Facial hair and babies don't mix.
At least it's unamious. (with Colin demonstrating the sympathy scream.)
Thank goodness they didn't see his chest.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Salsa Dancing!
We have our second Salsa Dancing lesson tomorrow night. Some observations after our first week:
1) Don’t expect that just because you used to be pretty good at the Electric Slide that it will have any bearing on your ability to complete an underarm turn.
2) Salsa is a partner dance with limited solo action. Following is required. You’ve been warned.
3) Try to remember that when you dance, you are taking baby steps not trying to step over large puddles.
4) Improvisation is encouraged in Salsa Dancing. This is hard for people (me) who prefer to have a plan in mind.
5) There is no place for rubber soled shoes in Salsa Dancing. Unless of course you wanted to add in a crossover dribble move just to mix things up.
6) Your partner will never be Antonio Banderas. Feel free to remind him of that if he ever decides to suggest a full body drop.
7) Salsa music sounds mysteriously similar to the music the play on cruise ships, but don’t let that discourage you.
8) It will take a long time before you’re able to be flirtatious and sensuous as you dance. Not only do you have to count 1,2,3,5,6,7 to keep track of where you are, but you also have to keep remembering to skip 4.
9) Non-verbal communication is key in Salsa Dancing. That’s why it’s great for long time married couples who speak their own language with only their eyebrows.
10) This is an example of where practice doesn’t make perfect because you will forget everything you learned in approximately 36 hours.
1) Don’t expect that just because you used to be pretty good at the Electric Slide that it will have any bearing on your ability to complete an underarm turn.
2) Salsa is a partner dance with limited solo action. Following is required. You’ve been warned.
3) Try to remember that when you dance, you are taking baby steps not trying to step over large puddles.
4) Improvisation is encouraged in Salsa Dancing. This is hard for people (me) who prefer to have a plan in mind.
5) There is no place for rubber soled shoes in Salsa Dancing. Unless of course you wanted to add in a crossover dribble move just to mix things up.
6) Your partner will never be Antonio Banderas. Feel free to remind him of that if he ever decides to suggest a full body drop.
7) Salsa music sounds mysteriously similar to the music the play on cruise ships, but don’t let that discourage you.
8) It will take a long time before you’re able to be flirtatious and sensuous as you dance. Not only do you have to count 1,2,3,5,6,7 to keep track of where you are, but you also have to keep remembering to skip 4.
9) Non-verbal communication is key in Salsa Dancing. That’s why it’s great for long time married couples who speak their own language with only their eyebrows.
10) This is an example of where practice doesn’t make perfect because you will forget everything you learned in approximately 36 hours.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Patti with an "i"
Everyone knows that women are asked to give up a lot when they are pregnant. Illegal drugs, cigarettes, and prescription drugs are not advised. Check. Tuna, hot dogs, and hot baths are also not recommended. Okay? Electric blankets, water beds, or contact with reptiles should also be avoided. Really? Although I suppose that since flammable bedding is just a really bad idea in general, that the last working water bed I saw was circa 1987, and that reptiles are simply vile – at least compliance here doesn’t require too big a stretch.
What does require a stretch is the warning against alcohol, caffeine and junk food. As I approached this subject, I determined that I would tow the line on some prohibitions in order than I might be “flexible” with some of the others. Chocolate definitely required flexibility. There were also times where I was just sure my growing baby was asking for a McDonalds two cheeseburger meal with a Diet Coke and I felt it only right to oblige. And since I didn’t read anything specifically about tuna melt, I postured that cheese must have some negating impact on mercury. So with these areas of give and take, I resolved to draw the line in the sand on alcohol and caffeinated coffee.
In August 2002 when I found out I was pregnant with Colin, I switched my drink to a Venti Decaf Drip. Prior to that, I was drinking all manners of caffeinated coffee beverages. Life was good. And, I was wide awake.
Since they say that even decaf coffee has a limited amount of caffeine, I decided to move up my size from Grande to Venti in hopes of maintaining at least some of my morning buzz. I also made the move from Latte to Drip because if I was going to be forced to drink the fake stuff, I figured I should at least I should save some money. Sugar replaced Equal and Non-Fat Milk subbed in for half and half. It was just what I always wanted – a really big cup of caloric but murky Joe that had me falling asleep at my desk by 10 am. Good news though was that I now had some extra pocket change for the M&M dispenser.
I considered this a big sacrifice, but I stuck to the plan.
I placed the first order for my new drink at the Starbucks near my office. Since my routine is to stop at this particular Starbucks every morning on my way to work, it felt appropriate to make my switch here – on my home turf.
Patti took my order.
“What can I get you this morning?” she asked cheerfully.
“A Venti Decaf Drip, please.” I replied.
“With room?” Patti asked.
“Yes, please.”
So after my $1.83 transaction, I was on my way to a new caffeine-free pregnancy. After several days of splitting headaches, life was back to good. Even better on those days that also included a morning cinnamon roll.
So this became my new drink, my new morning habit. Every Monday through Friday between 7:00-8:30 am, I would stop at the same Starbucks and order my same beverage. And Patti was always there to take my order.
I could tell that Patti was a model employee. She seemed to never take a sick day. She was always smiling. She dressed up for holidays and regularly got the “PARNTER OF THE MONTH” award. She tried her best to convince people to drink that awful Chantico chocolate drink. She gave out pastry samples. She made the correct change and even used the tip jar when people were short a penny or two.
The only problem: Patti could never remember my order. Never once in 3 years. (Even after having Colin, I decided there was no reason to break my new habit.) I’m not kidding. We had the EXACT same conversation EVERY morning for MORE THAN 3 years.
I kept wondering if Patti was getting me confused with all the other pregnant, blonde haired women with a work badge that she served every morning between the hours of 7-8:30 am who then had their baby and then came back and then got pregnant again. Or, maybe Patti was simply waiting for the day when I would bust out with a Green Tea Latte. Or, perhaps Patti was really five different people.
Whatever the case, I don’t think this was the “creating the customer experience” idea that Howard had it mind. I think Howard would suggest that one of the ways for partners to connect with their loyal customers is to try to remember their drink order. Now, I don’t expect anyone I do business with to remember me. Frankly I’d be happy if Classmates.com never emailed me again. Or, if Old Navy didn’t feel like they have to tell me every time a new shipment of clothes comes in. But I would kind of like my Starbucks partner to know that my VISA card has more Starbucks transactions than anything else.
So here’s the thing. Over the 3 years, I’ve observed a lot of things about Patti. I know that she drinks Passion Iced Tea Lemonade (she told me once that it was her favorite drink.) I know that she likes to eat to the Fruit Cup on her break and that she has four children – 3 boys and 1 girl. I also know that she spells Patti with an “i” not a “y.”
But she still has to ask me about wanting room.
I used to have a complicated order. It was a double tall, nonfat, vanilla latte, with extra foam. I like to think that a Venti Decaf Drip has put me on the path towards being lower maintenance. But now when I wonder, had it made me unmemorable?
Thanks to Patti, I’ve been walking around for the past four years with this question. Are we all really that preoccupied with our own lives that we don’t see the people in front of us? That we smile, but don’t connect. That we listen, but don’t remember. That we take in information, but don’t process it.
I think the answer is often yes.
I was on a business trip last week and overhead a young woman who was going home to bury a brother who was just killed in Iraq. I then talked to another young mother who was moving her 10 month old daughter Mia across the country to live with her sister while her husband does a 15 month tour of duty in Iraq. These were hard days for these two young women. I listened and talked long enough to gather the information, but not to offer any more. I was in a hurry to get to my USA Today.
Shame on me.
All of a sudden Patti’s slight did not seem so injurious.
What does require a stretch is the warning against alcohol, caffeine and junk food. As I approached this subject, I determined that I would tow the line on some prohibitions in order than I might be “flexible” with some of the others. Chocolate definitely required flexibility. There were also times where I was just sure my growing baby was asking for a McDonalds two cheeseburger meal with a Diet Coke and I felt it only right to oblige. And since I didn’t read anything specifically about tuna melt, I postured that cheese must have some negating impact on mercury. So with these areas of give and take, I resolved to draw the line in the sand on alcohol and caffeinated coffee.
In August 2002 when I found out I was pregnant with Colin, I switched my drink to a Venti Decaf Drip. Prior to that, I was drinking all manners of caffeinated coffee beverages. Life was good. And, I was wide awake.
Since they say that even decaf coffee has a limited amount of caffeine, I decided to move up my size from Grande to Venti in hopes of maintaining at least some of my morning buzz. I also made the move from Latte to Drip because if I was going to be forced to drink the fake stuff, I figured I should at least I should save some money. Sugar replaced Equal and Non-Fat Milk subbed in for half and half. It was just what I always wanted – a really big cup of caloric but murky Joe that had me falling asleep at my desk by 10 am. Good news though was that I now had some extra pocket change for the M&M dispenser.
I considered this a big sacrifice, but I stuck to the plan.
I placed the first order for my new drink at the Starbucks near my office. Since my routine is to stop at this particular Starbucks every morning on my way to work, it felt appropriate to make my switch here – on my home turf.
Patti took my order.
“What can I get you this morning?” she asked cheerfully.
“A Venti Decaf Drip, please.” I replied.
“With room?” Patti asked.
“Yes, please.”
So after my $1.83 transaction, I was on my way to a new caffeine-free pregnancy. After several days of splitting headaches, life was back to good. Even better on those days that also included a morning cinnamon roll.
So this became my new drink, my new morning habit. Every Monday through Friday between 7:00-8:30 am, I would stop at the same Starbucks and order my same beverage. And Patti was always there to take my order.
I could tell that Patti was a model employee. She seemed to never take a sick day. She was always smiling. She dressed up for holidays and regularly got the “PARNTER OF THE MONTH” award. She tried her best to convince people to drink that awful Chantico chocolate drink. She gave out pastry samples. She made the correct change and even used the tip jar when people were short a penny or two.
The only problem: Patti could never remember my order. Never once in 3 years. (Even after having Colin, I decided there was no reason to break my new habit.) I’m not kidding. We had the EXACT same conversation EVERY morning for MORE THAN 3 years.
I kept wondering if Patti was getting me confused with all the other pregnant, blonde haired women with a work badge that she served every morning between the hours of 7-8:30 am who then had their baby and then came back and then got pregnant again. Or, maybe Patti was simply waiting for the day when I would bust out with a Green Tea Latte. Or, perhaps Patti was really five different people.
Whatever the case, I don’t think this was the “creating the customer experience” idea that Howard had it mind. I think Howard would suggest that one of the ways for partners to connect with their loyal customers is to try to remember their drink order. Now, I don’t expect anyone I do business with to remember me. Frankly I’d be happy if Classmates.com never emailed me again. Or, if Old Navy didn’t feel like they have to tell me every time a new shipment of clothes comes in. But I would kind of like my Starbucks partner to know that my VISA card has more Starbucks transactions than anything else.
So here’s the thing. Over the 3 years, I’ve observed a lot of things about Patti. I know that she drinks Passion Iced Tea Lemonade (she told me once that it was her favorite drink.) I know that she likes to eat to the Fruit Cup on her break and that she has four children – 3 boys and 1 girl. I also know that she spells Patti with an “i” not a “y.”
But she still has to ask me about wanting room.
I used to have a complicated order. It was a double tall, nonfat, vanilla latte, with extra foam. I like to think that a Venti Decaf Drip has put me on the path towards being lower maintenance. But now when I wonder, had it made me unmemorable?
Thanks to Patti, I’ve been walking around for the past four years with this question. Are we all really that preoccupied with our own lives that we don’t see the people in front of us? That we smile, but don’t connect. That we listen, but don’t remember. That we take in information, but don’t process it.
I think the answer is often yes.
I was on a business trip last week and overhead a young woman who was going home to bury a brother who was just killed in Iraq. I then talked to another young mother who was moving her 10 month old daughter Mia across the country to live with her sister while her husband does a 15 month tour of duty in Iraq. These were hard days for these two young women. I listened and talked long enough to gather the information, but not to offer any more. I was in a hurry to get to my USA Today.
Shame on me.
All of a sudden Patti’s slight did not seem so injurious.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Happy Mother's Day!
This Mother’s Day was particularly sweet for me. It was because I had this realization that at least for today, I am THE woman in the life of four very special boys/men.
For the early part of my life, I dreamt of having ONE man decide that I would be THE ONE for them. The ONE they couldn’t live without. The ONE they wanted to come home to. The ONE they would choose even if Halle Berry were in the same room. Never did I dream that for a time, that ONE boy would become FOUR.
I count Colin in this group with only a fraction of hesitation. It can be a little off-putting when this comment is spoken with unforeseen regularity: “Mom, just to tell ya, I love Daddy more than you.” Or, when he reminds me that he doesn’t like pink and he doesn’t like any girls, even me. But I persevere. Because, one of these days I will stop visibly reacting to these comments and remember that Pavlov’s Law also applies to four year olds.
Even though the words aren’t always there to tell me so, there are other signals that affirm my place of stature in Colin’s world. Smiles that reach from ear to ear. Hugs delivered without inhibition. Eyes that let you know that all is OK again now that you have simply entered the room …. hopefully with a good selection of band aids.
Colin gave me my Mother’s Day gift on Friday. Precisely at the moment we were leaving the house for a night out. Not exactly good timing, but I suppose better than a 6am Saturday wake up call. The gift was wrapped with a card that said “Happy Birthday!” on the front. The “Happy Birthday!” was in quotation marks. I think his preschool teacher was on to him ….. him and all the other preschool boys whose mothers also mysteriously shared a May 13th birthday. When I started to probe on why he made certain color and sticker selections, it was clear that he wasn’t interested in having a protracted conversation on the subject of the card. I suppose it’s only natural to not want to be quizzed about something that took you all of thirty seconds to put together. Those details are hard for anyone to retain. It is the same reason I prefer not to be held accountable for all my Target shopping decisions.
Colin wanted to get to the present. And what I opened was a beautiful garden stepping stone that he had spent all week making for me. When he saw my reaction to it, I thought he might explode with pride and joy. To say he was beaming would be an understatement. It was a similar look he gets when he hits a walk off home run, only better. I wished I could have bottled up that moment so that I could have something beyond words to give him when disappointment, loss, or heartbreak tempts him into thinking that he is alone in the world.
I keep hearing that the inflection point where friends start taking on more importance than parents is around thirteen. As a nine year old, Quinn is definitely taking steps in that direction, but for now I’m still the lady in his life. After a batting slump, Quinn finally had a good hit in this weekend’s baseball game. When he got to third base, instead of shouting to his Dad, his Coach, or his teammates in the dugout, he shouted out to me in the stands: “Mom!, did you see my hit?!” To which I replied, “Yes, Honey, I did!” I know that someday soon he’ll be too focused on the game or too cool to shout out to me. I also know that someday soon, I won’t be the first female face he scans for in the stands. Although it’s probably not too early to stop calling him “Honey” in public.
For Mother’s Day, Quinn gave me two cards – both with FREE redeemable coupons. I wonder if all nine year olds enclose FREE redeemable coupons in their mother’s cards, or if just the ones whose parents are in Marketing. The first coupon was for a FREE breakfast for me prepared by Quinn. Nice, although it would be better if it covered the entire family. The second was for a FREE washing of the dishes. Also nice, but since Brett usually does the dishes – this one will have to be transferable. The third one was for a FREE taking care of Colin and Lawton. No duration or expiration date was mentioned. I plan to save that one for when he is sixteen and use it preemptively. Like when his first friend gets their drivers’ license. The last one was for a FREE playing with my hair for 10 minutes. That’s the one that made me cry. Because he knows how much I like that … and because he knows that if he didn’t say 10 minutes explicitly, that I would completely take advantage of this coupon.
The absolute best part of the card however was a note that was carefully erased, but still legible. This is what it said: “If you want more free things, contact me at quinnballbach@comcast.net.” I’m still laughing about this one and wondering why exactly he erased it. He must have concluded that since we live in the same house, that I could probably find other ways beyond email to contact him. Or, he might have been worried about other FREE things I might ask for. Then again, maybe he simply felt that four coupons was a pretty good showing for just one Mother’s Day. I can’t disagree.
Lawton then gave me my final gift of the night. He fell asleep on my chest after a long and fun filled weekend. And I didn’t even have to lift up my shirt for that one.
For the early part of my life, I dreamt of having ONE man decide that I would be THE ONE for them. The ONE they couldn’t live without. The ONE they wanted to come home to. The ONE they would choose even if Halle Berry were in the same room. Never did I dream that for a time, that ONE boy would become FOUR.
I count Colin in this group with only a fraction of hesitation. It can be a little off-putting when this comment is spoken with unforeseen regularity: “Mom, just to tell ya, I love Daddy more than you.” Or, when he reminds me that he doesn’t like pink and he doesn’t like any girls, even me. But I persevere. Because, one of these days I will stop visibly reacting to these comments and remember that Pavlov’s Law also applies to four year olds.
Even though the words aren’t always there to tell me so, there are other signals that affirm my place of stature in Colin’s world. Smiles that reach from ear to ear. Hugs delivered without inhibition. Eyes that let you know that all is OK again now that you have simply entered the room …. hopefully with a good selection of band aids.
Colin gave me my Mother’s Day gift on Friday. Precisely at the moment we were leaving the house for a night out. Not exactly good timing, but I suppose better than a 6am Saturday wake up call. The gift was wrapped with a card that said “Happy Birthday!” on the front. The “Happy Birthday!” was in quotation marks. I think his preschool teacher was on to him ….. him and all the other preschool boys whose mothers also mysteriously shared a May 13th birthday. When I started to probe on why he made certain color and sticker selections, it was clear that he wasn’t interested in having a protracted conversation on the subject of the card. I suppose it’s only natural to not want to be quizzed about something that took you all of thirty seconds to put together. Those details are hard for anyone to retain. It is the same reason I prefer not to be held accountable for all my Target shopping decisions.
Colin wanted to get to the present. And what I opened was a beautiful garden stepping stone that he had spent all week making for me. When he saw my reaction to it, I thought he might explode with pride and joy. To say he was beaming would be an understatement. It was a similar look he gets when he hits a walk off home run, only better. I wished I could have bottled up that moment so that I could have something beyond words to give him when disappointment, loss, or heartbreak tempts him into thinking that he is alone in the world.
I keep hearing that the inflection point where friends start taking on more importance than parents is around thirteen. As a nine year old, Quinn is definitely taking steps in that direction, but for now I’m still the lady in his life. After a batting slump, Quinn finally had a good hit in this weekend’s baseball game. When he got to third base, instead of shouting to his Dad, his Coach, or his teammates in the dugout, he shouted out to me in the stands: “Mom!, did you see my hit?!” To which I replied, “Yes, Honey, I did!” I know that someday soon he’ll be too focused on the game or too cool to shout out to me. I also know that someday soon, I won’t be the first female face he scans for in the stands. Although it’s probably not too early to stop calling him “Honey” in public.
For Mother’s Day, Quinn gave me two cards – both with FREE redeemable coupons. I wonder if all nine year olds enclose FREE redeemable coupons in their mother’s cards, or if just the ones whose parents are in Marketing. The first coupon was for a FREE breakfast for me prepared by Quinn. Nice, although it would be better if it covered the entire family. The second was for a FREE washing of the dishes. Also nice, but since Brett usually does the dishes – this one will have to be transferable. The third one was for a FREE taking care of Colin and Lawton. No duration or expiration date was mentioned. I plan to save that one for when he is sixteen and use it preemptively. Like when his first friend gets their drivers’ license. The last one was for a FREE playing with my hair for 10 minutes. That’s the one that made me cry. Because he knows how much I like that … and because he knows that if he didn’t say 10 minutes explicitly, that I would completely take advantage of this coupon.
The absolute best part of the card however was a note that was carefully erased, but still legible. This is what it said: “If you want more free things, contact me at quinnballbach@comcast.net.” I’m still laughing about this one and wondering why exactly he erased it. He must have concluded that since we live in the same house, that I could probably find other ways beyond email to contact him. Or, he might have been worried about other FREE things I might ask for. Then again, maybe he simply felt that four coupons was a pretty good showing for just one Mother’s Day. I can’t disagree.
Lawton then gave me my final gift of the night. He fell asleep on my chest after a long and fun filled weekend. And I didn’t even have to lift up my shirt for that one.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Monday, May 7, 2007
Bringing the Office Home With You
I’ve been thinking about things in the office that would be really useful to have at home. The mute button was one of the first things to come to mind. Great for allowing you to have a normal volume sidebar conversation without letting the speaker know that you are actively ignoring them. Also great for the times when saying an unkind word only in your head is really hard to do. Just think how nice it would be to have a mute button at home that would allow you to do these same things plus devise plans with your spouse in the presence of your children without them overhearing you. Brillant! Some other things I’d love to bring home from the office:
My own desk. It’s hard to share to a desk with an art project, your husband’s piles of papers, and a computer monitor that has been optimized for playing “Backyard Baseball.” And if the coffee spills on the desk, I really just want it to be my own fault.
Clean toilets. I would fish out just about anything out of my office toilet. If it were at home, it would either have to be something very special or have the potential to cause serious plumbing harm. It’s not that my toilets are filthy; it’s just that I would pause to consider which toilet to run to if I needed to puke.
IT support (on their happy days.) I could really use a good defrag on my home computer.
An unlimited supply of colored file folders. That way I could assign colors to specific family members or categories for EZ filing. My office “system” for color files didn’t quite turn out like I expected, but I’m confident I could do better with a second opportunity.
Printer cartridges I didn’t have to buy. I think it says something when printer ink is still more expensive than a full tank of gas and costs more per milliliter than Dom Perignon champagne. If HP is going to subsidize their business with the high retail cost of printer cartridges, it would be really handy to have my Company pay for them instead.
The peanut M&M “gumball machine dispenser.” It would be great to know that I’m always only 25 cents away from a chocolate fix …. but one that is moderated to only 10 guilt-free M&Ms.
Someone to clean out the refrigerator every Friday. Can you even imagine? No more soggy cucumbers in the vegetable drawer. No more skimming the layer of fuzz off the olive tapenade. No more expeditions to find that special something in your frig that you’re quite sure is a old pair of basketball shoes.
Speaking of office refrigerators, this note was posted our office refrigerator last week that I just had to share: “To the person who took our lunches: Thanks so much for taking our lunches today (one from Claim Jumper and a sandwich with a name on it.) You cost us additional money for lunch today and yesterday as the Claim Jumper is not cheap. If you cannot afford a lunch or figure out something rather than taking someone elses. [Editor’s note: the sentence actually ends right there.] If you forget go out & buy one like we had to do today.” Yes, this means that someone actually ate another person’s half eaten Claim Jumper lunch. I find this fascinating. Maybe I should bring my soggy cucumbers in to see what happens.
Outlook reminders for my children. Every day at 7pm, they would get a reminder titled, “Do you know where your socks are?” which would prompt them to stop what they are doing, find their dirty socks, and put them in the laundry.
Interior doors that serve a purpose. Need I say more.
My own desk. It’s hard to share to a desk with an art project, your husband’s piles of papers, and a computer monitor that has been optimized for playing “Backyard Baseball.” And if the coffee spills on the desk, I really just want it to be my own fault.
Clean toilets. I would fish out just about anything out of my office toilet. If it were at home, it would either have to be something very special or have the potential to cause serious plumbing harm. It’s not that my toilets are filthy; it’s just that I would pause to consider which toilet to run to if I needed to puke.
IT support (on their happy days.) I could really use a good defrag on my home computer.
An unlimited supply of colored file folders. That way I could assign colors to specific family members or categories for EZ filing. My office “system” for color files didn’t quite turn out like I expected, but I’m confident I could do better with a second opportunity.
Printer cartridges I didn’t have to buy. I think it says something when printer ink is still more expensive than a full tank of gas and costs more per milliliter than Dom Perignon champagne. If HP is going to subsidize their business with the high retail cost of printer cartridges, it would be really handy to have my Company pay for them instead.
The peanut M&M “gumball machine dispenser.” It would be great to know that I’m always only 25 cents away from a chocolate fix …. but one that is moderated to only 10 guilt-free M&Ms.
Someone to clean out the refrigerator every Friday. Can you even imagine? No more soggy cucumbers in the vegetable drawer. No more skimming the layer of fuzz off the olive tapenade. No more expeditions to find that special something in your frig that you’re quite sure is a old pair of basketball shoes.
Speaking of office refrigerators, this note was posted our office refrigerator last week that I just had to share: “To the person who took our lunches: Thanks so much for taking our lunches today (one from Claim Jumper and a sandwich with a name on it.) You cost us additional money for lunch today and yesterday as the Claim Jumper is not cheap. If you cannot afford a lunch or figure out something rather than taking someone elses. [Editor’s note: the sentence actually ends right there.] If you forget go out & buy one like we had to do today.” Yes, this means that someone actually ate another person’s half eaten Claim Jumper lunch. I find this fascinating. Maybe I should bring my soggy cucumbers in to see what happens.
Outlook reminders for my children. Every day at 7pm, they would get a reminder titled, “Do you know where your socks are?” which would prompt them to stop what they are doing, find their dirty socks, and put them in the laundry.
Interior doors that serve a purpose. Need I say more.
Friday, May 4, 2007
How To Annoy Your Brother and Then Be Completely Adorable
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Irritating your siblings is easy work. Some sure fire ways that come to mind – borrowing favorite toys without permission, grazing an elbow on “accident” while the other person is holding something fragile, crossing the invisible line in the back seat of the car, finishing the last of the only good kind of cereal in the house, and my personal favorite, that maddening mimicking game. You know the one I’m talking about? You know the one I’m talking about? And then there are just the times when your sibling flat out drives you crazy by being completely illogical. A recent dialogue:
“Colin, what did you just call me?”
No response
“Colin, what did you just call me?”
“I don’ know, Quinn, I didn’t hear it.”
“But Colin, you’re the one that said it.”
“I know, but I couldn’t hear myself.”
“Colin, you called me a booty.”
“Well, yeah – haven’t you heard of John David Booty – the quarterback for USC?”
“Dad, Colin called me a name!”
No response. (Because Dad is actually rolling his eyes.)
“DAD!”
“Quinn, IGNORE it! That’s what Dad will tell you.”
“But, Colin, that makes no sense -- you’re telling me to ignore you.”
“No, I’m not …. (booty)..”
“Colin, what did you just call me?”
No response
“Colin, what did you just call me?”
“I don’ know, Quinn, I didn’t hear it.”
“But Colin, you’re the one that said it.”
“I know, but I couldn’t hear myself.”
“Colin, you called me a booty.”
“Well, yeah – haven’t you heard of John David Booty – the quarterback for USC?”
“Dad, Colin called me a name!”
No response. (Because Dad is actually rolling his eyes.)
“DAD!”
“Quinn, IGNORE it! That’s what Dad will tell you.”
“But, Colin, that makes no sense -- you’re telling me to ignore you.”
“No, I’m not …. (booty)..”
And then later, there is this from Colin at bedtime:
“Dear God. Thank you for this day. Thank you for this house. Welcome to our house. I hope you have a good time. Amen.”
That’s the amazing thing about preschoolers/kids …. teens? (maybe not?)
In one moment, they can drive you crazy and get under your skin like no one else can. And then in the next moment, you want to eat them up because they are so charming – and so simple. They haven’t the life experience to overcomplicate their thinking. They haven’t had to figure out why people can’t but governments can run a budget deficit, who any of People Magazine’s Top 100 Most Beautiful people even are, or how to import a contact list into their mobile phone. They are just happy for the day, for the place they live, and for the nice people that come to visit.
After that prayer, Colin asked me if water was healthy. When I replied that yes it was, he followed it up with this: “Mom, do I know everything?” He asked it like there was a maybe a chance that he did. Like maybe he was all filled up with everything he could possibly need or want to know in the world. So while I had to let him down gently that there was still a lot more left for him to learn, I smiled as I realized that there was something he had just taught me. He had taught me how to pray the kind of prayer I think God wants to hear – pure, direct, uncomplicated. I think even booty (I mean Quinn) was smiling in the next bed over too.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Lesson Plans
There are a lot of lessons parents need to teach their children. There are some that you plan for: Don’t step into moving traffic. Use your words. Use a fork. Others that spontaneously present themselves after you’ve left your child unattended for a nanosecond: Only pencils go in the electric pencil sharpener. And then only a nanosecond later: Eraser side down also not a good idea. Then there are those you just couldn’t have anticipated. Explaining that the salt shaker works better when you haven’t licked the top of it, for example.
Some lessons are fairly black and white, particularly the ones related to safety and basic social skills. Looking both ways and not licking communal property seem as close to universal guidance as there in this world. Others are more colored. Colored by how you were raised, colored by a particular parenting philosophy you ascribe to, colored by how many hours of sleep you had the night before.
But what I seem to be finding more and more these days is the lesson you thought you were going to teach, isn’t always the one you should. What I’m realizing is that sometimes it is the reflection of our children – plus a good cleansing breath - that can morph the message into something different than we initially had in mind. A case in point.
It’s a normal afternoon day. I am in the kitchen with Quinn and Colin. Out on the front porch is Colin’s bicycle. To be more specific, out on the front porch is the-world’s-most-poorly-constructed-excuse-for-a-bicycle. The bicycle recycle truck on it’s way. We’re trying to keep Colin away from the front window.
Quinn asks: “Hey, Mom, why is Colin’s bicycle on the front porch.” I discretely reply, “Shh. Drop it. I’ll tell you later.” Colin, who normally hears everything, has missed this conversation and continues to ride his (indoor) scooter into the kitchen wall. Quinn repeats earnestly, “But Mom, why is Colin’s bicycle on the front porch?” Out comes “Drop It” number two. It is still not understood. Quinn now begins making his way to front door to show me the bicycle …. With this, I move immediately to that loud place that hurts my own ears, “DROP IT!!!!!”
There are facial contortions and a tear is forming. Quinn then blurts out, “Mom, you’re mean to me!” as he stomps into the den. Colin, who has continued to be an unengaged party to the discussion and as far as I can tell has miraculously not heard the word “bicycle”, is now busily working a puzzle at the kitchen counter. The front porch showdown has been avoided, but now Quinn’s upset and so am I. Colin is just looking for edge pieces.
And then, out comes this. “Mom, Quinn’s right.” It is Colin speaking. “Excuse me,” I say. To which Colin calmly repeats, “Quinn’s right, Mom. You are mean to him.”
I am ready to unleash. Some immediate lessons that come to mind: Stay out of things that don’t involve you. Don’t offer opinions when the temperature of a situation is already elevated. Don’t walk into moving traffic for heaven’s sake! And don’t call me mean!
And then I take a cleansing breath.
As I consider his words, I wonder to myself. Do I really wish for him to be a quiet bystander? Or, do I want to teach him that it is important to go to someone’s defense even when it puts you in the line of fire. That standing up for you what believe shouldn’t be calibrated by the intensity of the situation. That sometimes Mommies are not nice. That sometimes I’m not nice.
A second cleansing breathe.
I must entertain the thought that perhaps he is just goading me or trying a new tact at talking back. But then again, he is the only one in the kitchen who is calm. And so I conclude that my initial lesson plan isn’t what is needed here. Colin is just calling it like he sees it. Well done, my son.
And so I head for the den to find Quinn.
Some lessons are fairly black and white, particularly the ones related to safety and basic social skills. Looking both ways and not licking communal property seem as close to universal guidance as there in this world. Others are more colored. Colored by how you were raised, colored by a particular parenting philosophy you ascribe to, colored by how many hours of sleep you had the night before.
But what I seem to be finding more and more these days is the lesson you thought you were going to teach, isn’t always the one you should. What I’m realizing is that sometimes it is the reflection of our children – plus a good cleansing breath - that can morph the message into something different than we initially had in mind. A case in point.
It’s a normal afternoon day. I am in the kitchen with Quinn and Colin. Out on the front porch is Colin’s bicycle. To be more specific, out on the front porch is the-world’s-most-poorly-constructed-excuse-for-a-bicycle. The bicycle recycle truck on it’s way. We’re trying to keep Colin away from the front window.
Quinn asks: “Hey, Mom, why is Colin’s bicycle on the front porch.” I discretely reply, “Shh. Drop it. I’ll tell you later.” Colin, who normally hears everything, has missed this conversation and continues to ride his (indoor) scooter into the kitchen wall. Quinn repeats earnestly, “But Mom, why is Colin’s bicycle on the front porch?” Out comes “Drop It” number two. It is still not understood. Quinn now begins making his way to front door to show me the bicycle …. With this, I move immediately to that loud place that hurts my own ears, “DROP IT!!!!!”
There are facial contortions and a tear is forming. Quinn then blurts out, “Mom, you’re mean to me!” as he stomps into the den. Colin, who has continued to be an unengaged party to the discussion and as far as I can tell has miraculously not heard the word “bicycle”, is now busily working a puzzle at the kitchen counter. The front porch showdown has been avoided, but now Quinn’s upset and so am I. Colin is just looking for edge pieces.
And then, out comes this. “Mom, Quinn’s right.” It is Colin speaking. “Excuse me,” I say. To which Colin calmly repeats, “Quinn’s right, Mom. You are mean to him.”
I am ready to unleash. Some immediate lessons that come to mind: Stay out of things that don’t involve you. Don’t offer opinions when the temperature of a situation is already elevated. Don’t walk into moving traffic for heaven’s sake! And don’t call me mean!
And then I take a cleansing breath.
As I consider his words, I wonder to myself. Do I really wish for him to be a quiet bystander? Or, do I want to teach him that it is important to go to someone’s defense even when it puts you in the line of fire. That standing up for you what believe shouldn’t be calibrated by the intensity of the situation. That sometimes Mommies are not nice. That sometimes I’m not nice.
A second cleansing breathe.
I must entertain the thought that perhaps he is just goading me or trying a new tact at talking back. But then again, he is the only one in the kitchen who is calm. And so I conclude that my initial lesson plan isn’t what is needed here. Colin is just calling it like he sees it. Well done, my son.
And so I head for the den to find Quinn.
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