I am the person in my house that always finds things, a fact that can be very frustrating. Steve will look for something for half an hour and I'll finally get up to help him and find it in the same place he looked, in five minutes.
I've come to the conclusion that the ability to locate items depends on how your brain functions. If you are a person who can follow and apply logic easily; you can find lost items. In essence, all you are doing is trying to figure out where, and how, it might have eneded up at different places.
But long before Steve was in my life, I was still the person that found lost things. In my parents home, the home of my last marriage, and now in this one.
So when I am unable to find something, it drives me a little crazy. Well, okay, it drives me a LOT crazy. At 9:00 this evening, I sit aside a book I was reading to prepare Will for bed. At 9:20 I went to get the book and it was gone. Sometimes, I will automatically run through steps that are repeated every night. Without thought, I'll put my drink in next to the computer, the book I'm reading in the spare room, lock the back door.
So I checked where I normally put my books. It wasn't there. I checked the computer room incase I sit it in there with my drink. It wasn't there. I spent the next 40 minutes looking in every room in my house for this book. I even turned the light on in the bedroom where Steve was sleeping, dug through the laundry in the laundry room, and turned on the light in Will's room to peak in there.
Each unsucessful search cranked up my anxiety further and further, way out of porportion for the situation. Really, whats the worse that can happen? I'd buy a new copy of the book tomorrow and finish it.
I finally realized it wasn't the "book" that I was freaking out about, it was my inability to find it. It was driving me crazy. And as Steve would tell you, for me, it's a short trip.
(Yeah, I finally found the book.)
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Grown Siblings; a new view
I moved out of my parents house when I was sixteen, actually, it was a few weeks before my sixteenth birthday. But close enough. My next two oldest siblings were out and on their own early as well. So I have a good twenty five years experience in dealing with grown siblings.
Both the girls father, and Steve, came from large families; so I've had plenty of experience watching the interactions of other grown siblings as well.
I thought I had seen it all; and understood it from all perspectives.
But that was before I had seen my girls interact as grown siblings. Now that I look back at my younger years, I recall lots of disagreements and bad times when the initial grown sibling relationship was evolving. They irritated me. They were whiny. They expected to much from me. After all, at that age it was all about . . .
Yep, you guessed. It was all about ME.
Of coarse, looking back, it was all about them too . . . I just couldn't appreciate it at the time. It was only as we all grew older and wiser that we began to appreciate each other. We also began to have a better understanding of when to REALLY ask for something from one another.
Now, I'm getting a refresher course. And it's more painful as the parent of said siblings. I can see both points of views. I can agree, to a degree, with both of them. And most of all, there isn't a damn thing I can do for either of them.
The Story
First, the back story. Bonnet has lived in CO near her father for almost a year now. We have only seen her once, when her dad flew her down for Christmas last winter. She's been missing home and wanting to come visit badly, but can't afford the trip.
Tori went to spent the summer in CO. Her dad flew down and drove up with her so she could take her car and dog. The first week of July, Tori's boyfriend is flying to CO. He'll stay a week to visit and then they are driving home in Tori's car.
So . . .
Last Wednesday I get a call from Bonnet telling me she is riding home with Tori when she comes home. So she'll be here around the 7th or 8th. I told her I'd be happy to see her and she was more than welcome. And I meant it.
That night, I get a total of five texts from Tori and she is UPSET. Apparently, Bonnet didn't even ask Tori if she could ride back with her. Tori has a smallish car and with her, her boyfriend, her very large dog, and Bonnet it will be VERY cramped. Not only that, but Bonnet is a smoker. She will need to stop every few hours to smoke and even if she doesn't do it in the car, she will still stink up the car. (You non-smokers can appreciate this.)
Tori is also upset because her and her boyfriend were going to stop in and see some of his family and now they have an extra and unexpected guest with them. Plus, Bonnet can be down right rude when the mood takes her . . . and several hours in the cramped back seat of a car with a large dog and no smoke breaks would equate one long trip of bad mood. I can agree with most of what Tori was saying. I didn't tell her to UNinvite Bonnet, but I agreed it probably wasn't going to be a fun trip and Bonnet should have asked. And I meant it.
The next day I get a call from Bonnet. She's not coming. According to her, Tori is being a complete butt head about the entire thing. Tori even offered to pay the airfare for Bonnet to fly to Austin so she wouldn't have to ride with her. Bonnet said if Tori didn't want her along that bad, she didn't feel right driving down with her. And I agreed.
What I didn't really say was that Bonnet should have asked. She should have offered to help pay for gas or something. She should have told Tori how much she needed to come home.
What I didn't say was that Tori should have been a little more understanding. It's her car, so she could have set guidelines. Talked to Bonnet about what she didn't want to happen during their trip.
All I could think about was that I'd give Steve's left nut (sorry babe, but I don't have any to offer) to fight with Becky again over something so insignificant in the big picture. How wonderful it would be to take one last road trip together.
Both the girls father, and Steve, came from large families; so I've had plenty of experience watching the interactions of other grown siblings as well.
I thought I had seen it all; and understood it from all perspectives.
But that was before I had seen my girls interact as grown siblings. Now that I look back at my younger years, I recall lots of disagreements and bad times when the initial grown sibling relationship was evolving. They irritated me. They were whiny. They expected to much from me. After all, at that age it was all about . . .
Yep, you guessed. It was all about ME.
Of coarse, looking back, it was all about them too . . . I just couldn't appreciate it at the time. It was only as we all grew older and wiser that we began to appreciate each other. We also began to have a better understanding of when to REALLY ask for something from one another.
Now, I'm getting a refresher course. And it's more painful as the parent of said siblings. I can see both points of views. I can agree, to a degree, with both of them. And most of all, there isn't a damn thing I can do for either of them.
The Story
First, the back story. Bonnet has lived in CO near her father for almost a year now. We have only seen her once, when her dad flew her down for Christmas last winter. She's been missing home and wanting to come visit badly, but can't afford the trip.
Tori went to spent the summer in CO. Her dad flew down and drove up with her so she could take her car and dog. The first week of July, Tori's boyfriend is flying to CO. He'll stay a week to visit and then they are driving home in Tori's car.
So . . .
Last Wednesday I get a call from Bonnet telling me she is riding home with Tori when she comes home. So she'll be here around the 7th or 8th. I told her I'd be happy to see her and she was more than welcome. And I meant it.
That night, I get a total of five texts from Tori and she is UPSET. Apparently, Bonnet didn't even ask Tori if she could ride back with her. Tori has a smallish car and with her, her boyfriend, her very large dog, and Bonnet it will be VERY cramped. Not only that, but Bonnet is a smoker. She will need to stop every few hours to smoke and even if she doesn't do it in the car, she will still stink up the car. (You non-smokers can appreciate this.)
Tori is also upset because her and her boyfriend were going to stop in and see some of his family and now they have an extra and unexpected guest with them. Plus, Bonnet can be down right rude when the mood takes her . . . and several hours in the cramped back seat of a car with a large dog and no smoke breaks would equate one long trip of bad mood. I can agree with most of what Tori was saying. I didn't tell her to UNinvite Bonnet, but I agreed it probably wasn't going to be a fun trip and Bonnet should have asked. And I meant it.
The next day I get a call from Bonnet. She's not coming. According to her, Tori is being a complete butt head about the entire thing. Tori even offered to pay the airfare for Bonnet to fly to Austin so she wouldn't have to ride with her. Bonnet said if Tori didn't want her along that bad, she didn't feel right driving down with her. And I agreed.
What I didn't really say was that Bonnet should have asked. She should have offered to help pay for gas or something. She should have told Tori how much she needed to come home.
What I didn't say was that Tori should have been a little more understanding. It's her car, so she could have set guidelines. Talked to Bonnet about what she didn't want to happen during their trip.
All I could think about was that I'd give Steve's left nut (sorry babe, but I don't have any to offer) to fight with Becky again over something so insignificant in the big picture. How wonderful it would be to take one last road trip together.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Coach Envy
At my age, I've felt many different types of envy. Envy related to my house, job, husband, kids, talent, finances, looks, intelligenc, spelling, writing, social skills. You name it, at some time in my life I've been envious over it.
But just when I thought I'd experienced every envy there was out there, a new one came along. Thursday night, I experienced my first case of coach envy.
Will is playing his first organized sport, kickball. It's sponsored by the YMCA. And yeah, he's four, so there is not a lot of regulation or structure. All the coaches are volunteer. But Will's coach . . . she's something special. Special ED as my girls would say.
You have to understand that both Bonnet and Tori played TONS of sports when they were young; t-ball, pee wee basketball, soccer. They took piano, tumbeling, dance. Then until Will, I was involved in running and biking to the degree I attended tons of coached training events. I know something about coaches; volunteer and otherwise.
We've played two games. Before both games, our coach emailed us and told us which field we would be playing on. After lugging our chairs out and setting up for the game, some other team would show up and declare we were in the wrong field and we'd move -- both times. And this is just the beginning.
All parents were sent a list of rules for the 4-year old t-ball games. They included things like: 1) at each kick everyone will advance only one base, 2) each inning will be 8 minutes and batters will rotate until the time is called, 3) parents should play outfield with their children but never touch the balls, 4) parents should NOT run bases with their children.
I can't remember them all, but these are the one's she has broken repeatedly.
The first game she just had all the children bunched up around the pitchers mound and it was a mad dash until when a ball was kicked. Someone must have complained because she tried to do a better job and assigned three children to base; the rest lined up one behind the other at the pitchers mound and took turns chaising the ball.
She gets so aggresive about things that don't matter that other coaches give into her just to prevent problems. According to the schedule I got, our team should have been wearing white on Thursday night. She told us to wear blue. Then when we ended up on the right field, that team was wearing blue. She was so agressive, the other coach had everyone on his side change their shirts. The first game, she convinced the ref that since the other team only had four players, we would only let four of our's bat . . . can you say four minute innings?
She's not mean, per se. She doesn't yell at the children and demand more of them than what they are capable of giving. But then that might require more organization that she's capable of.
So . . .
The team we played against on Thursday had the best coach. He encouraged every child. had them all set up as a true outfield. Each time a ball was kicked it was run to a different base so everyone got a chance to play. Oh, and he showed up on the right field with the right color jerseys . . . you gotta love that about him right off.
I spent brief moments during the game wishfully wondering how much more fun Will might be having if we'd only been on the other team.
Not that Will is unhappy at all. It's just us old mom's sitting at the sideline doing nothing that are complaining. :)
But just when I thought I'd experienced every envy there was out there, a new one came along. Thursday night, I experienced my first case of coach envy.
Will is playing his first organized sport, kickball. It's sponsored by the YMCA. And yeah, he's four, so there is not a lot of regulation or structure. All the coaches are volunteer. But Will's coach . . . she's something special. Special ED as my girls would say.
You have to understand that both Bonnet and Tori played TONS of sports when they were young; t-ball, pee wee basketball, soccer. They took piano, tumbeling, dance. Then until Will, I was involved in running and biking to the degree I attended tons of coached training events. I know something about coaches; volunteer and otherwise.
We've played two games. Before both games, our coach emailed us and told us which field we would be playing on. After lugging our chairs out and setting up for the game, some other team would show up and declare we were in the wrong field and we'd move -- both times. And this is just the beginning.
All parents were sent a list of rules for the 4-year old t-ball games. They included things like: 1) at each kick everyone will advance only one base, 2) each inning will be 8 minutes and batters will rotate until the time is called, 3) parents should play outfield with their children but never touch the balls, 4) parents should NOT run bases with their children.
I can't remember them all, but these are the one's she has broken repeatedly.
The first game she just had all the children bunched up around the pitchers mound and it was a mad dash until when a ball was kicked. Someone must have complained because she tried to do a better job and assigned three children to base; the rest lined up one behind the other at the pitchers mound and took turns chaising the ball.
She gets so aggresive about things that don't matter that other coaches give into her just to prevent problems. According to the schedule I got, our team should have been wearing white on Thursday night. She told us to wear blue. Then when we ended up on the right field, that team was wearing blue. She was so agressive, the other coach had everyone on his side change their shirts. The first game, she convinced the ref that since the other team only had four players, we would only let four of our's bat . . . can you say four minute innings?
She's not mean, per se. She doesn't yell at the children and demand more of them than what they are capable of giving. But then that might require more organization that she's capable of.
So . . .
The team we played against on Thursday had the best coach. He encouraged every child. had them all set up as a true outfield. Each time a ball was kicked it was run to a different base so everyone got a chance to play. Oh, and he showed up on the right field with the right color jerseys . . . you gotta love that about him right off.
I spent brief moments during the game wishfully wondering how much more fun Will might be having if we'd only been on the other team.
Not that Will is unhappy at all. It's just us old mom's sitting at the sideline doing nothing that are complaining. :)
Sunday, June 21, 2009
A Good Cry
Most women understand the therapeutic release that comes from a good cry, whether that cry lasts a few minutes or half an hour.
Men don't get it.
The last couple of weeks have been difficult for me. I was sick for 7-10 of them. I've been helpless to help Tori in her unfortunate trip to CO to see her dad; although I hear about it and it affects me, there's nothing I can do. And even though I enjoyed it, there was stress in preparing for and giving the class I taught on Saturday.
This afternoon I spent an hour outside in 100 degree weather and ended up a little sick. So I skipped super and laid on the couch trying to keep my 7up down, which didn't put me in a happy place.
Then a silly conversation made me start crying. It was the straw that broke Misty's back; and it wasn't an important straw. I cried for 2-3 minutes, and when it was over I felt better.
The problem was that it freaked Steve out. So he starts asking me, "What's wrong?" And for some reason, "Nothing," didn't satisfy him. He was really sweet and I know he wanted to fix it; to make things right -- that's a guys response to most situations. Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it.
But nothing was wrong.
Every time I'd tell him nothing was wrong with me, his response would be, "Yes, there is." After the third or fourth time, it began to bug me. Was he trying to say I DEFIANTLY had a problem?
Really, nothing was wrong with me. What tension or stress had accumulated over the last few weeks was washed away by my small crying fit. I feel better than I have in weeks.
Steve on the other hand is convinced something is wrong.
I'll have to find someone way to relive his mind.
Men don't get it.
The last couple of weeks have been difficult for me. I was sick for 7-10 of them. I've been helpless to help Tori in her unfortunate trip to CO to see her dad; although I hear about it and it affects me, there's nothing I can do. And even though I enjoyed it, there was stress in preparing for and giving the class I taught on Saturday.
This afternoon I spent an hour outside in 100 degree weather and ended up a little sick. So I skipped super and laid on the couch trying to keep my 7up down, which didn't put me in a happy place.
Then a silly conversation made me start crying. It was the straw that broke Misty's back; and it wasn't an important straw. I cried for 2-3 minutes, and when it was over I felt better.
The problem was that it freaked Steve out. So he starts asking me, "What's wrong?" And for some reason, "Nothing," didn't satisfy him. He was really sweet and I know he wanted to fix it; to make things right -- that's a guys response to most situations. Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it.
But nothing was wrong.
Every time I'd tell him nothing was wrong with me, his response would be, "Yes, there is." After the third or fourth time, it began to bug me. Was he trying to say I DEFIANTLY had a problem?
Really, nothing was wrong with me. What tension or stress had accumulated over the last few weeks was washed away by my small crying fit. I feel better than I have in weeks.
Steve on the other hand is convinced something is wrong.
I'll have to find someone way to relive his mind.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Class on Saturday
I teach an informal class for UT twice a semester. It is on how to make sewing patterns from your own clothing without taking them apart. This is the fifth or sixth semester I've taught it.
I always leave the class happy and content. The problem is that EVERY time the class comes up I dread it like crazy. I don't like meeting people I don't know. I hate getting dressed up and having to put on makeup. It takes a good 5-6 hours out of my Saturday and away from my family. I spend hours preparing for the class.
For the first time, the class wasn't filled early. So every few days I would check the enrollment, hoping it wouldn't make. That I'd have an easy out. If the minimum I set for the class doesn't enroll, they call me and I can cancel the class. Or, I can teach to just those that enrolled.
As the deadline for enrollment approached I began to find reasons not to teach the class. It's summer and half the students probably won't show up anyway. I haven't really felt good all week. There's another class schedules next month, they can take that one. On and on it went.
Today the coordinator calls me and I am one person away from my minimum. She wants to know if I want to cancel the class. And I do. But that's not what comes out of my mouth. I agree to teach the class.
And even hours after I agreed, I'm still wishing I hadn't. But another part of me KNOWS I need this enforced interaction. I NEED to meet and deal with strangers. I NEED to dress up and go somewhere. I NEED the break from my family life. It pulls me in directions I don't normally go and makes me interact in ways I don't often get a chance to.
I also know, after the class is over tomorrow, I will be all happy and content on my drive home. Happy I made myself show up one more time.
I always leave the class happy and content. The problem is that EVERY time the class comes up I dread it like crazy. I don't like meeting people I don't know. I hate getting dressed up and having to put on makeup. It takes a good 5-6 hours out of my Saturday and away from my family. I spend hours preparing for the class.
For the first time, the class wasn't filled early. So every few days I would check the enrollment, hoping it wouldn't make. That I'd have an easy out. If the minimum I set for the class doesn't enroll, they call me and I can cancel the class. Or, I can teach to just those that enrolled.
As the deadline for enrollment approached I began to find reasons not to teach the class. It's summer and half the students probably won't show up anyway. I haven't really felt good all week. There's another class schedules next month, they can take that one. On and on it went.
Today the coordinator calls me and I am one person away from my minimum. She wants to know if I want to cancel the class. And I do. But that's not what comes out of my mouth. I agree to teach the class.
And even hours after I agreed, I'm still wishing I hadn't. But another part of me KNOWS I need this enforced interaction. I NEED to meet and deal with strangers. I NEED to dress up and go somewhere. I NEED the break from my family life. It pulls me in directions I don't normally go and makes me interact in ways I don't often get a chance to.
I also know, after the class is over tomorrow, I will be all happy and content on my drive home. Happy I made myself show up one more time.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby
All children's birthdays are important to their mothers. Probably MORE important to their mothers than to the child most of the time. And no, for all you nay-sayers in the world, not because of the labor that we get to joyfully remember once a year for the rest of our lives. But, because it was the day they were given to us, the day we first saw them. Held them.
And your first child's birthday is also the day you became a mother. Today is the 23rd anniversary of my motherhood; also known as Bonnet's birthday.
It was really Bonnet's birth that gave meaning to my life, that gave me a reason to reach for something better. Gave me someone to love unconditionally. From the first time I saw her face, held her tight against my body, I knew I would do everything possible to make her life better.
Over time, as she and I grew and our situations changed, my ideas of what "better" was changed. Hind sight is 20/20, but even in review all decisions shine with my desire to care for her. Just not the knowledge, security, or maturity to do so.
There has been pain and bad times in her life, as there has in all of ours. I've loved her the best I could through it all and that brings me comfort when I look back. I might not have been the coolest, most intelligent, kindest, easiest going, outgoing, social, best looking, or richest mom. But no one could have loved her more.
And as much as Bonnet, and her life, have been in my thoughts today, so have memories of how young I was when she was born. Bonnet was born 2 weeks before my 20th birthday. I missed much of my childhood and got to experience many aspects of growing up for the first time with Bonnet. We've come a long way.
I love you babe!
Will's First Sporting Event
Today was Will's first kickball game. It was hosted by the YMCA, so it's very non-competitive. They say a pledge to good sportsmanlike conduct before the game and no one keeps score. Every kid plays and the rules are set up to give everyone as equal a footing as possible.
Will is in the 4-5 year old group. There are three boys (including Will) and three girls on his team, which is called Team Caring. Yeah, it's embarrassing.
He's the tallest one. He got on the field and played like he knew what he was doing. He ran fast, made the first out, and only had two small fits. Not a bad beginning.
Steve stayed on the field with him when he was in the out field. Well, really they were all within about 6 feet of the pitchers mount. Which ended up being a good thing because most of the balls weren't kicked more than 4-8 feet from home plate. When Will had to run bases, Steve raced him to each base.
There was 15 minutes of warm up time, and then four 8-minute innings. Which was plenty considering there was no shade and it was a hundred degrees.
It was a lot of work for Steve after a full day of, well . . . work. It was a hot and irritating hour for me as I have no patience with coaches that don't know what they are doing. But Will LOVED it. He got to meet some kids his own age he will probably be going to school with, run off some excessive energy, and participate in a team building organized event.
That's what counts.
Also makes for great photo opps.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
What Your Driving Style Says About You
The following is something I put together from personal experience and the last decade of driving in Austin, TX. It is just for fun and not meant to truly define you as an individual/driver.
Car Driving Close to Speed Limit in Fast Lane
This driver is doing the exact speed limit, or a few miles either direction, and will not move out of the fast lane even when an opportunity arises.
Personality: This person sees only black and white; no grey here. The speed limit is blah, and since they are driving blah, they have the right to occupy the fast lane. They tend to view people trying to go around them or honking to get them to move over as law breakers and take perverse enjoyment in staying where they are and ignoring them. They may even feel like they are teaching their fellow drivers a lesson.
Car Weaving from Lane to Lane to Pass
This driver will swerve from lane to lane to so he can be one car ahead of where he started from. If they can’t pass in the fast lane, they will cross two lanes of traffic and pass in the slow traffic lane.
Personality:This person doesn’t think rules apply to them and have trouble grasping the big picture as it affect everyone on the road. They are seldom smooth in their lane changes and almost never use blinkers consistently; how can they, they don’t know where they’re going. They tend to have an inferiority complex and don’t like anyone to be in front of them or block them in.
Car Speeding up to Ride Your Ass
This driver will race to ride your bumper. Even if they see a line of traffic and realize they will need to slow down, they won’t do it until right on the ass of the car in front of them. Then they will ride the bumper of the car until they move out of the way.
Personality This person has a lot of aggression. They are either young drivers that want to speed for the sake of enjoying the high they get from it, or middle age people with to much pressure and not enough outlets to relieve it. The only time they feel empowered or free is behind the wheel of a car while speeding. They show their power on the road by riding the asses of cars that don’t move out of the way; eventually you are so tired of their behavior you move over just to let them by – empowering them.
Car Blocking You In
This driver will pull right in front of you and slow down. When you attempt to go around them, they will either move over to block you or speed up so you can’t pass them.
Personality: Usually, without even knowing it, you have managed to piss this driver off. They are convinced you pulled right out in front of them, blocked them from changing lanes, or painted your car the same colors as theirs on purpose. They have finally managed to get in front of you and you are going to pay. This driver is very aggressive and not thinking clearly, you would be safest to pull over to the side of the road and let them get far far in front of you.
Car Driving Non-aggressively and Maintaining Average Speed Limit for Road
This is your average non-aggressive driver. They are doing the average speed; usually 5-10 above the speed limit, driving in the middle lane unless passing or exiting, and using their turn signals consistently.
Personality: This person has either recently gotten a ticket, can’t afford another DWI, or is worried about getting stopped for some violation. It is also possible they are medicated just enough to make them go with the flow or are driving a company vehicle.
Car Driving Close to Speed Limit in Fast Lane
This driver is doing the exact speed limit, or a few miles either direction, and will not move out of the fast lane even when an opportunity arises.
Personality: This person sees only black and white; no grey here. The speed limit is blah, and since they are driving blah, they have the right to occupy the fast lane. They tend to view people trying to go around them or honking to get them to move over as law breakers and take perverse enjoyment in staying where they are and ignoring them. They may even feel like they are teaching their fellow drivers a lesson.
Car Weaving from Lane to Lane to Pass
This driver will swerve from lane to lane to so he can be one car ahead of where he started from. If they can’t pass in the fast lane, they will cross two lanes of traffic and pass in the slow traffic lane.
Personality:This person doesn’t think rules apply to them and have trouble grasping the big picture as it affect everyone on the road. They are seldom smooth in their lane changes and almost never use blinkers consistently; how can they, they don’t know where they’re going. They tend to have an inferiority complex and don’t like anyone to be in front of them or block them in.
Car Speeding up to Ride Your Ass
This driver will race to ride your bumper. Even if they see a line of traffic and realize they will need to slow down, they won’t do it until right on the ass of the car in front of them. Then they will ride the bumper of the car until they move out of the way.
Personality This person has a lot of aggression. They are either young drivers that want to speed for the sake of enjoying the high they get from it, or middle age people with to much pressure and not enough outlets to relieve it. The only time they feel empowered or free is behind the wheel of a car while speeding. They show their power on the road by riding the asses of cars that don’t move out of the way; eventually you are so tired of their behavior you move over just to let them by – empowering them.
Car Blocking You In
This driver will pull right in front of you and slow down. When you attempt to go around them, they will either move over to block you or speed up so you can’t pass them.
Personality: Usually, without even knowing it, you have managed to piss this driver off. They are convinced you pulled right out in front of them, blocked them from changing lanes, or painted your car the same colors as theirs on purpose. They have finally managed to get in front of you and you are going to pay. This driver is very aggressive and not thinking clearly, you would be safest to pull over to the side of the road and let them get far far in front of you.
Car Driving Non-aggressively and Maintaining Average Speed Limit for Road
This is your average non-aggressive driver. They are doing the average speed; usually 5-10 above the speed limit, driving in the middle lane unless passing or exiting, and using their turn signals consistently.
Personality: This person has either recently gotten a ticket, can’t afford another DWI, or is worried about getting stopped for some violation. It is also possible they are medicated just enough to make them go with the flow or are driving a company vehicle.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Senior Moment
I've always joked that I can't wait to turn 50, so I can be eligible for all the senior sales they have in town. Well, today, I got a little taste of that action.
I was checking out at a thrift store I like, when the cashier started stammering.
"Are you a . . . Are you a citi . . Are you a citizen?"
I was watching Will and trying to get my stuff up on the counter, so I was only listening with half an ear. But she was making no sense to me at all.
Then one of the other cashiers starts laughing at her. "What kind of question is that? Of coarse, she's a citizen."
Then it dawns on me. At this store, Monday is Senior Citizen day and everything is 1/3 off if you are over 50. Man, and I thought it was sort of sad when they stopped IDing me for alcohol purchases.
I told her I was not a senior citizen. I'm sure, to her young 20s, I must have looked like one. Whether she didn't hear me, or just felt so bad for insulting me, she gave me everything 1/3 off anyway.
I left the store really conflicted. Happy as hell I scored such a break in my purchased, and feeling quite a bit older than I am.
Yeah, I'm really looking forward to that birthday next month now. lol
I was checking out at a thrift store I like, when the cashier started stammering.
"Are you a . . . Are you a citi . . Are you a citizen?"
I was watching Will and trying to get my stuff up on the counter, so I was only listening with half an ear. But she was making no sense to me at all.
Then one of the other cashiers starts laughing at her. "What kind of question is that? Of coarse, she's a citizen."
Then it dawns on me. At this store, Monday is Senior Citizen day and everything is 1/3 off if you are over 50. Man, and I thought it was sort of sad when they stopped IDing me for alcohol purchases.
I told her I was not a senior citizen. I'm sure, to her young 20s, I must have looked like one. Whether she didn't hear me, or just felt so bad for insulting me, she gave me everything 1/3 off anyway.
I left the store really conflicted. Happy as hell I scored such a break in my purchased, and feeling quite a bit older than I am.
Yeah, I'm really looking forward to that birthday next month now. lol
Sunday, June 14, 2009
I don't know, I can't read!
I have been trying to teach Will his alphabet since the day he was born. I always point out letters and spell words for him. I read him books often. The last year or so, I've been buying those trace letters books for him . . . but I can't get him to use them. (They're sort of like the exercise tapes in the cabinet, if you don't use them they don't do any good.)
He knows how to spell his name. He can write his name. He identifies the letter in his name every time he sees them everywhere. He also loves to write MOM; he says it's my name and points out every 'm' he sees. "Look, Mom, it's your name!"
The last few months, he's started arranging his alphabet blocks and magnets into groups and then asking what word they make. Of coarse, they are usually just jumbled letters with an occasional number thrown in for fun. Some times he tells me what they say; or he meant them to say.
He's also started scribbling on paper and then showing it to me. I'm impressed of coarse, then I'll ask him what it says and he tells me. Well, usually.
This afternoon he brought me a scribble note and showed it to me. I told him it was awesome and he asked me to read it to him. I asked, "What does it say?"
His reply was classic. "I don't know, I can't read!"
He knows how to spell his name. He can write his name. He identifies the letter in his name every time he sees them everywhere. He also loves to write MOM; he says it's my name and points out every 'm' he sees. "Look, Mom, it's your name!"
The last few months, he's started arranging his alphabet blocks and magnets into groups and then asking what word they make. Of coarse, they are usually just jumbled letters with an occasional number thrown in for fun. Some times he tells me what they say; or he meant them to say.
He's also started scribbling on paper and then showing it to me. I'm impressed of coarse, then I'll ask him what it says and he tells me. Well, usually.
This afternoon he brought me a scribble note and showed it to me. I told him it was awesome and he asked me to read it to him. I asked, "What does it say?"
His reply was classic. "I don't know, I can't read!"
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Goodbye Trailer
From the time I started school until I started Junior High, we lived in a small three bedroom trailer. It was old and worn out when the folks bought it, and it was small for our family then. The two small bedrooms were about 6x8 in size. The one I slept in had bunk beds that I shared with either Cindy or my sister Becky when she got older.
The odd thing is, as small and uncomfortable as it was, it was the first real home we had. Prior to that we lived in one God-forsaken shack after another. My step-father did migrant work and we would move around to where ever he was working, and stay in whatever hovel was provided. Sometimes they would have screens on the windows, so we didn't have to worry about animals coming in when we opened the windows. Sometimes they didn't.
They didn't always have indoor toilets.
They never had air conditioning.
We seldom had access to a washing machine; I didn't even know what a dryer was. lol
But once they were required to put me in school, my step-father had to look for a steady job. The trailer was first moved onto my grandmothers property and we lived there for a few years. Then the folks bought a piece of someones back yard and moved the trailer there. The backyard we purchased, belong to sweet elderly lady that was put in a retirement home.
When my youngest sister was born, there wasn't even room for a crib in the "master" bedroom; so they put her to bed in a drawer in the dresser. Hey, she fit.
After finding out another child was on the way, they purchased the house that went with the back yard and we moved out of our trailer. It was sold.
I remember sitting out on swing watching as the trailer was made mobile and moved away. I cried. Even though I loved the larger house and rooms. LOVED the fact I could not hear every noise made during the day and night. LOL
It was the only home I'd ever known and it was sad.
Today was a little sad too.
Steve and I sold our travel trailer today. While the RV didn't have years of memories associated with it, selling it was like loosing a bit of ourselves. A bit of our freedom. As times have gotten harder and harder we've had to let go of more and more freedoms.
Boating, riding motorcycles, family vacations, photography, and now camping in our RV.
I know, poor us. I can hear the violins playing in the background as I key in this post. There are many more out there a hell of a lot worse off than we are. And I don't consider our losses final. I still have another 40-60 years (yes, I'm planning on living to be 100) to regain the ability to enjoy those things, to get back some of the freedoms the last five or six years have stripped from us.
But it brought back to mind the last time someone left with a part of me invested in the trailer they were hauling.
The odd thing is, as small and uncomfortable as it was, it was the first real home we had. Prior to that we lived in one God-forsaken shack after another. My step-father did migrant work and we would move around to where ever he was working, and stay in whatever hovel was provided. Sometimes they would have screens on the windows, so we didn't have to worry about animals coming in when we opened the windows. Sometimes they didn't.
They didn't always have indoor toilets.
They never had air conditioning.
We seldom had access to a washing machine; I didn't even know what a dryer was. lol
But once they were required to put me in school, my step-father had to look for a steady job. The trailer was first moved onto my grandmothers property and we lived there for a few years. Then the folks bought a piece of someones back yard and moved the trailer there. The backyard we purchased, belong to sweet elderly lady that was put in a retirement home.
When my youngest sister was born, there wasn't even room for a crib in the "master" bedroom; so they put her to bed in a drawer in the dresser. Hey, she fit.
After finding out another child was on the way, they purchased the house that went with the back yard and we moved out of our trailer. It was sold.
I remember sitting out on swing watching as the trailer was made mobile and moved away. I cried. Even though I loved the larger house and rooms. LOVED the fact I could not hear every noise made during the day and night. LOL
It was the only home I'd ever known and it was sad.
Today was a little sad too.
Steve and I sold our travel trailer today. While the RV didn't have years of memories associated with it, selling it was like loosing a bit of ourselves. A bit of our freedom. As times have gotten harder and harder we've had to let go of more and more freedoms.
Boating, riding motorcycles, family vacations, photography, and now camping in our RV.
I know, poor us. I can hear the violins playing in the background as I key in this post. There are many more out there a hell of a lot worse off than we are. And I don't consider our losses final. I still have another 40-60 years (yes, I'm planning on living to be 100) to regain the ability to enjoy those things, to get back some of the freedoms the last five or six years have stripped from us.
But it brought back to mind the last time someone left with a part of me invested in the trailer they were hauling.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Bits of me shipped out into the world
One of the things I find most fascinating about having an online shop is the fact that it shrinks the size of the world. I am always tickled when people from different countries and places find me.
In my "recent" web hits, I've had people from the following countries visit my website: Sweden, Indonesia, Australia, India, Italy, Spain, Norway, Turkey, Greece, England, and the United Kingdom.
I've also had hits from about 1/3 the states in the USA.
And that's just in the last twelve hours.
The only thing slowing down my ability to sell to people in other countries is the shipping rate. In many instances, it costs as much to ship as I ask for the patterns themselves. One way I have managed to get around this is to offer most of my patterns in an email version.
Regardless, it's fun to think that something I designed, put together, advertised, and shipped off ended up at places that I, personally, will never get to go.
Yes, I'm living vicariously through my patterns. lol
Today, I shipped out the camera straps from my giveaway and the winners included: Lynna Nguyen from San Jose, California; Brandy Hunter from Altha, Florida; Kelly Zaiko from Port Orchard, Washington; and, Amanda White from Bracken Ridge, Queensland in Australia.
More bits of me shipped out into the world.
In my "recent" web hits, I've had people from the following countries visit my website: Sweden, Indonesia, Australia, India, Italy, Spain, Norway, Turkey, Greece, England, and the United Kingdom.
I've also had hits from about 1/3 the states in the USA.
And that's just in the last twelve hours.
The only thing slowing down my ability to sell to people in other countries is the shipping rate. In many instances, it costs as much to ship as I ask for the patterns themselves. One way I have managed to get around this is to offer most of my patterns in an email version.
Regardless, it's fun to think that something I designed, put together, advertised, and shipped off ended up at places that I, personally, will never get to go.
Yes, I'm living vicariously through my patterns. lol
Today, I shipped out the camera straps from my giveaway and the winners included: Lynna Nguyen from San Jose, California; Brandy Hunter from Altha, Florida; Kelly Zaiko from Port Orchard, Washington; and, Amanda White from Bracken Ridge, Queensland in Australia.
More bits of me shipped out into the world.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
I need LOTS of blank Gift Cards
I don't want to bore you with reason, but . . .
I need TONS of used/empty gift cards in the size and shape of credit cards. Any store, color, design, lanquage.
If you have some laying around, please contact me for a mailing address to send them to. It will probably take me a month or longer to gather up what I need, so don't be shy.
Thanks!
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Called and ruined my bad day!
A few months back, a lady on one of my critique groups posted a message that still makes me smile when I think about it.
She shared that in preparation for rewriting a very sad scene, she had sent the children to day care for the day. Listened to sad music while cleaning house. Watched two sad shows that made her cry. Concentrated on the loss of every loved one she had ever suffered through.
Then, when swollen-eyed and morose, she set at her computer to write. She hadn't even gotten her hands on the keys yet, when the phone went off. She looked at caller ID and it was her agent. ANYONE else and she would have ignored it.
She picked it up and was told by her super excited agent that her second book in a series had just been picked up by her publishing firm. She squeals, jumps, dances around. Laughing and ecstatic. When she finally hangs up the phone, she finds herself sitting in front of her computer looking at a sad scene that needs more gut churning emotion added to it and bangs her head against the screen.
Damn! Her agent had called and ruined her bad day!
I'll admit to having been in a un-promoted bad mood all day.
And unfortunately, I didn't have a sad scene to rewrite.
Drat the bad luck.
She shared that in preparation for rewriting a very sad scene, she had sent the children to day care for the day. Listened to sad music while cleaning house. Watched two sad shows that made her cry. Concentrated on the loss of every loved one she had ever suffered through.
Then, when swollen-eyed and morose, she set at her computer to write. She hadn't even gotten her hands on the keys yet, when the phone went off. She looked at caller ID and it was her agent. ANYONE else and she would have ignored it.
She picked it up and was told by her super excited agent that her second book in a series had just been picked up by her publishing firm. She squeals, jumps, dances around. Laughing and ecstatic. When she finally hangs up the phone, she finds herself sitting in front of her computer looking at a sad scene that needs more gut churning emotion added to it and bangs her head against the screen.
Damn! Her agent had called and ruined her bad day!
I'll admit to having been in a un-promoted bad mood all day.
And unfortunately, I didn't have a sad scene to rewrite.
Drat the bad luck.
"Find the biggest kid in the . . . "
When I was a kid, it was well understood that if you didn't want to be beat up, you found the biggest kid in the class and beat him up first. Yes, I really did grow up in a town where that was a concern for elementary aged students. At least those that were dirt poor, illegitimate, and came from a mixed family in the early 1970s. Fun times.
Over the years, I've heard the same advice given on TV and in shows for different occasions . . .
Find the biggest SOB in the yard, and beat the crap out of him.
Then they'll leave you along in prison.
The rouge (insert animal) will find the largest male in the heard
and kill it to take over his position.
Make friends with the most popular people,
and you will be popular by association.
Okay, so the last one was a little different. But it was also a lot the same.
The interesting thing is that today, I learned a new "find the biggest kid . . . " thing; and for a change it was a positive experience. Not that finding a way to avoid getting beat up daily isn't a positive thing.
Today, I took Will to a McDonald's with an indoor playscape. School is out in our area and when we showed up there were a lot of much larger children in the playscape then their normally are. While I was walking to the table, Will kicks off his shoes and goes right up to the biggest kid in the playscape.
This boy must have been 10-12 and very tall for his age. The top of Will's head just made it above the boy's belt. Will stoped right in front of him and said, "Want to play with me?"
The boy looked down at Will, a little confused. Then he must have convinced himself Will hadn't spoken to him, because he just looked back up and took a few steps off to the side.
Will took a few steps off to the side and kept looking at the boy. "Want to play with me?"
I put down the tray, starting to feel a little sad for Will. I remained standing. I figured if Will tried again, I'd go get him and try to explain that older children didn't always want to play with little boys.
The boy looked at Will again, like he just didn't know what to do with him.
Will just stared at him, smiling. "Want to play with me?"
Before I took a single step, the boy shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sure."
And they played happily together for about half an hour, at which time the boy had to leave. He told Will by and let him know he'd had a good time playing with him.
Will waived him off and then went and found the biggest boy left in the playground. This one was probably 8 or 9. "Want to play with me?"
"Sure." And they played until the boy left about fifteen minutes later.
Will waived him off and went to find the biggest boy left in the playscape. This time it was a boy that was probably 7-8. "Want to play with me?"
"Sure." And they did until we had to leave about ten minutes later.
I set at the table stunned. My four-year old son had managed to convince the oldest child on the playground, at any given time, to play with him for over an hour. My hard to understand, limited in conversation, way to chatty, kong fu fighting, power ranger wanna be son had convinced a boy nearly three times his age to "play" with him.
Another thing that struck me as odd, was that the first two older boys did not have younger siblings with them. So it wasn't a case of them being programed to care for smaller children, which occasionally happens (but usually with girls).
I'm still stumped. No one ever told me that was an option . . .
"Find the biggest kid in the playground and ask them to play with you."
Over the years, I've heard the same advice given on TV and in shows for different occasions . . .
Find the biggest SOB in the yard, and beat the crap out of him.
Then they'll leave you along in prison.
The rouge (insert animal) will find the largest male in the heard
and kill it to take over his position.
Make friends with the most popular people,
and you will be popular by association.
Okay, so the last one was a little different. But it was also a lot the same.
The interesting thing is that today, I learned a new "find the biggest kid . . . " thing; and for a change it was a positive experience. Not that finding a way to avoid getting beat up daily isn't a positive thing.
Today, I took Will to a McDonald's with an indoor playscape. School is out in our area and when we showed up there were a lot of much larger children in the playscape then their normally are. While I was walking to the table, Will kicks off his shoes and goes right up to the biggest kid in the playscape.
This boy must have been 10-12 and very tall for his age. The top of Will's head just made it above the boy's belt. Will stoped right in front of him and said, "Want to play with me?"
The boy looked down at Will, a little confused. Then he must have convinced himself Will hadn't spoken to him, because he just looked back up and took a few steps off to the side.
Will took a few steps off to the side and kept looking at the boy. "Want to play with me?"
I put down the tray, starting to feel a little sad for Will. I remained standing. I figured if Will tried again, I'd go get him and try to explain that older children didn't always want to play with little boys.
The boy looked at Will again, like he just didn't know what to do with him.
Will just stared at him, smiling. "Want to play with me?"
Before I took a single step, the boy shrugged his shoulders and said, "Sure."
And they played happily together for about half an hour, at which time the boy had to leave. He told Will by and let him know he'd had a good time playing with him.
Will waived him off and then went and found the biggest boy left in the playground. This one was probably 8 or 9. "Want to play with me?"
"Sure." And they played until the boy left about fifteen minutes later.
Will waived him off and went to find the biggest boy left in the playscape. This time it was a boy that was probably 7-8. "Want to play with me?"
"Sure." And they did until we had to leave about ten minutes later.
I set at the table stunned. My four-year old son had managed to convince the oldest child on the playground, at any given time, to play with him for over an hour. My hard to understand, limited in conversation, way to chatty, kong fu fighting, power ranger wanna be son had convinced a boy nearly three times his age to "play" with him.
Another thing that struck me as odd, was that the first two older boys did not have younger siblings with them. So it wasn't a case of them being programed to care for smaller children, which occasionally happens (but usually with girls).
I'm still stumped. No one ever told me that was an option . . .
"Find the biggest kid in the playground and ask them to play with you."
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Are you a good Momma, or, are you a bad Momma?
Will has become more of a handful than he use to be, and that's saying something.
He is a loving child with a good heart, but he's always been too loud, too energetic, and very demanding. And it just jumped up about four notches on the old spank-my-ass meter. I find myself completely baffeled with how to handle him.
Oh, I put him in the corner/time out. If he's really bad, I swat his leg. I take away toys and privledges. He's always sorry. He always wants to hug you. Then he goes right back out and does the same thing again.
It's not even totally WHAT he is doing, as his new attitude. He puffs out air and rolls his eyes. He crosses his hands over his chest and sets down hard on the chair, refusing to look at you. He talks over you when you are trying to discuss things with him in a calm manner.
And when you won't give in to him? He demands:
Are you a good Momma, or, are you a bad Momma?
Did I mention he's a four-year old boy and not a twelve-year old girl?
I can see several things at work. First, he's started hanging out with a boy a little older than him that lives up the block. The boy is from a recently split family and in my presence has treated him mom like CRAP . . . just like Will has been treating me.
The second issue is that any time Steve's hours at home are reduced, Will responds negatively. During the time his dad was up north, Will got worse every single day. Steve has been spending a lot of time with Will since he got home. I'm just not sure how long it will take to make up for the absense.
I also believe he needs more social interaction than he's getting. He needs to be around other children in controlled environments and other authority figures that he's not related to. Pre-k registration is the first week of August.
So as long as I don't REALLY turn into a "bad Momma" between now and then, we should be okay.
He is a loving child with a good heart, but he's always been too loud, too energetic, and very demanding. And it just jumped up about four notches on the old spank-my-ass meter. I find myself completely baffeled with how to handle him.
Oh, I put him in the corner/time out. If he's really bad, I swat his leg. I take away toys and privledges. He's always sorry. He always wants to hug you. Then he goes right back out and does the same thing again.
It's not even totally WHAT he is doing, as his new attitude. He puffs out air and rolls his eyes. He crosses his hands over his chest and sets down hard on the chair, refusing to look at you. He talks over you when you are trying to discuss things with him in a calm manner.
And when you won't give in to him? He demands:
Are you a good Momma, or, are you a bad Momma?
Did I mention he's a four-year old boy and not a twelve-year old girl?
I can see several things at work. First, he's started hanging out with a boy a little older than him that lives up the block. The boy is from a recently split family and in my presence has treated him mom like CRAP . . . just like Will has been treating me.
The second issue is that any time Steve's hours at home are reduced, Will responds negatively. During the time his dad was up north, Will got worse every single day. Steve has been spending a lot of time with Will since he got home. I'm just not sure how long it will take to make up for the absense.
I also believe he needs more social interaction than he's getting. He needs to be around other children in controlled environments and other authority figures that he's not related to. Pre-k registration is the first week of August.
So as long as I don't REALLY turn into a "bad Momma" between now and then, we should be okay.
Sonic Drinks
My husband is always amazed at my near obsession with Sonic Drinks.
Recently in the news, there was a story of a three year old that was lost for several days in the woods. When the child was found he'd lost a shoe, his diaper, and he was thirsty and hungry but basically okay. Steve joked that Will wouldn't live for two days with out access to a Sonic.
To truly understand my affair with Sonic drinks, you really needed to grow up in a small town. During my teen years, I lived in a town with a population of about 5,000. At nights, the only thing to do was cruse; which was just drive the main street from one end to the other and loop back. While you were doing it, you would stop in at Sonic -- the ONLY fast food place in town and get a drink. You'd jump out of your car and talk to other teens that were parked, or working, there. It was THE social place to be. (I'm not joking.)
The Sonic in my hometown was also VERY involved in all sports activities. They'd hand out free coupons for ice creams or sodas to all players at t-ball, basket ball, and any other sport that came along. Our Sonic would pitch our redeemable coins at parades and certificates for free meals when you got all "A"s on your report cards. It was the "cool" place for teenagers to work.
It was the only place for overworked parents to grab a quick meal. The only place to get a desert in town. It is where all stay-at-home mom's took their kids after picking them up for school. It was a MAJOR part of our lives.
I told you. You pretty much had to grow up there to understand it.
When all of us lived in Brady, we all had our own little addiction to Sonic. If I was going to mom's, I went by Sonic first and took her a drink. If Becky was coming to visit me, she stopped and brought me a drink.
Then as we began to separate and move out to other places, we lost that tight knit feeling we had in our small town. The knowing everyone, how every day was going to be, where everyone was . . . having our family close enough to bring them a drink.
Oddly, every one of us girls maintained our love and enjoyment for Sonic Drinks. Even 10-15 years after leaving our home town. If I visited Becky or Byjo, you can bet a day didn't go by that we didn't stop at a Sonic and get a drink; at least once.
Becky worked near a Sonic and was in there so regularly, they knew her name and what she wanted. There was even a time when Byjo was not-drinking sodas and she would still go to Sonic and get an ice water.
Last summer, a Sonic opened up less than two miles from my house. It is between me and the YMCA and the dollar store. Nearly every day, I end up with a Sonic Drink.
Most days it just gives me a sense of belonging. It makes me happy beyond the ability to quench my thirst and I don't even think about it.
Today, it made me think of Becky. It made me realize that I'd never drive through another Sonic with her. Never take her another drink.
Today it made me cry.
Monday, June 1, 2009
I got a high "D"!
So, I got back my first judged entries form a contest I entered six weeks back or so. I had already been notified that I didn't win or place.
I was surprised. While I thought the chapter was in great shape when I sent it off, I had since got a REAL critique from a woman in my new group that tore it to pieces.
Heartbroken by the nature of her crit, I ignored it for weeks.
This last Saturday, Steve took Will and disappeared for a few hours. With calm "me time" on my hands, I re-evaluate the crit and realized the astounding amount of valve it contained. I totally rewrote my chapter, to a terrifying degree. And I LOVE IT!
When I got in the Judges notes today, I expected they would address those same issues I'd changed and they did. What surprised me was . . .
My scores from each were in the high 90s, a perfect score would have been 140; which put me at about a high "d". And I'm ecstatic.
No training, little experience, no synopsis, first submission . . . and I made a "D".
Yep, I'm easily pleased.
I was surprised. While I thought the chapter was in great shape when I sent it off, I had since got a REAL critique from a woman in my new group that tore it to pieces.
Heartbroken by the nature of her crit, I ignored it for weeks.
This last Saturday, Steve took Will and disappeared for a few hours. With calm "me time" on my hands, I re-evaluate the crit and realized the astounding amount of valve it contained. I totally rewrote my chapter, to a terrifying degree. And I LOVE IT!
When I got in the Judges notes today, I expected they would address those same issues I'd changed and they did. What surprised me was . . .
- They both really liked the story and premises,
- Both had little to say ABOVE what I have already changed, and
- Both said if I had only submitted the optional synopsis, I would have scored higher.
My scores from each were in the high 90s, a perfect score would have been 140; which put me at about a high "d". And I'm ecstatic.
No training, little experience, no synopsis, first submission . . . and I made a "D".
Yep, I'm easily pleased.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
