went out of her way to get his phone number, and then didn't call. What would I say to him? I would just tell him that in our family, "phone issues" are genetic!
When I was my daughter's age (12), I used to gab on the phone with my friends all of the time. If we weren't in each other's physical space, we were on the phone. From the time that she was quite young, I have encouraged her to call a friend herself (after clearing plans with me, of course) to initiate a playdate. The whole scene would go down like this:
Child: "IIIIIII'mmmmmm boooorrrred!"
Mother: "Why don't you call a friend to have over? I can drive one way."
Child: "What if someone answers the phhoonneee?"
Mother: "That's kind of how those devices work, dear."
Child: "Whhaaat dooo IIIII saaayyyy theeeennn?"
Mother: "I've instructed you on phone manners for years (sigh). Introduce yourself to whoever answers, and then ask for ___."
(Child turns on her heel, and leaves the room)
Mother: "Where are you going? Aren't you going to call someone?"
Child: "Nevermind"
Knowing well that my daughter had "issues" with using a phone, I still felt that she should get a cell phone for the start of Middle School. We had a nice "family trip" to the Sprint Store to obtain a most pleasing communication device. Here were the highlights:
Mother: "Well, let's see what they have here. See anything you like?"
Child: "I like THAT one! It's pink and looks like a Blackberry! Cool!" (Father has a Blackberry that he's leashed to for work)
(Mother, Father, and Daughter go to find a helpful Sprint Associate to "close the deal")
Mother ( to Sprint Guy): "Hi, we'd like to get our daughter this phone here, and then add her to our plan. I would like you to disable texting and the internet on her phone, please."
Sprint Guy: "( glazed-over stare of disbelief, as getting rid of said features is just unheard of. He looks over at Daughter with a sympathetic look, as, obviously, Mother is just so clueless)"
Daughter: (in a mildly huffy tone) "If I can't text with it, what's the point of having a cell phone?"
Mother: "It's a phone... you can use it to reach Father or me in an emergency... with your actual voice!"
(Child looks at Sprint Guy, who is powerless to do anything but Mother's bidding- darn!!)
Turns out that within the first couple months of school, daughter actually used her voice on her phone to summon me back to school to get her, as a power outage closed down the school. Since then, powered only by sweet tween voice, the lovely pink "blackberry" is sporting some pretty serious dust...
Yesterday, the phone issues took quite the humorous turn. Daughter has a good friend, who is a guy. They have been friends for about two years now. Although they were in the same homeroom in 5th Grade (and saw each other for most of the day), they only were in one class this year, for all of 7 weeks. Because her friend's parents are divorced, he travels between homes; therefore, there are twice as many homes to call in order to locate him, and (gulp) twice as many people who could possibly answer a phone (gasp). Because of "parental cruise directing", they have been able to get together this year w/o having to use a phone. Recently, Daughter got wind of the fact that he had a cell phone. Now things became interesting:
Child: "Mom, I think I'd like to have ___'s cell phone number. Can you get it from his Mom?"
Mother: "Here's her number, you can call."
Child: "(Blank, horrified look. She expects ME to initiate phone contact????)"
Mother: "Oh, for heaven's sake already! Do you want to send an e-mail to her?"
Child: (smile creeps across her face, voice-to-voice contact can be avoided)"Yes."
So, Daughter wrote a nice e-mail, and sent it off to her friend's Mom. The next day in school, her friend asked her if she got his cell number, appearing not to mind that she had "the digits". When she got home from school, I showed her where I wrote it down, for her use. This, of course, led to the nosy/stupid "Mother Question of the Day":
Mother: "So, are you going to give him a buzz?"
Child: "Why would I do that? What am I supposed to say?"
Mother: "YOU...just...requested...HIS...phone...number!!!! When the two of you get together, you talk non-stop! I don't know! Ask about how his soccer is going... talk about school... you know, STUFF!"
Child: "Aren't girls not supposed to call boys?"
Mother: (taking a deep breath)"I don't believe that's a guideline for this time in history on Planet Earth!"
Child: (walking out of the room) "Oh."
I feel sorry for the poor kid. He's probably wondering why his friend went out of her way to get his phone number, and then didn't call. What would I say to him? I would just tell him that in our family, "phone issues" are genetic!
Monday, May 17, 2010
Moms, Let's Stick Together and Ban the "After Parties" Already!!!!
For those of you who know that I have a daughter who's just twelve, you're probably wondering what the heck I am EVEN bringing up an "after party" for in the first place. For my own snarky purposes, I'll define an "after party" as follows: an event that occurs when 3 or more girls get together, and, unbeknownst to one of the girls, the other girls plan on continuing to hang-out after the third girl goes home (thinking the "hang date" is over for ALL of them).
In the past school year, my daughter has been the unfortunate "third wheel" twice. The first time it happened, she was invited to a birthday party. When I read the invite, it specified an evening of dinner/bowling, ending around 9 with the "Birthday Girl's Mom" providing rides home. Sounded good, I thought. Two days before the party, my daughter told me that she would need to assemble her sleepover stuff for that party. I questioned her as to why, as the invitation said that the party ended around 9. It turned out that out of a party of 6 girls, the "Birthday Girl's Mom" told her daughter that she could only have two girls stay for a sleepover. From what my daughter told me, this was a common practice for "BG's Mom". In order to pull-off the little heist, the plan was to load ALL of the girls into a minivan to drive home, but , mysteriously, the "chosen girls" would be the "last" to be driven home ( returned to the house for more fun). My daughter then happily told me that SHE got to be one of the chosen 2! I told her that I thought the whole scheme was pretty smarmy, and that sneaking her sleepover gear to the girl's house before the party was a little too "on the down low" for my taste. As the party date grew closer, apparently, the "Birthday Girl's Mom" had a second thought about this, and decided not to go through with the it. My daughter was OK with this, and set out looking forward to a fun-filled evening. When she arrived home that night, she was a bit upset, as the "birthday girl's" long-term BFF was not brought home before my daughter; rather they "passed by" her house to drop my daughter at home. Hmmmmmmm.....
The other time my daughter got passed over for the "after party" was at a daytime playdate with a handful of other girls. When I agreed to let her go, I made sure that I knew what time I should arrive to get her. When I arrived at the designated hour, there were no other parents picking up their girls. Being a chronic "early bird", I just let my suspicions go. My daughter saw a couple of the girls a day later, and they asked how her evening was. Since it was just spent with her doting parents, she was a bit lukewarm. They were nice enough, however, to let her know that they had a great evening; the Mom of the "hostess" agreed to let the them stay for a sleepover!
While I certainly don't think that I know everything about parenting girls (and I don't hold a PhD in child psychology), I believe that when we (Mothers) allow our daughters to engage in decepetions like this, it's just plain wrong. Many of us with daughters are very aware about the whole "Mean Girl Phenomena". Social learning begins at home, with our daughters' primary teachers- us. Sure, it's harder to have 6 girls stay overnight than it is to have only 2, but is the extra ease worth teaching your daughter that it is "ok" to deceive the other 4? Isn't it the right thing to stand up and tell your daughter that she should call the girl who went home (on time) from the playdate and tell her that the other girls decided to have a "sleepover", checking to see if she wants to rejoin the group? Girls this age need a lot of coaching on social/emotional stuff: in order to raise socially aware and empathetic daughters, we can't afford to "drop the ball" on this issue.
It wasn't easy listening to my daughter's disappointment/anger in being left out after those experiences. One thing that did make me happy, though, was that she had such difficulty understanding why/how this could happen because, in her own words, "I don't do this to my friends!" Not a fun lesson, but one which illustrated the importance of treating others well.
In the past school year, my daughter has been the unfortunate "third wheel" twice. The first time it happened, she was invited to a birthday party. When I read the invite, it specified an evening of dinner/bowling, ending around 9 with the "Birthday Girl's Mom" providing rides home. Sounded good, I thought. Two days before the party, my daughter told me that she would need to assemble her sleepover stuff for that party. I questioned her as to why, as the invitation said that the party ended around 9. It turned out that out of a party of 6 girls, the "Birthday Girl's Mom" told her daughter that she could only have two girls stay for a sleepover. From what my daughter told me, this was a common practice for "BG's Mom". In order to pull-off the little heist, the plan was to load ALL of the girls into a minivan to drive home, but , mysteriously, the "chosen girls" would be the "last" to be driven home ( returned to the house for more fun). My daughter then happily told me that SHE got to be one of the chosen 2! I told her that I thought the whole scheme was pretty smarmy, and that sneaking her sleepover gear to the girl's house before the party was a little too "on the down low" for my taste. As the party date grew closer, apparently, the "Birthday Girl's Mom" had a second thought about this, and decided not to go through with the it. My daughter was OK with this, and set out looking forward to a fun-filled evening. When she arrived home that night, she was a bit upset, as the "birthday girl's" long-term BFF was not brought home before my daughter; rather they "passed by" her house to drop my daughter at home. Hmmmmmmm.....
The other time my daughter got passed over for the "after party" was at a daytime playdate with a handful of other girls. When I agreed to let her go, I made sure that I knew what time I should arrive to get her. When I arrived at the designated hour, there were no other parents picking up their girls. Being a chronic "early bird", I just let my suspicions go. My daughter saw a couple of the girls a day later, and they asked how her evening was. Since it was just spent with her doting parents, she was a bit lukewarm. They were nice enough, however, to let her know that they had a great evening; the Mom of the "hostess" agreed to let the them stay for a sleepover!
While I certainly don't think that I know everything about parenting girls (and I don't hold a PhD in child psychology), I believe that when we (Mothers) allow our daughters to engage in decepetions like this, it's just plain wrong. Many of us with daughters are very aware about the whole "Mean Girl Phenomena". Social learning begins at home, with our daughters' primary teachers- us. Sure, it's harder to have 6 girls stay overnight than it is to have only 2, but is the extra ease worth teaching your daughter that it is "ok" to deceive the other 4? Isn't it the right thing to stand up and tell your daughter that she should call the girl who went home (on time) from the playdate and tell her that the other girls decided to have a "sleepover", checking to see if she wants to rejoin the group? Girls this age need a lot of coaching on social/emotional stuff: in order to raise socially aware and empathetic daughters, we can't afford to "drop the ball" on this issue.
It wasn't easy listening to my daughter's disappointment/anger in being left out after those experiences. One thing that did make me happy, though, was that she had such difficulty understanding why/how this could happen because, in her own words, "I don't do this to my friends!" Not a fun lesson, but one which illustrated the importance of treating others well.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Sometimes, teaching tolerance can come back to bite you....
Starting from the time my daughter was able to look around the world, and notice the individual differences from person-to-person, we started talking with her about how people should be "fairly judged". As you can imagine, I'm talking about the whole "looking beyond someone's physical appearance, to see who they are inside" business. We taught, she listened, all seemed well...
To start with, I am about as far from a "fashionista" as one can get. I have never been to a nail salon, never colored my hair, wear minimal make-up, and am on the yearly hair-trim plan. Needless to say, we do not subscribe in our household to the "typical media images" of what female beauty should be. I do, however, preach about the importance of using soap, shampoo/conditioner, and a razor. My twelve year-old daughter...well... she doesn't want to be the "choir".... Here are some of the highlights of our family "drama" in this department, in three Acts:
ACT 1: NO "POO" !!!!!!
Mother: "I was checking the shampoo level in your bottle today, because I am going to Target. It is just as full today as it was last week. What gives?"
Child: "I use it (nervously looking anywhere but in Mother's direction)."
Mother: "If you are thoroughly cleaning your head, why is just the long part of your hair clean? Your scalp hair is literally frozen in place: you look like you're wearing a "dirty hair mullet"!!!!
Child: "Hmmmppp. Fine. Go away!!!!! (door slams)
Mother: (yelling through closed bathroom door) "Just...clean...your...whole....darn... head, please!"
ACT 2: The Mystery of the Never Shrinking Soap...
Mother: (in a sweet tone, trying to minimize the trauma of the act of showering, which, supposedly, just occurred)"Which soap did you enjoy using in your shower tonight (child currently has 3 bars of soap, and one bottle of gel in shower)?"
Child: "(uninteligible gutteral grumbling)"
Mother: "What?$%!?"
Child: "Soap! I said S-O-A-P!!! Wow, Mom...... Now go away!"
Mother: " If you used S-O-A-P, why can't I smell any hint of fragrance on you?"
Child: "It's the darn water's fault you can't smell anything... Now go away (hard water, apparently, masks all fragrances, except BO)!!!!
ACT 3: All the Little Hairs....
Child: "Mom, can I wear my new shorts tomorrow?"
Mother: "Sure, but be sure to shave your legs tonight."
Child: "I don't want to. You do it."
Mother: "I've showed you how to do it many times... you need to take care of this on your own now."
Child: " (uninteligible gutteral balking noises)"
Child: "No one else my age has to do this!!!!"
Mother: "Remember how excited you were to get that razor last Summer? What's the big deal about it already??? (Mother pauses as she has a moment of insight, which could result in her winning the argument) You do know, don't you, that when your legs are smooth, you can see your muscle tone better (Mother holds her breath, and hopes for the best)?"
Child: (child studies her leg muscles, and flexes them) "Really?"
Mother: "Yep."
Child: "Ohhh.... alright. Now go away!!!"
Yes, through the years we have taught our daughter that she should never judge another person based on their clothes or physical appearance. Now, being the sophisticated almost Teen, she has come back at us that we shouldn't be able to judge her on her lack of "hygiene", either ......GOTCHA!!!
Right now, there is more than enough hot water to go around. She's a pretty "cheap date" to keep supplied in tolietries. I should probably "watch what I wish for", as the tide could change all too soon, and then I'll be complaining about the opposite problem....
To start with, I am about as far from a "fashionista" as one can get. I have never been to a nail salon, never colored my hair, wear minimal make-up, and am on the yearly hair-trim plan. Needless to say, we do not subscribe in our household to the "typical media images" of what female beauty should be. I do, however, preach about the importance of using soap, shampoo/conditioner, and a razor. My twelve year-old daughter...well... she doesn't want to be the "choir".... Here are some of the highlights of our family "drama" in this department, in three Acts:
ACT 1: NO "POO" !!!!!!
Mother: "I was checking the shampoo level in your bottle today, because I am going to Target. It is just as full today as it was last week. What gives?"
Child: "I use it (nervously looking anywhere but in Mother's direction)."
Mother: "If you are thoroughly cleaning your head, why is just the long part of your hair clean? Your scalp hair is literally frozen in place: you look like you're wearing a "dirty hair mullet"!!!!
Child: "Hmmmppp. Fine. Go away!!!!! (door slams)
Mother: (yelling through closed bathroom door) "Just...clean...your...whole....darn... head, please!"
ACT 2: The Mystery of the Never Shrinking Soap...
Mother: (in a sweet tone, trying to minimize the trauma of the act of showering, which, supposedly, just occurred)"Which soap did you enjoy using in your shower tonight (child currently has 3 bars of soap, and one bottle of gel in shower)?"
Child: "(uninteligible gutteral grumbling)"
Mother: "What?$%!?"
Child: "Soap! I said S-O-A-P!!! Wow, Mom...... Now go away!"
Mother: " If you used S-O-A-P, why can't I smell any hint of fragrance on you?"
Child: "It's the darn water's fault you can't smell anything... Now go away (hard water, apparently, masks all fragrances, except BO)!!!!
ACT 3: All the Little Hairs....
Child: "Mom, can I wear my new shorts tomorrow?"
Mother: "Sure, but be sure to shave your legs tonight."
Child: "I don't want to. You do it."
Mother: "I've showed you how to do it many times... you need to take care of this on your own now."
Child: " (uninteligible gutteral balking noises)"
Child: "No one else my age has to do this!!!!"
Mother: "Remember how excited you were to get that razor last Summer? What's the big deal about it already??? (Mother pauses as she has a moment of insight, which could result in her winning the argument) You do know, don't you, that when your legs are smooth, you can see your muscle tone better (Mother holds her breath, and hopes for the best)?"
Child: (child studies her leg muscles, and flexes them) "Really?"
Mother: "Yep."
Child: "Ohhh.... alright. Now go away!!!"
Yes, through the years we have taught our daughter that she should never judge another person based on their clothes or physical appearance. Now, being the sophisticated almost Teen, she has come back at us that we shouldn't be able to judge her on her lack of "hygiene", either ......GOTCHA!!!
Right now, there is more than enough hot water to go around. She's a pretty "cheap date" to keep supplied in tolietries. I should probably "watch what I wish for", as the tide could change all too soon, and then I'll be complaining about the opposite problem....
Sunday, May 9, 2010
An open letter to my daughter on Mother's Day....
Today is the 12th Mother's Day that I have celebrated, because you are in my life. Some of them were rainy, some sunny. Some went according to the "plan"; others meandered down their own trail.... but for all of them, we were together.
When I became your Mother 12 years ago, I had no experience and no mentor. You were new at the whole experience of being a baby. Over a couple of weeks, I learned that your cries had different meanings. You learned patience, as it took me some time to figure that out.
When you were four months old, I found out that you would have some visual challenges. The Doctor told me it would be a couple years before we knew exactly what the outcome would be. You kept on playing with your rattles, your board books, your baby gym. I watched as you seemed so content in your world, and that helped me worry a little bit less.
When you were a preschooler, I found out that your vision was the best case scenario that we could have hoped for- what a relief! We were told, though, that you would probably never ride a bike, and would probably be a bit delayed in gross motor activities.
When you were in 1st Grade, with fierce determination, you taught yourself to ride that bike in the alley behind our house. Not only did you ride it, but you rode it fearlessly. Around this same time, you also started gymnastics classes. At first, you would fall off of the floor beam after almost every step. You worked so hard in your classes, and were eventually invited to join the Team, where you would compete ALL events... including that beam.
When you started school, you showed a love of learning, an ability to connect with your teachers,
and a knack for picking fun friends. Sometimes the lessons got a bit hard, and sometimes you got a teacher that didn't quite "get" you as much. At times, the girls that you felt the closest to became like strangers. Through all of that, you learned how to be a true friend, and how to recognize, in turn, if someone was being a true friend to you.
You developed your first crush this year, and shared those new and intense feelings with me. Listening to you talk about it showed me what you have learned about love in your short life. Hearing you speak about your feelings brought tears to my eyes at times. I could see from our talks that you knew how to choose the right person, for all of the right reasons.
On today's Mother's Day, you are almost my full height. You are at a place where you are formulating your own ideas and opinions about the world, but still want to "check-in" with me from time-to-time. You are capable of fully opening your life to me, but also need the reassurance of your own space, to make sense of so many new things. I look at you and am so impressed at the smart, empathetic, and funny person you have become. I dream of where those gifts will take you someday.
These past 12 years have gone by so quickly, and in 6 more years, I will be preparing to "launch you" into the world. I wonder what our connection will be like when I am no longer responsible for "raising" you. Someday, you may even become a mother. If you do, I wonder what parts of your own childhood you will continue with your own child(ren), and what you will choose to do differently.
Today, I wish you a "Happy Mother's Day", too, because had it not been for you, today would have been just any other day for me. We have our wonderful talks, and our predictable arguments. We don't always see eye-to-eye on the proper level of cleanliness for rooms, or for self. We are a part of one another. While we once shared a body, now we are connected through our hearts. I value all that having been your Mother so far has taught me, and I'm open to what will come................
Love,
Mommy
When I became your Mother 12 years ago, I had no experience and no mentor. You were new at the whole experience of being a baby. Over a couple of weeks, I learned that your cries had different meanings. You learned patience, as it took me some time to figure that out.
When you were four months old, I found out that you would have some visual challenges. The Doctor told me it would be a couple years before we knew exactly what the outcome would be. You kept on playing with your rattles, your board books, your baby gym. I watched as you seemed so content in your world, and that helped me worry a little bit less.
When you were a preschooler, I found out that your vision was the best case scenario that we could have hoped for- what a relief! We were told, though, that you would probably never ride a bike, and would probably be a bit delayed in gross motor activities.
When you were in 1st Grade, with fierce determination, you taught yourself to ride that bike in the alley behind our house. Not only did you ride it, but you rode it fearlessly. Around this same time, you also started gymnastics classes. At first, you would fall off of the floor beam after almost every step. You worked so hard in your classes, and were eventually invited to join the Team, where you would compete ALL events... including that beam.
When you started school, you showed a love of learning, an ability to connect with your teachers,
and a knack for picking fun friends. Sometimes the lessons got a bit hard, and sometimes you got a teacher that didn't quite "get" you as much. At times, the girls that you felt the closest to became like strangers. Through all of that, you learned how to be a true friend, and how to recognize, in turn, if someone was being a true friend to you.
You developed your first crush this year, and shared those new and intense feelings with me. Listening to you talk about it showed me what you have learned about love in your short life. Hearing you speak about your feelings brought tears to my eyes at times. I could see from our talks that you knew how to choose the right person, for all of the right reasons.
On today's Mother's Day, you are almost my full height. You are at a place where you are formulating your own ideas and opinions about the world, but still want to "check-in" with me from time-to-time. You are capable of fully opening your life to me, but also need the reassurance of your own space, to make sense of so many new things. I look at you and am so impressed at the smart, empathetic, and funny person you have become. I dream of where those gifts will take you someday.
These past 12 years have gone by so quickly, and in 6 more years, I will be preparing to "launch you" into the world. I wonder what our connection will be like when I am no longer responsible for "raising" you. Someday, you may even become a mother. If you do, I wonder what parts of your own childhood you will continue with your own child(ren), and what you will choose to do differently.
Today, I wish you a "Happy Mother's Day", too, because had it not been for you, today would have been just any other day for me. We have our wonderful talks, and our predictable arguments. We don't always see eye-to-eye on the proper level of cleanliness for rooms, or for self. We are a part of one another. While we once shared a body, now we are connected through our hearts. I value all that having been your Mother so far has taught me, and I'm open to what will come................
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, May 6, 2010
I'd like to make a reservation for puberty; party of one, please!
A couple of years back, I either read, or was told, that having a daughter entering puberty can be very distressing to her Mom. What I'm talking about goes beyond dreading the inevitable mood swings, and obsessions with boys. The "real rub" is that for many of us Moms, as our daughters are starting to "come into their own" physically, nature takes us on a journey in the other direction. I even heard this process referred to as a sort of "battle" between Mom and daughter for status as "alpha female" (in the animal kingdom, after all, natural selection favors the young and healthy). As things were pretty status quo around our house back then, I took that in as interesting info to file away for future use. Well, the future is now...
Around here, the last two weeks were very touch-and-go; a lot of temper outbursts, skin eruptions, and foodstuff consumed. All of a sudden, jeans purchased a month ago were getting even snugger than is the "skinny jean" style, and the airbag in the passenger seat was no longer being turned off . The point was finally driven home to me when she dramatically announced that when she jumped up and down, other "things" were "jumping", too. No turning back now....
So, this is where it all starts to get interesting. Some Moms seem to have the "if you can't beat 'em, them join 'em attitudes." These Moms are pretty easy to spot, as they dress as similarly to their daughters as possible. When flipping through Facebook, these are also the Moms who post profile pics of themselves in ultra-revealing clothing (read: bikinis- yes, I have seen two of these already!). Pop culture has even invented a term for this kind of Mom- MILF (I'm not going to say what this means here- if you need to know, go to urbandictionary.com). What a treat for Dad; you get two "teenage girls" instead of one!!
As far as I'm concerned, my daughter's puberty is all hers. I had my "go of it", now it's her turn. She needs me for transportation, sage advice, nagging for homework and drums, healthy meals, and rides to the Gym. She doesn't need to look at me, and feel like I'm trying to morph myself into her. The other day, we were bickering about the fact that I thought her pants looked too "skinny" to be paired with such a close-fitting shirt. She looked at me, in my yoga pants and T (my 'walking uniform' ), and hissed, "You should really do something about your clothes!" When I explained that I am not really into clothes shopping/fashion, a smile crept across her face, and she said enthusiastically, "I can help you with that, Mom!" The simple fact that she knew in her heart that I would not try to de-throne her as the resident "teenager" led to a pretty cool bonding moment.
As the only kid in our family, she will be "dining" solo at the Puberty Cafe. I will not be sampling all of the different items on the menu with her. She will have to be prepared to independently "pay" for the selections that she makes. You can count on the fact, however, that I'll be there to be her 'designated driver', to make sure that she's safe and sound during the journey.
Around here, the last two weeks were very touch-and-go; a lot of temper outbursts, skin eruptions, and foodstuff consumed. All of a sudden, jeans purchased a month ago were getting even snugger than is the "skinny jean" style, and the airbag in the passenger seat was no longer being turned off . The point was finally driven home to me when she dramatically announced that when she jumped up and down, other "things" were "jumping", too. No turning back now....
So, this is where it all starts to get interesting. Some Moms seem to have the "if you can't beat 'em, them join 'em attitudes." These Moms are pretty easy to spot, as they dress as similarly to their daughters as possible. When flipping through Facebook, these are also the Moms who post profile pics of themselves in ultra-revealing clothing (read: bikinis- yes, I have seen two of these already!). Pop culture has even invented a term for this kind of Mom- MILF (I'm not going to say what this means here- if you need to know, go to urbandictionary.com). What a treat for Dad; you get two "teenage girls" instead of one!!
As far as I'm concerned, my daughter's puberty is all hers. I had my "go of it", now it's her turn. She needs me for transportation, sage advice, nagging for homework and drums, healthy meals, and rides to the Gym. She doesn't need to look at me, and feel like I'm trying to morph myself into her. The other day, we were bickering about the fact that I thought her pants looked too "skinny" to be paired with such a close-fitting shirt. She looked at me, in my yoga pants and T (my 'walking uniform' ), and hissed, "You should really do something about your clothes!" When I explained that I am not really into clothes shopping/fashion, a smile crept across her face, and she said enthusiastically, "I can help you with that, Mom!" The simple fact that she knew in her heart that I would not try to de-throne her as the resident "teenager" led to a pretty cool bonding moment.
As the only kid in our family, she will be "dining" solo at the Puberty Cafe. I will not be sampling all of the different items on the menu with her. She will have to be prepared to independently "pay" for the selections that she makes. You can count on the fact, however, that I'll be there to be her 'designated driver', to make sure that she's safe and sound during the journey.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Playing with the 'big boys'...
This morning, I woke up with a sense of dread. For the first time in three years, I would be needing to deliver myself and vehicle to the VW dealer. Why should such a simple act be so loathesome, you ask? Well, let me tell you all about it....
I had used the Mazda service within the same dealership for years. I'd walk in and be all like, "Hi". They'd be all like, "Hi, what can WE do for YOU today?" I'd be like, "This needs tweaking, this needs tuning, and I've still got my warranty going on." They'd be like, "Sure thing. Can we perform our Mazda full-circle check for you? How about a free car wash?" I'd be like, ":)". Can't argue with any of that...
Sometimes, when I was still primarily driving the Mazda, I'd swap cars and service my husband's VW. I'd walk in and be like, "Hi, I'm here with my Passat". They'd be like, "(ignore)". After a minute, or so, the service adviser would be able to detach his/herself away from the computer screen to deal with me, the "live one". I'd then be like, "My windows are not operating well, and my door locks are malfunctioning." They'd be like, "Well, you might have done something to that vehicle. Sometimes we open these things up and find gummy bears in them. If that's the case, VW won't honor your warranty." So, I'd be like, "No worries about the gummy bears, dude. My daughter and I are both vegetarians, and gummy bears have gelatin in them- an animal derived substance that we do not partake of." They'd then look at me like, "What the hell, lady!@#?" Needless to say, to get anything repaired under warranty on that vehicle required a stressful interrogation...
So, after the last "gummy bear situation", I decided to just have the local tire store/oil change guys do anything routine. There have been some "oopses" with these guys, but they're pretty good about fixing their mistakes. Recently, one of my gauges went cattywaumpas crazy, and started moving all around, as if it was detecting seismic activity. My local guys were a bit shy to peek under my car's dashboard (awwww isn't that so sweet!), so they recommended that I go to the...gulp...Dealer. This blow was softened a bit by the fact that my husband found an extended warranty for the car he forgot we even had! Yee Ha! Just let them try the whole gummny bear excuse again...
At 9:30, the car and I arrived. Since my last visit, I noticed that they had gotten rid of the VW dudes, and replaced them with some VW chicks. Please don't think that I have anything against women working in this field, because I don't; I just want the person on the other side of the counter to have a little more background on cars than I do. Today, my service advisor was Anne. I told Anne the reason for my visit (possessed gauge, and vent system making noises that could raise the dead). She then lumbered over to my vehicle to check it in. She came back to me and said sweetly, "Your warranty is up. You have too many miles." I told her that she was mistaken, and to go back and recheck it. She did, and replied" I hate when I read the wrong numbers." Catherine: 1, Anne: 0. With that little snafu unsnarled, she sent me up to the waiting room, while the area under my car's hood was CSI'd.
About an hour later, Anne came up to see me. Turns out that my initial diagnosis of the gauge was correct, but the tech couldn't reproduce the ear-peeling noise through the vents, and wanted to go out for a drive with me. Yee ha... I got to drive around Glendale with some dude I didn't know... I explained to the tech that the noise was set-off when going over uneven roads/railroad tracks/thick asphalt patches. He looked at me like, "I get paid no matter what you say lady. I really don't care." I drove the two of us around, trying to hit any, and every, pothole that I could find to "show him". Heck, I even wove around in front of the Glendale PD trying to find a road defect to prove my point. Bottom line: I could not get the car to cooperate. At that point, he was probably happy that he was "sprung from the office" for a bit. I was frustrated that my car, like a child, would not perform on demand. I asked him if he could diagnose the issue from my description. He had a pretty good idea of what it could be, but still felt he should hear it before doing anything. I sat there, as a woman with an extended warranty with less than 2 months to go... I was desperate: time to talk to the "big boy"!
Tech and I met up again with Anne, and told her that we could not reproduce the noise. She tinkered with that thought for awhile, and then said, "Maybe we should get Steve?" That sounded good to me- let's climb up the ladder, and get this moving! She proceeded to page Steve three times, all to no avail. While she continued to summon him, I rehearsed in my head what to say, how to stand, etc. Anne looked up and announced, "Oh, there he is." As Steve approached, I assumed my "power stance" (which I have read is used by men in negotiations to basically assert their dominance): legs slightly apart, arms loosely folded across chest, full eye contact. Much to my chagrin, Steve didn't need to much convincing. Between my description of the issue, and the tech's opinion, I would be set to get a new vent blower system. Now came the most difficult part; Anne would need to call the warranty company and convincingly tell them what needed to be done at THEIR expense. Steve told Anne what to say to the adjustors, and waited for her to dial the phone. The look on her face could best be described as the major "DUUHHH" expression that Joan Cusack is always sporting. I asked her point blank if she was experienced at making these types of calls. She assured me that she was, and Steve and I hung-out while the call was placed. Go 'Team Anne'- bring it home for us! Between mouthfuls of diet yogurt, she somehow managed to work her "mojo" with GE Auto Warranty, and both repairs were authorized!
Just like in a game show, there was a consolation prize in this story. Anne wasn't able to get the work done today, and arranged for me to get a compensated rental through the warranty. I am driving a CLEAN (as compared to my vehicle, "The Garbage Can on Wheels") vehicle, both inside and out, with touch screen radio controls for the next twenty-four hours (contented sigh). This comes at the perfect time, because all I asked for for Mother's Day was for my vehicle to be washed/vacuumed: I might just get that twice this week :) !
I had used the Mazda service within the same dealership for years. I'd walk in and be all like, "Hi". They'd be all like, "Hi, what can WE do for YOU today?" I'd be like, "This needs tweaking, this needs tuning, and I've still got my warranty going on." They'd be like, "Sure thing. Can we perform our Mazda full-circle check for you? How about a free car wash?" I'd be like, ":)". Can't argue with any of that...
Sometimes, when I was still primarily driving the Mazda, I'd swap cars and service my husband's VW. I'd walk in and be like, "Hi, I'm here with my Passat". They'd be like, "(ignore)". After a minute, or so, the service adviser would be able to detach his/herself away from the computer screen to deal with me, the "live one". I'd then be like, "My windows are not operating well, and my door locks are malfunctioning." They'd be like, "Well, you might have done something to that vehicle. Sometimes we open these things up and find gummy bears in them. If that's the case, VW won't honor your warranty." So, I'd be like, "No worries about the gummy bears, dude. My daughter and I are both vegetarians, and gummy bears have gelatin in them- an animal derived substance that we do not partake of." They'd then look at me like, "What the hell, lady!@#?" Needless to say, to get anything repaired under warranty on that vehicle required a stressful interrogation...
So, after the last "gummy bear situation", I decided to just have the local tire store/oil change guys do anything routine. There have been some "oopses" with these guys, but they're pretty good about fixing their mistakes. Recently, one of my gauges went cattywaumpas crazy, and started moving all around, as if it was detecting seismic activity. My local guys were a bit shy to peek under my car's dashboard (awwww isn't that so sweet!), so they recommended that I go to the...gulp...Dealer. This blow was softened a bit by the fact that my husband found an extended warranty for the car he forgot we even had! Yee Ha! Just let them try the whole gummny bear excuse again...
At 9:30, the car and I arrived. Since my last visit, I noticed that they had gotten rid of the VW dudes, and replaced them with some VW chicks. Please don't think that I have anything against women working in this field, because I don't; I just want the person on the other side of the counter to have a little more background on cars than I do. Today, my service advisor was Anne. I told Anne the reason for my visit (possessed gauge, and vent system making noises that could raise the dead). She then lumbered over to my vehicle to check it in. She came back to me and said sweetly, "Your warranty is up. You have too many miles." I told her that she was mistaken, and to go back and recheck it. She did, and replied" I hate when I read the wrong numbers." Catherine: 1, Anne: 0. With that little snafu unsnarled, she sent me up to the waiting room, while the area under my car's hood was CSI'd.
About an hour later, Anne came up to see me. Turns out that my initial diagnosis of the gauge was correct, but the tech couldn't reproduce the ear-peeling noise through the vents, and wanted to go out for a drive with me. Yee ha... I got to drive around Glendale with some dude I didn't know... I explained to the tech that the noise was set-off when going over uneven roads/railroad tracks/thick asphalt patches. He looked at me like, "I get paid no matter what you say lady. I really don't care." I drove the two of us around, trying to hit any, and every, pothole that I could find to "show him". Heck, I even wove around in front of the Glendale PD trying to find a road defect to prove my point. Bottom line: I could not get the car to cooperate. At that point, he was probably happy that he was "sprung from the office" for a bit. I was frustrated that my car, like a child, would not perform on demand. I asked him if he could diagnose the issue from my description. He had a pretty good idea of what it could be, but still felt he should hear it before doing anything. I sat there, as a woman with an extended warranty with less than 2 months to go... I was desperate: time to talk to the "big boy"!
Tech and I met up again with Anne, and told her that we could not reproduce the noise. She tinkered with that thought for awhile, and then said, "Maybe we should get Steve?" That sounded good to me- let's climb up the ladder, and get this moving! She proceeded to page Steve three times, all to no avail. While she continued to summon him, I rehearsed in my head what to say, how to stand, etc. Anne looked up and announced, "Oh, there he is." As Steve approached, I assumed my "power stance" (which I have read is used by men in negotiations to basically assert their dominance): legs slightly apart, arms loosely folded across chest, full eye contact. Much to my chagrin, Steve didn't need to much convincing. Between my description of the issue, and the tech's opinion, I would be set to get a new vent blower system. Now came the most difficult part; Anne would need to call the warranty company and convincingly tell them what needed to be done at THEIR expense. Steve told Anne what to say to the adjustors, and waited for her to dial the phone. The look on her face could best be described as the major "DUUHHH" expression that Joan Cusack is always sporting. I asked her point blank if she was experienced at making these types of calls. She assured me that she was, and Steve and I hung-out while the call was placed. Go 'Team Anne'- bring it home for us! Between mouthfuls of diet yogurt, she somehow managed to work her "mojo" with GE Auto Warranty, and both repairs were authorized!
Just like in a game show, there was a consolation prize in this story. Anne wasn't able to get the work done today, and arranged for me to get a compensated rental through the warranty. I am driving a CLEAN (as compared to my vehicle, "The Garbage Can on Wheels") vehicle, both inside and out, with touch screen radio controls for the next twenty-four hours (contented sigh). This comes at the perfect time, because all I asked for for Mother's Day was for my vehicle to be washed/vacuumed: I might just get that twice this week :) !
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Navigating amongst the "Special People"
A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I am a diehard "foodie". Being as such, there is one special place to go for groceries in my area- Sendiks'.
Sendiks' is what one would call an upscale grocery store. When I was a girl, my father used to tell me that the owners had mafia connections, and if the produce wasn't to their liking, they'd arrange for a hit... Anyway, they have a better selection than the local Pick 'N Save, so there I shop....
After spending a good part of the day trying to release Satan's grip on the landscape fabric covering a good part of my foundation, it occurred to me that the "fam" might want the third meal of the day that evening. You guessed it... off to shop at Sendiks'!
I am the kind of chick who always shops with a list. I know where everything is, have a set order for how I proceed through the aisles, and generally "haul ass" through the store. Unfortunately, despite the fact that this store carries some great raw ingredients to whip up a pretty darn gourmet spread, it is also patronized by "special people". These "special people" are the women who go there to "see and be seen", and probably have no interest/aptitude for food preparation (take-out/lean cuisine/household help- you get it, right?). Sometimes, the "special people" and I are set on a course set for disaster...
So... yesterday, I selected the perfect block of cheddar, and was getting ready to head to the registers. As I turned a cautious right, there were two women, and carts, strategically placed perpendicularly in my path. I slowly approached them, assuming that they, like the Red Sea, would part. Nope. All of a sudden, another woman also came upon these clucking hens from the opposite direction; the Red Sea didn't part for her, either. I looked at her, and then she looked at me. I think the translation of that exchange was probably as follows: "Oh, please, don't stop talking! It's all about the two of you!! Never mind us, we'll just turn around 180 degrees with a rusted-out cart and meander around the l-o-n-g way. We're here to make your life easier, after all!" I'm pretty convinced of the power of my "look of death", but the other trapped woman really had it down. With great fanfare, the "special people" parted just enough so we could eek by, one at a time. Not to be outdone, I gave my best glare as I passed by with my loot. Do you think they cared???
I love cooking, and I love eating. In order to accomplish both, a trip to the grocery store is required. "Special People", please give our Sendiks' back to those of us who appreciate it, and use it for what it was intended; you can "stop traffic" all you want at the nail salon and botox parlor!
Sendiks' is what one would call an upscale grocery store. When I was a girl, my father used to tell me that the owners had mafia connections, and if the produce wasn't to their liking, they'd arrange for a hit... Anyway, they have a better selection than the local Pick 'N Save, so there I shop....
After spending a good part of the day trying to release Satan's grip on the landscape fabric covering a good part of my foundation, it occurred to me that the "fam" might want the third meal of the day that evening. You guessed it... off to shop at Sendiks'!
I am the kind of chick who always shops with a list. I know where everything is, have a set order for how I proceed through the aisles, and generally "haul ass" through the store. Unfortunately, despite the fact that this store carries some great raw ingredients to whip up a pretty darn gourmet spread, it is also patronized by "special people". These "special people" are the women who go there to "see and be seen", and probably have no interest/aptitude for food preparation (take-out/lean cuisine/household help- you get it, right?). Sometimes, the "special people" and I are set on a course set for disaster...
So... yesterday, I selected the perfect block of cheddar, and was getting ready to head to the registers. As I turned a cautious right, there were two women, and carts, strategically placed perpendicularly in my path. I slowly approached them, assuming that they, like the Red Sea, would part. Nope. All of a sudden, another woman also came upon these clucking hens from the opposite direction; the Red Sea didn't part for her, either. I looked at her, and then she looked at me. I think the translation of that exchange was probably as follows: "Oh, please, don't stop talking! It's all about the two of you!! Never mind us, we'll just turn around 180 degrees with a rusted-out cart and meander around the l-o-n-g way. We're here to make your life easier, after all!" I'm pretty convinced of the power of my "look of death", but the other trapped woman really had it down. With great fanfare, the "special people" parted just enough so we could eek by, one at a time. Not to be outdone, I gave my best glare as I passed by with my loot. Do you think they cared???
I love cooking, and I love eating. In order to accomplish both, a trip to the grocery store is required. "Special People", please give our Sendiks' back to those of us who appreciate it, and use it for what it was intended; you can "stop traffic" all you want at the nail salon and botox parlor!
Monday, May 3, 2010
Time well spent with a Toro
While out mowing the lawn yesterday, I had a bit of fun thinking that I have been cutting grass (when living in a home with an actual lawn) for about 30 years now! Ohhh, the stories I can tell...
Back when I was a youngster, my parents were both Professors. Mom did not have any interest/time to cut grass, and Dad was afraid of lawnmowers. To solve this little quandry, they hired this wonderful German man named John. John didn't speak much English, but he loved to sing and to care for the lawns and trees. It was a treat to come home, and find him working away. Unfortunately, being a kid of the 80s, the parents got the obligatory divorce when I was 10. With newly-divorced finances, John's wages were no longer affordable. For a couple of months, Mom gave grass cutting the old "college try". My job was to have her can of beer ready for her after the "little workout". Having been to Mexico recently, and observing their liberal use of limes, I decided to squeeze some lime juice in her beer; she wasn't impressed, and left the beer untouched. I took a little sip, and found it q-u-i-t-e GOOD! Next week, I decided to "play dumb", and add a twist to the beer again. The plan worked! Too bad she soon gave up on cutting the lawn; thus putting me out of business as a junior bartender...
Even though finances were tight, Mom liked to feel as though she had "people" to do her bidding, and "pamper" her. It was decided that at age 10, I would take over the Toro duties. I was feeling pretty spanky, as I could operate the gas-powered beast that my own Father was afraid of! Like myself, the Toro was slowly "getting on in the years". My Mother was quite a screamer, and one of the things that set her off the most was if something broke (even if it was simply inevitable, due to wear-and-tear). After many years of service, the poor Toro developed a "gimp leg" (broken wheel). Being frugal, Mom's solution to this was to wrap the wheel with electrical tape (similar in fashion to wrapping an ankle with an Ace Bandage). Not surprisingly, with the bumps and harsh terrain of a suburban yard, the "fix" would fail. One time after the tape broke, (yet again), and knowing she was on the war path, I actually left the mower running in the driveway, and ran away from home as fast as I could! I hid at a local playground for over an hour, terrified about what would happen. When I finally got back home, I was informed that she was about "thisclose" to calling the police. I think that Toro might have finally gotten a new prosthetic leg (wheel) after that drama....
These days, time with my Toro is a whole lot more relaxing. I reside in a suburb where the average homeowner seems to hire out for EVERYTHING: nannying, landscaping, cleaning, dog walking, etc. Sure, there are some men around here who are lawn DIYers, but it's pretty unusual for the women to do so. Sometimes, when the guys stare, I'm wondering if 1) it never occured to them that women can cut grass, or 2) they're wondering why their partners don't get out of the nail salon, and pitch-in a bit? It certainly is not glamorous work; wearing old jeans, rocking some safety blue-blocker eye protection, and reeking of Eau de Gas Engine certainly won't lock-in a vote for the "North Shore Nancy" awards. Today, when I turn off the mower, and go look at the nice neat rows, I get a feeling of competence, accomplishment, and ownership that just can't be beat!
Back when I was a youngster, my parents were both Professors. Mom did not have any interest/time to cut grass, and Dad was afraid of lawnmowers. To solve this little quandry, they hired this wonderful German man named John. John didn't speak much English, but he loved to sing and to care for the lawns and trees. It was a treat to come home, and find him working away. Unfortunately, being a kid of the 80s, the parents got the obligatory divorce when I was 10. With newly-divorced finances, John's wages were no longer affordable. For a couple of months, Mom gave grass cutting the old "college try". My job was to have her can of beer ready for her after the "little workout". Having been to Mexico recently, and observing their liberal use of limes, I decided to squeeze some lime juice in her beer; she wasn't impressed, and left the beer untouched. I took a little sip, and found it q-u-i-t-e GOOD! Next week, I decided to "play dumb", and add a twist to the beer again. The plan worked! Too bad she soon gave up on cutting the lawn; thus putting me out of business as a junior bartender...
Even though finances were tight, Mom liked to feel as though she had "people" to do her bidding, and "pamper" her. It was decided that at age 10, I would take over the Toro duties. I was feeling pretty spanky, as I could operate the gas-powered beast that my own Father was afraid of! Like myself, the Toro was slowly "getting on in the years". My Mother was quite a screamer, and one of the things that set her off the most was if something broke (even if it was simply inevitable, due to wear-and-tear). After many years of service, the poor Toro developed a "gimp leg" (broken wheel). Being frugal, Mom's solution to this was to wrap the wheel with electrical tape (similar in fashion to wrapping an ankle with an Ace Bandage). Not surprisingly, with the bumps and harsh terrain of a suburban yard, the "fix" would fail. One time after the tape broke, (yet again), and knowing she was on the war path, I actually left the mower running in the driveway, and ran away from home as fast as I could! I hid at a local playground for over an hour, terrified about what would happen. When I finally got back home, I was informed that she was about "thisclose" to calling the police. I think that Toro might have finally gotten a new prosthetic leg (wheel) after that drama....
These days, time with my Toro is a whole lot more relaxing. I reside in a suburb where the average homeowner seems to hire out for EVERYTHING: nannying, landscaping, cleaning, dog walking, etc. Sure, there are some men around here who are lawn DIYers, but it's pretty unusual for the women to do so. Sometimes, when the guys stare, I'm wondering if 1) it never occured to them that women can cut grass, or 2) they're wondering why their partners don't get out of the nail salon, and pitch-in a bit? It certainly is not glamorous work; wearing old jeans, rocking some safety blue-blocker eye protection, and reeking of Eau de Gas Engine certainly won't lock-in a vote for the "North Shore Nancy" awards. Today, when I turn off the mower, and go look at the nice neat rows, I get a feeling of competence, accomplishment, and ownership that just can't be beat!
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Beyond Hunting and Gathering...
Being a "foodie", I love to cook and bake from scratch. I know when the "basil" shipment comes in at my local grocery store. I have been spotted manipulating the cellophaned blocks of part skim mozzarella to make sure that they are dry enough for my taste. I have sniffed more tomatoes and quarts of strawberries than I care to count... When my basic ingredients are either missing, or not good quality, I have actually gone into a funk; after all, what you end up with is dependent on what you start with.
When I was growing up, meals were not around a family table. My Mom and I rarely ate dinner together, and what we did eat was scrounged from the pantry. Now days, we eat as a family around our table. Even if it's movie night, and were sitting on blankets on the floor, we're together. We may not all be eating the same "hunted things", we all share in common that we have "gathered" to enjoy them.
It also strikes me how the reactions of others towards the food that I have prepared really effect me. Recently, while in one of her moods, my daughter (rather loudly and dramatically) turned her nose up at a meal, which was her favorite two weeks ago. Sure, she wanted to express some independence, and rebel a bit. As a I reflected on this (after calming myself down a bit), I realized that I felt I was showing love for her through making something she liked to eat, and when she balked at it, I felt as though she was rejecting me. That's a lot of power for a stack of corn tortillas, some sauce, and cheese!
One of my greatest joys is preparing meals for friends in my home. The act of having a meal prepared, and served, seems to leave people with a sense of being nurtured. From having my daughter and her friends raid the "snack cabinet" for a sit-down snack, to sharing a meal at the table, good food just seems to give people a sense of comfort, which results in the sharing of thoughts and ideas. A good plate of pasta, and some good company to enjoy it with, might just be some of the best feel-good medicine around!
While some people don't enjoy the process of food shopping/preparation, I find it that it satisfies me as a whole person. It's amazing to think that a bunch of things in the freezer, pantry, and fridge can come together to nourish both the bodies, and spirits, of those who enjoy them!
When I was growing up, meals were not around a family table. My Mom and I rarely ate dinner together, and what we did eat was scrounged from the pantry. Now days, we eat as a family around our table. Even if it's movie night, and were sitting on blankets on the floor, we're together. We may not all be eating the same "hunted things", we all share in common that we have "gathered" to enjoy them.
It also strikes me how the reactions of others towards the food that I have prepared really effect me. Recently, while in one of her moods, my daughter (rather loudly and dramatically) turned her nose up at a meal, which was her favorite two weeks ago. Sure, she wanted to express some independence, and rebel a bit. As a I reflected on this (after calming myself down a bit), I realized that I felt I was showing love for her through making something she liked to eat, and when she balked at it, I felt as though she was rejecting me. That's a lot of power for a stack of corn tortillas, some sauce, and cheese!
One of my greatest joys is preparing meals for friends in my home. The act of having a meal prepared, and served, seems to leave people with a sense of being nurtured. From having my daughter and her friends raid the "snack cabinet" for a sit-down snack, to sharing a meal at the table, good food just seems to give people a sense of comfort, which results in the sharing of thoughts and ideas. A good plate of pasta, and some good company to enjoy it with, might just be some of the best feel-good medicine around!
While some people don't enjoy the process of food shopping/preparation, I find it that it satisfies me as a whole person. It's amazing to think that a bunch of things in the freezer, pantry, and fridge can come together to nourish both the bodies, and spirits, of those who enjoy them!
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