Have you ever gotten the distinct impression that someone doesn't like you?
I am experiencing this for the first time in my life. Not that everybody likes me or anything. There are some people I don't necessarily "click with" or whatever, or people who maybe didn't like me but didn't show it so actively. Until now, I haven't gotten the serious feeling that someone is avoiding talking to me, and really doesn't like me, FOR NO APPARENT REASON.
A very long time ago, I was dating this guy and he was about to leave for boot camp. We'd known each other for several years but had been dating for only about six months. This one girl, his ex-girlfriend and longtime best friend, made him a scrapbook to take with him. She went around his good-bye party and had everyone EXCEPT ME sign his scrapbook. And he and I had been friends, too, for several years -- I know that if I hadn't been dating him, she would have asked me to sign the damn book. At that time, I knew she was just mean, and didn't like me, but at least she had a reason. It was a dumb reason but at least I knew why.
This person who doesn't like me right now just all of a sudden decided not to like me. All of a sudden, this person doesn't want to talk to me. I know this person is avoiding me but I don't know why. And it kind of hurts my feelings.
MrDartt says it's character-building for people to not like you. After all, he says, lots of people don't like him, and look how much character he has. True.
And when someone doesn't like you, and you see this person regularly, are you supposed to ask why this person doesn't like you? Are you just supposed to let it go? Are you supposed to ask someone else why this person doesn't like you?
And I know I shouldn't care if someone likes me or not, but I DO!
I TOTALLY CARE!
Does this make me lame?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Rubbernecker Mother
I am officially a Rubbernecker Mother.
The other day at the store, Big Boy wanted to ride in the shopping cart that looks like a car and has steering wheels. The problem: this car had only one steering wheel. My mom was with us. She put Big Boy on the side of the car that had the steering wheel and I put Little Boy on the other side. Of course, Little Boy kept trying to touch the steering wheel and Big Boy was getting pretty mad about it. He kept pushing Little Boy's hands off the wheel, saying things like, "That's MY steering wheel, Little Boy!" or "No, Little Boy!"
I kept saying things like, "If you want to ride in this car, you have to share. Otherwise we can get a regular basket and you can ride in there."
He really doesn't like riding in regular baskets -- he prefers to walk, but only gets to walk if he's behaving.
The grabbing and pushing continued as we neared the apples. I thought it was so funny, I started digging around in my purse for my mobile phone so I could take a picture and upload it to my Facebook. Because I was so busy digging for the phone, I didn't notice Big Boy's frustration escalating until I looked up as he kneed Little Boy in the arm, knocking the arm out of the way, making way for Big Boy's knee to hit Little Boy's forehead before Little Boy's forehead hit the steering wheel.
Screaming ensued.
My mom took Little Boy out of the car and I took Big Boy. I got another cart and forced Big Boy into it, all the while speaking in a calm voice about being nice to Little Boy and sharing and terrible behavior and getting into the regular cart.
My mom walked off to another part of the store to avoid the commotion.
Big Boy continued to scream.
Finally, a man (probably a grandpa) walked by and said to Big Boy, "You don't look very happy."
That shut him up and he behaved the rest of the time.
But I have to wonder: would the kneeing have occurred if I hadn't been rubbernecking?
The other day at the store, Big Boy wanted to ride in the shopping cart that looks like a car and has steering wheels. The problem: this car had only one steering wheel. My mom was with us. She put Big Boy on the side of the car that had the steering wheel and I put Little Boy on the other side. Of course, Little Boy kept trying to touch the steering wheel and Big Boy was getting pretty mad about it. He kept pushing Little Boy's hands off the wheel, saying things like, "That's MY steering wheel, Little Boy!" or "No, Little Boy!"
I kept saying things like, "If you want to ride in this car, you have to share. Otherwise we can get a regular basket and you can ride in there."
He really doesn't like riding in regular baskets -- he prefers to walk, but only gets to walk if he's behaving.
The grabbing and pushing continued as we neared the apples. I thought it was so funny, I started digging around in my purse for my mobile phone so I could take a picture and upload it to my Facebook. Because I was so busy digging for the phone, I didn't notice Big Boy's frustration escalating until I looked up as he kneed Little Boy in the arm, knocking the arm out of the way, making way for Big Boy's knee to hit Little Boy's forehead before Little Boy's forehead hit the steering wheel.
Screaming ensued.
My mom took Little Boy out of the car and I took Big Boy. I got another cart and forced Big Boy into it, all the while speaking in a calm voice about being nice to Little Boy and sharing and terrible behavior and getting into the regular cart.
My mom walked off to another part of the store to avoid the commotion.
Big Boy continued to scream.
Finally, a man (probably a grandpa) walked by and said to Big Boy, "You don't look very happy."
That shut him up and he behaved the rest of the time.
But I have to wonder: would the kneeing have occurred if I hadn't been rubbernecking?
Friday, June 26, 2009
Catastrophe in the Kitchen
Last night I had another kithen catastrophe.
Little Boy has been waking up between 4:45 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. each day. I was wondering if maybe he needed some protein at dinner so it'd last him longer. So I decided to make him some beef.
I make all his baby food. Veggies are the easiest -- just steam 'em and throw 'em in the food processor. Fruits can be trickier. You have to peel, then cook, then steam, then puree. Meats are terrible.
I've made chicken before, but I tried beef last night. I cooked some meat, and then put it in the food processor. When Big Boy pushed the "High" button, the whole thing jumped off the counter. I quickly pressed it down (it has suction cups on the bottom to hold it down in events like this). So I poured some water in there. I poured more water in there. Still really chunky. More water. Soon, the watery brown stuff was leaking out of the food processor. And it was all filled up. So I poured some of the watery brown stuff into a bowl -- thought I'd do it in two batches.
More water. More leaking.
Still chunky. More water. More leaking.
Second batch, same thing.
So then I got it all mixed up and decided it was way too watery. I added cornstarch. Basically all I could get it to do was be brown water. I don't know how they do it for the jarred stuff.
I don't know how there's even still beef in there.
All this time, I was in a rush because I was supposed to go to my parents' house for dinner (addendum to Lesson on Apostrophes -- if you already have a plural word, like "parents," but you're making it possessive, like "the house that belongs to my parents" then you put the apostrophe after the s -- see above). I was running late. And I was supposed to cook. And time was tickin' away.
So I quickly poured the watery brown stuff into ice cube trays.
And it poured all over the counter. And it was chunky.
The ice cube trays were too full. So I dumped some of the brown liquid into the sink. The sink was now greasy and chunky and dingy.
I could barely find a spot in the freezer to freeze the cubes because the stuff was so watery.
The good news is that I mixed some of the brown watery stuff into peas and carrots for Little Boy and he really liked it. The bad news: he still woke up at 4:45 a.m. today!
Little Boy has been waking up between 4:45 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. each day. I was wondering if maybe he needed some protein at dinner so it'd last him longer. So I decided to make him some beef.
I make all his baby food. Veggies are the easiest -- just steam 'em and throw 'em in the food processor. Fruits can be trickier. You have to peel, then cook, then steam, then puree. Meats are terrible.
I've made chicken before, but I tried beef last night. I cooked some meat, and then put it in the food processor. When Big Boy pushed the "High" button, the whole thing jumped off the counter. I quickly pressed it down (it has suction cups on the bottom to hold it down in events like this). So I poured some water in there. I poured more water in there. Still really chunky. More water. Soon, the watery brown stuff was leaking out of the food processor. And it was all filled up. So I poured some of the watery brown stuff into a bowl -- thought I'd do it in two batches.
More water. More leaking.
Still chunky. More water. More leaking.
Second batch, same thing.
So then I got it all mixed up and decided it was way too watery. I added cornstarch. Basically all I could get it to do was be brown water. I don't know how they do it for the jarred stuff.
I don't know how there's even still beef in there.
All this time, I was in a rush because I was supposed to go to my parents' house for dinner (addendum to Lesson on Apostrophes -- if you already have a plural word, like "parents," but you're making it possessive, like "the house that belongs to my parents" then you put the apostrophe after the s -- see above). I was running late. And I was supposed to cook. And time was tickin' away.
So I quickly poured the watery brown stuff into ice cube trays.
And it poured all over the counter. And it was chunky.
The ice cube trays were too full. So I dumped some of the brown liquid into the sink. The sink was now greasy and chunky and dingy.
I could barely find a spot in the freezer to freeze the cubes because the stuff was so watery.
The good news is that I mixed some of the brown watery stuff into peas and carrots for Little Boy and he really liked it. The bad news: he still woke up at 4:45 a.m. today!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
First Book Club Meeting
Since I've never been in a book club before, I wasn't sure what to do last night at the first meeting of my MOMS Club Book Club (that remains the unofficial name since we couldn't come up with a different one).
Do you bring your book? (I brought mine but didn't even look at it once.)
Do you highlight passages, or put little sticky tabs on special parts, like you do when reading college textbooks? (I did not, but wondered the whole time if I should.)
You read the book, right? (I did.)
Do you come up with discussion questions? (I did not.)
Or do all these things get you labeled as dorky?
Do you want to be the dork of the book club, or is that okay, since book clubs are kind of inherently dorky? Or are they?
When I got there with my over-paprika-ed deviled eggs (that was one of Big Boy's jobs while we were making them), some of the girls mentioned that if you get 5 minutes of discussion about the book, that's great -- book clubs are mostly about food and girl talk.
Another of the girls had come up with a bunch of discussion questions, and wanted to talk about the book the whole time.
We ended up talking about the book quite a bit.
At one point the book club organizer said, "I starred a few parts," and I realized, it's okay to star -- not highlight!
Do you bring your book? (I brought mine but didn't even look at it once.)
Do you highlight passages, or put little sticky tabs on special parts, like you do when reading college textbooks? (I did not, but wondered the whole time if I should.)
You read the book, right? (I did.)
Do you come up with discussion questions? (I did not.)
Or do all these things get you labeled as dorky?
Do you want to be the dork of the book club, or is that okay, since book clubs are kind of inherently dorky? Or are they?
When I got there with my over-paprika-ed deviled eggs (that was one of Big Boy's jobs while we were making them), some of the girls mentioned that if you get 5 minutes of discussion about the book, that's great -- book clubs are mostly about food and girl talk.
Another of the girls had come up with a bunch of discussion questions, and wanted to talk about the book the whole time.
We ended up talking about the book quite a bit.
At one point the book club organizer said, "I starred a few parts," and I realized, it's okay to star -- not highlight!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
A Lesson on Apostrophes
I hate to do this to my readers, but even more, I hate to see apostrophes used incorrectly.
I saw a sign yesterday that said, "Kid's Eat Free."
There are only two ways to use apostrophes: when you are combining two words and when you are saying something belongs to someone.
"Kid's Eat Free" is not one of those ways.
If you translate "Kid's Eat Free," you are either reading, "Kid Is Eat Free" or "The Eat, Which Belongs to the Kids, is Free."
If you want to shorten, "It Is," you can write (or type) "It's." If you want to shorten "Let Us," you can write, "Let's."
If you want to say, "The dog, which belonged to MrsDartt, barked a lot," you can write, "MrsDartt's dog barked a lot."
You do NOT say, "All Car's On Sale" (I really saw that on TV), or "Wednesday's at 10 p.m." (I really saw that on TV, too). You do not use apostrophes when things are plural.
This is a huge pet peeve of mine.
"Misuse of apostrophes is a huge pet peeve of MrsDartt's."
I am not going to talk about this again.
"I'm not going to talk about this again."
It just bugs me when a company pays for advertising and then improperly uses apostrophes.
(Not "It just bug's me when a company pay's for advertising and then improperly uses apostrophe's." There should be NO apostrophes in that sentence.)
Okay, that is it for now. That's it for now. No more grammar lessons (see, no apostrophe!) until the next time I see something that really peeves me. Could be tomorrow.
I saw a sign yesterday that said, "Kid's Eat Free."
There are only two ways to use apostrophes: when you are combining two words and when you are saying something belongs to someone.
"Kid's Eat Free" is not one of those ways.
If you translate "Kid's Eat Free," you are either reading, "Kid Is Eat Free" or "The Eat, Which Belongs to the Kids, is Free."
If you want to shorten, "It Is," you can write (or type) "It's." If you want to shorten "Let Us," you can write, "Let's."
If you want to say, "The dog, which belonged to MrsDartt, barked a lot," you can write, "MrsDartt's dog barked a lot."
You do NOT say, "All Car's On Sale" (I really saw that on TV), or "Wednesday's at 10 p.m." (I really saw that on TV, too). You do not use apostrophes when things are plural.
This is a huge pet peeve of mine.
"Misuse of apostrophes is a huge pet peeve of MrsDartt's."
I am not going to talk about this again.
"I'm not going to talk about this again."
It just bugs me when a company pays for advertising and then improperly uses apostrophes.
(Not "It just bug's me when a company pay's for advertising and then improperly uses apostrophe's." There should be NO apostrophes in that sentence.)
Okay, that is it for now. That's it for now. No more grammar lessons (see, no apostrophe!) until the next time I see something that really peeves me. Could be tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
What's Your Song?
For Big Boy, it's "Singin' in the Rain."
For Little Boy, it's "Rock-A-Bye Baby."
For me, it's "Unbelievable." (Or is it "You're Unbelievable"? Not sure.)
MrDartt likes "Only the Young." It makes him want to work out or wrestle.
Some songs are just feel-good songs. Not all of them. For example, there's that one song MrDartt has as a ringtone for when his brother calls, something about Snuffing the Rooster. That doesn't sound like something the rooster would enjoy.
And there's "Barbie Girl," which my niece has on CD. That one really gets stuck in your head, even if it's really annoying. But she seems to like it.
And then there are really sad songs, like that country song about the two divorced people who see each other Every Other Weekend and they still love each other but neither one knows the other one is also still in love. So they just meet up, hand over the kids, and go on their not-so-merry ways.
How about "Whiskey for my Men and Beer for my Horses"? That's a weird one.
Where I live, there aren't any great radio stations so we get a lot of country and some really awesome soft rock. How many times can you listen to Bryan Adams' "Everything I Do"? I actually like that song but they just play it a lot. Seriously.
But here's the worst -- I have a confession. I really like Britney Spears' "Womanizer."
What? It has a good beat.
For Little Boy, it's "Rock-A-Bye Baby."
For me, it's "Unbelievable." (Or is it "You're Unbelievable"? Not sure.)
MrDartt likes "Only the Young." It makes him want to work out or wrestle.
Some songs are just feel-good songs. Not all of them. For example, there's that one song MrDartt has as a ringtone for when his brother calls, something about Snuffing the Rooster. That doesn't sound like something the rooster would enjoy.
And there's "Barbie Girl," which my niece has on CD. That one really gets stuck in your head, even if it's really annoying. But she seems to like it.
And then there are really sad songs, like that country song about the two divorced people who see each other Every Other Weekend and they still love each other but neither one knows the other one is also still in love. So they just meet up, hand over the kids, and go on their not-so-merry ways.
How about "Whiskey for my Men and Beer for my Horses"? That's a weird one.
Where I live, there aren't any great radio stations so we get a lot of country and some really awesome soft rock. How many times can you listen to Bryan Adams' "Everything I Do"? I actually like that song but they just play it a lot. Seriously.
But here's the worst -- I have a confession. I really like Britney Spears' "Womanizer."
What? It has a good beat.
Monday, June 22, 2009
My Dad
My dad's not that outwardly romantic or exuberantly affectionate, but he can sure be nice sometimes.
When I was in college in Long Beach, CA, he worked during the week in Los Angeles -- about an hour away even in heavy traffic. My family lived in northern California, but he'd stay in a hotel while he was working down there. Usually, once during the week when he was in LA, we'd have dinner together -- either he'd come to Long Beach or I'd drive to LA, and we'd go to a restaurant. Often if we went to Long Beach, we'd go to the grocery store or Target after dinner and we'd get some stuff, and he'd pay.
Well, one time, we stopped by the grocery store, and we each bought some drinks and stuff. After, he decided to load up his cooler and he told me he forgot to get gum. He asked me to go in, and he said he didn't care which kind of gum. I came back out with a pack of mint Extra or something and he sent me back in for a different flavor. I came back out with cinnamon and he sent me back in for a different flavor.
For once, I didn't act snotty or annoyed that he kept sending me back, even though he'd said he didn't care which flavor.
Thank goodness, because when I got back to my apartment and unloaded my groceries, I found that he'd rubber-banded a $100 bill to my juice bottle!
I called him to thank him and he told me he'd been having trouble finding a rubber band -- that's why he sent me into the store three times.
Wasn't that nice?
Happy Father's Day, dad!
When I was in college in Long Beach, CA, he worked during the week in Los Angeles -- about an hour away even in heavy traffic. My family lived in northern California, but he'd stay in a hotel while he was working down there. Usually, once during the week when he was in LA, we'd have dinner together -- either he'd come to Long Beach or I'd drive to LA, and we'd go to a restaurant. Often if we went to Long Beach, we'd go to the grocery store or Target after dinner and we'd get some stuff, and he'd pay.
Well, one time, we stopped by the grocery store, and we each bought some drinks and stuff. After, he decided to load up his cooler and he told me he forgot to get gum. He asked me to go in, and he said he didn't care which kind of gum. I came back out with a pack of mint Extra or something and he sent me back in for a different flavor. I came back out with cinnamon and he sent me back in for a different flavor.
For once, I didn't act snotty or annoyed that he kept sending me back, even though he'd said he didn't care which flavor.
Thank goodness, because when I got back to my apartment and unloaded my groceries, I found that he'd rubber-banded a $100 bill to my juice bottle!
I called him to thank him and he told me he'd been having trouble finding a rubber band -- that's why he sent me into the store three times.
Wasn't that nice?
Happy Father's Day, dad!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Big Boy's Suitcase
What I love about Big Boy is that he really knows how to make use of stuff, even if it's a different use than you expect.
Yesterday morning, Big Boy and I went shopping and got MrDartt a new lunchbox cooler for Father's Day. So yesterday afternoon, Big Boy annouced to his daddy that we'd gotten him a suitcase.
This morning, MrDartt opened his wrapped "suitcase" and Big Boy insisted on taking it up to grandma and grandpa's for our Father's Day breakfast. He carried it around the house and loaded it up with "work stuff" to take with us, including:
My tomato pin cushion (without any pins)
A tieback for the curtains in Little Boy's room
His shoes, in case his feet got cold (he wore flip flops to expedite his getting ready process because he was so excited to go up to grandma and grandpa's)
Two of his own socks
One of Little Boy's socks
One of my warm fuzzy pajama socks
Two dishrags
His Spiderman hat
A pink ball, which is part of a ball-blowing toy
When we arrived at grandma and grandpa's house, he took everything out, played with a few things and then put everything back in.
Yesterday morning, Big Boy and I went shopping and got MrDartt a new lunchbox cooler for Father's Day. So yesterday afternoon, Big Boy annouced to his daddy that we'd gotten him a suitcase.
This morning, MrDartt opened his wrapped "suitcase" and Big Boy insisted on taking it up to grandma and grandpa's for our Father's Day breakfast. He carried it around the house and loaded it up with "work stuff" to take with us, including:
My tomato pin cushion (without any pins)
A tieback for the curtains in Little Boy's room
His shoes, in case his feet got cold (he wore flip flops to expedite his getting ready process because he was so excited to go up to grandma and grandpa's)
Two of his own socks
One of Little Boy's socks
One of my warm fuzzy pajama socks
Two dishrags
His Spiderman hat
A pink ball, which is part of a ball-blowing toy
When we arrived at grandma and grandpa's house, he took everything out, played with a few things and then put everything back in.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
I wasn't exaggerating!
During the hour between 8 a.m. and 9 a.m. yesterday, Big Boy said, "Mommy" 72 times.
I stopped counting after that but here are some examples:
"Mommy, I'm sorry for hitting you, Mommy."
"Mommy, I'm sorry for knocking the stool over, Mommy."
"Mommy, I want to get off timeout."
"Mommy, I'm poopy."
"Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?" (Followed by, "Yes, Big Boy, did you have something to say?" and then silence.)
"Mommy, I don't LIKE you, Mommy."
And then, last night, as I was leaving his room after tucking him into bed:
"Mommy, I'm hungry." (Followed by, "You just had dinner.")
Followed by: "Mommy, I have an idea, Mommy. When I wake up in the morning, I can have cereal."
Followed by: "Mommy, now I need a hug and kiss."
Followed by: "Mommy, my giraffe needs a kiss."
And then: "Goodnight, Mommy. I love you, Mommy. I like you, too, Mommy."
I stopped counting after that but here are some examples:
"Mommy, I'm sorry for hitting you, Mommy."
"Mommy, I'm sorry for knocking the stool over, Mommy."
"Mommy, I want to get off timeout."
"Mommy, I'm poopy."
"Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?" (Followed by, "Yes, Big Boy, did you have something to say?" and then silence.)
"Mommy, I don't LIKE you, Mommy."
And then, last night, as I was leaving his room after tucking him into bed:
"Mommy, I'm hungry." (Followed by, "You just had dinner.")
Followed by: "Mommy, I have an idea, Mommy. When I wake up in the morning, I can have cereal."
Followed by: "Mommy, now I need a hug and kiss."
Followed by: "Mommy, my giraffe needs a kiss."
And then: "Goodnight, Mommy. I love you, Mommy. I like you, too, Mommy."
Friday, June 19, 2009
"Mommy" "Mommy" "Mommy" "Mommy" ...
When Big Boy was first learning to talk, I remember putting my face close to his and repeating, with a big smile on my face, "Say, mama." I did it all the time, until finally, he started saying "mama" indiscriminately, and then until he started using it when he talked about me or wanted me or whatever.
Today, I am going to keep track of how many times he says, "Mommy."
Yesterday I realized he says it about every two mintes. At least.
Each time he says something to me, he starts or ends the observation, question or comment with, "Mommy."
And this kid talks non-stop.
And sometimes, he just says, "Mommy?" and then doesn't say anything else. And I'll say, "Did you have something to tell me?" And he'll say, "Nope." I think he's just testing me to see if I'm paying attention.
Yesterday evening after a whole day of "Mommy," I was laughing every time he said it. And he kept asking, "Why are you laughing, Mommy?" or "Mommy, why are you laughing?"
It's 7 a.m. now and he has said "Mommy" 5 times since he got up at 6:30. I'll report back tomorrow.
Today, I am going to keep track of how many times he says, "Mommy."
Yesterday I realized he says it about every two mintes. At least.
Each time he says something to me, he starts or ends the observation, question or comment with, "Mommy."
And this kid talks non-stop.
And sometimes, he just says, "Mommy?" and then doesn't say anything else. And I'll say, "Did you have something to tell me?" And he'll say, "Nope." I think he's just testing me to see if I'm paying attention.
Yesterday evening after a whole day of "Mommy," I was laughing every time he said it. And he kept asking, "Why are you laughing, Mommy?" or "Mommy, why are you laughing?"
It's 7 a.m. now and he has said "Mommy" 5 times since he got up at 6:30. I'll report back tomorrow.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Christening the Rainboots
It's been blessedly cool in Arizona the past few weeks. Yesterday, it rained and poured at our house and Big Boy finally got the chance to use the rainboots grandma got him when she was on vacation.
My mom was here having dinner with us when the rain started, and Big Boy got very excited. He'd been dilly dallying about eating his dinner and when he saw the rain he ran out to the car to get his rainboots (he's been wearing them here and there despite the constant sunshine), and then got his umbrella from the garage. Then he ran out the front door and into the rain.
He stood on the front patio, ran down into the grass, and then tipped his umbrella down while he looked up at the sky. He ran back onto the patio, back to the grass, and back to the patio, and then stood looking at the rain for a while. Then he put his umbrella on the front porch and was ready to come inside.
He was totally soaked. But he was happy.
And now that he's finally used his rainboots, they're finally resting, on the floor of the hallway where he took them off after his little jaunt, before finally eating the rest of his dinner. Rain made him ravenous.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
My leaves and stick
I finally did it.
I cut the stick thing on my orchid plant.
I've had this darn orchid plant for a long time now. When I originally bought it, it had two lovely pink flowers at the end of a long stem. Eventually they wilted, shriveled, and fell off. Since then, I've had this plant, with some leaves at the bottom and a great big stick sticking up out of the leaves. One of my friends has been very successful with her orchid plants. She kept telling me, "just water it once a week, and it'll bloom again. Leave it alone, just water it once a week."
"I promise," she said, "it will bloom again."
Well, I've dutifully watered it once a week and nothing. NOTHING! It has grown a few new leaves at the bottom so I think it's healthy. But no blooms.
So last night I called my orchid-growing friend and told her it's been months and all I have are some leaves and a stick. NOW she tells me to cut the stick all the way back. Cut it down to the leaves. So I did. I just cut it. And she tells me I'm going to have some blooms soon. She tells me I'm going to get a new stick and some blooms.
We'll see. Because I'm sick of having some leaves and a stick. And watering.
She said I'd have some blooms in a month.
I'll keep you posted.
Any ideas?
I cut the stick thing on my orchid plant.
I've had this darn orchid plant for a long time now. When I originally bought it, it had two lovely pink flowers at the end of a long stem. Eventually they wilted, shriveled, and fell off. Since then, I've had this plant, with some leaves at the bottom and a great big stick sticking up out of the leaves. One of my friends has been very successful with her orchid plants. She kept telling me, "just water it once a week, and it'll bloom again. Leave it alone, just water it once a week."
"I promise," she said, "it will bloom again."
Well, I've dutifully watered it once a week and nothing. NOTHING! It has grown a few new leaves at the bottom so I think it's healthy. But no blooms.
So last night I called my orchid-growing friend and told her it's been months and all I have are some leaves and a stick. NOW she tells me to cut the stick all the way back. Cut it down to the leaves. So I did. I just cut it. And she tells me I'm going to have some blooms soon. She tells me I'm going to get a new stick and some blooms.
We'll see. Because I'm sick of having some leaves and a stick. And watering.
She said I'd have some blooms in a month.
I'll keep you posted.
Any ideas?
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Materialism
Okay, I admit it: I'm totally materialistic. I don't know how to fight it. I'd like to say I'm not, but I am. I want nice stuff. I want more nice stuff. Probably you're thinking, who doesn't? But I know some people who don't even care.
I want my boys to look cute. I buy my 9-month-old shoes. He's not even crawling (give him a break, his head is HUGE -- his doctor even said, "Wow, he has a HUGE head!"). I buy my 2-year-old shoes. Lots of shoes. I have to stop myself from buying him shoes. How many pairs does he need?
I buy myself shoes. Cute shoes. How often do I get to wear cute shoes? If I'm going to a playgroup, I don't wear cute shoes. If I'm going to a storytime, I don't wear cute shoes. Yesterday I had an interview and I wore cute shoes. So I get to wear cute shoes once a month or maybe twice, when I work or when I go on a date with my husband. Otherwise I work from home. I'm barefoot right now.
Here's a list of things I want: a new set of phones for the house (ours are crackly and also there's a Cheerio stuck in the little hanger part of one), a new TV (really, MrDartt wants one but that would be okay with me), a playset for our yard (you know, with swings and a slide and stuff), more shoes, more clothes (I need some new jeans that look nicer -- mostly the knees are worn off from playing on the floor with the boys), a new car (why not?), a new trash can (ours is SO HARD to get the bag out of), a new dishwasher (ours doesn't fit that many dishes). I can think of more stuff but you get the idea.
Anyway, is everybody materialistic? (As I said, I don't think so.)
And how do you fight against it? Because how do you ever save for retirement if you are spending all your money on stuff, stuff, stuff?
I want my boys to look cute. I buy my 9-month-old shoes. He's not even crawling (give him a break, his head is HUGE -- his doctor even said, "Wow, he has a HUGE head!"). I buy my 2-year-old shoes. Lots of shoes. I have to stop myself from buying him shoes. How many pairs does he need?
I buy myself shoes. Cute shoes. How often do I get to wear cute shoes? If I'm going to a playgroup, I don't wear cute shoes. If I'm going to a storytime, I don't wear cute shoes. Yesterday I had an interview and I wore cute shoes. So I get to wear cute shoes once a month or maybe twice, when I work or when I go on a date with my husband. Otherwise I work from home. I'm barefoot right now.
Here's a list of things I want: a new set of phones for the house (ours are crackly and also there's a Cheerio stuck in the little hanger part of one), a new TV (really, MrDartt wants one but that would be okay with me), a playset for our yard (you know, with swings and a slide and stuff), more shoes, more clothes (I need some new jeans that look nicer -- mostly the knees are worn off from playing on the floor with the boys), a new car (why not?), a new trash can (ours is SO HARD to get the bag out of), a new dishwasher (ours doesn't fit that many dishes). I can think of more stuff but you get the idea.
Anyway, is everybody materialistic? (As I said, I don't think so.)
And how do you fight against it? Because how do you ever save for retirement if you are spending all your money on stuff, stuff, stuff?
Friday, June 12, 2009
Time for an Adventure
Last night when I went out to take the dog out of her pen and bring her into the yard, I saw two airplanes flying across the sky, in two different directions.
And I thought, "I want to be on an airplane, going somewhere."
I thought about what all the different people might be doing on the airplanes. Maybe they were flying somewhere for vacation. Maybe they had important work meetings to get to. Maybe they were going to a funeral or a class reunion or a vineyard.
With the exception of a funeral, I'd love to be going somewhere.
I love being here, at our house, with the kids and my husband. I just decided that it's time for an adventure. We haven't had one in a while (besides watching Big Boy do his "flopping and jumping" -- he learned it from watching a James Bond movie where the character was running, jumping over stuff, and rolling -- in the living room).
So maybe we need to start planning a trip, even if it's a mini-vacation, just a drive-able distance, where we can hang out and relax for a few days or a week and just forget about the dogs, forget about the e-mail, and forget about the dishes.
And I thought, "I want to be on an airplane, going somewhere."
I thought about what all the different people might be doing on the airplanes. Maybe they were flying somewhere for vacation. Maybe they had important work meetings to get to. Maybe they were going to a funeral or a class reunion or a vineyard.
With the exception of a funeral, I'd love to be going somewhere.
I love being here, at our house, with the kids and my husband. I just decided that it's time for an adventure. We haven't had one in a while (besides watching Big Boy do his "flopping and jumping" -- he learned it from watching a James Bond movie where the character was running, jumping over stuff, and rolling -- in the living room).
So maybe we need to start planning a trip, even if it's a mini-vacation, just a drive-able distance, where we can hang out and relax for a few days or a week and just forget about the dogs, forget about the e-mail, and forget about the dishes.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Vegetarianism
I'm considering becoming a vegetarian.
For some reason, lately, I've been really grossed out about eating meat. I never thought I'd say this. But I'm thinking about these cows and chickens we eat, and how they walk around in big groups, maybe they're in cages, maybe not, but they're definitely pooping and peeing right on the ground, and then they're walking around in it, and then probably they eat right off the ground, too. And then all that poop and pee goes into their mouths, and into their bloodstreams, and then we EAT THEIR MUSCLES!
And, sometimes, when you're cutting apart chicken, like to shred it for making enchiladas, you can see a vein. And it's bloody.
So MrDartt thinks this is weird, my new thoughts about being a vegetarian. The other night, we used ground elk in a casserole. MrDartt's sister actually shot the elk that provided the meat we used. That is just so close -- almost too close for comfort. I like my meat to come from the store, all wrapped up in plastic.
Last night, when MrDartt wasn't home, I made black bean burgers for dinner. They actually turned out really well, despite the fact that when I wasn't looking, Big Boy dumped about a cup of vanilla flavored soy milk into the beans he was supposed to be mashing. So much for giving him a job. I dumped out the milk and the burgers tasted pretty good.
So I've cut the buns, and am frying the burgers, and Big Boy decides to make his own burger on a bun. He digs around in the salad and gets some tomatoes and avocadoes, and puts them on his bun. Mind you, the black bean burgers are still in the pan.
"I have a burger," he says, taking a big bite of his tomato-avocado-bun burger.
Maybe I come by this vegetarian stuff naturally.
For some reason, lately, I've been really grossed out about eating meat. I never thought I'd say this. But I'm thinking about these cows and chickens we eat, and how they walk around in big groups, maybe they're in cages, maybe not, but they're definitely pooping and peeing right on the ground, and then they're walking around in it, and then probably they eat right off the ground, too. And then all that poop and pee goes into their mouths, and into their bloodstreams, and then we EAT THEIR MUSCLES!
And, sometimes, when you're cutting apart chicken, like to shred it for making enchiladas, you can see a vein. And it's bloody.
So MrDartt thinks this is weird, my new thoughts about being a vegetarian. The other night, we used ground elk in a casserole. MrDartt's sister actually shot the elk that provided the meat we used. That is just so close -- almost too close for comfort. I like my meat to come from the store, all wrapped up in plastic.
Last night, when MrDartt wasn't home, I made black bean burgers for dinner. They actually turned out really well, despite the fact that when I wasn't looking, Big Boy dumped about a cup of vanilla flavored soy milk into the beans he was supposed to be mashing. So much for giving him a job. I dumped out the milk and the burgers tasted pretty good.
So I've cut the buns, and am frying the burgers, and Big Boy decides to make his own burger on a bun. He digs around in the salad and gets some tomatoes and avocadoes, and puts them on his bun. Mind you, the black bean burgers are still in the pan.
"I have a burger," he says, taking a big bite of his tomato-avocado-bun burger.
Maybe I come by this vegetarian stuff naturally.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Business
Does anyone have an idea for a business where you don't have to deal with any customers? But you still make a lot of money?
Customers are annoying. Here are some examples:
I have some friends that own a business. They send out an e-mail upon receiving an order. That e-mail says, "If your name is different than the name on your Paypal account, respond to this e-mail and tell us which name you want on your certificate. If you ordered in the name of a business, please let us know if you want your own name on your certificate." THEN, if the order came in from a business name, they add, "We noticed that you ordered in the name of a business. If we don't hear back from you, we'll send your certificate to, MONKEY BUSINESS."
So inevitably, there are people who receive their certificates and then write back, "I ordered in my wife's name! You people are crazy. Send me a new certificate in my name."
Or the best is when people write in and say, "You sent my certificate to MONKEY BUSINESS, which is very silly."
Well, no kidding it's silly. That's why they asked for your real name. Were they just supposed to come up with a name, since you didn't give them one? Were they supposed to ask you for your real name before printing your certificate -- wait! They did!
Anyway, people are just amazing sometimes. So I'm looking for a business idea that would not require me to deal with people. Any ideas?
Customers are annoying. Here are some examples:
I have some friends that own a business. They send out an e-mail upon receiving an order. That e-mail says, "If your name is different than the name on your Paypal account, respond to this e-mail and tell us which name you want on your certificate. If you ordered in the name of a business, please let us know if you want your own name on your certificate." THEN, if the order came in from a business name, they add, "We noticed that you ordered in the name of a business. If we don't hear back from you, we'll send your certificate to, MONKEY BUSINESS."
So inevitably, there are people who receive their certificates and then write back, "I ordered in my wife's name! You people are crazy. Send me a new certificate in my name."
Or the best is when people write in and say, "You sent my certificate to MONKEY BUSINESS, which is very silly."
Well, no kidding it's silly. That's why they asked for your real name. Were they just supposed to come up with a name, since you didn't give them one? Were they supposed to ask you for your real name before printing your certificate -- wait! They did!
Anyway, people are just amazing sometimes. So I'm looking for a business idea that would not require me to deal with people. Any ideas?
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Jobs
Some people say that being a stay-at-home mom is one of the hardest jobs in the world.
I disagree. I mean, I know of a lot of harder jobs out there. For example, I'd take stay-at-home mom over big-city-firefighter or police officer any day. I know, I know, there's all these jokes about firefighters sitting around in recliners watching TV and about police officers eating donuts all day long, but really. Would you want to be a firefighter and march right into a burning building? Would you want to be a police officer and run toward gunfire rather than away from it? Or how about a human resources person who has to lay off people they really care about, who are depending on their jobs? No thanks.
Anyway, I don't think stay-at-home mom is the hardest job in the world. It takes more patience than some jobs, and sometimes it's frustrating. And it is hard work, because it's so constant.
Here's an example:
Yesterday my mom and I took both my kids to the mall to buy a birthday present for a friend. Big Boy had a meltdown when I made him get off the toy cars so we could leave. I was carrying him and he was throwing a tantrum and slapping my face repeatedly. I'm sure any parent, stay-at-home or not, has dealt with something like this.
Then MrDartt called and said he probably would not be home for dinner. So I fed Big Boy some pizza (I know, not the healthiest meal ever) at the mall. And then my mom asked if I wanted to go to dinner with her and my dad on the way home. I REALLY wanted to. But I couldn't because Little Boy had been crying off and on for the whole mall trip and Big Boy's disposition hadn't improved too much since the slapping my face repeatedly incident. So then, I had to head home. I dropped my mom off so my dad could pick her up, and then Big Boy screamed, at the top of his lungs, the rest of the way home. Screamed. Why?
My point is that sometimes it would be so much easier to put my own needs and desires first. And sometimes I do, like just now, Little Boy was crying in his bedroom (just woke up from his nap) and I was just going to finish my blog first. But MrDartt said that wasn't very nice. So I went and got him while MrDartt finished up what he was doing. Then he took Little Boy so I could blog.
As a stay-at-home mom, my schedule is based around the kids' schedules, like eating and naps and stuff. So I can't get on Facebook or my e-mail and send messages to my friends in the middle of the day, because then I'd be ignoring my kids. I can't just schedule a lunch date with a friend -- I have to decide what time will work for naps, what place is good for strollers, high chairs and kids, or what place has a good kids' menu.
But I'm not out in the work world, having packed up my kids early in the morning, then going to lay people off, or stand outside in the heat directing traffic, or dealing with other people's sick kids all day, or telling my patients that they have cancer and probably will die within a year, or opening up someone's skull to cut a tumor out of their brain.
I think saying stat-at-home parenting is one of the hardest jobs in the world is kind of cliche. I enjoy it (even though it's frustrating), and I think it's fun to get to teach my kids all the lessons of the world -- like to say "excuse me" if you want to go down the slide and someone's sitting at the bottom, or, as one of my old friends had to do the other day -- convince her two-year-old not to pick her poopie up out of the potty to show off that she'd finally pooped on the potty. You can't beat that!
I disagree. I mean, I know of a lot of harder jobs out there. For example, I'd take stay-at-home mom over big-city-firefighter or police officer any day. I know, I know, there's all these jokes about firefighters sitting around in recliners watching TV and about police officers eating donuts all day long, but really. Would you want to be a firefighter and march right into a burning building? Would you want to be a police officer and run toward gunfire rather than away from it? Or how about a human resources person who has to lay off people they really care about, who are depending on their jobs? No thanks.
Anyway, I don't think stay-at-home mom is the hardest job in the world. It takes more patience than some jobs, and sometimes it's frustrating. And it is hard work, because it's so constant.
Here's an example:
Yesterday my mom and I took both my kids to the mall to buy a birthday present for a friend. Big Boy had a meltdown when I made him get off the toy cars so we could leave. I was carrying him and he was throwing a tantrum and slapping my face repeatedly. I'm sure any parent, stay-at-home or not, has dealt with something like this.
Then MrDartt called and said he probably would not be home for dinner. So I fed Big Boy some pizza (I know, not the healthiest meal ever) at the mall. And then my mom asked if I wanted to go to dinner with her and my dad on the way home. I REALLY wanted to. But I couldn't because Little Boy had been crying off and on for the whole mall trip and Big Boy's disposition hadn't improved too much since the slapping my face repeatedly incident. So then, I had to head home. I dropped my mom off so my dad could pick her up, and then Big Boy screamed, at the top of his lungs, the rest of the way home. Screamed. Why?
My point is that sometimes it would be so much easier to put my own needs and desires first. And sometimes I do, like just now, Little Boy was crying in his bedroom (just woke up from his nap) and I was just going to finish my blog first. But MrDartt said that wasn't very nice. So I went and got him while MrDartt finished up what he was doing. Then he took Little Boy so I could blog.
As a stay-at-home mom, my schedule is based around the kids' schedules, like eating and naps and stuff. So I can't get on Facebook or my e-mail and send messages to my friends in the middle of the day, because then I'd be ignoring my kids. I can't just schedule a lunch date with a friend -- I have to decide what time will work for naps, what place is good for strollers, high chairs and kids, or what place has a good kids' menu.
But I'm not out in the work world, having packed up my kids early in the morning, then going to lay people off, or stand outside in the heat directing traffic, or dealing with other people's sick kids all day, or telling my patients that they have cancer and probably will die within a year, or opening up someone's skull to cut a tumor out of their brain.
I think saying stat-at-home parenting is one of the hardest jobs in the world is kind of cliche. I enjoy it (even though it's frustrating), and I think it's fun to get to teach my kids all the lessons of the world -- like to say "excuse me" if you want to go down the slide and someone's sitting at the bottom, or, as one of my old friends had to do the other day -- convince her two-year-old not to pick her poopie up out of the potty to show off that she'd finally pooped on the potty. You can't beat that!
Friday, June 5, 2009
A Dad at the Park
Yesterday, we went to playgroup at the park, and one of my friends, we'll call her "B", learned two things: a) never have five kids and b) never leave the husband alone with five kids.
I concur.
Playgroup started at 10:30. When I arrived at 10:45, B was already there -- she'd been there since about 10 a.m. She pointed out a dad who was there with his five, yes FIVE, kids. They ranged in age from about 6 or 7 to an infant in a carrier. B told me that the dad had been there since right after her 10 a.m. arrival, and had just then, at 10:45, taken the infant out of the car. She'd been in the car with the door open, screaming. B had told the dad, who had nonchalantly gone over to hush the baby up, and then leave her in the car again. Finally, he brought her out and set her carrier in the shade at the edge of the playground.
At one point, I could see Big Boy's feet on the ladder, and a pair of little arms around both of his ankles, leaning back against his body weight. Upon further inspection, my concern was validated: one of the dad's five children, a girl of about 5, was indeed trying to pull Big Boy's feet off the ladder, while he clung to a higher rung with his little fists closed as hard as he could close them. The dad was watching, but not saying anything. That's right. Watching, but not saying anything as my two-year-old struggles not to lose his footing on a metal ladder and fall because this dad's little girl is pulling on his feet.
As soon as I notice what's going on, Big Boy starts calling for me. So I'm walking over and the dad says, "Good morning." That's it. "Good morning."
"Good morning."?
How about "Sorry my kid's trying to kill your kid."?
I walk over to the kids and say, "What's going on over here?"
"She's pulling me," says Big Boy.
"He pulled me first," the girl said. Yeah, right. Big Boy hardly interacts with other kids at the park, unless his mother forces him to say hello, good-bye, or excuse me, I'd like to go down the slide.
And I'm positive that the little girl never held still long enough for my kid to pull on her feet, especially when the dad was watching her and her little sister climb up the slide while other kids waited to go down.
Anyway, I ask Big Boy if he'd pulled the girl. He says, "No, I didn't."
"Yes, he did," the girl says.
I believe him, because it's just not his style.
So I say, "Okay, no pulling, okay? Nobody pull anybody. Now go up the ladder and play."
As I walk away, the dad smiles at me. Seriously.
I'm not against people having five kids. But I concur with what B told me as soon as I arrived at the park: I will never have five kids. So I don't have to worry about sending my husband to the park with said kids. Thank goodness.
I concur.
Playgroup started at 10:30. When I arrived at 10:45, B was already there -- she'd been there since about 10 a.m. She pointed out a dad who was there with his five, yes FIVE, kids. They ranged in age from about 6 or 7 to an infant in a carrier. B told me that the dad had been there since right after her 10 a.m. arrival, and had just then, at 10:45, taken the infant out of the car. She'd been in the car with the door open, screaming. B had told the dad, who had nonchalantly gone over to hush the baby up, and then leave her in the car again. Finally, he brought her out and set her carrier in the shade at the edge of the playground.
At one point, I could see Big Boy's feet on the ladder, and a pair of little arms around both of his ankles, leaning back against his body weight. Upon further inspection, my concern was validated: one of the dad's five children, a girl of about 5, was indeed trying to pull Big Boy's feet off the ladder, while he clung to a higher rung with his little fists closed as hard as he could close them. The dad was watching, but not saying anything. That's right. Watching, but not saying anything as my two-year-old struggles not to lose his footing on a metal ladder and fall because this dad's little girl is pulling on his feet.
As soon as I notice what's going on, Big Boy starts calling for me. So I'm walking over and the dad says, "Good morning." That's it. "Good morning."
"Good morning."?
How about "Sorry my kid's trying to kill your kid."?
I walk over to the kids and say, "What's going on over here?"
"She's pulling me," says Big Boy.
"He pulled me first," the girl said. Yeah, right. Big Boy hardly interacts with other kids at the park, unless his mother forces him to say hello, good-bye, or excuse me, I'd like to go down the slide.
And I'm positive that the little girl never held still long enough for my kid to pull on her feet, especially when the dad was watching her and her little sister climb up the slide while other kids waited to go down.
Anyway, I ask Big Boy if he'd pulled the girl. He says, "No, I didn't."
"Yes, he did," the girl says.
I believe him, because it's just not his style.
So I say, "Okay, no pulling, okay? Nobody pull anybody. Now go up the ladder and play."
As I walk away, the dad smiles at me. Seriously.
I'm not against people having five kids. But I concur with what B told me as soon as I arrived at the park: I will never have five kids. So I don't have to worry about sending my husband to the park with said kids. Thank goodness.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Big Boy's "Reading"
Why is it that when you want your kid to come up with something to do on his own for a few minutes while you put the dishes away, he wants to play in the dishwasher, but when you want him to go to sleep, he wants to sit quietly and read to himself for 30 minutes?
Big Boy is only 2.5 years old, so yesterday at naptime when he said he wanted to read himself, I figured he would just look at the pictures in the Curious George book before going to sleep. So I left him to it. But when I went back downstairs to put Little Boy to bed a half-hour later, I heard Big Boy in there, reciting perfectly the words from one of the Curious George stories.
Mind you, I'd tried to get him to watch TV for a few minutes while I wrote on the blog yesterday. To no avail -- he wanted to sit in my lap and push buttons on the computer. At dinner at a restaurant, I tried to get him to color for five minutes while we waited for our food. But he wanted to get in and out of his booster seat about eight hundred times.
Then, after dinner (this is not related, it's just what happened after our food finally arrived and Big Boy ate his pizza, with ketchup on it, upside down), I was trying to get him into the car but he wanted to lean up against the wall at the side of the parking lot. He said, "I'm busy. I'm poopin'." His new thing is that he can't sit down while he's pooping or after he's pooped.
So I waited. My dad (we'd gone to dinner with my parents) was laughing and saying this would be a good subject for the blog. I think he was joking, but whatever!
So then Big Boy is running along that wall in the parking lot, trying to get away from me (don't worry, there's a big landscaped swath between cars and wall, so he was running in that). He was alarmed and delighted when I jumped over a bush to catch him. I realized then that he hadn't pooped after all, so I loaded him up and off we went.
Before bed, he wanted to sit and listen to music. Of course. I'm trying to get him ready for bed and he wants to sit still and listen to music for 10 minutes. And then, we're downstairs in his room, trying to get him into bed, and he wants to sit and read again for 10 minutes. By himself. I just can't win! But I was very impressed that he got about 60 percent of the words exactly right -- despite MrDartt and my abbreviated versions of the very long stories!
Big Boy is only 2.5 years old, so yesterday at naptime when he said he wanted to read himself, I figured he would just look at the pictures in the Curious George book before going to sleep. So I left him to it. But when I went back downstairs to put Little Boy to bed a half-hour later, I heard Big Boy in there, reciting perfectly the words from one of the Curious George stories.
Mind you, I'd tried to get him to watch TV for a few minutes while I wrote on the blog yesterday. To no avail -- he wanted to sit in my lap and push buttons on the computer. At dinner at a restaurant, I tried to get him to color for five minutes while we waited for our food. But he wanted to get in and out of his booster seat about eight hundred times.
Then, after dinner (this is not related, it's just what happened after our food finally arrived and Big Boy ate his pizza, with ketchup on it, upside down), I was trying to get him into the car but he wanted to lean up against the wall at the side of the parking lot. He said, "I'm busy. I'm poopin'." His new thing is that he can't sit down while he's pooping or after he's pooped.
So I waited. My dad (we'd gone to dinner with my parents) was laughing and saying this would be a good subject for the blog. I think he was joking, but whatever!
So then Big Boy is running along that wall in the parking lot, trying to get away from me (don't worry, there's a big landscaped swath between cars and wall, so he was running in that). He was alarmed and delighted when I jumped over a bush to catch him. I realized then that he hadn't pooped after all, so I loaded him up and off we went.
Before bed, he wanted to sit and listen to music. Of course. I'm trying to get him ready for bed and he wants to sit still and listen to music for 10 minutes. And then, we're downstairs in his room, trying to get him into bed, and he wants to sit and read again for 10 minutes. By himself. I just can't win! But I was very impressed that he got about 60 percent of the words exactly right -- despite MrDartt and my abbreviated versions of the very long stories!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Traffic School, revisited again
I think this will be my last post about traffic school.
So there's this guy, he's wearing a plaid shirt and he's sitting in the front row. I'd put him in his 60s. Remember Spiky, from the first traffic school post? She's saved her picture from her photo radar ticket to show her daughter how good she looks driving and she wants to know EXACTLY when to slow down when exiting the freeway.
Anyway, the instructor started talking about road rage and what to do if somebody gets raged at you. Mostly you're supposed to diffuse the situation but if it's really bad you can call the police, he said.
Then, the guy in the plaid shirt told a story about how he cut someone off by accident, and that guy followed him home and leapt out of his car to start fighting the plaid shirt guy. Plaid shirt guy said, "I had just been out doing some target practice and I was glad I had my gun in the backseat. As soon as he saw my gun, the guy took off."
Two things you should know before I continue. This is a gun-toting community. It's not unusual to see someone in Safeway with a gun strapped to his belt. Also, this post is not about gun control.
Spiky says, "WHY were you glad you had your gun?"
The plaid shirt guy says, "Because, as soon as the guy saw it, he took off?"
Spiky says, "So you would have SHOT him?"
The plaid shirt guy says, "Well, if I HAD to!"
Spiky says, "Stupid! Over road rage?"
Someone else in the back of the room said to Spiky, "YOU are stupid!"
Here's why I was annoyed: in Arizona, it's perfectly legal to take your gun and go target shooting. It's also legal, if you have a gun and someone is threatening your life, to shoot that person. People will debate gun control til the cows come home, but the point is that this woman was just so judgemental! Plaid shirt guy was just saying that in defense of his own life, he would have shot the road rager. He wasn't saying he would have leapt out of his own car and shot road rager just for following him home. It wasn't about road rage, as Spiky assumed. I don't know about you but I would be totally freaked out if someone who was visibly angry followed me HOME! Spiky probably would have been freaked out, too, but would have spent 5 minutes deciding what to do when she arrived at her house with the road rager in tow, while he beat her brains out.
It just really irks me when people judge other people's decisions. Spiky doesn't know what she would have done in the situation because it never happened to her. So leave plaid shirt guy alone!
Traffic school was more interesting than I'd anticipated, since I had all these characters in my class. But I'm glad I don't have to go back.
So there's this guy, he's wearing a plaid shirt and he's sitting in the front row. I'd put him in his 60s. Remember Spiky, from the first traffic school post? She's saved her picture from her photo radar ticket to show her daughter how good she looks driving and she wants to know EXACTLY when to slow down when exiting the freeway.
Anyway, the instructor started talking about road rage and what to do if somebody gets raged at you. Mostly you're supposed to diffuse the situation but if it's really bad you can call the police, he said.
Then, the guy in the plaid shirt told a story about how he cut someone off by accident, and that guy followed him home and leapt out of his car to start fighting the plaid shirt guy. Plaid shirt guy said, "I had just been out doing some target practice and I was glad I had my gun in the backseat. As soon as he saw my gun, the guy took off."
Two things you should know before I continue. This is a gun-toting community. It's not unusual to see someone in Safeway with a gun strapped to his belt. Also, this post is not about gun control.
Spiky says, "WHY were you glad you had your gun?"
The plaid shirt guy says, "Because, as soon as the guy saw it, he took off?"
Spiky says, "So you would have SHOT him?"
The plaid shirt guy says, "Well, if I HAD to!"
Spiky says, "Stupid! Over road rage?"
Someone else in the back of the room said to Spiky, "YOU are stupid!"
Here's why I was annoyed: in Arizona, it's perfectly legal to take your gun and go target shooting. It's also legal, if you have a gun and someone is threatening your life, to shoot that person. People will debate gun control til the cows come home, but the point is that this woman was just so judgemental! Plaid shirt guy was just saying that in defense of his own life, he would have shot the road rager. He wasn't saying he would have leapt out of his own car and shot road rager just for following him home. It wasn't about road rage, as Spiky assumed. I don't know about you but I would be totally freaked out if someone who was visibly angry followed me HOME! Spiky probably would have been freaked out, too, but would have spent 5 minutes deciding what to do when she arrived at her house with the road rager in tow, while he beat her brains out.
It just really irks me when people judge other people's decisions. Spiky doesn't know what she would have done in the situation because it never happened to her. So leave plaid shirt guy alone!
Traffic school was more interesting than I'd anticipated, since I had all these characters in my class. But I'm glad I don't have to go back.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Traffic School, revisited
Here's another story from traffic school:
We're talking about drunk driving, and this one lady (not the same lady from yesterday) says, "I think police officers should stand outside the bars and give people breathalyzers (spelling?) so they don't drive drunk."
The instructor said, "Some people would say that's entrapment, though, if cops were waiting outside bars."
The lady responded, "Well, it IS entrapment."
So, she doesn't want to accept responsibility for driving drunk, and wants the police to spend their time and resources waiting for her outside a bar so they can stop her from driving drunk. But she also does not want police to wait for her outside a bar, because that's entrapment. So basically she doesn't want to accept responsibility for drinking too much and then driving -- she wants the police to accept responsibility for that. And she doesn't want the police to accept responsibility for her drinking and driving.
So she wants to drive drunk, I guess, but not get in trouble for it because it's not her fault and it's not her responsibility NOT to drive drunk.
Also, she said that the photo radar vans that photograph people speeding are unfair because they are distracting to drivers because they make drivers look at their speedometers. So she doesn't want to accept responsibility for speeding because it's not her fault because it's so distracting to have to look at her speedometer.
Are you kidding me?
Even if her car doesn't have cruise control, it's not that hard to maintain a constant speed, especially on a road where the speed limit doesn't change. If you're paying attention to driving, then you should be able to travel at the speed limit. When you are driving, you have only a few things you have to do: watch traffic, travel at the speed limit, follow traffic signals and watch out for dogs, cats, people, bicycles and the occasional skunk.
And THEN, she said EVERYTHING was a distraction, from the yellow recommendation signs to the other drivers on the road. Come on!
I'm sure it wasn't her fault that she got a seatbelt violation ticket while speeding, drunk, in a car that had no headlights and three flat tires -- all after getting into a fistfight with a police officer who entrapped her with a breathalyzer outside the bar where the bartender forced her to drink seven shots of tequila before her friends forced her to drive them home and wouldn't let her put on her seatbelt.
Seriously!
We're talking about drunk driving, and this one lady (not the same lady from yesterday) says, "I think police officers should stand outside the bars and give people breathalyzers (spelling?) so they don't drive drunk."
The instructor said, "Some people would say that's entrapment, though, if cops were waiting outside bars."
The lady responded, "Well, it IS entrapment."
So, she doesn't want to accept responsibility for driving drunk, and wants the police to spend their time and resources waiting for her outside a bar so they can stop her from driving drunk. But she also does not want police to wait for her outside a bar, because that's entrapment. So basically she doesn't want to accept responsibility for drinking too much and then driving -- she wants the police to accept responsibility for that. And she doesn't want the police to accept responsibility for her drinking and driving.
So she wants to drive drunk, I guess, but not get in trouble for it because it's not her fault and it's not her responsibility NOT to drive drunk.
Also, she said that the photo radar vans that photograph people speeding are unfair because they are distracting to drivers because they make drivers look at their speedometers. So she doesn't want to accept responsibility for speeding because it's not her fault because it's so distracting to have to look at her speedometer.
Are you kidding me?
Even if her car doesn't have cruise control, it's not that hard to maintain a constant speed, especially on a road where the speed limit doesn't change. If you're paying attention to driving, then you should be able to travel at the speed limit. When you are driving, you have only a few things you have to do: watch traffic, travel at the speed limit, follow traffic signals and watch out for dogs, cats, people, bicycles and the occasional skunk.
And THEN, she said EVERYTHING was a distraction, from the yellow recommendation signs to the other drivers on the road. Come on!
I'm sure it wasn't her fault that she got a seatbelt violation ticket while speeding, drunk, in a car that had no headlights and three flat tires -- all after getting into a fistfight with a police officer who entrapped her with a breathalyzer outside the bar where the bartender forced her to drink seven shots of tequila before her friends forced her to drive them home and wouldn't let her put on her seatbelt.
Seriously!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Traffic School and its Students
I went to traffic school this weekend. And it was the right weekend. I actually learned something. Several things, really.
One main thing I learned is that people are not very smart and many of them shouldn't be driving and I'm scared for my life.
So let me tell you about this one lady (I'll definitely have another post about her -- maybe we'll give her a name -- Spiky, because she had spiky hair).
We were talking about speed limit signs and how white ones are actual speed limits and yellow ones are kind of recommendations. So the instructor said how on highways the speed limit is usually 55 miles per hour unless otherwise posted. Or maybe it was 65. Anyway, sometimes, at an exit, a yellow sign will recommend 45 miles per hour down the off ramp.
So she asks, "So, if you're driving on the highway and you're going 55, when do you actually start going 45? Do you put on your blinker and then slow down before you get off the highway so you're going 45 when you get on the off ramp? Or do you keep going 55 until you get off the highway and then put on your brakes and immediately slow down to 45?"
Seriously? She's really asking this?
Thank goodness, our instructor said, "Well, you have to use a little common sense on that one."
No kidding?
I think she's putting a little too much thought into that. Just get off the highway and slow down. If someone's behind you, don't slam on your brakes before you exit. If no one's behind you it doesn't really matter. If someone's in front of you, do what they do or you'll hit them.
And this woman is on the road. She's probably causing accidents every time she has to make a decision. Like when she wants to make a right turn, she's driving along, trying to decide at exactly which point she should put on her blinker, and exactly which point she should slow down to make the turn and exactly how many degrees to turn her steering wheel at exactly which interval. By the time she's got this all figured out she has missed her turn, so she slams on her brakes and reverses back to the turn so she can correctly execute it.
She even saved her photo radar ticket so she could show her daughter how good she looked when she was driving.
Wait til you read about the next lady. Tomorrow's post.
One main thing I learned is that people are not very smart and many of them shouldn't be driving and I'm scared for my life.
So let me tell you about this one lady (I'll definitely have another post about her -- maybe we'll give her a name -- Spiky, because she had spiky hair).
We were talking about speed limit signs and how white ones are actual speed limits and yellow ones are kind of recommendations. So the instructor said how on highways the speed limit is usually 55 miles per hour unless otherwise posted. Or maybe it was 65. Anyway, sometimes, at an exit, a yellow sign will recommend 45 miles per hour down the off ramp.
So she asks, "So, if you're driving on the highway and you're going 55, when do you actually start going 45? Do you put on your blinker and then slow down before you get off the highway so you're going 45 when you get on the off ramp? Or do you keep going 55 until you get off the highway and then put on your brakes and immediately slow down to 45?"
Seriously? She's really asking this?
Thank goodness, our instructor said, "Well, you have to use a little common sense on that one."
No kidding?
I think she's putting a little too much thought into that. Just get off the highway and slow down. If someone's behind you, don't slam on your brakes before you exit. If no one's behind you it doesn't really matter. If someone's in front of you, do what they do or you'll hit them.
And this woman is on the road. She's probably causing accidents every time she has to make a decision. Like when she wants to make a right turn, she's driving along, trying to decide at exactly which point she should put on her blinker, and exactly which point she should slow down to make the turn and exactly how many degrees to turn her steering wheel at exactly which interval. By the time she's got this all figured out she has missed her turn, so she slams on her brakes and reverses back to the turn so she can correctly execute it.
She even saved her photo radar ticket so she could show her daughter how good she looked when she was driving.
Wait til you read about the next lady. Tomorrow's post.
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