I decided early on that this would not be the place I would come to complain about customers. Suffice it to say, however, I would like those-some-of-you to STOP BEING SUCH JERKS. For real, you are NOT going to get a NICER person than I waiting on you. I have infinite patience in my "professional" life- which is odd because everywhere else I have none. So, just a friendly reminder to everyone. The person on the other side of the counter, the odds are they don't own the store. The odds are they have dealt with a jerk or ten that day. The odds are they are not paid big bucks. So, while it's true that the odds are you won't ever see them again, and therefore don't have to face the consequences of your rudeness directly... consider that you may have, in your carelessness, made someone's mommy cry. And life will punish you.
Last week was the birthday of one of my managers (I have a ton of managers). Someone, a better friend to her than I, made cupcakes for her and decorated them, one letter per cupcake. Before I left work, she offered cupcakes to my kids. I stood there, staring down at the cupcakes. I needed three that were identical. Eye-Den-Tih-Cul. Finally, I found three "A" cupcakes. Score.
I present the cupcakes after dinner.
Connor: I got an A.
Emily: I got an A.
Ethan: I got an A!
Yes! Avoiding the annoyance. Now, let me be clear, had I not been able to find matching cupcakes, I'd have told them to just deal. That or they could all lose the cupcakes. Whatever. I don't deal with that crap. But! Why have to even tell them to deal if I can avoid it? So! Thirty seconds later:
Connor: I have a V! (Listen, I'm not going to explain how this happened. You can figure this out and I will not belittle you.)
Emily AND Ethan: What??? I have an A! How did you get a V? I want a V! (What??? You want a V? What the hell for? WHY?!?!) Can I have a V instead? Why does he get a V and we both have A's?
Connor sat there and snickered. I glared at them. I told them I was not explaining it to them, either. If they couldn't figure it out, they deserved the A's.
Connor: Look, Mom. I made a shush kabob. (I know, shish, but he said shush.)
Emily: Shush kabob? Is it gonna make you shush?
Me: *snort* Ahem. What??? It was funny!
When I was in high school, I had this friend, Katya. She was the kind of friend you knew was going to back you up in a bar fight. Okay, so maybe we didn't actually have bar fights. But I'm pretty sure she would have been there for me. At least afterward to commiserate because I don't think she could have been in a fight. She was simply a Kind person, and no one would have felt the need to go head to head with her. She was the Kind that we have an extraordinary lack of in this world- Kind with no regard to her own benefit.
Last summer, after having not really spoken to her for ten years, I passed her on the street. She was walking hand-in-hand with a mini version of her. We did not make eye contact; I knew she didn't see me. And I didn't turn back to say hello to her. I didn't ask her how she liked being a mom. I remember that she was wearing a skirt, and I had a little bit of envy because she looked so pretty and I always hate myself in skirts. I didn't say, "Hey, Katya! It's so good to see you! You're looking pretty! And how is this little one?" I let her, and the moment, pass me by. Something about not wanting to draw attention to myself, to not take up someone else's time, not even one of the Kind ones.
Last week, Katya had her second baby. She was at home, yesterday, caring for this baby, and something went wrong. I'm still not clear on what, but apparently she suddenly started having leg pain, and she went to the emergency room. And from there, they tried to transport her to a different facility. She died in transit. A twenty-nine year old woman, with a husband and two babies.
There is, as there always is, a lesson in there. There is, more specifically, a lesson in there for me- and it's not the "hold your loved ones closer" or "life is short". I'm not sure what it is, yet. I'm going to have to seek it out. I do know that this world is now short another Kind one.
Everyone makes a mark. If you are around me long enough, chances are I will say to you, "Quelle heure est-il?", or, more accurately, through my lips will pass the highly bastardized, "killer-uh-teal?". It's how I ask every time, and often. This has to do with the fact that I'm apparently allergic to watches, and my cell phone is generally wedged into the back pocket of my too-tight jeans... Fourteen years ago:
Katya: What-time-is-it-quelle-heure-est-il?
Me: Sorry?
Katya: What time is it?
Me: Yeah, got that bit. What was the next part?
Katya: Quelle heure est-il? Sorry? I thought you took french. It just means, "What time is it?".
Me, after a pause: So... "what-time-is-it-what-time-is-it"?
Katya, after a pause: Ha. Yep.
Me, to Sam: You're like a crazy person to me.
Sam, with a snort: Ditto.
I have a slight obsession with underwear. That is a really weird sentence to type. And, no, I don't mean in a fetishy kind of way. Get your mind out of the gutter. See, I hate clothes shopping. No really. I do! And, yes, I am female. And listen, ladies- jewelry and shoe shopping does not count as clothes shopping. Clothes shopping is where you go into a store, have to find articles that might fit you, take them into a dressing room and- get ready for it- try them on. Shoes and jewelry fit everyone, okay? It doesn't count. Sure, they might be out of your size in that particular shoe, and maybe your foot is too wide for it, or maybe you're not into toe cleavage (for real? toe cleavage? what has our society become?). But unless your mortal soul gets crushed by the experience, it's not clothes shopping.
Where was I? Right, the underwear. When I do garner the strength to torture myself- read or see The Da Vinci Code, by the way? I'm not sure what I did wrong, but shopping for clothes should count for as much penance as what that albino did to himself. Right, right, sorry, back on topic. When I am ready to torture myself, I go whole-hog. This trip to the mall will take a long time, and I will not talk to you in the process. Really, either find my size in the thing I'm looking for- no, thanks, I don't want your suggestions- or get the hell out of my way.
So! When it comes to bras and underwear (See? We found our way back.), I don't futz around with store to store blah blah blah. There's the one store that I bother with. You know the one- they apparently think they're some sort of fragrance boutique, followed up by what they assume college girls wear to bed, and then, after wading through that crap, you get to the underwear. And they have a credit card. And you don't have to carry the credit card, just for your information. All you need is your social security number and your driver's license. This is probably a bad thing. But, whatever. And the reason they have credit cards is because their products are so damn expensive.
And we've made it to my point! I spent way more than I should have- not going to say how much, but will say that I bought ten items at once- and used the credit card! Which is fine because Sam, thank god, is really good about paying them off before any interest accumulates. Except he paid it off immediately. Like, before any bill came. Which means I lost that money out of my little play-money account long before it was absolutely necessary. Total suckage.
But this is where we get to the title of this post. Sam decided that, in fairness, my expenditure should not wholly come out of my mad money because his underwear purchases never come out of his mad money. This should get him some praise. I understand that. And I know, logically, that he is being really cool about it. After all, his underwear comes five to a package for, I dunno, twelve bucks or something. Whereas mine is more a "dining out in an expensive restaurant" price. So, I get a huge chunk of money for me to go spend on complete crap that's just for me, when I thought I had already spent it? Way cool. Do I go that way? Of course I don't.
Sam: I just figured since I don't spend my play money on my underwear, it's unreasonable for you to have to spend all of yours on yours.
(Did I mention where I spent all of my money on underwear and a couple pairs of jeans that day? Because I did. Like I said, whole-hog.)
Me, after a pause: But... none of your clothes purchases come out of your account.
Sam: Sure they do.
Me: No. I buy all your clothes. You've gotten every single new item as gifts recently. So, really...
Sam: As GIFTS! For my birthday and Christmas! Are you serious? You're going to make this an issue?
Me, in my head: Shut the eff up, Sarah. Shut up. Shut up. And get that nasty look off your dumb face. Be a grown up. He's being generous and you know it.
Me, outloud, mustering all my strength: I am not going to make an issue out of this... Thank you...... but you still don't spend any of your play money on clothes.
Hey, I did my best.
Me, to Ethan: Do you need it or not?
Ethan, sarcasm dripping: Maaaaybe.
Me: And you think that's an okay way to talk to me?
Connor: I'm so proud.
Me, to Sam: So, that is the only difference? That's b.s.; I don't like that at all.
Sam: Yeah, it's lame.
Ethan, to himself and not really paying attention to anything: Bis.
Apparently that is how you pronounce "b.s.".
The cookies:
The end result- on mah thighs (blurry picture, but you get the point):
There you go, you non-believing heathens.
I'm currently in the midst of making cookies for my kids to give out as valentines. I am an awesome stay-at-home-mom. Except for the bit where I don't stay at home when they don't. And I'm sure there are full-time working moms who make cookies for their kids to give out as valentines, too. Get your own blog. Here, I am the only mom on the planet who makes cookies at all, much less for the ankles biters to give to other ankle biters.
But I had a point besides that I am the best mom to ever walk God's Green Earth. For these cookies, I put a little "window" of hard candy in the center. I decided this year I'd make my own hard candy. How hard could it be? Melting sugar is super simple. Right? Right!? This, in case you have no fore-vision whatsoever, is where it all goes wonky. Because I was so busy ooohing over having a visitor to my blog from Sweden (Hi!), the candy burnt all to hell. (That's right, folks, I know where you live. Except you, Andy, I know where you live and work. I'm totally better than you at this stalking crap.)
Where was I? Oh, yes, I am a super awesome mom. Also, I absolutely judge you all based on where you live. Not really. (Yes.) Because I don't judge. Except that I do, but I try not to. In my heart, I know it's wrong to judge anyone. In my heart, I definitely judge people. Especially rude customers. Please don't think for one minute that I spit in your food. Because I don't serve food. On the other hand, I do sell your personal information.
But, really, if you ever met me, you wouldn't think I was a judgy person because I do it all in my head. Because being critical of others (out loud) is a sin. Now that I think of it, though, they said in church school that even if you only think a sin, you are really committing the sin. That doesn't seem right because I can't stop myself from thinking things, but I don't want to go to hell, so I'm only going to judge bad people. Like racists. (I'm looking at you, FlutterBy.)
Dammit, I just burned the second batch.
This happened in December, so it's not very timely, but is still amusing. Bear with me.
All over our village, someone has decorated the stop signs. They've added "war" under the "stop". Now, this is a message I can get behind, but really? Every frickin' sign?
So we're driving through town, and I point this out to Sam. "We'll see what the next president and congress do," he says.
Ethan pipes up from the back seat. "I hope they don't draw on our signs because I'll be like, 'What???'"
And I make no promises for this one either.
We spent a lovely day at the zoo today... I'm sure something funny happened... Oh! Sam donated a portion of his buffalo chicken wrap to the bin, at which point a black squirrel (as the zoo has both grey and black (okay, really dark brown), I feel the need to specify) (and by "has", I mean the little bastards own all the eating areas) climbed into the garbage can and reemerged with- not the bread of the wrap, as one would expect a cute little tree rat to choose- but a chunk of buffalo-sauce-dipped chicken.
What the mother hell? When did squirrels start eating meat??? He was apparently not a fan of the sauce itself because he systematically tore off the exterior surface of said chicken chunk, the scraps of which he then carefully dropped on our heads. Because he was in a tree. Because he was a squirrel. Eating chicken.
Now the grey squirrels. They ate the saucy bits that the black squirrel discarded. I'm not sure who is tougher in this situation, the black squirrel with his mad "I takes what I wants and I drops these icky bits on your heads" skills, or the grey squirrels who would like a shot of jack to go with these chicken wings, please.
I don't know if it's the time of year or the sun was just right, but you could see right through the fur of the black squirrel's tail, right down to the nasty pink skin. It's a good thing they have that fur because their tails look JUST. Like. Rat Tails. JUSTLIKE.
As a bonus, I present a Sarah&Sam conversation, driving on the way to the zoo:
Sam: Whoa! We just played chicken with a whole flock of birds! We won, though.
Sarah: I'm pretty sure we didn't. I didn't hear any thump thumps.
UPDATE: I just looked the smarmy little rodents up on Wikipedia. "However some squirrels also consume meat, especially when faced with hunger. Squirrels have been known to eat insects, eggs, small birds, snakes and rodents." The day I see a squirrel eating a snake? I know it's the apocalypse.
The super famous Cate (seriously, she only has to kill about 480,000 people to be number one) sponsors Six Word Saturday again!
A Day of Hockey and Laundry
Thank you, thank you very much. No need for applause, your undying adoration is enough.
whom I lovingly gave birth to and have fed and clothed and sheltered pretty much all of the time since then- that pulled all the clean clothes out of the dryer and threw them all over the floor last night.
It's like you want me to fail.
Listen. I'm not saying that she's my parenting role model...
I'm saying she is specifically channeling my soul.
It's as if she is me.
Here she is.
And, yes, it's a commercial. And, yes, it is on youtube. You'll survive it.
Apparently I took a page out of Cate's book before I had even read it. (Post out of Cate's blog?... No, that's a frickin' stupid saying.)
As soon as I got home from work, I got on chat and this conversation with my friend Cassie ensued:
me: hallloooooo
and how's JJ today?
FlutterBy: no idea
but he's been there since 7am
me: did you notice how i beat the hell out of him in a dark alley last night?
FlutterBy: thank you
me: no problem
he took me for serious, then
Uh, let me pause here to say that I, indeed, did not beat the hell out of anyone last night, dark alley or otherwise. And if I did, I was just being a supportive friend. Her jerkoff plumber can't seem to find the time to do the job he's been paid for.
FlutterBy: uh huh
me: as i was kicking him in the stomach i was yelling you! will! work! all! day! at! FlutterBy's! house!
and that bitch was all WHO'S FLUTTERBY!?!?!
FlutterBy: o.O
someone's hyper
me: bc i feel tons better
FlutterBy: yay
So, yeah, the point I was making was that those kids gave me the plague, but I survived. There was a full day, though, where I got out of the lounge chair once. In total. After having slept there. And by "slept" I mean "stayed up all night vomiting". Ever been in a car accident? One where you really get hit? (Or, I suppose, do the hitting, but I wouldn't know about that.) If not, you feel like it was you, and not your car, that was hit by a truck. That's how I felt that whole day. But I can walk again now. So yay! I guess that's less faking it and more real joy. I'm willing to share.
But only because two- two- sisters tagged me. This is a 37 odd questions one.
1. Do you like bleu cheese? Pretty much any food question is likely to get the same answer. Blech.
2. Have you ever smoked? ME??? No! Why would you ever think that!??
3. Do you own a gun? No, but, like my sister, I want to learn because of movies. I never wanna be that wussy woman that can't defend herself because she doesn't know the safety's on. That being said, I'm also not gonna be that jerk parent whose kid shoots up the school.
4. What flavor Kool Aid was your favorite? Like I said, blech.
6. What do you think of hot dogs? Do you know what is in those things? Just kidding, but I don't eat red meat, so turkey dogs are cool.
7. Favorite Christmas movie? Puhlease. A Christmas Story.
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Coffee. As much as I can remember to drink before it's stone cold- sometimes after.
9. Can you do push ups? Why? Why would I want to do that?
10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? Eh. I'm too damn lazy to remember my jewelry most of the time, other than the wedding ring.
11. Favorite hobby? Sleeping? I dunno, reading? Whatever I can do at home.
12. Do you have A. D. D.? No?
13. Do you wear glasses/contacts? Nope, the eye doctor told me to not bother coming back until I turn forty.
14. Middle name? Danger.
15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment: I will not vomit. I need to call into work. Please, God, don't let those kids vomit.
16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink. Coffee, milk, seltzer. Trying to not drink so much soda. Dunno why, I see no difference! (Maybe it's that I never guzzled six six-packs a day, like that woman on Oprah.)
17. Current worry? Pay attention. Vomit.
18. Current hate right now? The hell? VOMIT.
19. Favorite place to be? I love my house. I could deal with some warm beach, though.
20. How did you bring in the new year? I honored it with sleep.
21. Where would you like to go? Back to bed.
22. Name three people who will complete this: I don't pass these on.
23. Do you own slippers? I do! I'm looking into some kitten mittens, though.
24 What color shirt are you wearing? Dirty.
25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? Eh. So long as they're clean. And not scratchy. And also has an electric mattress pad underneath.
26. Can you whistle? Yes? Is that really a big deal?
27. Where are you now? In a state of exhaustion.
28. Would you be a pirate? I'd be a kick-ass pirate. I would freakin' steal your stuff and have no regrets.
29. What songs do you sing in the shower? Round Here, Counting Crows. All the time, for more than a decade. I apologize to my family.
30. Favorite Girl's Name? My kids are way too old for me to even give a damn about theoretical names.
31. Favorite boy's name? And again.
32. What is in your pocket right now? Even if I did pockets, there'd only ever be my cell phone in it, and a ten if I'm lucky. If I'm at work, a pen and a sharpie.
33. Last thing that made you laugh? Obama's interview with Matt Lauer. Apparently his Blackberry turns into a car, for quick getaways.
34. What vehicle do you drive? I dunno. Some piece of crap that gets me from A to B. That someone just puked in.
35. Worst injury you've ever had? Not much. I broke my arm three times as a child. The car accident hurt like hell for weeks, but I wasn't actually injured. (Did you know you use chest muscles to turn the steering wheel? I found this out the hard way when I tried to drive days after the accident.)
36. Do you love where you live? I love my home. I hate this weather. And the germs. And not being able to air out the house of germs because of the weather.
37. How many TVs do you have in your house? None. We don't believe in television. (Did I say that with a straight face?)
