Tonight, when Tori was loading up stuff to take to her new house, she also took my backup sewing machine. With the purchase of a commercial grade sewing machine a few months back, I no longer need my backup. It's a great starter machine and before I tried to sell it off I thought I'd offer it to Tori.
While my girls did a semester of Home Ec in high school, neither one of them has ever shown any real interest in sewing. But over the last few years Tori has made her own curtains and pillow covers using an iron and press on adhesive, showing more interest and ingenuity that I would have expected. So I offered her a machine if she wanted it, and she did.
I made her a little sewing box with pins, needles, pin cushion, measuring tape, and some thread in it.
I can't adequately express how it felt. Without coercion, my daughter is eagerly accepting and taking some small step into something that has been a huge part of my life for over thirty years.
If only there was a special handshake or chant for moments like this.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
3-1/2 pounds of Crab Legs
Steve called me on his way home from work this evening to let me know crab legs were on sale and he was bringing some home. I asked him to bring corn on the cob, small potatoes, and lemons as well. We'd just do a crab boil.
Tori was coming over, so he ended up purchasing 3-1/2 pounds of crab legs. We dug out a HUGE old pressure cooker and set it up outside over a propane burner. Steve added spices to the water and boiled everything up. I cover the table in sheets of clean paper and got out forks for everyone.
If you've never been to the Boiling Pot, or someplace similar, this may seem odd. But there, the food is spilled in the middle of a paper covered table and everyone just eats out of the pile with their hands. It's part of the fun.
Tori wasn't in the mood for seafood when she showed up and without lemon, which my loving husband forgot, the crab wasn't as yummy as normal. I might have eaten about 1/2 a pound.
Tori, Will, and I finished eating and I showed her the bathroom I've recently repainted. We loaded up some more of her stuff into her car. We walked around the outside and loaded up a few of her plants. Thirty-forty minutes after we finished eating, she left. Steve had just gotten up from the table and went to wash his hands.
After Tori left, Steve set back down and started eating more crab. I went and ran a bath for Will and got him settled in. Steve was still eating crab. I checked on the laundry and took a shower. Steve was still eaten crab.
You have to understand that Steve was raised to EAT everything. The crab wasn't going to be good tomorrow, and to him, it was better to eat until he was sick than to just walk away from the crab. I don't understand it. But Steve spent HOURS eating crab tonight, way beyond the point he was comfortable or probably even enjoying it.
He even joked that I'd have to cut him some slack because he might be a little crabby tomorrow, and at least I'd know why. Yeah, because he's a Marquardt.
Tori was coming over, so he ended up purchasing 3-1/2 pounds of crab legs. We dug out a HUGE old pressure cooker and set it up outside over a propane burner. Steve added spices to the water and boiled everything up. I cover the table in sheets of clean paper and got out forks for everyone.
If you've never been to the Boiling Pot, or someplace similar, this may seem odd. But there, the food is spilled in the middle of a paper covered table and everyone just eats out of the pile with their hands. It's part of the fun.
Tori wasn't in the mood for seafood when she showed up and without lemon, which my loving husband forgot, the crab wasn't as yummy as normal. I might have eaten about 1/2 a pound.
Tori, Will, and I finished eating and I showed her the bathroom I've recently repainted. We loaded up some more of her stuff into her car. We walked around the outside and loaded up a few of her plants. Thirty-forty minutes after we finished eating, she left. Steve had just gotten up from the table and went to wash his hands.
After Tori left, Steve set back down and started eating more crab. I went and ran a bath for Will and got him settled in. Steve was still eating crab. I checked on the laundry and took a shower. Steve was still eaten crab.
You have to understand that Steve was raised to EAT everything. The crab wasn't going to be good tomorrow, and to him, it was better to eat until he was sick than to just walk away from the crab. I don't understand it. But Steve spent HOURS eating crab tonight, way beyond the point he was comfortable or probably even enjoying it.
He even joked that I'd have to cut him some slack because he might be a little crabby tomorrow, and at least I'd know why. Yeah, because he's a Marquardt.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Entered another contest
So, I've come a long way from the last time I entered a contest a few months back. If you remember, entering contests is the best way to gain credits and awards you can list when trying to find a publisher or agent for your book. Sense I have never published anything, nor do I have any applicable education, I need the help.
Contests also give you a chance to get your writing style and publication out in front of people in the industry. Almost all contests final rounds are judged by an editor from a publishing house and an agent in the field you are writing. Each contest is further broken down by genra. So the editor and agent that would judge my submission; should I make it to the final round, would be in the paranormal publishing business. Sweet hu?
Even if you don't make the finals, there is still the feedback forms. Each first round judge will comment within your document; what they like, didn't like, is missing, needs work on, etc. Usually, there are three first round judges and they are published members of the local organization hosting the contest. I've been told to keep track of nice things these published authors say about the chapter to use as further enticement when promoting my book.
I think I have a pretty good chance of making the finals this time. I've undergone another major understanding in the need to cut back on backstory and how to reduce so many words that weaken sentences and paragraphs. Also, this time I have a prepared synopsis to submit. The synopsis is not judged, but it can help the judges determine your ability to complete the project and let them see how you are building up to it. My last contest, all of my first round judges said I probably would have scored higher if I'd submitted a synopsis; I still averaged out around 69 out of a possible 100. Which pleased the shit out of me, considering how much work I ended up doing on that chapter later on.
I'm going over to my Wolf Cub blog and post up my submission as entered; synopsis, prologue, and Chapter 1. If you are interested, you can check it out. I think there is a link on the sidebar under Where I Spend My Time. And yeah, I expect there are still things wrong with it. At this point, nearly a year after writing the first chapter, I'm thinking there will always be something wrong with it. LOL
The finalist of each category will not be notified until October 30, non-finalist will receive their scores and documented files back in November, and the winner of each category will be notified on December 20th (which coincidentally is Becky's birthday). So I won't know anything for a while, but you can be sure I'll post regardless of how I do.
Contests also give you a chance to get your writing style and publication out in front of people in the industry. Almost all contests final rounds are judged by an editor from a publishing house and an agent in the field you are writing. Each contest is further broken down by genra. So the editor and agent that would judge my submission; should I make it to the final round, would be in the paranormal publishing business. Sweet hu?
Even if you don't make the finals, there is still the feedback forms. Each first round judge will comment within your document; what they like, didn't like, is missing, needs work on, etc. Usually, there are three first round judges and they are published members of the local organization hosting the contest. I've been told to keep track of nice things these published authors say about the chapter to use as further enticement when promoting my book.
I think I have a pretty good chance of making the finals this time. I've undergone another major understanding in the need to cut back on backstory and how to reduce so many words that weaken sentences and paragraphs. Also, this time I have a prepared synopsis to submit. The synopsis is not judged, but it can help the judges determine your ability to complete the project and let them see how you are building up to it. My last contest, all of my first round judges said I probably would have scored higher if I'd submitted a synopsis; I still averaged out around 69 out of a possible 100. Which pleased the shit out of me, considering how much work I ended up doing on that chapter later on.
I'm going over to my Wolf Cub blog and post up my submission as entered; synopsis, prologue, and Chapter 1. If you are interested, you can check it out. I think there is a link on the sidebar under Where I Spend My Time. And yeah, I expect there are still things wrong with it. At this point, nearly a year after writing the first chapter, I'm thinking there will always be something wrong with it. LOL
The finalist of each category will not be notified until October 30, non-finalist will receive their scores and documented files back in November, and the winner of each category will be notified on December 20th (which coincidentally is Becky's birthday). So I won't know anything for a while, but you can be sure I'll post regardless of how I do.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
One Flew the Cuckcoo's Nest
Well, Birdzee didn't make it.
The little bird that was abandoned in our front yard made it about 2-1/2 to 3 days. It died last night.
Well, I think it did.
When we went out to feed it around seven yesterday evening, it had taken a horrible turn for the worse. It couldn't even stand, could hardly move it's head. I knew it wouldn't make it through the night.
Will is to young to see the signs, but it tore me up. I told Steve I wasn't looking forward to coming out and finding it dead. Disposing of it. And not just because dead things or yucky, but because I was already attached.
While I was dressing Will for school, Steve went outside in the dark to check on Birdzee. He came back in and told us that Birdzee must have gotten bigger over night and flew away. I was saddened, but really appreciated Steve taking charge of the situation. When we walked Will out to the bus stop, we walked by where Birdzee had spent the last few days and he made us check around for her. I didn't pay much attention, knowing Steve had gotten rid of the evidence.
After Will's bus left and we were headed into the house, Steve told me he couldn't find the bird this morning. It was just gone. At the time I figured it was just dark and Birdzee had waddled into the grass. I would look for the body later, because I didn't want Will to find it when he got home from school.
I never found the body.
That's when I realized that Will wasn't the only person Steve was trying to offer false hope today.
The little bird that was abandoned in our front yard made it about 2-1/2 to 3 days. It died last night.
Well, I think it did.
When we went out to feed it around seven yesterday evening, it had taken a horrible turn for the worse. It couldn't even stand, could hardly move it's head. I knew it wouldn't make it through the night.
Will is to young to see the signs, but it tore me up. I told Steve I wasn't looking forward to coming out and finding it dead. Disposing of it. And not just because dead things or yucky, but because I was already attached.
While I was dressing Will for school, Steve went outside in the dark to check on Birdzee. He came back in and told us that Birdzee must have gotten bigger over night and flew away. I was saddened, but really appreciated Steve taking charge of the situation. When we walked Will out to the bus stop, we walked by where Birdzee had spent the last few days and he made us check around for her. I didn't pay much attention, knowing Steve had gotten rid of the evidence.
After Will's bus left and we were headed into the house, Steve told me he couldn't find the bird this morning. It was just gone. At the time I figured it was just dark and Birdzee had waddled into the grass. I would look for the body later, because I didn't want Will to find it when he got home from school.
I never found the body.
That's when I realized that Will wasn't the only person Steve was trying to offer false hope today.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Birdzee
Yesterday when I was waiting on Will's bus to show up a baby bird just appeared at my feet next to the chair I was sitting in. With so many trees in our yards, there have been several times over the last ten years when baby birds leaving the next have ended up grounded in our yard. Usually it's in the back yard, which causes an issue with our dogs.
I don't know what type of bird it is, but it's wings have a bluish tent. It has feathers but isn't strong enough to fly.
I've noticed in the past, that when left alone most baby birds parents would show up and direct them to a hiding place near a fence or in the bushes. Then I never saw them again. So I didn't think any thing about it. But when Will got home, I showed him the baby bird before we went in the house. As we headed inside, the bird tried to follow us.
Three or four hours later, Will and I went to run an errand and the bird was in the same place. But it looked much worse for wear. It was very hot and sitting in the sun. I got a small thing of water and tried to get it to drink; it just climbed into my hand and sit down. I finally wet my fingers and it drink the moisture from my fingers. We left it and ran errands. It was still there hours later when we got home.
I'd never seen a baby bird stay in one place this long and looked up on the internet for some guidance. I was releived to find out that birds sense of smell isn't strong, so you don't have to worry about touching the baby bird scarring off it's parents. I also found out that if the bird has feathers the odds are good it's parents pushed it from the nest and that they would show up and feed it, though not regularly, for up to 5-7 days.
It was in the same place when Steve came home. He pulled out a worm and cut it up and we tried to feed it to the bird, who Will named Birdzee. It didn't eat it. I fed it some more water and we left it in the same place it had been all day. Which was the only thing the internet said to be sure to do.
We went out to wait for Will's school bus this morning and Birdzee was in the same place, his water turned over. I filled his water up and left him. About eleven I was working on something in the driveway and looked down and Birdzee had come around the house and found me. I took him back to his spot and got him fresh water, tried to feed him worm. When Will got home we blended some peanut butter with water and used a straw to slowly dribble it on the bird's beak. It went crazy trying to eat but not doing a very good job. The best way I could feed it was to dribble the peanut water on my fingers and let the bird eat off me. So we fed it and got it fresh water.
Will made me go out and check on it every 2 hours or so all day. When utility maitenance men showed up in the neighborhood, Will made me write a sign saying, "Do not take our bird away!" He put it out on a chair next to where Birdzee was.
Right before bed, Will had to check on Birdzee again. We fed him and got him fresh water. I also dug out a small wooded stool to set over an area near his water dish. When we left, we put him beneath it next to a cool rock.
He's in the front yard with no fence. There are cats in the neighborhood. He's been on his own for over 36 hours now. I don't think the odds of him living until he's strong enough to fly away or good. I don't know how Will or I will take it if he doesn't.
I don't know what type of bird it is, but it's wings have a bluish tent. It has feathers but isn't strong enough to fly.
I've noticed in the past, that when left alone most baby birds parents would show up and direct them to a hiding place near a fence or in the bushes. Then I never saw them again. So I didn't think any thing about it. But when Will got home, I showed him the baby bird before we went in the house. As we headed inside, the bird tried to follow us.
Three or four hours later, Will and I went to run an errand and the bird was in the same place. But it looked much worse for wear. It was very hot and sitting in the sun. I got a small thing of water and tried to get it to drink; it just climbed into my hand and sit down. I finally wet my fingers and it drink the moisture from my fingers. We left it and ran errands. It was still there hours later when we got home.
I'd never seen a baby bird stay in one place this long and looked up on the internet for some guidance. I was releived to find out that birds sense of smell isn't strong, so you don't have to worry about touching the baby bird scarring off it's parents. I also found out that if the bird has feathers the odds are good it's parents pushed it from the nest and that they would show up and feed it, though not regularly, for up to 5-7 days.
It was in the same place when Steve came home. He pulled out a worm and cut it up and we tried to feed it to the bird, who Will named Birdzee. It didn't eat it. I fed it some more water and we left it in the same place it had been all day. Which was the only thing the internet said to be sure to do.
We went out to wait for Will's school bus this morning and Birdzee was in the same place, his water turned over. I filled his water up and left him. About eleven I was working on something in the driveway and looked down and Birdzee had come around the house and found me. I took him back to his spot and got him fresh water, tried to feed him worm. When Will got home we blended some peanut butter with water and used a straw to slowly dribble it on the bird's beak. It went crazy trying to eat but not doing a very good job. The best way I could feed it was to dribble the peanut water on my fingers and let the bird eat off me. So we fed it and got it fresh water.
Will made me go out and check on it every 2 hours or so all day. When utility maitenance men showed up in the neighborhood, Will made me write a sign saying, "Do not take our bird away!" He put it out on a chair next to where Birdzee was.
Right before bed, Will had to check on Birdzee again. We fed him and got him fresh water. I also dug out a small wooded stool to set over an area near his water dish. When we left, we put him beneath it next to a cool rock.
He's in the front yard with no fence. There are cats in the neighborhood. He's been on his own for over 36 hours now. I don't think the odds of him living until he's strong enough to fly away or good. I don't know how Will or I will take it if he doesn't.
Will's Art
Will brought home a coloring he did at school today. It was a small piece of paper, about 4x6 inches. Ninety percent of the paper was covered in this huge circle of scribbles that were purple and green. There were a few other colors closer to the center. There was no way in hell to tell what it was suppose to be. So I asked.
"It's me and papa," he said.
"Coming out of a dinosaur butt."
My first thought was, did he tell anyone at school what it was? My second, maybe I shouldn't have let him watch Jarasic Park.
"It's me and papa," he said.
"Coming out of a dinosaur butt."
My first thought was, did he tell anyone at school what it was? My second, maybe I shouldn't have let him watch Jarasic Park.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Adjustments
Today was Will's first day at school. It was a lot more tramatic for him than most people would expect. Will has never spent more than an hour at a time in any type of child mind program, and I was onsite during that.
He's never been on a bus; much less spent 45 minutes one way to school and back.
He's never had to interact with so many children at once or listen and respond to a person he's not related to.
He's never had to eat what was supplied or not eat. He's never been told he can't drink from his water bottle when he's in a hot car and thirsty.
Even though he was home by 12:15, he was extreamly emotional the entire rest of the day. He cried at the drop of a hat, required TONS more hugs than normal, was very clingy.
I've been so busy thinking about the adjustments to my life with him starting school, I didn't really think about how hard this might be on him.
When he first got home, he wouldn't talk about school at all. A few hours later, he'd answer direct questions with short answers. By bed time, he was talking non stop and remembering the names of kids he played with.
I guess the best news is he still wants to go tomorrow.
He's never been on a bus; much less spent 45 minutes one way to school and back.
He's never had to interact with so many children at once or listen and respond to a person he's not related to.
He's never had to eat what was supplied or not eat. He's never been told he can't drink from his water bottle when he's in a hot car and thirsty.
Even though he was home by 12:15, he was extreamly emotional the entire rest of the day. He cried at the drop of a hat, required TONS more hugs than normal, was very clingy.
I've been so busy thinking about the adjustments to my life with him starting school, I didn't really think about how hard this might be on him.
When he first got home, he wouldn't talk about school at all. A few hours later, he'd answer direct questions with short answers. By bed time, he was talking non stop and remembering the names of kids he played with.
I guess the best news is he still wants to go tomorrow.
Dancing to Hyatt in the AM
I had to stop and drop a quick note, sharing with you my feeling of joy and freedome this morning, as I so often feel free to share my pain and sorrow.
John Hyatt is playing loud throughout the house. I'm singing along and dancing around the sewing room as I clean and organize years worth of piles. I have a smile on my face and a song in my heart.
And just so you don't think I'm an evil old woman, I did have a sort of sad moment as my little guy drove away in the bus.
But I got over it.
John Hyatt is playing loud throughout the house. I'm singing along and dancing around the sewing room as I clean and organize years worth of piles. I have a smile on my face and a song in my heart.
And just so you don't think I'm an evil old woman, I did have a sort of sad moment as my little guy drove away in the bus.
But I got over it.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Half a Fat Lady Sings Tonight
Okay, really it's half a printer. Well, really only ONE printer; half my issues. :)
Guess where Will and I went today? Yep, back to Fry's, or French Fries, as Will likes to call it. I went armed with traces of every port on each printer and my computer. A list of information about my computer and everything I've bought and tried up to this point. More importantly, I went DETERMINED. I was not leaving that store until I had a result. I didn't care how long it took or how many people I had to talk to.
Truth be told, I figured they would tire of Will way before I would and offer me all the help I needed just to get me to LEAVE.
The first person wasn't to helpful. He suggested I try another, new, switch box. Since mine were older they didn't come with software and he thought my computers inability to recognize the switch was probably my issue. Sounded good. But he didn't stay around to help me locate one. So I looked them over and all the one's I saw did NOT come with software or look any different to what I had at home. The largers one's did come with software but started about $100.
While trying to decide what to do, another person came up and asked if I needed help. (Saturday's are definitely the day to get help.) After I explained what was going on, he recommend just installing a parallel port in my new computer. With a designated port, I could use any switch box, including the one I had already been using. And it was only $20! He said it was really easy to do and I'd have no problem doing it on my own.
Now, until this last year, I'd never taken a computer apart and attempted to do anything to the inside of one. But I had to take out a broken CD burner and put in a new one a few months back, so I felt this might be something I could do.
But . . . (and isn't there always one?)
They didn't have the port I needed in his department. I would have to go to the area where they sell components to make your own computer. HARD CORE geek town. He told me what I needed, a PCI card with a parallel port. I repeated the phrase to myself all the way across the store, while dragging Will as fast as possible and fielding questions about products the entire way.
I get to Geek Town and surprisingly, not, it's filled with geeks. There are five or six pale, overweight, eye-glass wearing, badly dressed, unaware men on each isle. I see only two employees and they are both in the middle of heavy duty conversations that involve more numbers than actual words.
The minute one breaks lose I walk up to him and ask him if he's got the card I need. This guy looks like he stepped off the pages of a high tech magazine. He's a tall, thin, rich-looking Asian with a snooty attitude. I swear, the look he gave me made me feel like a peasant that was addressing royalty without permission. However, he did walk off to an isle a few behind me, pick something off the shelf, and hand it to me before walking off. Come to think of it, I'm sure he never said a word to me.
Regardless, I paid for my purchase and drove home feeling a lot better about the entire process.
When I got home, I turn off my computer, took off the side, and fought to install the card. I say fought, because I forgot I had a book on the computer and with my lack of experience nothing went the way it was suppose to. Oh, i got everything off that I needed off and everything back in where I wanted it. Let's just say that I didn't use the flat head screwdriver the way it was meant to be used though.
I also had a TON, more like ten tons, of help. I was sitting under my desk, with the computer tilted sideways, a flashlight between my knees so I could shine it where I needed it and Will was either trying to sit on my lap or pushing the chair into me. That doesn't even count the time he took some random tool and started poking it into the inside of the computer. Yikes!
By the time I have the side mostly back on, I was shaking with the stress. I popped open the printer setup box and quickly tried to install my fat printer, and it didn't work.
I walked Will out of the room, shut the door, and pretended a tornado plucked the room from my house for the rest of the day.
After Will went to bed tonight, I went back in and found my manual. I removed the partially closed side of the computer and following the directions, took back out and reset the card. So easy, so fast.
I booted up the machine, it found the new hardware and downloaded the software. I installed my fat printer and it immediately printed out a test page.
Halalewya! Hallalewya!
I could practically hear angels, or fat ladies, singing.
Then I switched to my "b" port and went to install my plotter. Only the Windows CD does not have a driver for it; it's to old. Not worried, I go to HP's website and look it up. It's no longer a supported driver. A search on the Internet shows that the windows driver you have to use for my plotter is the HP GL/2. Now I remember. I had the devils own time trying to find a driver when I first purchased the plotter.
After an hour or searching, and downloading and attempting three drivers that failed, I'm not feeling so happy about that fat lady. Vista doesn't seem to like any of the drivers I've found and I'm to tired to continue looking tonight.
The day contained major achievements. I installed my first ever card into a computer. I got my color laser printer working and my switch box operational. I did these things all on my own; although the path was long and convoluted.
But at the end of the day, it is the new obstacle in my path that weights heavy in my thoughts and not my sucsess.
Oh well, better half a fat lady than no fat lady at all.
Guess where Will and I went today? Yep, back to Fry's, or French Fries, as Will likes to call it. I went armed with traces of every port on each printer and my computer. A list of information about my computer and everything I've bought and tried up to this point. More importantly, I went DETERMINED. I was not leaving that store until I had a result. I didn't care how long it took or how many people I had to talk to.
Truth be told, I figured they would tire of Will way before I would and offer me all the help I needed just to get me to LEAVE.
The first person wasn't to helpful. He suggested I try another, new, switch box. Since mine were older they didn't come with software and he thought my computers inability to recognize the switch was probably my issue. Sounded good. But he didn't stay around to help me locate one. So I looked them over and all the one's I saw did NOT come with software or look any different to what I had at home. The largers one's did come with software but started about $100.
While trying to decide what to do, another person came up and asked if I needed help. (Saturday's are definitely the day to get help.) After I explained what was going on, he recommend just installing a parallel port in my new computer. With a designated port, I could use any switch box, including the one I had already been using. And it was only $20! He said it was really easy to do and I'd have no problem doing it on my own.
Now, until this last year, I'd never taken a computer apart and attempted to do anything to the inside of one. But I had to take out a broken CD burner and put in a new one a few months back, so I felt this might be something I could do.
But . . . (and isn't there always one?)
They didn't have the port I needed in his department. I would have to go to the area where they sell components to make your own computer. HARD CORE geek town. He told me what I needed, a PCI card with a parallel port. I repeated the phrase to myself all the way across the store, while dragging Will as fast as possible and fielding questions about products the entire way.
I get to Geek Town and surprisingly, not, it's filled with geeks. There are five or six pale, overweight, eye-glass wearing, badly dressed, unaware men on each isle. I see only two employees and they are both in the middle of heavy duty conversations that involve more numbers than actual words.
The minute one breaks lose I walk up to him and ask him if he's got the card I need. This guy looks like he stepped off the pages of a high tech magazine. He's a tall, thin, rich-looking Asian with a snooty attitude. I swear, the look he gave me made me feel like a peasant that was addressing royalty without permission. However, he did walk off to an isle a few behind me, pick something off the shelf, and hand it to me before walking off. Come to think of it, I'm sure he never said a word to me.
Regardless, I paid for my purchase and drove home feeling a lot better about the entire process.
When I got home, I turn off my computer, took off the side, and fought to install the card. I say fought, because I forgot I had a book on the computer and with my lack of experience nothing went the way it was suppose to. Oh, i got everything off that I needed off and everything back in where I wanted it. Let's just say that I didn't use the flat head screwdriver the way it was meant to be used though.
I also had a TON, more like ten tons, of help. I was sitting under my desk, with the computer tilted sideways, a flashlight between my knees so I could shine it where I needed it and Will was either trying to sit on my lap or pushing the chair into me. That doesn't even count the time he took some random tool and started poking it into the inside of the computer. Yikes!
By the time I have the side mostly back on, I was shaking with the stress. I popped open the printer setup box and quickly tried to install my fat printer, and it didn't work.
I walked Will out of the room, shut the door, and pretended a tornado plucked the room from my house for the rest of the day.
After Will went to bed tonight, I went back in and found my manual. I removed the partially closed side of the computer and following the directions, took back out and reset the card. So easy, so fast.
I booted up the machine, it found the new hardware and downloaded the software. I installed my fat printer and it immediately printed out a test page.
Halalewya! Hallalewya!
I could practically hear angels, or fat ladies, singing.
Then I switched to my "b" port and went to install my plotter. Only the Windows CD does not have a driver for it; it's to old. Not worried, I go to HP's website and look it up. It's no longer a supported driver. A search on the Internet shows that the windows driver you have to use for my plotter is the HP GL/2. Now I remember. I had the devils own time trying to find a driver when I first purchased the plotter.
After an hour or searching, and downloading and attempting three drivers that failed, I'm not feeling so happy about that fat lady. Vista doesn't seem to like any of the drivers I've found and I'm to tired to continue looking tonight.
The day contained major achievements. I installed my first ever card into a computer. I got my color laser printer working and my switch box operational. I did these things all on my own; although the path was long and convoluted.
But at the end of the day, it is the new obstacle in my path that weights heavy in my thoughts and not my sucsess.
Oh well, better half a fat lady than no fat lady at all.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Times, They are A Changing
Most of my life, I have been an early bird. Up early and eagerly going after life, to bed early. Oh, I had a bought in my late teens where I stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning and slept until lunch. But overall, I've always been an early riser.
Looking back over my life, I can honestly say that most things I've accomplished in teh way of work were done before lunch. When I worked at the map company, I'd go in around 5:30 each morning. By the time I went to lunch, most of my work was completed. Same was true of the years I spent in publishing. I would get up at 4:30 and head into work; an hour at the onsite gym and then to work by 6:00. By the time lunch came around, I only had another two hours to put in.
Somehow, Will managed to change fourty years of conditioning. Will, from before his birth, has been a night owl. Most of his four years of life, he has not gone to sleep before 11:30 or midnight. Since there are many things I can't do, work realted, until after he's in bed, I would be up to 1 or 2. Then we would both sleep until 10 or 11 the next morning. It just became our routine and there seemed to be no reason to change it.
When we started going to the YMCA, I got a little better about us getting up. I'd get up about 8 or so and do my orders for the day, wake Will up about 9:30 and feed him breakfast and then hit the gym about 10:30; that was our early start to the day. :)
As the time for Will to go to school got closer and closer, I started trying to adjust his bedtime accordingly. So I started to put him in his room at 8:00, instead of 9:00. And I limited his movie watching to only one show; instead of the 2 or 3 he would beg me for.
He still pops out and bugs me for the entire hour or so of his show, but he is asleep most nights by 9:30 or 10:00 at the latest.
I didn't want to get to agressive about his bedtime until we found out if he'd be attending morning or afternoon classes, and we didn't find out until Thrusday night when we went to open house.
My goal all along has been to use the four hours a day that Will is gone to concentrate on adding new products to my website and promoting it better; to build up my business. I've also talked myself into using the first week or two to just clean up and organize my house. I'm really looking forward to this.
Well, I was until I found out the hours Will will be attending school.
The bus will pick Will up at 6:30 in the morning and return him at 11:11.
Do you realize, that until a few months ago I would still have been asleep at 11:11?
I was standing in the class room, looking at his transportation information and this vision appeared before my eyes. I was all curled up sleeping and Will walks into the bedroom and wakes me up, "Mom, I'm home from school." My stomack just fell.
So, after nearly five years of staying up late and sleeping until lunch, Will and I are going to have to adjust to a new schedule. We both will be getting up at 6 each morning with Steve. We'll all get dressed together and I'll see them both off to work and school, like freaking Mrs. Cleaver. Then I'll try to make something out of my free time. Try to force into action a brain that is use to sleeping until lunch.
Will will still be home in time for lunch, which I'll have to fix. We'll have to try to fit gym into the afternoons, then run our errands between gym and the time Steve gets off. Which will leave us just enough time to eat, bath, and go to bed with the chickens.
It's not anything that the majority of people haven't been doing every day. Just not me. Well, the times, they are a changing.
Looking back over my life, I can honestly say that most things I've accomplished in teh way of work were done before lunch. When I worked at the map company, I'd go in around 5:30 each morning. By the time I went to lunch, most of my work was completed. Same was true of the years I spent in publishing. I would get up at 4:30 and head into work; an hour at the onsite gym and then to work by 6:00. By the time lunch came around, I only had another two hours to put in.
Somehow, Will managed to change fourty years of conditioning. Will, from before his birth, has been a night owl. Most of his four years of life, he has not gone to sleep before 11:30 or midnight. Since there are many things I can't do, work realted, until after he's in bed, I would be up to 1 or 2. Then we would both sleep until 10 or 11 the next morning. It just became our routine and there seemed to be no reason to change it.
When we started going to the YMCA, I got a little better about us getting up. I'd get up about 8 or so and do my orders for the day, wake Will up about 9:30 and feed him breakfast and then hit the gym about 10:30; that was our early start to the day. :)
As the time for Will to go to school got closer and closer, I started trying to adjust his bedtime accordingly. So I started to put him in his room at 8:00, instead of 9:00. And I limited his movie watching to only one show; instead of the 2 or 3 he would beg me for.
He still pops out and bugs me for the entire hour or so of his show, but he is asleep most nights by 9:30 or 10:00 at the latest.
I didn't want to get to agressive about his bedtime until we found out if he'd be attending morning or afternoon classes, and we didn't find out until Thrusday night when we went to open house.
My goal all along has been to use the four hours a day that Will is gone to concentrate on adding new products to my website and promoting it better; to build up my business. I've also talked myself into using the first week or two to just clean up and organize my house. I'm really looking forward to this.
Well, I was until I found out the hours Will will be attending school.
The bus will pick Will up at 6:30 in the morning and return him at 11:11.
Do you realize, that until a few months ago I would still have been asleep at 11:11?
I was standing in the class room, looking at his transportation information and this vision appeared before my eyes. I was all curled up sleeping and Will walks into the bedroom and wakes me up, "Mom, I'm home from school." My stomack just fell.
So, after nearly five years of staying up late and sleeping until lunch, Will and I are going to have to adjust to a new schedule. We both will be getting up at 6 each morning with Steve. We'll all get dressed together and I'll see them both off to work and school, like freaking Mrs. Cleaver. Then I'll try to make something out of my free time. Try to force into action a brain that is use to sleeping until lunch.
Will will still be home in time for lunch, which I'll have to fix. We'll have to try to fit gym into the afternoons, then run our errands between gym and the time Steve gets off. Which will leave us just enough time to eat, bath, and go to bed with the chickens.
It's not anything that the majority of people haven't been doing every day. Just not me. Well, the times, they are a changing.
Printer Hell for the Un-Initiated
Dad upgraded Dona's desktop computer recently and did me the very great honor of swapping out my older and slower desktop for the 2 year old one she'd outgrown.
This baby is amazing; it has a duel processor so the speed is awe inspiring, it has twice the memory and hard drive my old machine had. I love it. I love it even more because it come with a small compact keyboard and I splurged and bought me a new trackball-type mouse. I'm pretty much in geek heaven.
Except . . .
Any time you upgrade your computer you run into issues. The first, and most common, is usually software. My old computer had a copy of MS Office 97 on it. Yeah, laugh it up. But I loved my MS Office and haven't been able to upgrade. I tried to make Works, which came with the machine, do the same things I'm use to doing in Word. It didn't work. My brother pointed me towards a free "Office" suite online and I downloaded it. It didn't work.
I'm not saying that 99 our of 100 people would not have been just as happy with either of the other two programs. But as someone who knows Word and has used it to the extent I have . . . they don't even come close.
So after several frustrating days trying to compensate for the software change, I managed to get a copy of Office 07 for FREE from a company that switched products. I installed it and drooled over it a little this afternoon. Software wise, I only have five other soft wares to install, but at least I own them all.
But the real, and ongoing issue, has been access to my commercial printers. Besides a little HP Designjet, used mainly for personal use, I have two commercial grade printers. Both large printers use parallel ports; which apparently are no longer added to computers.
Yep, I got my fancy new machine home and started plugging things in and it was a major case of the "what the f_ _ _ _!"
Now, my old machine only had one parallel port and I have two printers that need access, so I have a Data Switch. Both printers plug into it and it plugs into the computer; then I just switch from A to B depending on which printer I want to send to. Worked like a charm.
I study up on the Internet and find out they make parallel to USB cords. The most likely place to find one is Fry's, which is probably about 30 miles (one direction) from my house. Wednesday morning, Will and I head out to Fry's. We get there and walk around for about 45 minutes and there is NO ONE to help us. We finally find a printer Parallel to USB cord and buy it.
When we get home I run in to attach it and find that the end for the Parallel is odd and not shaped the way I need it to be at all. Apparently, the end of the parallel cord that attached to the printer is different (sort of a solid piece) than the piece that attaches to the computer (has 25 pins sticking out).
I'm out $15, a 60+ round trip, gas, and a good 2-1/2 hours and I still don't have a fix. So that evening, I run to several closer stores to check for alternatives or connectors. Out another 1-1/2 hours and 30 miles, no luck.
The next morning I repack up the cable, find my receipt and Will and I drive back to Fry's. Only to realize I left the cable sitting on the table and there is still no help. But I find a connector that switches from a printer parallel end to a computer parallel end. As long as I have the cable at home still, this should work.
As soon as I get home I run in to try it only to realize that the printer end of the connector is the wrong sex. I need an "innie" and it's an "outtie".
I'm out another $6, another 60+ round trip, gas, and a good 2 hours and I still don't have a fix.
Dad calls me later and reminds me of the Goodwill computer store and the suggestion that maybe a different switch box might work.
So, this morning I pack up all my Fry goodies and head to the Goodwill store first. I find a switch box that has a printer parallel port to go to the computer. If I use this along with my printer parallel port to USB cord I was about to return to Fry's it should work.
I rush home and it all connects beautifully. The two printers connect to the new box, the new cable connects the box to the computer. Yeha! Only another $3, 50 miles round trip, and 1-1/2 hours.
When Will settles down to watch a movie I come in to set up my printers and realize it's not over until the fat printer sings.
My new computer has vista on it, which I have never used. It also doesn't have designated printer ports. Both of these things have been it impossible for me to install my two big printers. My small printer, which is installed via a USB . . . I didn't have to do anything. The computer recognized it and installed it on it's own. It can't even read the large printers through the switch box. I've installed the "a" printer in every single port option available; twice. I can't get a page to print.
I'm headed toward my fourth day of the new computer and I've spent $24 and a good 10 hours while sick with a head cold trying to install my printers so I can fill orders. Still no luck.
This baby is amazing; it has a duel processor so the speed is awe inspiring, it has twice the memory and hard drive my old machine had. I love it. I love it even more because it come with a small compact keyboard and I splurged and bought me a new trackball-type mouse. I'm pretty much in geek heaven.
Except . . .
Any time you upgrade your computer you run into issues. The first, and most common, is usually software. My old computer had a copy of MS Office 97 on it. Yeah, laugh it up. But I loved my MS Office and haven't been able to upgrade. I tried to make Works, which came with the machine, do the same things I'm use to doing in Word. It didn't work. My brother pointed me towards a free "Office" suite online and I downloaded it. It didn't work.
I'm not saying that 99 our of 100 people would not have been just as happy with either of the other two programs. But as someone who knows Word and has used it to the extent I have . . . they don't even come close.
So after several frustrating days trying to compensate for the software change, I managed to get a copy of Office 07 for FREE from a company that switched products. I installed it and drooled over it a little this afternoon. Software wise, I only have five other soft wares to install, but at least I own them all.
But the real, and ongoing issue, has been access to my commercial printers. Besides a little HP Designjet, used mainly for personal use, I have two commercial grade printers. Both large printers use parallel ports; which apparently are no longer added to computers.
Yep, I got my fancy new machine home and started plugging things in and it was a major case of the "what the f_ _ _ _!"
Now, my old machine only had one parallel port and I have two printers that need access, so I have a Data Switch. Both printers plug into it and it plugs into the computer; then I just switch from A to B depending on which printer I want to send to. Worked like a charm.
I study up on the Internet and find out they make parallel to USB cords. The most likely place to find one is Fry's, which is probably about 30 miles (one direction) from my house. Wednesday morning, Will and I head out to Fry's. We get there and walk around for about 45 minutes and there is NO ONE to help us. We finally find a printer Parallel to USB cord and buy it.
When we get home I run in to attach it and find that the end for the Parallel is odd and not shaped the way I need it to be at all. Apparently, the end of the parallel cord that attached to the printer is different (sort of a solid piece) than the piece that attaches to the computer (has 25 pins sticking out).
I'm out $15, a 60+ round trip, gas, and a good 2-1/2 hours and I still don't have a fix. So that evening, I run to several closer stores to check for alternatives or connectors. Out another 1-1/2 hours and 30 miles, no luck.
The next morning I repack up the cable, find my receipt and Will and I drive back to Fry's. Only to realize I left the cable sitting on the table and there is still no help. But I find a connector that switches from a printer parallel end to a computer parallel end. As long as I have the cable at home still, this should work.
As soon as I get home I run in to try it only to realize that the printer end of the connector is the wrong sex. I need an "innie" and it's an "outtie".
I'm out another $6, another 60+ round trip, gas, and a good 2 hours and I still don't have a fix.
Dad calls me later and reminds me of the Goodwill computer store and the suggestion that maybe a different switch box might work.
So, this morning I pack up all my Fry goodies and head to the Goodwill store first. I find a switch box that has a printer parallel port to go to the computer. If I use this along with my printer parallel port to USB cord I was about to return to Fry's it should work.
I rush home and it all connects beautifully. The two printers connect to the new box, the new cable connects the box to the computer. Yeha! Only another $3, 50 miles round trip, and 1-1/2 hours.
When Will settles down to watch a movie I come in to set up my printers and realize it's not over until the fat printer sings.
My new computer has vista on it, which I have never used. It also doesn't have designated printer ports. Both of these things have been it impossible for me to install my two big printers. My small printer, which is installed via a USB . . . I didn't have to do anything. The computer recognized it and installed it on it's own. It can't even read the large printers through the switch box. I've installed the "a" printer in every single port option available; twice. I can't get a page to print.
I'm headed toward my fourth day of the new computer and I've spent $24 and a good 10 hours while sick with a head cold trying to install my printers so I can fill orders. Still no luck.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Things I Wish My Mother Had Told Me
It is so much harder to talk to your children about generic things that are important, espeically as they age. You are expected, and they are expecting you, to address alcohol, drugs, and sex. But there are a million other little things that never get addressed.
I have my own "grown" children now, and there are things I've never told them. That we've never really discussed. Nothing life shattering, but things that would make their lives a little easier if they would remember and apply them.
Here is a list of things I wish my mother had told me:
This is all I could think about off the top of my head, but I'll add to the list as I think of more. Be sure to post any words of wisdom you would like to share.
I have my own "grown" children now, and there are things I've never told them. That we've never really discussed. Nothing life shattering, but things that would make their lives a little easier if they would remember and apply them.
Here is a list of things I wish my mother had told me:
- Opposites attract; but they don't stay together -- once the heat is gone, so if the common ground.
- Looks fade; your's and others -- don't choose your spouse on his looks, or allow yourself to be choosen on your looks. They will go one day and then where will you be?
- When friends or family 'jokingly' pick at you about things, it's not a joke. There is always a grain of truth behind the laughter, listen to it.
- There is no such thing as the perfect parent or child; don't drive yourself or your children crazy trying to fit a broken mold.
- The best tool a parent can utilize is patience.
- You must know who you are and what you want out of life before you can find someone to share that life with.
- A healthy mind and body leads to a happy mind and body.
- Your children will leave you one day, make sure when they do you have a life left to hang on to. Always keep up your own interests and make plans for when they are no longer in the house.
- A relationship requires constant upkeep, whether it's with a spouce, family member, or friend. If you don't put effort out, pretty soon you will find yourself alone.
- Be happy with what you got; it's wonderful to have goals and strive to reach them. But don't make your entire life about doing better. You need to stop reaching at some point in your life and just enjoy! Settle.
This is all I could think about off the top of my head, but I'll add to the list as I think of more. Be sure to post any words of wisdom you would like to share.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Take that, Security man!
A few months back, I just happen to be in the living room when Steve was watching some inventor program. They were interviewing the man responsible for designing the common type of security passwords used throughout the Internet. You know, those where words (or jumbles of letters) are all squished, smudged, and elongated and you have to enter them correctly.
It was pretty interesting stuff. The inventor had to come up with a program that a computer would use to randomly create passwords that other computers couldn't figure out. Way cool, when you think about it.
Essentially, the computers takes its random letters or words and makes them a photo. Then the photo is ran through random filters that stretch, shrink, smear, wave, etc. Until the word is almost identifiable. No other computer can read them, but usually humans can. So up to this point, I thought this guy was AWESOME. Geeks rule!
Then, another organization contacted him about a different problem. They are attempting to convert millions of paper forms, books, newspapers and such into digital. But due to age, damage, or change in language, there are zillions of words that are not recognized by computers. Why? Because they are squished, smeared, wavy, etc. (Sound familiar?)
So, the guy comes up with the idea of using these unidentifiable words as part of the security system that's already been implemented on the web.
Each time you receive a window like the one below, one of the words is the actual security feature. The other word is some random piece of text that you are deciphering for them FREE OF CHARGE.
I'm pretty damn sure someone is getting paid for deciphering these words, but it's not me. The words are electronically fed as photos to the computer, who submits them alongside the actual security password. Whatever you key in the second box is accepted as being true, since the computer never knew what the word was anyway.
Those of you with evil minds already know where I'm headed.
The next day, when a security window come up with the two words. The first word I keyed in correctly, the second I didn't. It was accepted. I've done this every time since then. You can't leave it blank, but the computer has NO WAY of knowing if what you are keying in is correct or not.
Sure, some day, I'll be reading an electronic version of a newspaper (not) and come across some gibberish instead of an actual word. But you know what, it won't bother me. I'll just smile.
Take that, Security man!
It was pretty interesting stuff. The inventor had to come up with a program that a computer would use to randomly create passwords that other computers couldn't figure out. Way cool, when you think about it.
Essentially, the computers takes its random letters or words and makes them a photo. Then the photo is ran through random filters that stretch, shrink, smear, wave, etc. Until the word is almost identifiable. No other computer can read them, but usually humans can. So up to this point, I thought this guy was AWESOME. Geeks rule!
Then, another organization contacted him about a different problem. They are attempting to convert millions of paper forms, books, newspapers and such into digital. But due to age, damage, or change in language, there are zillions of words that are not recognized by computers. Why? Because they are squished, smeared, wavy, etc. (Sound familiar?)
So, the guy comes up with the idea of using these unidentifiable words as part of the security system that's already been implemented on the web.
Each time you receive a window like the one below, one of the words is the actual security feature. The other word is some random piece of text that you are deciphering for them FREE OF CHARGE.
I'm pretty damn sure someone is getting paid for deciphering these words, but it's not me. The words are electronically fed as photos to the computer, who submits them alongside the actual security password. Whatever you key in the second box is accepted as being true, since the computer never knew what the word was anyway.
Those of you with evil minds already know where I'm headed.
The next day, when a security window come up with the two words. The first word I keyed in correctly, the second I didn't. It was accepted. I've done this every time since then. You can't leave it blank, but the computer has NO WAY of knowing if what you are keying in is correct or not.
Sure, some day, I'll be reading an electronic version of a newspaper (not) and come across some gibberish instead of an actual word. But you know what, it won't bother me. I'll just smile.
Take that, Security man!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Nurse Hodges
I went to Menard Elementary school for eight years (1-8th grades). I quess, honestly, I was there nine years as they held me back a year in first grade due to to many absenses.
The town's population was around 1,500 people. There were two classes for each grade level and around twenty students per class. The building was old and didn't have air conditioning. The entire school yard was covered in concrete and a thick rock wall surrounded the entire thing.
One of the most memorable people in the school, was the school nurse, Mrs. Hodges. She wore a solid white nurse dress and ugly white shoes every school day that I attended there. She even wore the little white hat.
But she was far from your typical school nurse.
To begin with, she smoked. Inside the school. In the nurses office. Anytime you had to go in and see her, she'd be standing by a window with a cigerret in her hands. She'd stub it out in an ash tray and take care of you. She also had a coffee pot she kept on.
She was a loud, rough, thick skinned, outgoing woman in a tiny size 3 body with to many age spots and a smokers deep voice. She also had a heart twice the size of her body. She loved all the children, but seemed to have a special place for those of us that needed it.
I can remember when laying out on the brick wall during recess with my mouth wide open so it would get hot -- I was in 1st or 2nd grade. Then I'd complain to the teacher of having a fever and she'd send me to the nurses office. My temperture was always a little elevated, so Mrs. Hodges would let me stay with her until it went down. If she wasn't busy, she'd pull out a deck of cards and we'd play.
In those days, we recieved all our vacinations at school. There was no health department, clinic, or hospital in town. Every vacination I ever got, she gave me. And after every one of them she gave me a cube of sugar.
Which in todays terms sounds kind of funny. But back then candy wasn't as readily available and I don't imagine she made much. She always had suger cubes for her coffee though.
No twist to teh story. No funny ending. No moral really. Just a good memory.
The town's population was around 1,500 people. There were two classes for each grade level and around twenty students per class. The building was old and didn't have air conditioning. The entire school yard was covered in concrete and a thick rock wall surrounded the entire thing.
One of the most memorable people in the school, was the school nurse, Mrs. Hodges. She wore a solid white nurse dress and ugly white shoes every school day that I attended there. She even wore the little white hat.
But she was far from your typical school nurse.
To begin with, she smoked. Inside the school. In the nurses office. Anytime you had to go in and see her, she'd be standing by a window with a cigerret in her hands. She'd stub it out in an ash tray and take care of you. She also had a coffee pot she kept on.
She was a loud, rough, thick skinned, outgoing woman in a tiny size 3 body with to many age spots and a smokers deep voice. She also had a heart twice the size of her body. She loved all the children, but seemed to have a special place for those of us that needed it.
I can remember when laying out on the brick wall during recess with my mouth wide open so it would get hot -- I was in 1st or 2nd grade. Then I'd complain to the teacher of having a fever and she'd send me to the nurses office. My temperture was always a little elevated, so Mrs. Hodges would let me stay with her until it went down. If she wasn't busy, she'd pull out a deck of cards and we'd play.
In those days, we recieved all our vacinations at school. There was no health department, clinic, or hospital in town. Every vacination I ever got, she gave me. And after every one of them she gave me a cube of sugar.
Which in todays terms sounds kind of funny. But back then candy wasn't as readily available and I don't imagine she made much. She always had suger cubes for her coffee though.
No twist to teh story. No funny ending. No moral really. Just a good memory.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Yeah, we're poor!
So today I went down to register Will for school. In our school district, you have to prove yourself below the poverty line in order to "qualify" for your child to attend pre-k. (On a side note, shouldn't 'qualify' signify you have reached a goal instead of non-reached it?)
I've been really concerned about this because Steve and I are always right above the cut off to qualify (there it is again) for any sort of government aid. We don't get food stamps, Will can't get into head start, and we can't even get the reduced rate insurance Texas offers for children. I don't know how we are suppose to pay for all those things with the excessive $200 or so a year we make, it must be my bad budgeting skills. (Just joking, we make at least $500 a year more than poverty level.)
Regardless, unless something happened, I knew we would not be qualifying. Oddly, the weirdest things happened last month. First, Steve's boss decided to build a deck of his neighbor, but didn't want to run the funds through the company. So he put Steve to work on it and paid him personally for the week and a half it took him to build the deck, during which time Steve didn't get paid through the company. Nothing like this have ever happened at this job before and there was no advance notice that it would.
Next, and this wasn't a good thing, but one of his friends father died and Steve missed a couple of days of work.
The financial requirements to qualify are that you either provide last years tax statement or the last month's pay stubs from your place of employment. Ding!
Even with nine missing paydays, we were less than $50 away from the highest amount we could make in a month to qualify. Weird hu? For once, the fickleness of fate was on our side. Yeah, we're poor!
I've been really concerned about this because Steve and I are always right above the cut off to qualify (there it is again) for any sort of government aid. We don't get food stamps, Will can't get into head start, and we can't even get the reduced rate insurance Texas offers for children. I don't know how we are suppose to pay for all those things with the excessive $200 or so a year we make, it must be my bad budgeting skills. (Just joking, we make at least $500 a year more than poverty level.)
Regardless, unless something happened, I knew we would not be qualifying. Oddly, the weirdest things happened last month. First, Steve's boss decided to build a deck of his neighbor, but didn't want to run the funds through the company. So he put Steve to work on it and paid him personally for the week and a half it took him to build the deck, during which time Steve didn't get paid through the company. Nothing like this have ever happened at this job before and there was no advance notice that it would.
Next, and this wasn't a good thing, but one of his friends father died and Steve missed a couple of days of work.
The financial requirements to qualify are that you either provide last years tax statement or the last month's pay stubs from your place of employment. Ding!
Even with nine missing paydays, we were less than $50 away from the highest amount we could make in a month to qualify. Weird hu? For once, the fickleness of fate was on our side. Yeah, we're poor!
Side Effects of the Side Effects
It's been 9 days since Will was administered four different vaccinations at the same time. Each one of them came with a 2-4 page print out describing why it was necessary and any possible 'side effects'.
So far, Will has had all the one's that don't "result in death".
First few days he had fever, muscle aches, loss of appetite, and was lethargic. The side effects of those 'side effects' were a grumpy, whiny, and fit throwing child.
The second night he started gagging and coughing in the middle of the night, which ended in him regurgitating everything we'd finally managed to get into him. All over the bed, pillows, and stuffed toys. He's repeated this lovely behavior for 5 of the last 6 days; sometimes two or three times a night.
The side effect of this 'side effect' has been tons of laundry, lack of sleep for child and parents, grumpy child and parents.
Hauling the last load of soiled bedding to the laundry room I managed to knock off three different open drinks onto the floor in the living room. Exhausted as I am, I stood there with my smelly load of laundry and looked at the vibrant mixture of liquids as they intertwined on the tile and thought, "This must be a side effect of the side effect from the "side effect".
I need some sleep.
So far, Will has had all the one's that don't "result in death".
First few days he had fever, muscle aches, loss of appetite, and was lethargic. The side effects of those 'side effects' were a grumpy, whiny, and fit throwing child.
The second night he started gagging and coughing in the middle of the night, which ended in him regurgitating everything we'd finally managed to get into him. All over the bed, pillows, and stuffed toys. He's repeated this lovely behavior for 5 of the last 6 days; sometimes two or three times a night.
The side effect of this 'side effect' has been tons of laundry, lack of sleep for child and parents, grumpy child and parents.
Hauling the last load of soiled bedding to the laundry room I managed to knock off three different open drinks onto the floor in the living room. Exhausted as I am, I stood there with my smelly load of laundry and looked at the vibrant mixture of liquids as they intertwined on the tile and thought, "This must be a side effect of the side effect from the "side effect".
I need some sleep.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
That Black Boy
In the small town I grew up in there was only one family of African-Americans in the entire town. I didn't grow up with them as they had no children my age and didn't live anywhere near us. I only knew of them.
I like to think, however, that I did not grow up prejudice against any nationally of people. The biggest reason being that I was raised by a Hispanic step-father and all the siblings I was raised with are 1/2 Hispanic.
That being said, I don't have enough experience talking to, working with, or hanging out with African-Americans to be comfortable with how to address them without insulting them. This is also true of Native-Americans, Orientals, and many many other nationalities. Due to my awareness of prejudice due to race, I am perhaps more worried about stepping on toes or giving a bad impression to others than most.
For this reason, I was totally mortified a few months back when in the middle of an indoor playscape my son yells out -- loud enough for everyone to hear -- "that black boy took my toy." His parents, a very nicely dressed couple sitting a few tables in front of me immediately turned back to glare at me.
I was beyond shocked. Where would Will have even learned to refer to people as "black"? To make sure I understood correctly, I asked him, "Who took your toy?"
"That boy in the black shirt."
I have heard Will refer to children by the color of their clothing before and I realized that was exactly what he was doing. It just so happened that a African-American child was wearing a black shirt.
I felt a moment of complete happiness that my son truly had noticed no difference in the color of skin, had not made a knowing racial slur. After explaining to him, loudly enough the family could hear, that the boy in the black shirt did not have his toy, just one like it, all was well.
Oddly, since then the same thing has come up again. Another African-American child wearing a black shirt. Once again called a black boy. It wasn't as bad, because there was a group of children playing. It also contained a purple boy and a red girl.
I like to think, however, that I did not grow up prejudice against any nationally of people. The biggest reason being that I was raised by a Hispanic step-father and all the siblings I was raised with are 1/2 Hispanic.
That being said, I don't have enough experience talking to, working with, or hanging out with African-Americans to be comfortable with how to address them without insulting them. This is also true of Native-Americans, Orientals, and many many other nationalities. Due to my awareness of prejudice due to race, I am perhaps more worried about stepping on toes or giving a bad impression to others than most.
For this reason, I was totally mortified a few months back when in the middle of an indoor playscape my son yells out -- loud enough for everyone to hear -- "that black boy took my toy." His parents, a very nicely dressed couple sitting a few tables in front of me immediately turned back to glare at me.
I was beyond shocked. Where would Will have even learned to refer to people as "black"? To make sure I understood correctly, I asked him, "Who took your toy?"
"That boy in the black shirt."
I have heard Will refer to children by the color of their clothing before and I realized that was exactly what he was doing. It just so happened that a African-American child was wearing a black shirt.
I felt a moment of complete happiness that my son truly had noticed no difference in the color of skin, had not made a knowing racial slur. After explaining to him, loudly enough the family could hear, that the boy in the black shirt did not have his toy, just one like it, all was well.
Oddly, since then the same thing has come up again. Another African-American child wearing a black shirt. Once again called a black boy. It wasn't as bad, because there was a group of children playing. It also contained a purple boy and a red girl.
Geezus!
As I've been a mom for over 23 years, I seldom use real cuss words. Yes, an occasional "damn" or "hell" will slip out. But compared to a husband of mine, who will remain nameless - but reads my blogs, it's not really cussing at all.
Without even realizing it, over the years I've substitute other words for cuss words.
The last few weeks I've become well aware of them all as Will has started using them religiously. Now, just imagine the following phrases said with a slow southern drawl in a squeaky four-year old voice.
Geezus!
What the hay?
Poo!
You want a piece of me?
(My mistake, he gets that one from his father.)
Nothing makes you as aware of your short comings and bad habits like a child.
Without even realizing it, over the years I've substitute other words for cuss words.
The last few weeks I've become well aware of them all as Will has started using them religiously. Now, just imagine the following phrases said with a slow southern drawl in a squeaky four-year old voice.
Geezus!
What the hay?
Poo!
You want a piece of me?
(My mistake, he gets that one from his father.)
Nothing makes you as aware of your short comings and bad habits like a child.
Monday, August 3, 2009
It all comes out in the wash
First, I want to admit that the following blog is based upon my personal experience and the experiences of my friends. It is very likely that different regions, educational levels, and financial status could greatly affect a difference in your own lives.
But as I see it . . .
Most women I know are very comfortable buying things that don't cost much, especially if it's on sale. We don't put a lot of thought into it. Don't really consider the budget. It's a good deal so we buy it. The problem is that it happens constantly.
They're 50% off and I don't have a pair in this color.
I've paid up to $30 for these and they are only $10 now!
It's just $5.95
It's buy one get one free.
I'm not saying we're doing anything wrong. In fact, I think it's our way of feathering a nest. Bringing small things home and hiding them among other things so they don't stand out.
What bothers me about this is that we are constantly frowned upon by males who don't do this, and certainly don't understand it. We're made to feel guilty for our spending habits. Having to account for each purchase.
I've found in my over twenty years of marriage (with three different husbands) that it all comes out in the wash. Yes, women spend small amounts of money constantly.
But men spend HUGE amounts of money occasionally. They won't buy anything for years, then the next thing you know they're bringing home . . .
A supped up ride on lawnmower for your 10x10 front yard.
A $1,500 gun they'll use less than a dozen times in their life.
A $12,000 shop for the back yard that they'll never spend time in.
A $45,000 motorcycle/car that they always wanted.
I think, this too, is part of human nature. Where women are foragers, men are hunters. They don't bring small things home every day, but when they do bring something home it needs to be big and impressive to validate their role as provider.
I remember the first few times I was presented with hunting trophies and it was scary and shocking. Which I'm sure is the same way men see our constant need to add to and change our environment. But several times in my life I've sit down and calculated my un-necessary expenses. And it pretty much evens out given enough time.
So unless your spouse is running you into bankrupt, don't worry about it. It all comes out in the wash.
But as I see it . . .
Most women I know are very comfortable buying things that don't cost much, especially if it's on sale. We don't put a lot of thought into it. Don't really consider the budget. It's a good deal so we buy it. The problem is that it happens constantly.
They're 50% off and I don't have a pair in this color.
I've paid up to $30 for these and they are only $10 now!
It's just $5.95
It's buy one get one free.
I'm not saying we're doing anything wrong. In fact, I think it's our way of feathering a nest. Bringing small things home and hiding them among other things so they don't stand out.
What bothers me about this is that we are constantly frowned upon by males who don't do this, and certainly don't understand it. We're made to feel guilty for our spending habits. Having to account for each purchase.
I've found in my over twenty years of marriage (with three different husbands) that it all comes out in the wash. Yes, women spend small amounts of money constantly.
But men spend HUGE amounts of money occasionally. They won't buy anything for years, then the next thing you know they're bringing home . . .
A supped up ride on lawnmower for your 10x10 front yard.
A $1,500 gun they'll use less than a dozen times in their life.
A $12,000 shop for the back yard that they'll never spend time in.
A $45,000 motorcycle/car that they always wanted.
I think, this too, is part of human nature. Where women are foragers, men are hunters. They don't bring small things home every day, but when they do bring something home it needs to be big and impressive to validate their role as provider.
I remember the first few times I was presented with hunting trophies and it was scary and shocking. Which I'm sure is the same way men see our constant need to add to and change our environment. But several times in my life I've sit down and calculated my un-necessary expenses. And it pretty much evens out given enough time.
So unless your spouse is running you into bankrupt, don't worry about it. It all comes out in the wash.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Non-automated Confusion
Whether it's living in/near a city or living in/near a city that is known for it's "green" ways, but I've come to the conclusion that I'm getting very spoiled.
I walk up to a retail door and expect it to automatically open. I rise from the toilet in their bathroom and expect it to flush. I stick my hands under the sink and wait for the water to start flowing. I place my hands under the soap dispenser and and it dispenses soap. I wave my hand in front of the paper dispenser and receive towels.
I catch myself pausing in front of enough non-automatically opening doors to be comfortable with that. To understand that not all doors will automatically open. However, I didn't realize how spoilt I was to an automatic bathroom until I recently drove outside of the city limit and had to use the little girls room.
I stood at the door of the stall waiting for the toilet to flush. When it didn't I looked for the little button; only their wasn't one. It had a handle. After flushing the toilet, I went to wash my hands. I stuck my hands under the faucet and it didn't come on. Sometimes the censer is dirty, so I restuck them under there two or three more times. I might still have been there today if another woman hadn't exited a stall and walked up to wash her hands; reaching to turn on the faucet. Duh!
At this point, I was pretty sure I would have to touch the soap dispenser, and I did. But I really expected an automatic paper dispenser, I mean really, who doesn't have one of those? This place apparently.
By the time I exited the restroom, I felt all covered in germs. Which is odd, I'm not a person who worries about germs. It is only the comfort level I have developed living in Austin. They've made me aware of the many places you pick up germs in a bathroom that you don't have to . . . assuming everything is automated.
Makes me wonder what other things I've become accustomed to that I am unaware of? Sequenized red lights? Twenty-four hour shopping? Indoor playscapes? No snow days?
I walk up to a retail door and expect it to automatically open. I rise from the toilet in their bathroom and expect it to flush. I stick my hands under the sink and wait for the water to start flowing. I place my hands under the soap dispenser and and it dispenses soap. I wave my hand in front of the paper dispenser and receive towels.
I catch myself pausing in front of enough non-automatically opening doors to be comfortable with that. To understand that not all doors will automatically open. However, I didn't realize how spoilt I was to an automatic bathroom until I recently drove outside of the city limit and had to use the little girls room.
I stood at the door of the stall waiting for the toilet to flush. When it didn't I looked for the little button; only their wasn't one. It had a handle. After flushing the toilet, I went to wash my hands. I stuck my hands under the faucet and it didn't come on. Sometimes the censer is dirty, so I restuck them under there two or three more times. I might still have been there today if another woman hadn't exited a stall and walked up to wash her hands; reaching to turn on the faucet. Duh!
At this point, I was pretty sure I would have to touch the soap dispenser, and I did. But I really expected an automatic paper dispenser, I mean really, who doesn't have one of those? This place apparently.
By the time I exited the restroom, I felt all covered in germs. Which is odd, I'm not a person who worries about germs. It is only the comfort level I have developed living in Austin. They've made me aware of the many places you pick up germs in a bathroom that you don't have to . . . assuming everything is automated.
Makes me wonder what other things I've become accustomed to that I am unaware of? Sequenized red lights? Twenty-four hour shopping? Indoor playscapes? No snow days?
Saturday, August 1, 2009
A Trip Down the River
The boys went canoeing
Today Steve took Will canoeing. I expected them to be gone three or four hours, they were gone almost twelve. Steve met his boss and his bosses son in San Marcos. They parked one of their trucks where they wanted to come out and then drove back up the river to disembark.
I'll never know exactly what when on every moment of their time away, but here are the things Steve shared with me:
In all fairness, both guys said they had a lot of fun.
I just set on the couch listening to them and trying to figure out how not to let Steve out of the house with my son ever again.
Today Steve took Will canoeing. I expected them to be gone three or four hours, they were gone almost twelve. Steve met his boss and his bosses son in San Marcos. They parked one of their trucks where they wanted to come out and then drove back up the river to disembark.
I'll never know exactly what when on every moment of their time away, but here are the things Steve shared with me:
- Will swung out over deep water on a rope swing, without a life vest, and fell in the water. Steve waiting a few seconds to see if he would come up before jumping in after him.
- While maneuvering some rapids, that his boss stopped to check out, Steve tipped the canoe over and dumped himself and Will out in running water. Will did have on a life vest, but he admits Will was pretty upset after the last episode.
- Steve accidentally locked his keys inside his bosses truck and didn't remember he needed them until they were half way down the river. His boss paid someone $15 to give him a ride back to his truck.
- Will refused to share his fishing net with the other little boy.
- When they stopped for supper, Will fell out of his chair and scraped the underside of his arm.
- During super he also slipped and bumped his head on the table.
- The other boy played games on his gameboy during diner and wouldn't share with Will, because Will wouldn't share with him earlier. Will fused enough the boss let Will play games on his phone.
In all fairness, both guys said they had a lot of fun.
I just set on the couch listening to them and trying to figure out how not to let Steve out of the house with my son ever again.
Random Acts of Evil
Will's got an unique personality, to say the least. This shouldn't shock anyone that knows Steve. The nut did not fall far from the tree, or the other nut in this case.
It is Steve alone that rough-houses with Will. That has taught him it's okay to hit, punch, poke, and have sword fights with adults; especially parents. However, I have to accept that is partially my DNA that makes him enjoy the evil side so much.
While he can be a very loving child, you need to approach him with caution at all times. Reaching down to kiss his sweet baby face you are just as likely to get a hug as you are socked in the face while he laughs and yells, "Gotcha!".
He can be totally involved in a show on TV and as you walk by his chair you have a 50/50 chance of getting kicked or hit with a sword.
If he crawls into your lap when you are sitting down, he might cuddle up against you and watch TV. Or, he might wait until you don't expect it and slam his head back into your face. (He broke my nose last year doing this.)
He is always laughting when it happens. It's always done in "fun" and to get a reaction out of us. I don't feel that my son is evil. He just has to much energy, and not enough going on in his life. That's what I tell myself to sleep at night anyway. :)
So if you visit my house, consider yourself forwarned. We don't practise the art of random acts of kindness here. You're more likely to experience random acts of evil.
It is Steve alone that rough-houses with Will. That has taught him it's okay to hit, punch, poke, and have sword fights with adults; especially parents. However, I have to accept that is partially my DNA that makes him enjoy the evil side so much.
While he can be a very loving child, you need to approach him with caution at all times. Reaching down to kiss his sweet baby face you are just as likely to get a hug as you are socked in the face while he laughs and yells, "Gotcha!".
He can be totally involved in a show on TV and as you walk by his chair you have a 50/50 chance of getting kicked or hit with a sword.
If he crawls into your lap when you are sitting down, he might cuddle up against you and watch TV. Or, he might wait until you don't expect it and slam his head back into your face. (He broke my nose last year doing this.)
He is always laughting when it happens. It's always done in "fun" and to get a reaction out of us. I don't feel that my son is evil. He just has to much energy, and not enough going on in his life. That's what I tell myself to sleep at night anyway. :)
So if you visit my house, consider yourself forwarned. We don't practise the art of random acts of kindness here. You're more likely to experience random acts of evil.
Not quite so optimistic
Most of my life I've been a very optimistic person.
I say most of my life, because I've recently come to the conclusion that I am no longer optimistic. Yes, occasionally, things go my way. Occasionally, strangers notice and are nice to me. Occasionally, I have happy days. But I figure the odds are stacked against me; it will happen everyone once in a while.
But I know longer expect it to happen. And this has been a huge shocker for me. After nearly forty years expecting the good from every person and situations, I no longer do. I'm sure someone of you are thinking this is a sign of my ongoing battle with depression, but it feels more like a growing up to me. It's not completely a bad thing. I don't expect the worse of anyone or thing either. Just that it will be one or the other. Good or bad, sometimes in between.
It's just life. They're just people. Shit happens.
Maybe it's part of the aging process. When you think about it, the longer we live the more pain and disappointment we've seen. The more loved one's we've lost. It would be a natural step to lose some of our ability to expect only good.
Steve's a natural pessimist, and has been since the day I met him. Everything that can go wrong will, no one can be trusted, companies are trying to cheat us. Maybe my waining lack of optimism is in part to living so closely to someone with an opposite view point. Married couples do become more like each other through the years.
Regardless of why I've lost my optimistic view on life, it's gone. It's been gone for a while and I don't expect it back. I'm sure, once I adapt to it's loss, I won't even miss it.
(Is that optimistic enough for you?)
I say most of my life, because I've recently come to the conclusion that I am no longer optimistic. Yes, occasionally, things go my way. Occasionally, strangers notice and are nice to me. Occasionally, I have happy days. But I figure the odds are stacked against me; it will happen everyone once in a while.
But I know longer expect it to happen. And this has been a huge shocker for me. After nearly forty years expecting the good from every person and situations, I no longer do. I'm sure someone of you are thinking this is a sign of my ongoing battle with depression, but it feels more like a growing up to me. It's not completely a bad thing. I don't expect the worse of anyone or thing either. Just that it will be one or the other. Good or bad, sometimes in between.
It's just life. They're just people. Shit happens.
Maybe it's part of the aging process. When you think about it, the longer we live the more pain and disappointment we've seen. The more loved one's we've lost. It would be a natural step to lose some of our ability to expect only good.
Steve's a natural pessimist, and has been since the day I met him. Everything that can go wrong will, no one can be trusted, companies are trying to cheat us. Maybe my waining lack of optimism is in part to living so closely to someone with an opposite view point. Married couples do become more like each other through the years.
Regardless of why I've lost my optimistic view on life, it's gone. It's been gone for a while and I don't expect it back. I'm sure, once I adapt to it's loss, I won't even miss it.
(Is that optimistic enough for you?)
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