Friday, August 23, 2013

The Mystery of the Morning Moan

Nickname: "Trouble"
So, yesterday morning, as usual, I was in the shower. Outside the shower, as usual, my 16-month-old daughter was playing with toys on the bath mat.

I keep her in there with me while I shower because, while the house is pretty much baby-proofed, she's a toddler and she does dumb stuff. I don't want to stroll out in my bathrobe and find her chewing on a shoe.

What Is That Sound? 

As I was soaping my hair, suddenly I heard a noise. A low-pitched moaning sound, like someone who was in pain. Oooo. Oooooooo. It was coming from my daughter. I'd never heard a baby make a noise like that before. I'd seldom heard a human being make a noise like that before.

Alarmed, I poked my head out from behind the shower curtain. Is that really her? Is she hurt? If so, why is she moaning and not crying?

There was my angelic little kid, looking back at me.

And holding up a stuffed cow.

"Moooooooooooo," she said. "MOOOOOOOOOOO."

Well, then.

You know what rhymes with moo?  

Whew.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Girl Scout Cookie Bars and the Walgreens Win

Image credit: Kelley U. on Yelp.com
If you have yet to experience the delight that is Girl Scout Cookie candy bars, stop reading now and hightail it to your nearest Walgreens.

In the opinion of my sweet tooth, they are the greatest candy bars ever. The Thin Mint variety tastes exactly like a Thin Mint Girl Scout cookie. The Caramel & Coconut is a close second. And to my husband, the Peanut Butter Creme is manna from heaven.

But that's not the big win. I'll get to that.

"Limited Edition"—Yeah, Right

These little nuggets of awesome say "Limited Edition" all over the wrapper. Even though I know this is a marketing ploy to sell more candy bars, I don't care. My give-a-damn takes a nap when my taste buds are this satisfied.

Except they are sort of "limited edition." Not all Walgreens stores carry them. And they're often sold out. And they appear to be sold only during the summertime. So, when I do see them, I tend to buy several.

Last weekend, I hadn't eaten one since a month or two ago. I think you can see where this is going.

Saturday Night's Triple Win

Saturday night, my husband and I went to a house party at a friend's. On the way home, we got the munchies and decided we'd stop and grab dessert. We knew there was a bakery on our walk home from the train. Alas, it was closed.

Image credit: www.nemosbakery.com
So we ended up at Walgreens. We figured we could find something there to satisfy our cravings, even if it was one of those mass-produced, plastic-wrapped Nemo's Carrot Cake squares that I have no business loving, but do.

I made a beeline for the candy aisle. Rows of Hershey, Nestle, and Cadbury goodies stared back at me, but none of my beloved Girl Scout Cookie bars.

Oh well. I grabbed a deLish Caramel Kingdom chocolate bar, my husband settled for some Oreos, and we headed for the checkout.

Our cashier was a man we've seen a few times before, this being our friendly neighborhood Walgreens. As we dropped our treats on the counter, I couldn't resist asking him: "Do you guys have any of those Girl Scout Cookie candy bars?"

Nirvana.
The cashier pointed behind me at a checkout display. Jackpot! Not only did they have the bars, they had entire boxes of them! My husband and I may have actually cheered (several glasses of wine may have been consumed that evening). We grabbed a couple of boxes each, figuring we could freeze the extras and eat them all winter long.

The cashier's eyes twinkled as he rang us up.

As he handed me my receipt, he pointed to it.

"There's a phone number on here," he said, "for Cookie Intervention."

We were halfway home before we stopped laughing.

What a triple win—a date night, hard-to-find sweet treats, and unexpected humor.

In closing, I leave you with some wise words from the Dr. Demento show:


This week I'm connecting with the great folks at YeahWrite. Check 'em out!

Saturday, August 17, 2013

A PSA From Parents to Non-Parents

If you do not live with the pain in the ass blessing of having your own small children, I’ll bet you may have an idea or two about people who do have young kids.

Maybe your ideas go something like this:

  • It’s unfair how parents get preferential treatment at work. They get to leave early to pick their kid up from daycare while I am left holding the bag. 
  • I see parents in public whose kids are misbehaving and the parents are standing there doing NOTHING about it. WTF? What crappy parents they must be. 
  • Parents are such clichés, always sharing a zillion photos of their rug rats, always talking about the kids nonstop.
  • When little kids misbehave, it’s the parents’ fault. 
  • Why do parents complain so much about being parents? It’s THEIR CHOICE. They should suck it up and STFU. 
  • Parents of young kids are so rude, taking up entire sidewalks and store aisles with their strollers, making so much noise, not giving a damn about anyone but their kids and their kids’ needs. Therefore it’s okay to be rude back to them. 

I know you’re thinking those things. I know because I used to be you. For many years I would get crabby at the sight of small children in public. No matter how angelic their little faces looked, I would step around them warily, as if they were a bomb about to explode into an ear-splitting, food-throwing tantrum. 

Then I had a couple of kids myself. Did this make me love small children in public? No. Loving your own kids is way different from loving ALL kids. And heck, it’s even hard to love your own kids when they’re throwing the tantrum from hell.

Let's Spread Some Understanding



But having kids did give me two things that I never had before (at least, not in relation to kids or parents):
  1. Understanding 
  2. Tolerance 
Aren’t those two things the key to peace between people? I believe they are. And I’d like to see more peace, love, and understanding between parents and non-parents.

In that spirit, let’s start by straightening out a few facts, shall we? Let’s have a look at the ideas I mentioned above.

1. It’s unfair how parents get preferential treatment at work. They get to leave early to pick their kid up from daycare while I am left holding the bag.

Image credit: Profitguide.com
I urge you to consider the truly unfair element in this situation: Companies that make their employees work such long hours that leaving to make a 6 p.m. daycare pickup seems “early.”

ALL employees have lives outside work—parents or not. ALL employees deserve to leave work at a reasonable hour. Employees who are burned out do not become more productive. They lose morale and look for other jobs. In my opinion, companies are unwise to ask any employee to work late, either routinely or at the last minute.

Also, daycares don’t stay open all night. It’s not practical to expect every parent to have somebody else available to pick their kid up when duty calls at work. It’s also impractical to expect people to stop having kids, or for kids to stop having needs, just because it’s not fair to the parents’ co-workers.

Finally, LIFE is not fair. It’s not fair that folks with no kids have infinite freedom while parents have none. It was our choice to have kids, and it was your choice not to. All choices come with results.

2. I see parents in public whose kids are misbehaving and the parents are standing there doing NOTHING about it. WTF? What crappy parents they must be. 

Sometimes the right approach to a child’s bratty behavior or tantrum is to ignore it.

I believe that if such behavior occurs in a store, restaurant, or another public place where a reasonable level of peace and quiet is expected, the parent should take the child outside until they are calm again. But if it occurs on the sidewalk, or on a plane? There’s no “outside” to bring them to.

Unless parents are banned from all public places, there’s always going to be some noise from kids, some of the time. Insert "high school students" into that sentence in place of "parents"—still true. Some people are just noisy.

3. Parents are such clichés, always sharing a zillion photos of their rug rats, always talking about the kids nonstop.

Image credit: thegloss.com
Have you ever had a project or hobby that was a labor of love for you? Maybe you’re really into your dog—you got him as a puppy and trained him yourself. Maybe you’re into building furniture by hand. Or blogging. Or fishing.

Whatever it is, you put a lot of time, blood, sweat, and tears into it. Naturally, you’re proud of the results, so you share them.

That’s what children are. A labor of love. Because believe me, we parents wouldn’t put up with so much crap from them if we didn’t love them.

4. When kids misbehave, it’s the parents’ fault. 

Image credit: goodenoughmother.com
Have you ever tried to control another person’s behavior? Tried to make them behave the way you want them to behave, down to their every move?

It’s impossible. No human being can control another human being like a marionette.

Of course parents must teach kids how to behave like civilized human beings. But do you think that learning takes place instantly? I assure you, it does not. Perhaps you’re familiar with the phrase, “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times!” – Said every parent ever, to every child ever.

So when you’re witnessing a child’s uncivilized behavior in public, know that you’re witnessing a work in progress. It may annoy you, but it can’t be helped, unless the day comes when children can be programmed like robots with the touch of a button.

5. Why do parents complain so much about being parents? It’s THEIR CHOICE. They should suck it up and STFU. 

Image credit: Neosmack.com
I think the more appropriate question here is, “Why do PEOPLE complain so much”? Even people with easy lives find things to complain about. Rich people complain about the contractors who remodeled their mansions. People surrounded by books, iPads, and cable TV complain about being bored.

Some things are worth complaining about. Like true hardship.

Let’s say your friend goes skiing, and she breaks her leg, and you ask how she’s doing, and she tells you, “I’m not gonna lie, it hurts like a bitch.” Do you say, “Quit complaining! It was YOUR CHOICE to be a skier”? I would hope you don’t.

Let’s say you get to work, and you’re in the kitchen getting coffee, and you ask a co-worker how he’s doing. He says, “I’ve had better mornings. There was an accident on the highway and my commute took 3 hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic. That totally sucked.” Do you say, “Oh, shut up. It was YOUR CHOICE to live in the suburbs”? I should think not.

I expect you to extend the same courtesy to parents who complain about extreme sleep deprivation and violations of basic human dignity, like being pooped on and barfed on by another person.

6. Parents of young kids are so rude, taking up entire sidewalks and store aisles with their strollers, making so much noise, not giving a damn about anyone but their kids and their kids’ needs. Therefore it’s okay to be rude back to them. 

Image credit: themetapicture.com
Parents are not doing those things to be rude. In fact, most of us regret the inconvenience our kids sometimes cause total strangers.

Strollers are necessary because they keep toddlers contained so they don’t trip other people or knock down store displays.

Kids make noise because that’s just what kids do. Think of the child like a barking dog. You do what you can, but ultimately—Dogs bark. Small children cry. Them’s the facts.

Eventually kids can be taught decorum and subtlety. But that learning does not occur instantly, and certainly not while they’re between 0 and 2 years old.

Parents are hyper-focused on their kids’ needs because kids are freaking needy, especially when they’re small. Babies can’t do anything for themselves, so somebody’s gotta do it.

The Bottom Line

Image credit: dogguide.net
None of us are obligated to like children, or their parents. But we are obligated to be polite and civilized to one another.

So when you get the urge to act uncharitably toward a parent, I urge you to do the following. Imagine your own mom, back in the day, walking down the sidewalk with Baby You in a stroller. That thing you were about to do, would you want someone to do that to YOUR mother? If not, then please refrain, and know that you are doing your part for peace between parents and non-parents.

Sunday, August 11, 2013

I Am a WYSIWYG Person—Are You?

The acronym WYSIWYG—pronounced "whizzy wig"—comes from computing.
WYSIWYG = What You See Is What You Get
Not my license plate. But wouldn't it be cool?
It refers to text on a computer that looks exactly the same while you're editing it as it will look after you publish it. Geek out here if you want to know more.

I think it’s high time the term WYSIWYG was brought into the mainstream. Why? Because it’s so useful to describe things other than text on a screen. For one thing—people!

Like Me, For Instance

I am a WYSIWYG person. With me, what you see is what you get.

Somebody asked me my age today. And I told him. I can’t be bothered with the conventional wisdom that a woman must never reveal her age. Who cares? If he wants to know, I’ll tell him.

WYSIWYG and proud
I have a hard time being fake in any way. I would make a terrible salesperson, and a rotten actor. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. I don’t flatter people unless it’s sincere. I have a hard time lying, even in situations where I know I should lie.

Being this way got a lot easier as I got older and stopped giving a rat’s fanny about what other people think. I look forward to being that old lady who has absolutely no filter. I’ll be able to get away with anything! It will be awesome.

Are You WYSIWYG Too? Let’s Be Friends

I can spot other WYSIWYG people a mile away. Within minutes of meeting you, I know whether you’re a kindred spirit.

If you are, then I’ll admire you for your lack of bullshit. And I need friends like you, because I have a deep need to be able to take people at face value. I will be emailing or texting you to try to make you my friend, because I have no tolerance for “don’t call right away, give it a few days” and other such games. (Dating sucked. I’m so happy I married my WYSIWYG husband.)

The WYSIWYG Personality

Image credit: Allthingsd.com
A lot of folks in my family have very literal minds. My brother, even at the ripe old age of 30-something, often thinks you’re being serious when you’re clearly (to most people) joking. I don’t think he could lie if he tried.

This makes us great at jobs that require literal thinking. Science, technology, programming, foreign languages, even writing and proofreading.

This is either the coolest, or the creepiest, ad of all time.
Image credit: Coloribus.com
But the creative arts are another thing. I find blogging fun. Nonfiction is easy. But fiction takes me out of my comfort zone. I can write it, but I have to get my head out of the mundane and take it to a different plane.

It’s my dream to write a novel. I may accomplish that one day. But until then—what you see is what you get!

Monday, August 5, 2013

I Read My First Book on an E-Reader!

Yes, I really do have only one book downloaded. For now!
After blogging two and a half years ago about how I thought I'd never give up paper books, I have caved.

Last month I read my first book 100% on an electronic device.

The device: Kindle app for Microsoft Surface

The book: The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky

The motivation: I needed to read it for book club, and I didn't have time to wait for Amazon to ship it, nor to visit a real bookstore (my beloved After Words bookstore, which is located just 3 blocks from work, didn't have a copy).

The verdict: Reading on an e-reader was a fine experience. Being able to create a bookmark with the touch of a button is nice. The screen's glare is not bothersome. And it's kind of cool that it tells you what percent you've finished. But there was a night or two when I'd forgotten to charge the darn thing and so I couldn't read my book. That's one advantage paper books will always have.

It's nice to be here in the 21st century. I think I'll visit again.

Even My Dad Is Here

My dad is arguably one of the most stubborn non-embracers of modern technology. I love the man. But gadgets are not his thing. He's got a more artistic bent.

He does know how to use a computer. That was required for work. But he didn't get a cell phone until well into the 2000s. And when he finally got one, it was a gift. And while he does carry it with him, he may or may not answer it when it rings. When he first got it, he'd take it on a trip, but forget to bring his charger. It took him a while to figure out how to set up voicemail. You get the idea.

Well, yesterday Dad sent me a text message. An honest-to-goodness text message! I was so proud.

The Book Is Fun, By the Way

I think I need to see the movie. It will be nice to see
Emma Watson in a non-Hermione role.
I enjoyed The Perks of Being a Wallflower. With a title like that, I figured the main character would be female. Not so. He's a boy, Charlie, a 15-year-old high school freshman.

If you're my age, you'll probably get a kick out of this book for the nostalgia alone, as the characters discuss Nirvana and college applications and 1990s teen angst. Charlie turns 16 in 1992—so did I. He goes to the Rocky Horror Picture Show a lot—so did I. He is a good student and loves to read—me too. This made him feel like a buddy to me, and it made his oddities, which are many, more sympathetic.

I did have a moment where I realized how many years I've put between myself and the 90s. In the book, Charlie goes to a bunch of house parties where people drink and smoke pot and have sex. My first thought was not: "Cool, sounds like a fun party." It was: "Where are these kids' parents?!?!" Ha!

Friday, August 2, 2013

The Power of a Photo

You all know I love the written word. But sometimes I'm reminded of how words are no match for an exceptional picture that says it all.

(Click the image to view it larger)

Image credit: Jessica Bissonnette Higgins

A friend took this photo. I know very little about the boys in the picture. But when I saw it, it set off my imagination instantly...

Is it dawn, or dusk? Probably dusk... unless their dad got them up early to go fishing. Probably they're up past their bedtime and are in total kid heaven. Are they brothers? Cousins? Did the older one teach the younger one how to fish? Both kids look so natural in this setting, like they've been to this lake and stood in that grass and maybe even put a worm onto that hook many times before. I feel transported, like I'm there, in that scene. I can practically hear the crickets chirping, the water lapping. I can feel the warm nighttime summer air, smell the freshwater lake, see lightning bugs glowing, and hear a frog croaking. Maybe their family has a campfire going nearby, and the whole world smells like hot dogs and wood smoke. If I were their mom, I'd be calling them to bed soon, and they'd complain, because they're having too much fun, but then they'd crash and sleep like rocks from being active in the fresh air.  I want to be there. So I can be as peaceful and serene as this photo makes me feel.

Was that a thousand words?

See you later. I have a sudden craving for s'mores.

Thursday, August 1, 2013

The People on the Bus Go Yap, Yap, Yap

It never fails.

Some days, when I am exhausted and crabby after a long work day, all I want is a nice, quiet, peaceful commute home before I enter Bedlam (aka the madhouse that is my home from the time that we all get home until the kids go to bed).

On those days, I inevitably board a city bus chock-full of people who:

  • Yell into their cell phone as if they are talking to someone who is going deaf
  • Crank their iPod volume up to 11, so that everybody on the entire bus can hear the music even though it's coming through earbuds
  • Board the bus as a pair, who then sit 8 seats away from one another and holler back and forth to have their conversation
  • Board the bus in groups, and loudly reminisce about the party they were at last night, because they are clearly the coolest, most entertaining people in the vicinity and we ALL need to know it
  • See nothing wrong with doing any of the above, because it's their God-given right to do as they please and to hell with courtesy, decorum, chivalry, or any other such hopelessly outmoded concept.
But wait! Some of you probably haven't ever been on a city bus during rush hour. Allow me to illustrate. It looks a lot like this:


If you're lucky enough to get a seat, you usually end up getting your feet stepped on, sideswiped by gigantic backpacks, and beaned in the face with dangling purses as people squeeze past. If there are no seats left, well, you're standing, holding on for dear life, with your face in that dude's armpit. Enough said.

This tends to give me Cranky Commuter Face:

I am not amused.
Oh well. I suppose it could be worse:



And thank goodness I can write blog posts (or start drafts, at least) from my phone. Hooray for the creative release of stress! By the time I picked up my youngest and got home, we were back to this:


TGTF. Only two more bus rides until the weekend.