6:08 a.m.
Mom cracks open my bedroom door and peers inside. Startled, I jolt upright in bed and mentally curse her for waking me 7 minutes before my alarm. She motions me out of bed and shuts the door. I roll over and close my eyes.
6:10 a.m.
Mom opens the door once more. "Come here NOW!" she hisses through the crack and closes the door, less silently than before. Brae sits up in bed, eyes closed and disoriented. "Shh", I pat his back and soothe him back to sleep. A string of silent curse words fly through my head as I tumble from my bed and trudge into the kitchen. I shuffle my monkey slippers through our small hallway and run headfirst into a wall of.....
What is that?!
I sniff the air and make a face..
Spiced beef?
A cake made of curry?
Sweaty gym socks soaking a pool of urine?
No. No. We had chicken last night. Why, that is the distinct smell of....DOG SHIT IN MY KITCHEN.
Dodge had been inflicted with a massive bought of doggy diarrhea during the middle of the night. My mom stood, hands on hips, in the middle of the kitchen, shaking her head as she pointed at Dodger's crate.
"Do you SMELL that?!"
"How could I not?"
"GET.IT.OUT. NOW!" She growled.
I picked up the crate and choked back an overwhelming urge to vomit. It was the most foul smelling thing, and I was lugging it awkwardly out the patio door when the crate door opened and my poop laden pooch came tumbling out.
"SHIT!"
Mom and I sang out in unison. Literally. Shit. Shit on Dodger. Shit on Dodger's blanket. Shit on the patio floor. Shit on me. Nearly.
I flung the crate across the patio floor and marched over the gutter attached to the patio roof. I shimmied up the gutter to the top of the roof and promptly flung myself off.
If it's not a shitty dog in the early morning hours, it's discovering that your child has been discreetly snacking on his picked boogers during story time. Or having a particularly painful injection in your gums as you get your tooth re-filled at the dentist office after the original filling knocked loose. Or having to pay money to file paperwork requesting a court date so that you may request money that you are owed and have not been paid since your split from Him. It's two extra people in your house during the holidays, hogging the remote and drinking all the sweet tea without making more. It's being overwhelmed at work and going part time in only a few days. It's all this and more.
And it's only Tuesday.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Black Friday indeed.
I'm a bit cranky today, having to work the day after Christmas, so instead of bitching about my misfortune, I am showering you with a gratuitous amount of photographic Christmas cheer.
So ENJOY IT DAMMIT.
Twas the night before Christmas....
And the child sprinkled homemade reindeer food on his front lawn.......
Wrote a letter to Santa.....
And set out some cookies and milk for The Big Guy.....
The next morning he awoke to find an abundance of presents under his tree and a mother who would not stop snapping pictures of his adorable bed head.
He received mostly presents...........
and only a few measly pieces of coal in his stocking.
One of his favorite gifts was one enjoyed by the entire family.
Go speed Granny, Go!
The day was spent with family and friends, exchanging presents and eating more food than necessary. I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas and were fortunate enough to not have to work today.
So ENJOY IT DAMMIT.
Twas the night before Christmas....
And the child sprinkled homemade reindeer food on his front lawn.......
Wrote a letter to Santa.....
And set out some cookies and milk for The Big Guy.....
The next morning he awoke to find an abundance of presents under his tree and a mother who would not stop snapping pictures of his adorable bed head.
He received mostly presents...........
and only a few measly pieces of coal in his stocking.
One of his favorite gifts was one enjoyed by the entire family.
Go speed Granny, Go!
The day was spent with family and friends, exchanging presents and eating more food than necessary. I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas and were fortunate enough to not have to work today.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Homemade for the holidays.
This year I got a little creative with presents for some of my coworkers. My mom found the "recipe" for homemade bath salts in a Martha Stewart catalogue. We made it once following the instructions explicitly and found it to be far too greasy and reeking of olive oil. Fun! Our second attempt with sunflower oil was much better and far less smelly. Below are the instructions.
May I suggest paying particular attention to the alterations in italics. The person who put together this article was a HUGE fan of oil.
Body Scrub (or bath salts)
Makes about 2 1/3 cups (or 4 large Mason jars)
1: Stir together Epsom salts or sugar and carrier oil in a bowl, mixing well.
2: Using a pipette, add essential oil, 1 drop at a time. Add food coloring, and stir until color is even throughout. Spoon into canning jars.
May I suggest paying particular attention to the alterations in italics. The person who put together this article was a HUGE fan of oil.
Body Scrub (or bath salts)
Makes about 2 1/3 cups (or 4 large Mason jars)
- 2 cups Epsom salts or organic cane sugar
- 1 cup carrier oil (Start with a teaspoon and work your way up. You do NOT need to use an entire cup. We used sunflower oil. AVOID the olive oil!)
- 8 drops essential oils (We used Grapefruit Peppermint oil from Bath and Body works and put in about 10 drops)
- 1 drop food coloring
1: Stir together Epsom salts or sugar and carrier oil in a bowl, mixing well.
2: Using a pipette, add essential oil, 1 drop at a time. Add food coloring, and stir until color is even throughout. Spoon into canning jars.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
It's amazing what a little honey can't do.
Every year I do photo Christmas cards for my family and friends. When Brae was a baby, I made a deal of it- taking him to a professional place to have his pictures taken and ordering photo cards there that seriously cost. They were adorable and well worth the money that I then had plenty of.
Fast forward four years and one divorce later and you will find me in my front yard; Canon in one hand and a honey bear in the other, attempting to capture a moment between a boy and his dog.
On thing I have learned from this exercise is that it is more difficult than you would think, to get a dog to lick honey off a child's cheek.
Or perhaps maybe it is just MY DOG whose brain is not properly connected to his sense of smell.
Brae was really none too pleased with idea of sticky goo being spooned onto his face.
And it took A LOT of goo to convince that dog he needed to be licked.
At one point I decided it would be ADORABLE if I bundled Brae up in his matching hat and sweater combo that he has gotten the chance to wear only once so far this "winter". It was 80 degrees outside mind you, but you want to believe it's cold out, right?
We also had Santa hats- both doggie and human sized. I'm not entirely certain where the dog's hat came from, as it is normally tied to the the head of a ceramic dachshund who sits near our front door. Yes, I said CERAMIC DACHSHUND.
Dodger was a very poor sport during the entire production. He kept mumbling something about being too canine for this shit.
Of course 1 hour and 200 pictures later I was able to produce these:
And then Dodge tried to maul my child.
Kidding. It was a only a love bite.
Happy Christmas Eve's eve!
Fast forward four years and one divorce later and you will find me in my front yard; Canon in one hand and a honey bear in the other, attempting to capture a moment between a boy and his dog.
On thing I have learned from this exercise is that it is more difficult than you would think, to get a dog to lick honey off a child's cheek.
Or perhaps maybe it is just MY DOG whose brain is not properly connected to his sense of smell.
Brae was really none too pleased with idea of sticky goo being spooned onto his face.
And it took A LOT of goo to convince that dog he needed to be licked.
At one point I decided it would be ADORABLE if I bundled Brae up in his matching hat and sweater combo that he has gotten the chance to wear only once so far this "winter". It was 80 degrees outside mind you, but you want to believe it's cold out, right?
We also had Santa hats- both doggie and human sized. I'm not entirely certain where the dog's hat came from, as it is normally tied to the the head of a ceramic dachshund who sits near our front door. Yes, I said CERAMIC DACHSHUND.
Dodger was a very poor sport during the entire production. He kept mumbling something about being too canine for this shit.
Of course 1 hour and 200 pictures later I was able to produce these:
And then Dodge tried to maul my child.
Kidding. It was a only a love bite.
Happy Christmas Eve's eve!
Monday, December 22, 2008
They're Baaaaaack!
BANGS.
Photo courtesy of Brae.
Current obsession: Deep purple polish on my fingernails.
Brae's flick of the week: Mama Mia!
Coveting: These
Current mood in correlation with the chilly weather: Positive
Need: To learn how to sew
On my nightstand: Wally Lamb's I Know This Much is True
Photo courtesy of Brae.
Current obsession: Deep purple polish on my fingernails.
Brae's flick of the week: Mama Mia!
Coveting: These
Current mood in correlation with the chilly weather: Positive
Need: To learn how to sew
On my nightstand: Wally Lamb's I Know This Much is True
Friday, December 19, 2008
Bells will be ringing.
Last night was Brae's preschools Winter Concert Extravaganza! Something they subtly dubbed, 'Seasons Readings' and which I refer to only as THE NIGHT MY SON BECAME A STAR.
I spent the evenings leading up to this event quizzing Brae on what I could expect at his performance. What songs are you singing? Will you be using bells? Do you sing that dreidel song? Are you guys dancing? Are you listening to me? Did you just roll your eyes at me?
"Mom" He sighed, "We're just Kris Kringle's Jingle Bell Band."
"So you will be using bells then?!"
Part of the reason for my excitement, was because I also attended the same daycare that Brae now goes to. Back then it was in a different location, but still operated by the same director as it is today. And I have also participated in the Winter Concert Extravaganzas! Or what my parents refer to only as OH SHIT, I HOPE SHE HAS ANOTHER TALENT. Thanks mom. Dad.
Only kidding. I am an excellent singer. And dancer too. Ask me about my interpretive dancing.
So I pre-ordered the video for the concert, dressed Brae in the brand new shirt I had reserved specifically for Christmas activities and mom and I set off early to the elementary school, 2 miles down the street, where the concert would be held. We only thought we were doing well. However, pulling into the parking lot convinced me otherwise. There were cars. Vans. SUV's. Lined up and down the street. Spilling into the Middle school parking lot next door.
"Maybe we should have gotten here early?" I said.
"Nah" Mom reassured me. "These cars are from the performance before his. We're fine".
We were not fine. As we strolled through the cafeteria doors and surveyed the remaining available seating, I started hyperventilating and went into tactic mode.
"Find seats" I hissed. "I'll take Brae to the back".
While mom went off to locate two spare seats, I steered Brae to the back of the stage where his class was gathering before the performance. As we reached the doors leading to the entrance, I felt his grip on my right hand tighten. Just a little pre-performance jitters, I tried to reassure him. But as his face crumpled and the tears started to flow, I began to panic.
"You don't want to do this?!" I asked.
No answer. And just as I was about to have a real come to Jesus over the importance of this program for mommy, his teacher appeared. "Just Go, I've got him" she said.
We couldn't find any good seats, the only ones left being in the last row. So we stood alongside one of the walls. Brae's class was on second and did indeed perform the obscure tune-"Kris Kringle's Jingle Bell Band". And my son- naturally had the bells. He was so tiny standing up there, one of the smallest in his class. But I could see his mouth moving to the correct lines in the song and the fear that had crippled him only moments before seemed to have altogether disappeared.
"Do you think he can see us?" I whispered.
"I don't know, he's defiantly looking" Mom said.
"Maybe, let's wave"
2 minutes later
"He can't see us!" I said.
"He's looking right at us!" Mom replied.
"Why doesn't he wave back?" I asked. "I don't think he can see us. It's too dark."
"We'll just keep waving"
10 minutes later.
"Oh! I think he saw us! I'm pretty sure he did. He looked right at me."
"He's still not looking at us. It's like he's looking.....over our heads somewhere."
"I don't think he sees us."
20 minutes later
"I don't know mom. I don't think he can see us at all. Put your hand down. We look like idiots."
The show ended with a great little number in which the children sang, "Donde es los Santa Claus?" And proving that he is indeed his mother's son, Brae fell about two counts behind the rest of the class with his corresponding hand movements. Thus making him even more adorable than he already was.
As were were exiting the cafeteria hand and hand I nonchalantly asked, "So-did you see us out there?"
"Yup." He replied.
"Why didn't you wave?!"
No answer.
Apparently it is time for the come to Jesus after all. Only this time we'll discuss mommy's need for silent affirmation.
I spent the evenings leading up to this event quizzing Brae on what I could expect at his performance. What songs are you singing? Will you be using bells? Do you sing that dreidel song? Are you guys dancing? Are you listening to me? Did you just roll your eyes at me?
"Mom" He sighed, "We're just Kris Kringle's Jingle Bell Band."
"So you will be using bells then?!"
Part of the reason for my excitement, was because I also attended the same daycare that Brae now goes to. Back then it was in a different location, but still operated by the same director as it is today. And I have also participated in the Winter Concert Extravaganzas! Or what my parents refer to only as OH SHIT, I HOPE SHE HAS ANOTHER TALENT. Thanks mom. Dad.
Only kidding. I am an excellent singer. And dancer too. Ask me about my interpretive dancing.
So I pre-ordered the video for the concert, dressed Brae in the brand new shirt I had reserved specifically for Christmas activities and mom and I set off early to the elementary school, 2 miles down the street, where the concert would be held. We only thought we were doing well. However, pulling into the parking lot convinced me otherwise. There were cars. Vans. SUV's. Lined up and down the street. Spilling into the Middle school parking lot next door.
"Maybe we should have gotten here early?" I said.
"Nah" Mom reassured me. "These cars are from the performance before his. We're fine".
We were not fine. As we strolled through the cafeteria doors and surveyed the remaining available seating, I started hyperventilating and went into tactic mode.
"Find seats" I hissed. "I'll take Brae to the back".
While mom went off to locate two spare seats, I steered Brae to the back of the stage where his class was gathering before the performance. As we reached the doors leading to the entrance, I felt his grip on my right hand tighten. Just a little pre-performance jitters, I tried to reassure him. But as his face crumpled and the tears started to flow, I began to panic.
"You don't want to do this?!" I asked.
No answer. And just as I was about to have a real come to Jesus over the importance of this program for mommy, his teacher appeared. "Just Go, I've got him" she said.
We couldn't find any good seats, the only ones left being in the last row. So we stood alongside one of the walls. Brae's class was on second and did indeed perform the obscure tune-"Kris Kringle's Jingle Bell Band". And my son- naturally had the bells. He was so tiny standing up there, one of the smallest in his class. But I could see his mouth moving to the correct lines in the song and the fear that had crippled him only moments before seemed to have altogether disappeared.
"Do you think he can see us?" I whispered.
"I don't know, he's defiantly looking" Mom said.
"Maybe, let's wave"
2 minutes later
"He can't see us!" I said.
"He's looking right at us!" Mom replied.
"Why doesn't he wave back?" I asked. "I don't think he can see us. It's too dark."
"We'll just keep waving"
10 minutes later.
"Oh! I think he saw us! I'm pretty sure he did. He looked right at me."
"He's still not looking at us. It's like he's looking.....over our heads somewhere."
"I don't think he sees us."
20 minutes later
"I don't know mom. I don't think he can see us at all. Put your hand down. We look like idiots."
The show ended with a great little number in which the children sang, "Donde es los Santa Claus?" And proving that he is indeed his mother's son, Brae fell about two counts behind the rest of the class with his corresponding hand movements. Thus making him even more adorable than he already was.
As were were exiting the cafeteria hand and hand I nonchalantly asked, "So-did you see us out there?"
"Yup." He replied.
"Why didn't you wave?!"
No answer.
Apparently it is time for the come to Jesus after all. Only this time we'll discuss mommy's need for silent affirmation.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wedding Invitations
I was raised in one of those quaint country towns where everyone knew, well....everyone. You couldn't swing a dead cat in the neighborhood Wal-Mart without hitting one of your neighbors or relatives. And there was no such thing as a secret, only gossip, and gossip was GOOD. I went to school with the same pack of kids every year and as a result have a handful of really good friends that I have known since diaper days.
Our town has grown tremendously since then, urban sprawl having consumed the better part of what once was orange groves and farm land. I can remember the day the 2nd Subway came into town and thinking what hot shit we must be to merit a SECOND Subway. It seemed like overnight an entire cropping of new subdivisions sprung up. And then apartments. Large gyms. New shopping plazas. A BLOCKBUSTER. And before we even had a chance to asses all the changes, they broke ground to build what is rumored to become the largest mall in Florida. Our town has received an enormous commercial face lift and while I appreciate the convenience of having my White Chocolate Mocha a stone's throw away, I sometimes miss the rotten oranges and smell of poo wafting through the air.
Out my closest and oldest group of friends, only three remain unmarried. And that number is about to be reduced once more. Veronica, whom I've known since I was a toddler (Seriously. Our parents went to High School together. The same High School that we then graduated from 20 some odd years later.) is tying the knot with another schoolmate and friend of mine. They are getting married this February. I'm one of the bridesmaids.
Veronica is this ridiculously artistic person who hails from an equally ridiculous artistic family who are almost all teachers in our public schools. Her mother and her designed the wedding invitations and as soon as I opened the envelope, I fell in love.
Never have I seen a more perfect wedding invitation. Isn't it adorable? It deviates so well from the typical stark white card stock with a ribbon on top. And best of all- it SO FITS Veronica. It's a perfect bi-fold representation of her personality and if I wouldn't have had to blur out all the wedding details on the inside, I would have opened it up and let you see just how awesome the entire thing is.
And naturally, because it was BIRDS!, I had to frame it.
Our town has grown tremendously since then, urban sprawl having consumed the better part of what once was orange groves and farm land. I can remember the day the 2nd Subway came into town and thinking what hot shit we must be to merit a SECOND Subway. It seemed like overnight an entire cropping of new subdivisions sprung up. And then apartments. Large gyms. New shopping plazas. A BLOCKBUSTER. And before we even had a chance to asses all the changes, they broke ground to build what is rumored to become the largest mall in Florida. Our town has received an enormous commercial face lift and while I appreciate the convenience of having my White Chocolate Mocha a stone's throw away, I sometimes miss the rotten oranges and smell of poo wafting through the air.
Out my closest and oldest group of friends, only three remain unmarried. And that number is about to be reduced once more. Veronica, whom I've known since I was a toddler (Seriously. Our parents went to High School together. The same High School that we then graduated from 20 some odd years later.) is tying the knot with another schoolmate and friend of mine. They are getting married this February. I'm one of the bridesmaids.
Veronica is this ridiculously artistic person who hails from an equally ridiculous artistic family who are almost all teachers in our public schools. Her mother and her designed the wedding invitations and as soon as I opened the envelope, I fell in love.
Never have I seen a more perfect wedding invitation. Isn't it adorable? It deviates so well from the typical stark white card stock with a ribbon on top. And best of all- it SO FITS Veronica. It's a perfect bi-fold representation of her personality and if I wouldn't have had to blur out all the wedding details on the inside, I would have opened it up and let you see just how awesome the entire thing is.
And naturally, because it was BIRDS!, I had to frame it.
Monday, December 15, 2008
You can't hum to a top ten...err, eight.
About two weeks ago, we put up the Christmas tree. It was a little different this year with my brother still in Spain and my father now living in California. There was no bickering and jostling over which unfortunate child would be stuck with helping dad string the lights. No friendly griping over the outrageous mound of ornaments waiting to be hung. I didn't even get to kangaroo fight my sibling for the sacred honor of placing the angel on top of the tree. It was so......quiet. And unusual.
Mom and I silently unpacked our Christmas boxes and made small proclamations of surprise when we stumbled upon some yuletide treasure we had forgotten. We listened to Mariah Carey and Josh Groban belt out carols from our computer speakers and danced with Brae in the kitchen to Baby it's Cold Outside. We collaborated on the small white tree lights and mom placed the angel on the top of the tree as I stood back and directed her positioning. Brae hung plastic ornaments in sporadic clumps on the bottom 1/4 of the tree as I placed the crystal ones far out of his reach. We finished with great flourish and the three of us ran outside to behold our creation from the street.
It was calm, less stressful. I found myself actually enjoying the task that I had once relished with about as much gusto as I had for washing my car. (Which, by the way, has not been washed since the end of summer.)
And with my new serene outlook on obligatory Christmas activities came this awareness:
My mom has a ass load of tacky Christmas ornaments.
And just to prove it to you, I have a few examples. I was going to do this kitschy little number where I substituted the ornaments for the gifts in Twelve Days of Christmas and made witty accompanying lyrics that subtly shamed them, but then I realized that I had only taken pictures of EIGHT tacky ornaments and eight is the number of nights in Hanukkah- not Christmas. And we are not Jewish-- even if your sibling had once permed his hair in an attempt to appear such.
So, I'm thinking that instead of a song we'll do a top ten. Like Letterman- only with eight, not ten.
PROOF THAT MY MOTHER LOVES HER CHILDREN or why our Christmas tree looks homeless.
#8 THE FARTING REINDEER
Sure he looks unoffensive enough, but take a closer peek at the message on his banner and then push the tiny button. There is nothing innocent about his reindeer games.
#7 THE CLASSIC POPSICLE STICK FRAME
As you can clearly see, I was a fucking PRO at hearts.
#6 GLITTER BALL
I know technically I shouldn't count the homemade ornaments. But this one counts because I had rotten teeth in the picture. CLASSY MOM.
#5 MORE POPSICLE ART
Sometimes Brae brings home projects that he's done in school and after elaborating just how AWESOME said project is, I silently slip it into the trash can when he isn't looking. I can see this is not a learned behavior.
# 4 THE FIVEL STOCKING
No doubt received in a 1986 Happy Meal.
#3 THE SHAMED CHERUB
This item is unclaimed. No name, no date. Nothing. Though I suspect that someone once tossed it into our mailbox and mom was all, 'Oooh! Treasure!"
#2 THE CERAMIC CLOWN
It's bad enough to have a CLOWN dangling from your Christmas tree. But a clown whose arms have been amputated? Inappropriate.
#1 THE ALUMINUM SPIDER
What is silver, has eight legs and two red beady eyes? Why, the holiday spider of course! A distant cousin of the holiday armadillo.
As much entertainment as I have found in mocking the random and bizarre ornamental selection on our tree, I have to give my mom kudos for hanging on to all those trinkets from 20 years ago. Our tree is like some giant time capsule- documenting both mine and my brother's childhood.
Every ornament has a story. Even if that story is, "I don't know where this ornament came from or why the hell we still hang it on the tree 20 years later". It's unique and quirky. Fun in that random sense and I honestly hope that when I do have my own Christmas tree once more, it will be every bit as tacky as this one.
Mom and I silently unpacked our Christmas boxes and made small proclamations of surprise when we stumbled upon some yuletide treasure we had forgotten. We listened to Mariah Carey and Josh Groban belt out carols from our computer speakers and danced with Brae in the kitchen to Baby it's Cold Outside. We collaborated on the small white tree lights and mom placed the angel on the top of the tree as I stood back and directed her positioning. Brae hung plastic ornaments in sporadic clumps on the bottom 1/4 of the tree as I placed the crystal ones far out of his reach. We finished with great flourish and the three of us ran outside to behold our creation from the street.
It was calm, less stressful. I found myself actually enjoying the task that I had once relished with about as much gusto as I had for washing my car. (Which, by the way, has not been washed since the end of summer.)
And with my new serene outlook on obligatory Christmas activities came this awareness:
My mom has a ass load of tacky Christmas ornaments.
And just to prove it to you, I have a few examples. I was going to do this kitschy little number where I substituted the ornaments for the gifts in Twelve Days of Christmas and made witty accompanying lyrics that subtly shamed them, but then I realized that I had only taken pictures of EIGHT tacky ornaments and eight is the number of nights in Hanukkah- not Christmas. And we are not Jewish-- even if your sibling had once permed his hair in an attempt to appear such.
So, I'm thinking that instead of a song we'll do a top ten. Like Letterman- only with eight, not ten.
PROOF THAT MY MOTHER LOVES HER CHILDREN or why our Christmas tree looks homeless.
#8 THE FARTING REINDEER
Sure he looks unoffensive enough, but take a closer peek at the message on his banner and then push the tiny button. There is nothing innocent about his reindeer games.
#7 THE CLASSIC POPSICLE STICK FRAME
As you can clearly see, I was a fucking PRO at hearts.
#6 GLITTER BALL
I know technically I shouldn't count the homemade ornaments. But this one counts because I had rotten teeth in the picture. CLASSY MOM.
#5 MORE POPSICLE ART
Sometimes Brae brings home projects that he's done in school and after elaborating just how AWESOME said project is, I silently slip it into the trash can when he isn't looking. I can see this is not a learned behavior.
# 4 THE FIVEL STOCKING
No doubt received in a 1986 Happy Meal.
#3 THE SHAMED CHERUB
This item is unclaimed. No name, no date. Nothing. Though I suspect that someone once tossed it into our mailbox and mom was all, 'Oooh! Treasure!"
#2 THE CERAMIC CLOWN
It's bad enough to have a CLOWN dangling from your Christmas tree. But a clown whose arms have been amputated? Inappropriate.
#1 THE ALUMINUM SPIDER
What is silver, has eight legs and two red beady eyes? Why, the holiday spider of course! A distant cousin of the holiday armadillo.
As much entertainment as I have found in mocking the random and bizarre ornamental selection on our tree, I have to give my mom kudos for hanging on to all those trinkets from 20 years ago. Our tree is like some giant time capsule- documenting both mine and my brother's childhood.
Every ornament has a story. Even if that story is, "I don't know where this ornament came from or why the hell we still hang it on the tree 20 years later". It's unique and quirky. Fun in that random sense and I honestly hope that when I do have my own Christmas tree once more, it will be every bit as tacky as this one.
Let the countdown begin.
14.
The number of full time days left at my job.
Minus holidays- well, that puts me at 12. And if you count the days we will surely be let go early (Christmas Eve & New Years Eve) we're getting closer to 11.
And you know what? 11 is a spectacular number.
The decision to go part-time was made about two months ago. Right around the time I was sitting at the dinning room table about 2 am and using duct tape to fend off advancing heavy eyelids while flipping through the pages Henry V. Or about the time I was sitting at Panera at 2 pm the afternoon I had a story due in Fiction and cussing out the cursors presence on an alarmingly blank white page. ( I received an A in the class mind you, but there was nothing like crunching out a horrendously drab story only hours before it was due. And it happened. A LOT.)
And I did receive an A in all of the classes I took last semester so it may seem like there is no point my reduced work schedule. But OH THERE IS A POINT. And that point sits right atop my SANITY.
I am not made to run in a million directions at once. I know many people who succeed in multi-tasking and I know that references have been made to my superior ability to do such. I assure you though, it was all a ruse. One heaping pile of deception. Oh it was. Because while others were praising my fortitude and steadfast commitment to making it work as a full time student/employee/mother, I was crying the bathroom closet and chucking the nearest shoe at my mother for questioning my sanity.
So, my easy resolution? Part-time work. Something had to give and Brae just wouldn't hold still as I tried to package him off to Tanzania. It only makes sense to sacrifice the one source of my income while taking classes that yield absolutely no tangible purpose. Makes absolute sense that I would sacrifice my health insurance and two days worth of pay over a few classes that will hopefully assist in getting me into a good graduate program. It makes sense. Of course it does.
I am lucky that my work agreed to keep me part time and while I would like to believe it really is because I am THAT good at what I do, I know it's only because the thought of having to hire someone new during the departmental restructuring that is going on would be absolute HELL for them and they figured they would rather just make due. Whatever the reason, I'm grateful that I get to stay. Given the current job market and the constrictions my class schedule places on my work schedule, it was very fortunate that they wanted to keep me.
Plus, we just recently had someone leave the company and I participated in his farewell.
The thought of walking into that on my last day would be enough to prevent me from going anywhere.
The number of full time days left at my job.
Minus holidays- well, that puts me at 12. And if you count the days we will surely be let go early (Christmas Eve & New Years Eve) we're getting closer to 11.
And you know what? 11 is a spectacular number.
The decision to go part-time was made about two months ago. Right around the time I was sitting at the dinning room table about 2 am and using duct tape to fend off advancing heavy eyelids while flipping through the pages Henry V. Or about the time I was sitting at Panera at 2 pm the afternoon I had a story due in Fiction and cussing out the cursors presence on an alarmingly blank white page. ( I received an A in the class mind you, but there was nothing like crunching out a horrendously drab story only hours before it was due. And it happened. A LOT.)
And I did receive an A in all of the classes I took last semester so it may seem like there is no point my reduced work schedule. But OH THERE IS A POINT. And that point sits right atop my SANITY.
I am not made to run in a million directions at once. I know many people who succeed in multi-tasking and I know that references have been made to my superior ability to do such. I assure you though, it was all a ruse. One heaping pile of deception. Oh it was. Because while others were praising my fortitude and steadfast commitment to making it work as a full time student/employee/mother, I was crying the bathroom closet and chucking the nearest shoe at my mother for questioning my sanity.
So, my easy resolution? Part-time work. Something had to give and Brae just wouldn't hold still as I tried to package him off to Tanzania. It only makes sense to sacrifice the one source of my income while taking classes that yield absolutely no tangible purpose. Makes absolute sense that I would sacrifice my health insurance and two days worth of pay over a few classes that will hopefully assist in getting me into a good graduate program. It makes sense. Of course it does.
I am lucky that my work agreed to keep me part time and while I would like to believe it really is because I am THAT good at what I do, I know it's only because the thought of having to hire someone new during the departmental restructuring that is going on would be absolute HELL for them and they figured they would rather just make due. Whatever the reason, I'm grateful that I get to stay. Given the current job market and the constrictions my class schedule places on my work schedule, it was very fortunate that they wanted to keep me.
Plus, we just recently had someone leave the company and I participated in his farewell.
The thought of walking into that on my last day would be enough to prevent me from going anywhere.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Motivation, I should speak on you
You know that one stalker-esque Christmas song that warns against the perils of misbehavior during the holiday season? You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm telling you that your mother has already spent a lot of money on gifts for you so don't make her regret her decision to purchase them. Well. It goes something like that.
I feel as though I may need to have the lyrics to that particular song tattooed on some large flat area of my body. Or maybe set my cell phone ring to it's melody so I can wave it in the air in one hand while pulling my weeping four year old off the Publix restroom floor with the other. While other children may fear the possibility of not receiving anything this Christmas this year, my son floats blissfully amiss in his bubble of ignorance. And because of this, it has recently become my personal goal to instill in him this awareness.
Of course how to teach a pre-schooler the concept of a reward system based on something completely intangible at the moment is a bit of a challenge. He can make it through a 90 minute animated film and not move a millimeter, but the second the first serious syllable issues forth from my lips I can see the light dull out in his eyes. I don't drone do I? Maybe don't answer that.
I'll admit, the concept is a lofty one. I almost want to sit him down and just point out that 'Look Kid- you stand to receive a shit load of toys in a few weeks and although you are going to get those toys regardless because it's a tradition, it would really do much to calm the murky waters of my conscious if you could only PRETEND to be a well behaved child for the next 14 days? Capiche?'
Only I CANT. Something about ruining the spirit and mystery of Christmas.
But it's like a parental bonus to get to use this Santa thing to our benefit right?
You kicked the dog, huh? That's okay. Santa Claus is watching you.
Did you really just roll your eyes at me? Santa doesn't like a smart ass.
You know, Santa doesn't appreciate your commentary on every sexually ambiguous person you meet. And yes Brae, boys can have long hair too.
And it's really just too bad that he doesn't quite understand it yet. His life is like a white erase board that gets the hose every night. It's like rubbing a dog's nose in stagnate pee- action and consequence must be immediate. Thus, behavior and reward must be so as well. And the Christmas morning that he awakes to find a tower of gifts with his name on it? Well, he must have done something AMAZING in his sleep to warrant them.
So how have I decided to illustrate the Santa threat in a palpable manner?
BEHOLD The advent calendar:
Because this kid goes ape shit for quarter sized confections.
I feel as though I may need to have the lyrics to that particular song tattooed on some large flat area of my body. Or maybe set my cell phone ring to it's melody so I can wave it in the air in one hand while pulling my weeping four year old off the Publix restroom floor with the other. While other children may fear the possibility of not receiving anything this Christmas this year, my son floats blissfully amiss in his bubble of ignorance. And because of this, it has recently become my personal goal to instill in him this awareness.
Of course how to teach a pre-schooler the concept of a reward system based on something completely intangible at the moment is a bit of a challenge. He can make it through a 90 minute animated film and not move a millimeter, but the second the first serious syllable issues forth from my lips I can see the light dull out in his eyes. I don't drone do I? Maybe don't answer that.
I'll admit, the concept is a lofty one. I almost want to sit him down and just point out that 'Look Kid- you stand to receive a shit load of toys in a few weeks and although you are going to get those toys regardless because it's a tradition, it would really do much to calm the murky waters of my conscious if you could only PRETEND to be a well behaved child for the next 14 days? Capiche?'
Only I CANT. Something about ruining the spirit and mystery of Christmas.
But it's like a parental bonus to get to use this Santa thing to our benefit right?
You kicked the dog, huh? That's okay. Santa Claus is watching you.
Did you really just roll your eyes at me? Santa doesn't like a smart ass.
You know, Santa doesn't appreciate your commentary on every sexually ambiguous person you meet. And yes Brae, boys can have long hair too.
And it's really just too bad that he doesn't quite understand it yet. His life is like a white erase board that gets the hose every night. It's like rubbing a dog's nose in stagnate pee- action and consequence must be immediate. Thus, behavior and reward must be so as well. And the Christmas morning that he awakes to find a tower of gifts with his name on it? Well, he must have done something AMAZING in his sleep to warrant them.
So how have I decided to illustrate the Santa threat in a palpable manner?
BEHOLD The advent calendar:
Because this kid goes ape shit for quarter sized confections.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
