Good morning Internet.
You may have noticed the prolonged absence on this blog. Please rest assured this is temporary, and normal posting will resume as soon as possible. Unless, of course, the main author's head does actually spontanously combust and thus render blogging impossible. The odds are not good right now.
Gosh. I guess I'll summarize in attempt to make this blog post less than twelve weeks long to read.
1. Sister got into a car wreck. (She's okay now.)
2. Grandma reached a point where she needs more support with things like weekly grocery shopping, etc. This is a pleasure, I assure you, and I am SO thankful to be out of a job and thus be able to be the lucky one to spend this time with her. (Unemployment is such a mixed blessing.)
3. My mother spend a few days in the hospital. Her heart can't handle her job. Her finances can't sustain the absence of her job. Everyone is full of fear and full of prayer with what will happen to GM. Whatever happens to GM will determine what happens to my father's job, and their entire retirement.
4. Aaron had a nasty class load that ended 48 hours ago. This kept me just as busy as he was. His summar load starts tomorrow night for him.
5. We helped friends move their stuff from Canada to the USA. Exhausting, and took way longer than expected.
6. My masters thesis has to be finished soon. I mean HAS to be. Or I don't get my degree without first retaking other courses. I graduate in August. You would not believe the workload I have right now, or the ridiculously short time I have to get it done.
7. Of course, I can't make a list of what's going on in my life without including the economy! and jobsearch! and financial worry! and stress. I have NO leads. I have LITTLE hope. I have LOTS of tears. This morning the news announced the unemployment in Michigan at 12.6%, and cited it the highest in the country. I thought I saw stats that it was over 13% a few months ago, but that may have been a different deal. Maybe one is state-wide and one is based on a national average? I don't know. Anyhow, the report of a current 12.6% status also advised we can expect to climb to 14% by the end of the year, and might even see 15% into 2010. What happened to the prediction that things were bouncing back? Hello, Obama? You there? We don't expect extravagance. I only want to work for a living as I've always done, feel a purpose, help feed and house my family, and not live in this brand of fear every day. Don't even tell me your posse can't fix this. Shut off the damn NAFTA pipe, place some proper tariffs on imports, use your "stimulus" ideas in ways that WORK, and get our economy back on track. This is an amazing country full of talent that can't be described in words, and we're falling apart.
Anyway. The next few days are going to be among the worst as far as crunch and workload. I don't know when I'll be back, but I know I will be back. And, hopefully, I'll be back with some sort of happy news to share, and a little less whining. Ciao, bellas.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Rough Weekend
Seriously, we're tired!
The fence is almost completely finished. One section (that has to be cut to fit) and the gates are left. That was a lot of work, and we are so grateful to have had help.
It's supposted to thunderstorm for the next several days. This means we'll probably leave the sections up that are just covering the openings on either side of the house so the dogs can use the yard without tethers. (And I can open the door at 4 am when there is whining, rather than put shoes and a coat on and go traipsing through the woods in the middle of the night with leashes.)
The fence is almost completely finished. One section (that has to be cut to fit) and the gates are left. That was a lot of work, and we are so grateful to have had help.
It's supposted to thunderstorm for the next several days. This means we'll probably leave the sections up that are just covering the openings on either side of the house so the dogs can use the yard without tethers. (And I can open the door at 4 am when there is whining, rather than put shoes and a coat on and go traipsing through the woods in the middle of the night with leashes.)
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The case of the missing poop bag, a lost key, and tug-of-war
I have (had?) a key. One little key on it's own little ring. I grab it when I walk or run. If I have no pockets, I clip it to the end of Kenzie's leash.
Today I had pockets. Plenty cold enough for a coat this morning. The key went into the pocket with the empty poop bags.
We set off jogging down the street.
Kenzie picked her spot to poo. It was bagged. Jordy picked his spot. It was bagged. We set out on the rest of our jog with both bags in the hand that held Jordy's leash. 3/4 of the way through our journey, I noticed only one poop bag was in my hand. I decided to go run the loop again alone after the dogs were inside, because they both seemed tired, and were about 30 minutes past breakfast time. We all walked up to the front door, and, my key was no longer in my pocket. ???
We retraced our steps, pausing at each place we pulled out poop bags to use, and could not see the key. The dogs were NOT cooperating with the search efforts.
I brought them back home and stuck them in the neighbor's yard so I could run and search myself. I found the missing poop bag, and picked it up, but did not find the key. Releashed the dogs, brought them into our yard, and began to formulate a plan... Kenzie would not make it all the way to my parents after already having a decent length jog. I could not leave either dog on a tether unsupervised. (They can get hurt on those things. Truthfully, I hate those things with a passion and can't wait until we never have to use them again other than when camping.) I sat in the sun but still shivered. I'd worked up just enough of a sweat to now be freezing cold.
Eventually, I decided to take just one look around the house at the windows in case we left one unlocked, which we typically never do, but thankfully we did. The screen wouldn't come all the way out so I had to shimmy up underneath it and backflip into the house. (Wouldn't you love to see pictures of THAT? It was ridiculous.)
Before scaling brick and vaulting my body through a window, the dogs were making great use of their time in the yard. Jordy has started a bad habit when we walk him without his gentle leader and he decides it should be play time. He tries to grab hold of the leash and play tug-of-war. We redirect him and discourage this. Tug-of-war is a challenge over a piece of property, and the dogs can't be allowed to challenge humans. (They are so big and strong, the rules have to be strict, or someone could get hurt. They have to be good citizens all the time.)
But that does NOT mean they can't play tug-of-war with EACH OTHER! That is perfectly allowed. Although, I prefer they not use Jordy's nice leash...
Me: Hey! Uh-uh. SHhhht. Shht. Halt! Kenz. Jordy. Drop it.
Me: Kenz!! Jordy! Uh-uh! No! Drop it! Leave it!
Dogs: Fine. We'll use a STICK for our fun game. :o) And when it breaks in half, we'll lay and chew our respective halves. Go climb through a window, lady. We're hungry.
Today I had pockets. Plenty cold enough for a coat this morning. The key went into the pocket with the empty poop bags.
We set off jogging down the street.
Kenzie picked her spot to poo. It was bagged. Jordy picked his spot. It was bagged. We set out on the rest of our jog with both bags in the hand that held Jordy's leash. 3/4 of the way through our journey, I noticed only one poop bag was in my hand. I decided to go run the loop again alone after the dogs were inside, because they both seemed tired, and were about 30 minutes past breakfast time. We all walked up to the front door, and, my key was no longer in my pocket. ???
We retraced our steps, pausing at each place we pulled out poop bags to use, and could not see the key. The dogs were NOT cooperating with the search efforts.
I brought them back home and stuck them in the neighbor's yard so I could run and search myself. I found the missing poop bag, and picked it up, but did not find the key. Releashed the dogs, brought them into our yard, and began to formulate a plan... Kenzie would not make it all the way to my parents after already having a decent length jog. I could not leave either dog on a tether unsupervised. (They can get hurt on those things. Truthfully, I hate those things with a passion and can't wait until we never have to use them again other than when camping.) I sat in the sun but still shivered. I'd worked up just enough of a sweat to now be freezing cold.
Eventually, I decided to take just one look around the house at the windows in case we left one unlocked, which we typically never do, but thankfully we did. The screen wouldn't come all the way out so I had to shimmy up underneath it and backflip into the house. (Wouldn't you love to see pictures of THAT? It was ridiculous.)
Before scaling brick and vaulting my body through a window, the dogs were making great use of their time in the yard. Jordy has started a bad habit when we walk him without his gentle leader and he decides it should be play time. He tries to grab hold of the leash and play tug-of-war. We redirect him and discourage this. Tug-of-war is a challenge over a piece of property, and the dogs can't be allowed to challenge humans. (They are so big and strong, the rules have to be strict, or someone could get hurt. They have to be good citizens all the time.)
But that does NOT mean they can't play tug-of-war with EACH OTHER! That is perfectly allowed. Although, I prefer they not use Jordy's nice leash...
Me: Hey! Uh-uh. SHhhht. Shht. Halt! Kenz. Jordy. Drop it.
Me: Kenz!! Jordy! Uh-uh! No! Drop it! Leave it!
Dogs: Fine. We'll use a STICK for our fun game. :o) And when it breaks in half, we'll lay and chew our respective halves. Go climb through a window, lady. We're hungry.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Two days late....
I know, I know. I was supposed to be back here Monday. And it's Wednedsay. To offer a follow up on the hot water tank drama, and reveal if Easter actually happened. Cut a girl some slack. Monday morning, my little brother packed up his car and took off for a friend's cabin in Standish. He broke down in Bay City. I went to help get his car towed back home. My mother took a separate car up, and shuttled him and his girlfriend the rest of the way to the cabin, so they could still have their vacation with the group. (The car situation wasn't likely his fault.) Then when I finally got back, we scrambled to Lowes to order up a fence. Yesterday I spent the day cleaning up from Easter, visiting with the friend who gave us her dog so they can move to China and not have him stolen for meat, and then running out to a meeting for foster parents. This morning I woke up and the cold I caught got the best of me. I moved pretty darn slowly for several hours. This is the sickest I've been in a long time.
So. On to the good stuff. The plumber came on schedule. They sent a female plumber. So of course, it got fixed. (Hee.) She was familiar with this problem and knew the ultimate fix for it - an entire new gas valve. The gas valve is the portion of the tank that has the design flaw and thus the ventilation problem. She said she's never seen one of these get a whole new valve and break again. An hour and a half later, we had steaming hot water, and were very happy.
Easter went fabulous. The night before, my grandfather fell at the grocery store and broke his arm. The hospital coldn't set the bones. He needs surgery. So he wasn't feeling good. Everything else went smoothly. I even found time for cute little placecards for everyone.
So. On to the good stuff. The plumber came on schedule. They sent a female plumber. So of course, it got fixed. (Hee.) She was familiar with this problem and knew the ultimate fix for it - an entire new gas valve. The gas valve is the portion of the tank that has the design flaw and thus the ventilation problem. She said she's never seen one of these get a whole new valve and break again. An hour and a half later, we had steaming hot water, and were very happy.
Easter went fabulous. The night before, my grandfather fell at the grocery store and broke his arm. The hospital coldn't set the bones. He needs surgery. So he wasn't feeling good. Everything else went smoothly. I even found time for cute little placecards for everyone.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Happy Easter, Internet!
However you choose to spend this day, have a safe and happy one, and I hope you are surrounded by people you love.
xoxoxo
xoxoxo
Friday, April 10, 2009
Scraggley
I'm seriously overwhelmed. Not a single room of my home is clean right now. I have a broken closet door. (Possibly two - unless the other one just came partially off the track again.) If the previous owners of this house ever show up again to try to paw through the mailbox I may have to take aim and shoot. It may not be so sweet of me to say so, but they were/are animals. I have not met a single neighbor on the entire street that cared for them one bit. I believe every single one complained directly to them or to the city at one time or another, at least once. The best story of all was when I finally me the legal owner of the house behind us. (She had two renters in there, whom we knew and absolutely loved, but they moved out, so she was cleaning up the yard and I went to say hello.) She said that these people NEVER ONCE cut their lawn, and what grass they did have was taller than a six foot man's kneecaps. They used to gather in the backyard, blare Arabic music, and dance together in the tall grass. Of course this story didn't surprise me after hearing so many others and seeing the condition of the neglected and abused house. But it was at least funny. Most of the stories were NOT funny. Like the youngest girl sneaking in and out of the windows and breaking piece of the window frames, because she weighed 400 lbs. The stories the inside of the house told were worse. Holes in every door and every doorframe from huge brackets for padlocks. Holes in every single wall standing. A kitchen cupboard charred from an oven fire. Urine infested carpeting. (Which was torn out immediately, before we even started working on the house, much less moved into it.) The most famous neighborhood story was a time an abmulance had to come to the house. Many believed the elderly mother had fallen very ill, as she was known to not be well anyway. What actually happened was her daughter got angry and pushed her down the basement stairs. Can you even believe it?
Anyhow. They were evicted and the house was foreclosed upon. They were not left homeless. It was a scheme from the beginning. The eldest son of the family got his name on the title, refinanced this house to the hilt, used cash from this house to build a much larger house in Macomb Township, and then they just stopped paying on this house until they had to move out. Then they all moved into the Macomb house and presumably live happily ever after. Many of them are on Social Security. It's a sad and irritating reality. We bought the place about a year or so after they left. The water lines had been blown out and winterized, and the utilities shut off. We could not be sure if things like the hot water tank or the dishwasher worked. As the luck with this house would have it, they did not. My parents bought us a dishwasher for our Christmas gift in 2007, and after washing dishes by hand for almost a year, I was as grateful as a human can be for anything. The hot water tank we struggled along with for awhile during the initial work on the house. (It was broken, but would heat a small amount of water. You'd get half a bathtub full before it came out ice cold, and it never got hot. Lukewarm at best.) Aaron was working down in Ohio so I made do with what I had.
We finally installed the new tank in August 2008, and had piping hot water for the first time. I could take a real bubble bath. It was blissful. Four days ago, there was suddenly no hot water. Oddly, the pilot was out. We relit it. It was reluctant to get going again. We got one more tank of water, and it was out again. Same deal repeated - relit, got one more tank, and it went out. Only then, it wouldn't even relight.
A bit of research showed that this is a common problem with this model. A short bit of reading and a call to Whirlpool revealed that Whirlpool has a "workaround fix" for this known design flaw rendering this particular model tank useless after 7 - 12 months on average. We paid $20 in overnight shipping for the "free" parts. Aaron spent almost four hours working on it the day the parts came. The parts did not help anything. Further research on the Internet revealed that these workaround parts have not worked for most people, and when they do, it's only for a short time, then the tank is useless again.
Whirlpool and Lowes have both known about this problem for FOUR YEARS. And they still sell them. One site on this problem had 40,000 hits.
We got a hold of Whirlpool once more and told them we were just taking the tank back to Lowes for a refund. They suddenly sounded interested after not being very helpful for several days while we bathed in water boiled on the stove and swore we'd never, ever, ever, buy anything made by them again. To know a product is bad and not recall it might have some sort of legitimate explanation. To continue manufacturing and selling a product for four years knowing it's defective is nothing short of criminal. And that's clearly what they've done. Lowes has offered full refund of purchase price for those willing and able to drain the tank and transport it back to the store. But why they are still purchasing this model to sell is beyond my understanding.
Whirlpool offered to send a plumber to our home. What this will achieve, I have no idea. There is a ventilation problem in these tanks. I am unclear as to whether they think this plumber is capable of magic, or plans to rebuild the entire tank, or plans to replace it (which I doubt.)
Now the worst case scenario, we welcome the plumber, who is receiving a paycheck for coming here, which supports him, his family, and the economy. This problem is certainly not his fault. He confirms he can't fix it. We drain the tank, take it back to Lowes, get a refund, run to Home Depot, buy a GE tank, come home, and install it. We'll have water by noon tomorrow either way.
However, I've not washed my hair since Tuesday. I'm looking scraggley, and I am seriously low on patience and grace. 20 people are coming for Easter dinner on Sunday. I haven't even grocery shopped. I'll be back here Monday if I survive.
Anyhow. They were evicted and the house was foreclosed upon. They were not left homeless. It was a scheme from the beginning. The eldest son of the family got his name on the title, refinanced this house to the hilt, used cash from this house to build a much larger house in Macomb Township, and then they just stopped paying on this house until they had to move out. Then they all moved into the Macomb house and presumably live happily ever after. Many of them are on Social Security. It's a sad and irritating reality. We bought the place about a year or so after they left. The water lines had been blown out and winterized, and the utilities shut off. We could not be sure if things like the hot water tank or the dishwasher worked. As the luck with this house would have it, they did not. My parents bought us a dishwasher for our Christmas gift in 2007, and after washing dishes by hand for almost a year, I was as grateful as a human can be for anything. The hot water tank we struggled along with for awhile during the initial work on the house. (It was broken, but would heat a small amount of water. You'd get half a bathtub full before it came out ice cold, and it never got hot. Lukewarm at best.) Aaron was working down in Ohio so I made do with what I had.
We finally installed the new tank in August 2008, and had piping hot water for the first time. I could take a real bubble bath. It was blissful. Four days ago, there was suddenly no hot water. Oddly, the pilot was out. We relit it. It was reluctant to get going again. We got one more tank of water, and it was out again. Same deal repeated - relit, got one more tank, and it went out. Only then, it wouldn't even relight.
A bit of research showed that this is a common problem with this model. A short bit of reading and a call to Whirlpool revealed that Whirlpool has a "workaround fix" for this known design flaw rendering this particular model tank useless after 7 - 12 months on average. We paid $20 in overnight shipping for the "free" parts. Aaron spent almost four hours working on it the day the parts came. The parts did not help anything. Further research on the Internet revealed that these workaround parts have not worked for most people, and when they do, it's only for a short time, then the tank is useless again.
Whirlpool and Lowes have both known about this problem for FOUR YEARS. And they still sell them. One site on this problem had 40,000 hits.
We got a hold of Whirlpool once more and told them we were just taking the tank back to Lowes for a refund. They suddenly sounded interested after not being very helpful for several days while we bathed in water boiled on the stove and swore we'd never, ever, ever, buy anything made by them again. To know a product is bad and not recall it might have some sort of legitimate explanation. To continue manufacturing and selling a product for four years knowing it's defective is nothing short of criminal. And that's clearly what they've done. Lowes has offered full refund of purchase price for those willing and able to drain the tank and transport it back to the store. But why they are still purchasing this model to sell is beyond my understanding.
Whirlpool offered to send a plumber to our home. What this will achieve, I have no idea. There is a ventilation problem in these tanks. I am unclear as to whether they think this plumber is capable of magic, or plans to rebuild the entire tank, or plans to replace it (which I doubt.)
Now the worst case scenario, we welcome the plumber, who is receiving a paycheck for coming here, which supports him, his family, and the economy. This problem is certainly not his fault. He confirms he can't fix it. We drain the tank, take it back to Lowes, get a refund, run to Home Depot, buy a GE tank, come home, and install it. We'll have water by noon tomorrow either way.
However, I've not washed my hair since Tuesday. I'm looking scraggley, and I am seriously low on patience and grace. 20 people are coming for Easter dinner on Sunday. I haven't even grocery shopped. I'll be back here Monday if I survive.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The day's drama part duex.
So. I found those credit cards in less than five minutes, thank you very much. I guess the improvements in organization have really made a difference. This is a much needed boost of encouragement to keep going and finish making the house perfectly organized and easy to maintain before I go back to work. Assuming of course that I go back to work. Soon.
I found the cards, got online, registered and activated the new account number, and paid the $6.82 full balance. The due date wasn't until April 6th, but I couldn't see that until registering the new account number. So all was well. Until, I went on to pay the other credit cards.
And there on a differend card was a charge for Macafee. $42.39. We haven't had Macafee in over a year. Thus began the long drawn out process of calling and explaining to someone in India that I do NOT have a Macafee account, and someone has used our account number.
It turned out to not be fraudulent. It was a mistake, but not a case of stolen credit card numbers. They put through some sort of "auto re-enrollment" for our service that ended over a year ago. Nobody could explain how or why this happened. They seemed rather puzzled by it. But it's fixed. And now, at 11 am, I can go start the millions of other things I wanted to have done by lunchtime.
Please let me go back to work soon. This staying at home stuff sucks. If I had a baby here, it might be a whole different story. But it's just me and the dog. And a whole lot of organization to do. And floors to clean. Etc. etc. Today is also cat box day. See you all tomorrow.
I found the cards, got online, registered and activated the new account number, and paid the $6.82 full balance. The due date wasn't until April 6th, but I couldn't see that until registering the new account number. So all was well. Until, I went on to pay the other credit cards.
And there on a differend card was a charge for Macafee. $42.39. We haven't had Macafee in over a year. Thus began the long drawn out process of calling and explaining to someone in India that I do NOT have a Macafee account, and someone has used our account number.
It turned out to not be fraudulent. It was a mistake, but not a case of stolen credit card numbers. They put through some sort of "auto re-enrollment" for our service that ended over a year ago. Nobody could explain how or why this happened. They seemed rather puzzled by it. But it's fixed. And now, at 11 am, I can go start the millions of other things I wanted to have done by lunchtime.
Please let me go back to work soon. This staying at home stuff sucks. If I had a baby here, it might be a whole different story. But it's just me and the dog. And a whole lot of organization to do. And floors to clean. Etc. etc. Today is also cat box day. See you all tomorrow.
Race against the clock.
And for today's drama, we have a credit card issue. I hate drama. And being that I went through the whole identity theft thing years ago and know the panic and fear involved, I really hate any issues relating to credit cards, bank accounts, etc.
It really all starts a few weeks ago when I casually opened an envelope containing two new Citibank cards, replacing our old ones. I thought these were just cards to replace ours when they expired. This happens on a fairly regular basis, and I thought nothing of it. I stuck them in the office, somewhere, and forgot about it.
About a month later, I got a call from a weird number with a 904 areea code. I ignored the call, googled the number, and it was Citibank's fraud line. Panic swept over me with a blanket of paralyzing fear. I called the fraud line back, and while looking at my account summary online, asked why they'd called. The woman was eligible for nomination to one of those Darwin awards. Completely stupid. She eventually said, "well, we're contacting you today because you have a $6 balance." WTF? I asked if the balance of $6 that she saw there showed past due. It did not. I informed her that I was looking at my account on the screen at that moment and it showed a zero balance. She was confused, fumbled around a bit, and I told her I'd call the 800 number and see what I could find. She was happy with this idea because it offered her a chance to avoid anyone expecting her to really think and so advanced problem solving, like read notes on an account.
I called the 800 number. By this time, I'd also noticed that the main screen online also told me that my card had been called in lost or stolen. Not so, I thought. It's in my hand. The guy who answered was far more competent than the looney in the fraud department, and he read through the notes, found out why it was hotlisted, and explained it had nothing to do with me, per se. They had a group of hundreds of accounts that were somehow "compromised." Coincidentally, this same thing just happened to our debit mastercards at the bank.
But here's the thing. Because I'm so responsible and organized and have kept the office sparkling since I last cleaned and organized it, I have no idea where I put the new cards. And, the payment (which apparently is $6 total) is due on either the 3rd, 4th, 5th, or 6th. It always falls on one of those days. Today is the 2nd. If that bill is due on the third, and I don't get the new account number registered today, it will be late. I'm never late. I'm disorganized as heck these days, but I'm never late.
So today, I'm on a quest to dig up those darn cards that I stuck somewhere for safe keeping. Wish me luck.
It really all starts a few weeks ago when I casually opened an envelope containing two new Citibank cards, replacing our old ones. I thought these were just cards to replace ours when they expired. This happens on a fairly regular basis, and I thought nothing of it. I stuck them in the office, somewhere, and forgot about it.
About a month later, I got a call from a weird number with a 904 areea code. I ignored the call, googled the number, and it was Citibank's fraud line. Panic swept over me with a blanket of paralyzing fear. I called the fraud line back, and while looking at my account summary online, asked why they'd called. The woman was eligible for nomination to one of those Darwin awards. Completely stupid. She eventually said, "well, we're contacting you today because you have a $6 balance." WTF? I asked if the balance of $6 that she saw there showed past due. It did not. I informed her that I was looking at my account on the screen at that moment and it showed a zero balance. She was confused, fumbled around a bit, and I told her I'd call the 800 number and see what I could find. She was happy with this idea because it offered her a chance to avoid anyone expecting her to really think and so advanced problem solving, like read notes on an account.
I called the 800 number. By this time, I'd also noticed that the main screen online also told me that my card had been called in lost or stolen. Not so, I thought. It's in my hand. The guy who answered was far more competent than the looney in the fraud department, and he read through the notes, found out why it was hotlisted, and explained it had nothing to do with me, per se. They had a group of hundreds of accounts that were somehow "compromised." Coincidentally, this same thing just happened to our debit mastercards at the bank.
But here's the thing. Because I'm so responsible and organized and have kept the office sparkling since I last cleaned and organized it, I have no idea where I put the new cards. And, the payment (which apparently is $6 total) is due on either the 3rd, 4th, 5th, or 6th. It always falls on one of those days. Today is the 2nd. If that bill is due on the third, and I don't get the new account number registered today, it will be late. I'm never late. I'm disorganized as heck these days, but I'm never late.
So today, I'm on a quest to dig up those darn cards that I stuck somewhere for safe keeping. Wish me luck.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Wordless Wednesday
Okay, I know this is supposed to be wordless, and these here are words, but I don't want y'all to think I'm loopy and forgetful when in fact I'm just behind in life. I was supposed to put pictures up last Wednesday for Amy, so she'd feel better about her bird's nest. Those pictures I spoke of? They live on an external hard drive, where all my photos should live. Well, life gets in the way. I haven't pulled out the external hard drive to back up the year of photos on this computer much less to pull the pictures I had in mind to show Amy. Next week.... Hopefully....
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Double edged sword
Ever get yourself into a situation where you are damned if you do and damned if you don't?
We're in one now. It's a small one - not a very big deal, but yet, we're in one.
We were a two-dog household. Our chow-chow came up to Michigan shortly after Aaron did in 2002. He was fine being the only dog. But we had to go and mess everything up, and get a second dog in 2005. Mackenzie. This ridiculous idea was discussed that we should be a two-dog household. I was younger and stupider then. I had no firm grasp on how reality dictates that we all have limitations to our capabilities.
Anyhow. Hurley, our beloved Chow, passed away last October. He was 16 years old. This is ancient for a Chow. Evidence of a good long life.
The addition that hit the household in 2005 has not recovered. We gave her weeks, then we gave her months. She's a Shepherd. A herding dog. Who had never ever to our knowledge been the "only dog" in her household before Hurley died. If we leave for too long? And she's home alone? Diarrhea for four days minimum. If we leave twice for too long in that four days? Diarrhea in the house.
She's 140 lbs. Imagine the mess.
There are so many things that have come to pass and given way to an easier, less stressful lifestyle. We no longer have to watch Kenz when she goes outside, despite having no fence. She never leaves. In fact, if you forget about her out there, which I often do, she'll whine at the back door and eventually make her way around to the front, hoping you might notice her there.
She has no desire to wander, only to be where her humans are.
And here's the problem. I need to go back to work the minute someone gives me an offer. I'm hoping to go back to school in May for a doctorate. Aaron works full time, of course, and also goes to school full time. In a matter of months, we'll be in a situation where we both have 14+ hour days, with stops home in the middle of work and school, and every time we come home, there will be a mess to deal with. Also, our dog will be miserable.
Sounds like an easy problem to solve, right? Get her a friend. I wish it were that easy. We are finally in an amazing place, where our one single dog fits in the back fo the jeep. We not only can run off and go camping, but we have extra seats in the vehicle too, for friends, or stuff, or eventually a carseat. Another dog changes all of that. We may have no choice but to put a fence up, stat. And that costs money. Food costs money. Vet bills cost money.
So we either take the financial risk and get another dog, or we take the risk of making our poor dog more lonely and more miserable and ruining our laminate floors. Getting rid of Mackenzie is not an option. She's family, and we love her.
Of the choices we have it seems best to get another dog, although I use the term "best" loosely. And, if we are going to introduce a new dog into the family, best to do it while someone is home all the time. How would we possibly change direction and bring home a dog when we are both working and going to school? That wouldn't work. We'd be in a world of trouble if we got to that point and didn't have things resolved somehow.
So over the weeks we've discussed that a dog will find us when the time is right. Someone who needs a home and fits into our family.
We went to the St. Patty's Day parade downtown, and Aaron was enamored by the Wolfhounds. He used to have one named Bob. A mix, actually, but quite a bit of him was Wolfhound. He really did have a fight with a real wolf at one time, and won, but that is a story for another day. Bob was a great dog. One of Aaron's favorites for sure.
So Aaron got home from the parade and spent some time over the following days reading up on the breed and whether or not there is a rescue spot locally that takes them when they need to be adopted out to new homes. There were none locally. No special rescues he could find. And, they only live approximately 8 years. The loss of Hurley is so fresh still that the idea of only having a dog for half the time that he had Hurley is inconceivable. The Wolfhound idea was put to rest.
And then, out of nowhere, an e-mail came in about a dog that needed a home. We get lots of these, and try to facilitate and pass this info around as much as possible. But this one sounded really interesting. This dog is a runner. He has his own champion chip. His owner runs 10K races with him. It's a male, which works, because we have a very alpha female, and another female would surely be problematic.
This dog is about Hurley's size.
And, it's a wolfhound mix. It has the same wirey fur and frisky look to him that Bob had.
He's been to puppy school and graduated. Fully trained. Knows over 25 commands. Two and a half years old - so he's still got a bit of puppy in him and will be resilient to the move.
Aaron brought it up somewhat gently. I thought it would pass. But he talked about the dog for two and a half days. I finally called. We're going to meet him today. His humans are moving back to Europe, and this guy can't go with them. He's free to a good home.
We're packing Mackenzie up in the Jeep and taking her out to meet this dog. They don't live close. We're all going to have a nice walk and see how the two animals interact. I have a feeling it will go very well, and we'll end up with this dog. It's a risk. But so is leaving Mackenzie alone and going back to work eventually. If the dog works out I'll just have to pray extra hard that I get a job sooner than later. Or, even better, that the darn condo sells in the next couple months. I can't ever remember having this much to pray for at one time. It's exhausting.
We're in one now. It's a small one - not a very big deal, but yet, we're in one.
We were a two-dog household. Our chow-chow came up to Michigan shortly after Aaron did in 2002. He was fine being the only dog. But we had to go and mess everything up, and get a second dog in 2005. Mackenzie. This ridiculous idea was discussed that we should be a two-dog household. I was younger and stupider then. I had no firm grasp on how reality dictates that we all have limitations to our capabilities.
Anyhow. Hurley, our beloved Chow, passed away last October. He was 16 years old. This is ancient for a Chow. Evidence of a good long life.
The addition that hit the household in 2005 has not recovered. We gave her weeks, then we gave her months. She's a Shepherd. A herding dog. Who had never ever to our knowledge been the "only dog" in her household before Hurley died. If we leave for too long? And she's home alone? Diarrhea for four days minimum. If we leave twice for too long in that four days? Diarrhea in the house.
She's 140 lbs. Imagine the mess.
There are so many things that have come to pass and given way to an easier, less stressful lifestyle. We no longer have to watch Kenz when she goes outside, despite having no fence. She never leaves. In fact, if you forget about her out there, which I often do, she'll whine at the back door and eventually make her way around to the front, hoping you might notice her there.
She has no desire to wander, only to be where her humans are.
And here's the problem. I need to go back to work the minute someone gives me an offer. I'm hoping to go back to school in May for a doctorate. Aaron works full time, of course, and also goes to school full time. In a matter of months, we'll be in a situation where we both have 14+ hour days, with stops home in the middle of work and school, and every time we come home, there will be a mess to deal with. Also, our dog will be miserable.
Sounds like an easy problem to solve, right? Get her a friend. I wish it were that easy. We are finally in an amazing place, where our one single dog fits in the back fo the jeep. We not only can run off and go camping, but we have extra seats in the vehicle too, for friends, or stuff, or eventually a carseat. Another dog changes all of that. We may have no choice but to put a fence up, stat. And that costs money. Food costs money. Vet bills cost money.
So we either take the financial risk and get another dog, or we take the risk of making our poor dog more lonely and more miserable and ruining our laminate floors. Getting rid of Mackenzie is not an option. She's family, and we love her.
Of the choices we have it seems best to get another dog, although I use the term "best" loosely. And, if we are going to introduce a new dog into the family, best to do it while someone is home all the time. How would we possibly change direction and bring home a dog when we are both working and going to school? That wouldn't work. We'd be in a world of trouble if we got to that point and didn't have things resolved somehow.
So over the weeks we've discussed that a dog will find us when the time is right. Someone who needs a home and fits into our family.
We went to the St. Patty's Day parade downtown, and Aaron was enamored by the Wolfhounds. He used to have one named Bob. A mix, actually, but quite a bit of him was Wolfhound. He really did have a fight with a real wolf at one time, and won, but that is a story for another day. Bob was a great dog. One of Aaron's favorites for sure.
So Aaron got home from the parade and spent some time over the following days reading up on the breed and whether or not there is a rescue spot locally that takes them when they need to be adopted out to new homes. There were none locally. No special rescues he could find. And, they only live approximately 8 years. The loss of Hurley is so fresh still that the idea of only having a dog for half the time that he had Hurley is inconceivable. The Wolfhound idea was put to rest.
And then, out of nowhere, an e-mail came in about a dog that needed a home. We get lots of these, and try to facilitate and pass this info around as much as possible. But this one sounded really interesting. This dog is a runner. He has his own champion chip. His owner runs 10K races with him. It's a male, which works, because we have a very alpha female, and another female would surely be problematic.
This dog is about Hurley's size.
And, it's a wolfhound mix. It has the same wirey fur and frisky look to him that Bob had.
He's been to puppy school and graduated. Fully trained. Knows over 25 commands. Two and a half years old - so he's still got a bit of puppy in him and will be resilient to the move.
Aaron brought it up somewhat gently. I thought it would pass. But he talked about the dog for two and a half days. I finally called. We're going to meet him today. His humans are moving back to Europe, and this guy can't go with them. He's free to a good home.
We're packing Mackenzie up in the Jeep and taking her out to meet this dog. They don't live close. We're all going to have a nice walk and see how the two animals interact. I have a feeling it will go very well, and we'll end up with this dog. It's a risk. But so is leaving Mackenzie alone and going back to work eventually. If the dog works out I'll just have to pray extra hard that I get a job sooner than later. Or, even better, that the darn condo sells in the next couple months. I can't ever remember having this much to pray for at one time. It's exhausting.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Spring winds of change
A friend said to me yesterday, "you can't save the whole world."
I've heard this before. And each time I've heard it, I've had the same immediate response resonate through my mind. "I'm not trying to save the WHOLE world, just a piece of it." And I moved on thinking that I was just misunderstood.
But I happened to have been reflecting back on much of the past year in particular at the time of this conversation, and all the sacrifice and difficulty that has been caused by many of my efforts to save just a piece of the world were front and center on my mind. And it hit me yesterday. My friend didn't misunderstand anything. Neither had anyone who had come forth with similar messages before her.
When I try to play too many roles for too many people, no matter how hard I've tried, I can't play all of those roles very well at one time. When I was a full time student and full time employee, I missed many family activites. So the role of daughter, sister, grandaughter, neice, etc. suffered. When I'm trying to be a foster parent to a child who's behavior should have landed her out on her bum months and months prior, and the screaming and throwing things and general tantrums make my home miserable for everyone, I'm too drained to be a good wife, or anything else for that matter.
My priorities have always been dictated by who or what needed my attention most urgently. You could call it a "fire fighting" approach. Foster kid melting down? Handle it. Dog whining? Run and let her out. Birthday party in 20 minutes? Run to Target and get a gift and a bag to stick it in. Husband seems like he wants my attention? Run from laundry machine to sit with him awhile, fold towels while I do. This reactive method of living isn't really living. It's just "getting by." It's tiring, and it makes you feel terribly exhausted and unhealthy.
Meanwhile, all the priorities that are important to me but not screamingly urgent never get taken care of. I don't do anything for my church anymore. I hardly visit my grandparents. For years, most dinners came out of a restaurant's kitchen because my reactive state of being finds the shortest path to rectify a problem rather than calmly plan and execute. Believe me, when you take on too much, there is no time to plan meals, grocery shop properly, and cook.
And then there are the PROJECTS! The dozens of projects that I've either wanted to do or signed up to do and I never get to. I told my grandmother I'd redecorate her kitchen years ago. I still haven't done it, but I swear I haven't stopped moving since. I still need to finish unpacking, clean and organize the basement and garage, etc. etc. And of course, there's the whole "getting back in shape" thing that always seems to go by the wayside because there are too many other issues demanding my time.
New priorities. I'm a wife, daughter, sister, granddaugher, neice, neighbor, friend, member of my church, and homeowner. I'm going to try to focus on just that for a bit and see if I can catch up and get things together. This isn't going to be easy. I find myself still checking e-mail three times an hour hoping the kid is okay, and thinking about whether or not to consider fostering someone new soon. But I have to get my life in order again before I can be of much use to anyone.
I have to learn to be a little bit selfish with my time and take better care of myself, and to focus on the tasks that have gone undone for far too long. I'm starting with giving up the computer ENTIRELY for a four day weekend. And when I come back here to this place on Tuesday, I hope I'll be able to say that I've caught up and I'm on track. Then I hope I can stay there, and not continue to take on far too much and struggle.
I've heard this before. And each time I've heard it, I've had the same immediate response resonate through my mind. "I'm not trying to save the WHOLE world, just a piece of it." And I moved on thinking that I was just misunderstood.
But I happened to have been reflecting back on much of the past year in particular at the time of this conversation, and all the sacrifice and difficulty that has been caused by many of my efforts to save just a piece of the world were front and center on my mind. And it hit me yesterday. My friend didn't misunderstand anything. Neither had anyone who had come forth with similar messages before her.
When I try to play too many roles for too many people, no matter how hard I've tried, I can't play all of those roles very well at one time. When I was a full time student and full time employee, I missed many family activites. So the role of daughter, sister, grandaughter, neice, etc. suffered. When I'm trying to be a foster parent to a child who's behavior should have landed her out on her bum months and months prior, and the screaming and throwing things and general tantrums make my home miserable for everyone, I'm too drained to be a good wife, or anything else for that matter.
My priorities have always been dictated by who or what needed my attention most urgently. You could call it a "fire fighting" approach. Foster kid melting down? Handle it. Dog whining? Run and let her out. Birthday party in 20 minutes? Run to Target and get a gift and a bag to stick it in. Husband seems like he wants my attention? Run from laundry machine to sit with him awhile, fold towels while I do. This reactive method of living isn't really living. It's just "getting by." It's tiring, and it makes you feel terribly exhausted and unhealthy.
Meanwhile, all the priorities that are important to me but not screamingly urgent never get taken care of. I don't do anything for my church anymore. I hardly visit my grandparents. For years, most dinners came out of a restaurant's kitchen because my reactive state of being finds the shortest path to rectify a problem rather than calmly plan and execute. Believe me, when you take on too much, there is no time to plan meals, grocery shop properly, and cook.
And then there are the PROJECTS! The dozens of projects that I've either wanted to do or signed up to do and I never get to. I told my grandmother I'd redecorate her kitchen years ago. I still haven't done it, but I swear I haven't stopped moving since. I still need to finish unpacking, clean and organize the basement and garage, etc. etc. And of course, there's the whole "getting back in shape" thing that always seems to go by the wayside because there are too many other issues demanding my time.
New priorities. I'm a wife, daughter, sister, granddaugher, neice, neighbor, friend, member of my church, and homeowner. I'm going to try to focus on just that for a bit and see if I can catch up and get things together. This isn't going to be easy. I find myself still checking e-mail three times an hour hoping the kid is okay, and thinking about whether or not to consider fostering someone new soon. But I have to get my life in order again before I can be of much use to anyone.
I have to learn to be a little bit selfish with my time and take better care of myself, and to focus on the tasks that have gone undone for far too long. I'm starting with giving up the computer ENTIRELY for a four day weekend. And when I come back here to this place on Tuesday, I hope I'll be able to say that I've caught up and I'm on track. Then I hope I can stay there, and not continue to take on far too much and struggle.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Fostering
I was just thinking about a comment from CJ. She mentioned that she "missed fostering." And it got me thinking.
We weren't really fostering.
I mean yes, we have a license, the kid came via the foster system, caseworkers, therapists, licensing teams, and heaven knows who else were in and out of our home constantly. But yet, our situation wasn't a real foster situation.
When we met this kid, she was 16, emotionally underdeveloped, deeply scarred, scared of everything, but sharp as a tack (or so it seemed.) She had a 4.0 GPA, and wanted to go to law school. She and I had so much in common as far as interests go, that it was FUN to work with her. Her situation was so unfair that we had to do something about it. We actually looked into adoption first, even though she'd be an adult in only two more years, because she so obviously needed a family. But we found out quickly that fostering was faster, free to us, and offered her far more support than the adoption system would. Literally, she would LOSE many benefits from adoption. She gets this special tuition incentive plan, certain things covered in her life through Youth in Transition funds, etc. etc. Foster wasn't the intent, it was simply the tool to acheive the means, which was to get her in a safe home.
I didn't deal with any bio parents or visitation. I didn't run her to the DHS office across town on a regular basis. We didn't have any of that, because she's a permanent court ward. There was no fear she'd disappear, because there was really noplace to disappear to, and no parent(s) out there to suddenly get his/her/their crap together and get her "back." She was intended to just become family, settle in, and stay forever. Somedays she wanted that, some days she didn't, and some days she had no idea what she wanted. I can understand some of it. I explained to her before that when you marry into a family? It takes months if not years before you really feel at home there. While she felt at home in our house and with just us, she felt awkward around the whole clan. She felt as if she didn't belong. And that is the theme of her life. She feels as if she doesn't belong anywhere. She was not willing to give it time. One of her biggest and most frequent complaints was that she felt nobody accepted her. Now in fairness, I'm not sure what she expected from anyoen to feel "accepted." Because our families were incredibly gracious to her. Nobody missed giving her a Christmas gift or a hug or an opportunity to be part of whatever was going on.
I wonder about true fostering. About the process of opening your home to a TEMPORARY situation, and caring for an innocent one until he or she can go back home again or forward to a "forever family" that will adopt. Of course the county has already asked us about it now that it's public knowledge we have an empty house. They need help. But I'm not sure about this right now. I'm exhausted, and my life is in shambles. This was way more work than I ever expected. I think we just need a break from everything whether we go back and do anything more with it or not.
We weren't really fostering.
I mean yes, we have a license, the kid came via the foster system, caseworkers, therapists, licensing teams, and heaven knows who else were in and out of our home constantly. But yet, our situation wasn't a real foster situation.
When we met this kid, she was 16, emotionally underdeveloped, deeply scarred, scared of everything, but sharp as a tack (or so it seemed.) She had a 4.0 GPA, and wanted to go to law school. She and I had so much in common as far as interests go, that it was FUN to work with her. Her situation was so unfair that we had to do something about it. We actually looked into adoption first, even though she'd be an adult in only two more years, because she so obviously needed a family. But we found out quickly that fostering was faster, free to us, and offered her far more support than the adoption system would. Literally, she would LOSE many benefits from adoption. She gets this special tuition incentive plan, certain things covered in her life through Youth in Transition funds, etc. etc. Foster wasn't the intent, it was simply the tool to acheive the means, which was to get her in a safe home.
I didn't deal with any bio parents or visitation. I didn't run her to the DHS office across town on a regular basis. We didn't have any of that, because she's a permanent court ward. There was no fear she'd disappear, because there was really noplace to disappear to, and no parent(s) out there to suddenly get his/her/their crap together and get her "back." She was intended to just become family, settle in, and stay forever. Somedays she wanted that, some days she didn't, and some days she had no idea what she wanted. I can understand some of it. I explained to her before that when you marry into a family? It takes months if not years before you really feel at home there. While she felt at home in our house and with just us, she felt awkward around the whole clan. She felt as if she didn't belong. And that is the theme of her life. She feels as if she doesn't belong anywhere. She was not willing to give it time. One of her biggest and most frequent complaints was that she felt nobody accepted her. Now in fairness, I'm not sure what she expected from anyoen to feel "accepted." Because our families were incredibly gracious to her. Nobody missed giving her a Christmas gift or a hug or an opportunity to be part of whatever was going on.
I wonder about true fostering. About the process of opening your home to a TEMPORARY situation, and caring for an innocent one until he or she can go back home again or forward to a "forever family" that will adopt. Of course the county has already asked us about it now that it's public knowledge we have an empty house. They need help. But I'm not sure about this right now. I'm exhausted, and my life is in shambles. This was way more work than I ever expected. I think we just need a break from everything whether we go back and do anything more with it or not.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Makin Babies
No, not us. The Internet. Because Amy shares ideas that are more fun than laundry.
Make your own babies at www.makemebabies.com
Make your own babies at www.makemebabies.com
Monday, March 23, 2009
Accountability
It seems to be such a black and white situation. People either have it or they don't. A few of these kids I've come across have a fairly firm grasp of it. Some have none. The one who just flew this coop had none.
Everything was always someone else's fault. And when she did take responsibility for something in her heart, and speak about it, it was never anything of value to take responsibility for. For instance, she felt horribly guilty for seeking help when she'd been sexually abused. She took full responsibility for "causing" the state workers to intervene, and she took full responsibility for "causing" a court hearing and all sorts of other activities. She can hardly talk about it, the guilt is so thick.
But then we have even the simplest things that she can't ever seem to stand up and own. Her chores were the dishes and running the vacuum. Not a bad gig for a girl her age, eh? But she'd avoid it like the plague. That part I understand. Often I avoid chores like the plague. We all probably have those times. But then a time would come when someone was coming over, or even might come over, and if she was nowhere to be found, or moving slow, I'd have no choice but to step in and take care of it. This wasn't confrontational. I just got it done and expected she'd step in next time and do her thing. If you knew how much turmoil this kid caused, you'd understand we really avoid the nitpicky stuff becoming any sort of issue. I don't want to hear her whiny crap about dishes when I have to deal with her deciding that since she's possibly only 6 months or so from bagging a new boyfriend, she should probably get on birth control so she's ready. There were certainly always bigger fish to fry. Anyhow, on those occasions that I'd step in and do the dishes? So they were done? She'd feel some guilt that it was obvious she had not taken care of her responsibilities and she had no way to blame the situation on anyone else. See, if I hollered at her about the dishes? She'd be too busy seething with anger that someone dared yell at her. So she wouldn't care about the fact that she hadn't done what she was supposed to. The only thing of issue would be that someone got angry at her for what she felt was no justifiable reason.
She failed a few classes her first semester of college. The reason? She decided the online format of these classes was too much work, and was unfair. Nevermind that she quit doing the work three weeks into the eight week class. It wasn't her fault.
She got a job when she was 16, and needed a bank account. I told her why she should use a credit union, and how it would benefit her in the long run. I got papers for her, and in the meantime, she ran and opened a checking account at a bank. How she managed to do this at 16, I don't know, because a 16 year old cannot be part and parcel to a contract of any sort. Every check or swipe of a debit is a contract. The agreement between the bank and the account holder of a checking account is a contract. But I digress. I asked her several times how she was going to maintain her checkbook and balance her account, because she had no access to a computer, could not receive mail from a bank where she lived at the time, and was spinning out of control with this newfangled debit card. She insisted she'd be fine. But when she overdrafted countless times, and the bank finally closed her account, it wasn't her fault. They should have TOLD her the rules, not just showed them to her on a piece of paper she had to sign.
When she lived here with us and decided she might need a credit card, I told her she should not apply for anything while she has the checking account problem on her credit, because it will cause another hit to her credit, and a denial, neither of which help her situation. Sure enough, only a matter of months go by before Chase sends a letter saying thanks for her interest in their platinum mastercard, but no thanks overall. I ask her why she deliberately did exactly what she was told not to do, and her response? She didn't seek out the offer - it came right to her e-mail box. So it isn't her fault. All she did was fill it out. This particular one I couldn't even respond to. I was too busy thinking, is she this stupid? Really? I hollered at her good for not following directions, a skill that most six year olds can master but she struggled with daily at 18.
She ran into the stop sign at the end of our street. We reminded her you have to drive according to the conditions outside. She insisted that no matter what the weather, you should be able to drive 25 in residential. It wasn't her fault. It happened because there was too much ice, not because she drove too fast on it and couldn't stop.
She hit a parked car in an parking garage. It wasn't her fault. They parked too close to her car, so she "had" to hit them in order to get out and leave.
Our microwave broke recently. She's being told constantly to watch how much money she's blowing daily, and save some. (Which she simply cannot do.) When several days went by, and she was running out and spending money on at least two meals a day from drive thru windows, we reminded her that it costs a lot of money to do that. She replied that it wasn't her fault she had to buy food at fast food places because our microwave broke, so she couldn't "cook." I suggested a turkey and cheese sandwich, or maybe eating dinner with us as I'd asked her to do a few times and saw no interest, and she just left the room.
Nothing can ever be her fault.
Without a doubt, even her choice to run away will somehow in her mind be our fault, or the "system's" fault. Maybe both. But definitely not hers.
Everything was always someone else's fault. And when she did take responsibility for something in her heart, and speak about it, it was never anything of value to take responsibility for. For instance, she felt horribly guilty for seeking help when she'd been sexually abused. She took full responsibility for "causing" the state workers to intervene, and she took full responsibility for "causing" a court hearing and all sorts of other activities. She can hardly talk about it, the guilt is so thick.
But then we have even the simplest things that she can't ever seem to stand up and own. Her chores were the dishes and running the vacuum. Not a bad gig for a girl her age, eh? But she'd avoid it like the plague. That part I understand. Often I avoid chores like the plague. We all probably have those times. But then a time would come when someone was coming over, or even might come over, and if she was nowhere to be found, or moving slow, I'd have no choice but to step in and take care of it. This wasn't confrontational. I just got it done and expected she'd step in next time and do her thing. If you knew how much turmoil this kid caused, you'd understand we really avoid the nitpicky stuff becoming any sort of issue. I don't want to hear her whiny crap about dishes when I have to deal with her deciding that since she's possibly only 6 months or so from bagging a new boyfriend, she should probably get on birth control so she's ready. There were certainly always bigger fish to fry. Anyhow, on those occasions that I'd step in and do the dishes? So they were done? She'd feel some guilt that it was obvious she had not taken care of her responsibilities and she had no way to blame the situation on anyone else. See, if I hollered at her about the dishes? She'd be too busy seething with anger that someone dared yell at her. So she wouldn't care about the fact that she hadn't done what she was supposed to. The only thing of issue would be that someone got angry at her for what she felt was no justifiable reason.
She failed a few classes her first semester of college. The reason? She decided the online format of these classes was too much work, and was unfair. Nevermind that she quit doing the work three weeks into the eight week class. It wasn't her fault.
She got a job when she was 16, and needed a bank account. I told her why she should use a credit union, and how it would benefit her in the long run. I got papers for her, and in the meantime, she ran and opened a checking account at a bank. How she managed to do this at 16, I don't know, because a 16 year old cannot be part and parcel to a contract of any sort. Every check or swipe of a debit is a contract. The agreement between the bank and the account holder of a checking account is a contract. But I digress. I asked her several times how she was going to maintain her checkbook and balance her account, because she had no access to a computer, could not receive mail from a bank where she lived at the time, and was spinning out of control with this newfangled debit card. She insisted she'd be fine. But when she overdrafted countless times, and the bank finally closed her account, it wasn't her fault. They should have TOLD her the rules, not just showed them to her on a piece of paper she had to sign.
When she lived here with us and decided she might need a credit card, I told her she should not apply for anything while she has the checking account problem on her credit, because it will cause another hit to her credit, and a denial, neither of which help her situation. Sure enough, only a matter of months go by before Chase sends a letter saying thanks for her interest in their platinum mastercard, but no thanks overall. I ask her why she deliberately did exactly what she was told not to do, and her response? She didn't seek out the offer - it came right to her e-mail box. So it isn't her fault. All she did was fill it out. This particular one I couldn't even respond to. I was too busy thinking, is she this stupid? Really? I hollered at her good for not following directions, a skill that most six year olds can master but she struggled with daily at 18.
She ran into the stop sign at the end of our street. We reminded her you have to drive according to the conditions outside. She insisted that no matter what the weather, you should be able to drive 25 in residential. It wasn't her fault. It happened because there was too much ice, not because she drove too fast on it and couldn't stop.
She hit a parked car in an parking garage. It wasn't her fault. They parked too close to her car, so she "had" to hit them in order to get out and leave.
Our microwave broke recently. She's being told constantly to watch how much money she's blowing daily, and save some. (Which she simply cannot do.) When several days went by, and she was running out and spending money on at least two meals a day from drive thru windows, we reminded her that it costs a lot of money to do that. She replied that it wasn't her fault she had to buy food at fast food places because our microwave broke, so she couldn't "cook." I suggested a turkey and cheese sandwich, or maybe eating dinner with us as I'd asked her to do a few times and saw no interest, and she just left the room.
Nothing can ever be her fault.
Without a doubt, even her choice to run away will somehow in her mind be our fault, or the "system's" fault. Maybe both. But definitely not hers.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Packed
The foster kid's stuff is packed and ready to roll. That was a heartbreaking task, really.
Now on to catch up the rest of the house....
Now on to catch up the rest of the house....
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Brownies & Coffee for Breakfast
The struggles that have been going on in my life are starting to come to a close. Most, if not all of them, I could not discuss openly on the Internet.
But here's a synopsis.
My mother lost her job. It was a very unfair situation. She had a mock grievance process available to her, and she used it. She is not represented by a union, unfortunately, and the grievance process they have does not typically reinstate people who are discharged wrongly. In her case, it was so blatant, that she was reinstated with full back pay, and an apology. But, going through the process nearly killed her, and thus broke my heart in the process. If anyone reading this thinks unions have "had their time" or actually are a detriment to society, I have two things to offer to you. First, you are almost guaranteed to have never been part of a union that you needed. Second, you are almost guaranteed not to have a firm understanding of exactly what the union was formed to do, and the purpose it has served for people who now work in the NON UNION PRIVATE SECTOR. Like me. (Well, when I'm actually employed, that is.) Big business has put many stigmas out there that people believe, and those people don't realize how they are hurt by the whole deal. I beg you all to question this, and seek answers for yourself. I have formally studied labor relations in a non-partisan program - simply because it fascinated me. I was a believer that unions were becoming "old news" before I went through this program and was enlightened. That, with a better understanding of how an "economy" works, changed my personal view, and then made me angry that the media and businesses have the power they do to change the stream of information to the public. This is America, and it's supposed to be home of the free and the brave. Not home of the censored and belittled.
Anyway, she got her job back.
My sister came to me with a legally charged issue that she needed help with, and I was able to give her some help. That issue isn't fully resolved yet but I believe it is very close. She's not in any trouble. It's really one of the stupidest things I've ever heard of. So that is close to resolution.
I've been in the midst of struggle with our foster child. This has been the biggest strain on me for some time now, and the biggest cause for my being pulled away and not being able to write what I needed to write on here. She ran away on Thursday, and is staying in an undisclosed place with a "friend." One of the details in this situation has rendered her beyond our trust, and she will not be allowed back. For any of you who know anything about this particular young person and what we've gone through on her behalf, you know that's a big deal. I have kept a basic paper journal over the course of time. That information will likely get published at some point.
The therapist who is hired to do in-home therapy with the (former!) foster child came over this morning - he was far more worried about us given the situation than he was worried about her.
So here I am in my home that I love beyond measure, with only my husband and our pets. Relieved from the hardship and struggle that has been so prevalent in our home. Relieved from the worry about my parents' financial status. Peaceful. Happy. And not sure if we want to do foster anymore, or at least for a while. We need a break. And yes, breakfast is brownies and coffee. Life is good right now.
One request - please visit www.momentswithmoriah.blogspot.com (sorry I can't remember how to link) and leave love for this family if you have time. Now, I'm off to visit all my favorite blogs and see if Amy has started painting. Ciao everyone.
But here's a synopsis.
My mother lost her job. It was a very unfair situation. She had a mock grievance process available to her, and she used it. She is not represented by a union, unfortunately, and the grievance process they have does not typically reinstate people who are discharged wrongly. In her case, it was so blatant, that she was reinstated with full back pay, and an apology. But, going through the process nearly killed her, and thus broke my heart in the process. If anyone reading this thinks unions have "had their time" or actually are a detriment to society, I have two things to offer to you. First, you are almost guaranteed to have never been part of a union that you needed. Second, you are almost guaranteed not to have a firm understanding of exactly what the union was formed to do, and the purpose it has served for people who now work in the NON UNION PRIVATE SECTOR. Like me. (Well, when I'm actually employed, that is.) Big business has put many stigmas out there that people believe, and those people don't realize how they are hurt by the whole deal. I beg you all to question this, and seek answers for yourself. I have formally studied labor relations in a non-partisan program - simply because it fascinated me. I was a believer that unions were becoming "old news" before I went through this program and was enlightened. That, with a better understanding of how an "economy" works, changed my personal view, and then made me angry that the media and businesses have the power they do to change the stream of information to the public. This is America, and it's supposed to be home of the free and the brave. Not home of the censored and belittled.
Anyway, she got her job back.
My sister came to me with a legally charged issue that she needed help with, and I was able to give her some help. That issue isn't fully resolved yet but I believe it is very close. She's not in any trouble. It's really one of the stupidest things I've ever heard of. So that is close to resolution.
I've been in the midst of struggle with our foster child. This has been the biggest strain on me for some time now, and the biggest cause for my being pulled away and not being able to write what I needed to write on here. She ran away on Thursday, and is staying in an undisclosed place with a "friend." One of the details in this situation has rendered her beyond our trust, and she will not be allowed back. For any of you who know anything about this particular young person and what we've gone through on her behalf, you know that's a big deal. I have kept a basic paper journal over the course of time. That information will likely get published at some point.
The therapist who is hired to do in-home therapy with the (former!) foster child came over this morning - he was far more worried about us given the situation than he was worried about her.
So here I am in my home that I love beyond measure, with only my husband and our pets. Relieved from the hardship and struggle that has been so prevalent in our home. Relieved from the worry about my parents' financial status. Peaceful. Happy. And not sure if we want to do foster anymore, or at least for a while. We need a break. And yes, breakfast is brownies and coffee. Life is good right now.
One request - please visit www.momentswithmoriah.blogspot.com (sorry I can't remember how to link) and leave love for this family if you have time. Now, I'm off to visit all my favorite blogs and see if Amy has started painting. Ciao everyone.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Apology. And a robin.
I've been MIA from writing for days, which should be a rarity if ever an occurrence at all. It's partially due to being very busy trying to help Aaron wrap up the tail end of his semester here. (I should say midmester - his stints are 8 weeks long each.)
But more influencing than busy days around here is a lack of anything positive to think about or write about. It's been a time of serious fear and worry. It's not as though these problems and fears are so personal that they can't be shared. It's really more that there is no humor or hope found in their descriptions. It isn't worth the time to write them and risk spreading dread. Also, it's not even as though I'd want to reflect back on those words later on this blog. I can promise you that when this time passes, most of it I'll prefer to forget the finer details of.
I know that's vague, which might be annoying to readers. I'm sorry for that. What I will say is that we're an entire family, all of working class people, and the economy in the Detroit area is really, really bad. Going through some of this myself is one thing. Watching my parents get touched by it is something else. It's devastating. And right now, every one of us is in fear of one kind or another.
And then right behind the fear and worry is the guilt that we are all still living under roofs with running water, heat, and electricity. The news this morning showed footage of these various "shanty towns" where newly homeless people have moved into tents. Tents! This took my mind driectly to a family I've known for a very long time with three young children who just lost their home. They live about four or five miles from us.
Just now I peered through tears into the backyard and saw the first robin of the season! Spring is here 11 days early for me.
I got a picture of it. I'm not sure if it's really visible in the picture or not, but it sat there while I snapped a shot.
Isn't it funny how little messages of hope come right when you need them the most?
But more influencing than busy days around here is a lack of anything positive to think about or write about. It's been a time of serious fear and worry. It's not as though these problems and fears are so personal that they can't be shared. It's really more that there is no humor or hope found in their descriptions. It isn't worth the time to write them and risk spreading dread. Also, it's not even as though I'd want to reflect back on those words later on this blog. I can promise you that when this time passes, most of it I'll prefer to forget the finer details of.
I know that's vague, which might be annoying to readers. I'm sorry for that. What I will say is that we're an entire family, all of working class people, and the economy in the Detroit area is really, really bad. Going through some of this myself is one thing. Watching my parents get touched by it is something else. It's devastating. And right now, every one of us is in fear of one kind or another.
And then right behind the fear and worry is the guilt that we are all still living under roofs with running water, heat, and electricity. The news this morning showed footage of these various "shanty towns" where newly homeless people have moved into tents. Tents! This took my mind driectly to a family I've known for a very long time with three young children who just lost their home. They live about four or five miles from us.
Just now I peered through tears into the backyard and saw the first robin of the season! Spring is here 11 days early for me.
I got a picture of it. I'm not sure if it's really visible in the picture or not, but it sat there while I snapped a shot.
Isn't it funny how little messages of hope come right when you need them the most?
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
A Raise!
Fellow unemloyment draw-ers, I got a fancy letter today advising that we all get a $25 a week raise!
The sad part is, I'm sincerely excited about it. I used to do $25 a week to any given charity and not blink an eye. Now that little amount a huge help with bills.
Thanks Obama. I appreciate it. Now on to the rest of your stimulus plan.... A job would be good....
The sad part is, I'm sincerely excited about it. I used to do $25 a week to any given charity and not blink an eye. Now that little amount a huge help with bills.
Thanks Obama. I appreciate it. Now on to the rest of your stimulus plan.... A job would be good....
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Gifts
I read two blogs early this morning that got me thinking. One was by Miss Britt, the other by a blogger I'd never read before, but her site is thepqnation.com. I may write on this tomorrow. But as I was pondering what I'd come across, I read this one, also by Jaime, the author of thepqnation.com, and the top of the post was a photo of a fortune cookie message that reads "If you wait too long for the perfect moment, the perfect moment will pass you by."
I read her words, and I realized I do the same thing. I'm always living for (and worrying about) tomorrow. I couldn't start having children because I had not made it at least half way through a PhD program (because didn't you know a masters degree isn't good enough?) and I needed a bigger house (how stupid) and etc. etc.
It's time to live. I think I've been working up to this point for a couple months, and this post on thepqnation.com summed it up in a way that kicked me into full gear.
I've been hearing about my Grandmother's cousin, Eleanor, for several months. My grandmother suddenly suggested now that I'm 33 years old that I should meet her. (??) All this time I had no idea how big my family really was, and that I had relatives 5 miles from my home. So each time I've seen Grandma since then, we discuss how we'll have to do that soon. I come from a long line of hard working, busy people who might all benefit from treatment of workaholism. I'm proud to be a recovering workaholic.
I called Grandma, and asked her to call Eleanor, make a date next week, pick out an outfit, and we'll go. Right now. She already had her calendar in her hand. And when she started to chatter on about old stories of when Eleanor and she used to ride the 7 Mile bus to Aunt Lillian's house on Wilshire in Detroit, I didn't multitask. I sat and just listened. Then she'd lost track because she'd start talking about Aunt Lillian's beautiful home and forgot about the rest of the tale of her bus trips with Eleanor, but it never matters because I love hearing her stories. I think I even prefer hearing a hundred bits of stories rather than 50 whole ones.
Hearing Grandma's stories, meeting relatives I've never met, taking any time to actually enjoy my home - not just live in it in between work hours - are just a few of the gifts that I've been missing out on for a long time.
I noticed someone's facebook updates yesterday started with ... is going to paint. Next one said ... not painting - will sew. Third one ... spending time with the new baby instead. Perfect. She's got herself together.
I'm going to learn to take pictures and play the piano again. All the things I've been dreaming of doing some day are starting right now. And even though I'm not even accepted into a PhD program, and don't even have a job right now, you just wait til that man gets home from work this evening.
Maybe that's why they call "right now" the "present."
I read her words, and I realized I do the same thing. I'm always living for (and worrying about) tomorrow. I couldn't start having children because I had not made it at least half way through a PhD program (because didn't you know a masters degree isn't good enough?) and I needed a bigger house (how stupid) and etc. etc.
It's time to live. I think I've been working up to this point for a couple months, and this post on thepqnation.com summed it up in a way that kicked me into full gear.
I've been hearing about my Grandmother's cousin, Eleanor, for several months. My grandmother suddenly suggested now that I'm 33 years old that I should meet her. (??) All this time I had no idea how big my family really was, and that I had relatives 5 miles from my home. So each time I've seen Grandma since then, we discuss how we'll have to do that soon. I come from a long line of hard working, busy people who might all benefit from treatment of workaholism. I'm proud to be a recovering workaholic.
I called Grandma, and asked her to call Eleanor, make a date next week, pick out an outfit, and we'll go. Right now. She already had her calendar in her hand. And when she started to chatter on about old stories of when Eleanor and she used to ride the 7 Mile bus to Aunt Lillian's house on Wilshire in Detroit, I didn't multitask. I sat and just listened. Then she'd lost track because she'd start talking about Aunt Lillian's beautiful home and forgot about the rest of the tale of her bus trips with Eleanor, but it never matters because I love hearing her stories. I think I even prefer hearing a hundred bits of stories rather than 50 whole ones.
Hearing Grandma's stories, meeting relatives I've never met, taking any time to actually enjoy my home - not just live in it in between work hours - are just a few of the gifts that I've been missing out on for a long time.
I noticed someone's facebook updates yesterday started with ... is going to paint. Next one said ... not painting - will sew. Third one ... spending time with the new baby instead. Perfect. She's got herself together.
I'm going to learn to take pictures and play the piano again. All the things I've been dreaming of doing some day are starting right now. And even though I'm not even accepted into a PhD program, and don't even have a job right now, you just wait til that man gets home from work this evening.
Maybe that's why they call "right now" the "present."
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Sadness
Sometimes the world seems to dish out way more than you can take. After the microwave blew up yesterday, Aaron's truck did the same. It's actually a funny story - but I am not in any mood to laugh.
Running around about the truck took me away from something I was supposed to have done by this morning. That task had already been put off from running out most of Sunday to plan my mother's party. Everything is a crunch.
And then, although I've been making a conscious effort to avoid the news, I hopped on CNN a few moments ago. The first headline to catch my eye was "this is not your father's country anymore." It was well written, but the message hurts so bad. Why can't people get it? I'm out of work because our manufacturing base is going away (or I should say has gone away already) and we are not prepared to make a transition that fast.
So I closed CNN altogether, and headed for Freep to find somehting happy to read. the top of the page screamed that GM & Chrysler are looking at court protected bankruptcies. I give. Uncle. I'm going back to bed.
But I leave you with this video. We saw this guy perform this at the hockey game last week. Please listen to the words. Even if you are NOT a country music fan. I'm not either. But this is important.
Running around about the truck took me away from something I was supposed to have done by this morning. That task had already been put off from running out most of Sunday to plan my mother's party. Everything is a crunch.
And then, although I've been making a conscious effort to avoid the news, I hopped on CNN a few moments ago. The first headline to catch my eye was "this is not your father's country anymore." It was well written, but the message hurts so bad. Why can't people get it? I'm out of work because our manufacturing base is going away (or I should say has gone away already) and we are not prepared to make a transition that fast.
So I closed CNN altogether, and headed for Freep to find somehting happy to read. the top of the page screamed that GM & Chrysler are looking at court protected bankruptcies. I give. Uncle. I'm going back to bed.
But I leave you with this video. We saw this guy perform this at the hockey game last week. Please listen to the words. Even if you are NOT a country music fan. I'm not either. But this is important.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Memory Lane Monday
Last Thursday I met up with my childhood best friend. If we had used the term "BFF" back then, she'd have been just that. Lisa and I were inseperable for years and years. It wasn't until junior high that our interests and activities started to change a little, slowly, and then by the middle of high school, our crowds just overlapped a litttle. I always missed her. But she was into other things, like marching band, and whatnot. We both swam, which was our common ground. But only for one year.
Lisa looked amazing. I can't even believe she's still single. We had a great talk about times past, and what we're each doing now. Which of course didn't take me long. Most of what I'm doing now is preparing for a tomorrow that will hopefully come. Gone are the days that I was working with either Australia or China on new development programs. Gone are the days that I'm out gathering "voice of the customer" data and analyzing it all night long. Now I'm a wife and foster mother, and I feel like a nut that fell out of its tree.
Lisa is the reason that I knew who older bands like Sting and the Police were. She's the reason I met the man I'm now married to. She's also the reason I learned that "Sun In" was a bad, bad idea.
Lisa looked amazing. I can't even believe she's still single. We had a great talk about times past, and what we're each doing now. Which of course didn't take me long. Most of what I'm doing now is preparing for a tomorrow that will hopefully come. Gone are the days that I was working with either Australia or China on new development programs. Gone are the days that I'm out gathering "voice of the customer" data and analyzing it all night long. Now I'm a wife and foster mother, and I feel like a nut that fell out of its tree.
Lisa is the reason that I knew who older bands like Sting and the Police were. She's the reason I met the man I'm now married to. She's also the reason I learned that "Sun In" was a bad, bad idea.
This just in.
The cat broke two glasses last night.
My narciccus bulbs have blossomed this morning, but are getting so tall that they don't want to stand straight up, and I can't plant them outside for several more weeks.
The microwave blew up with my vegetable soup inside.
I came into the office to blog just now, and the cat promptly finished eating a piece of curling ribbon and vomited on the floor.
It's not a good day around here.
My narciccus bulbs have blossomed this morning, but are getting so tall that they don't want to stand straight up, and I can't plant them outside for several more weeks.
The microwave blew up with my vegetable soup inside.
I came into the office to blog just now, and the cat promptly finished eating a piece of curling ribbon and vomited on the floor.
It's not a good day around here.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
You can't have just one.
Initially, I said no. We cannot go out today. I have a ton of things to do, all before Tuesday morning, and I don't have time.
But then, I agreed to run out for just one glass of wine. Before we knew it, it was 6 pm. So we stopped for dinner on the way home.
Nothing got done. This week is going to be a bear.
But then, I agreed to run out for just one glass of wine. Before we knew it, it was 6 pm. So we stopped for dinner on the way home.
Nothing got done. This week is going to be a bear.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Bad habits
I hosted a party an embarrassingly long time ago, and a friend brought special dips in Pyrex dishes. I washed her dishes the next morning, stuck them on top of the fridge, and proceeded to never have a chance to get them to her.
Today, she was top priority. So I baked her a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies to fill her dishes, and dropped them off at her job. Her coworkers were excited, and I'm not sure any of the cookies made it home with her. But at least she has her dishes.
I'm very poor at following up with this type of thing. I need to get better at it, as well as start remembering and acknowledging birthdays.
Today, she was top priority. So I baked her a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies to fill her dishes, and dropped them off at her job. Her coworkers were excited, and I'm not sure any of the cookies made it home with her. But at least she has her dishes.
I'm very poor at following up with this type of thing. I need to get better at it, as well as start remembering and acknowledging birthdays.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Delivery Man
Today was spent in its entirety at two different hospitals, getting x-rays and CT scans of every bone in Aaron's body. The problem is in his foot, but they scanned his entire self anyhow. He is radio-active for the next two days.
Our technicians were a man from Russia and a woman who I believe had eastern Indian roots. They were hysterically funny.
We returned after a 3 to 4 hour wait while the nuclear material spread through his body, and mentioned that we had breakfast at Panera. Our Russian tech asked if we liked the "onion French." The way he spun his words around was reminiscent of a portion of Henry Rollin's Spoken Word.
The other tech told several stories of the funniest things he's said, which he was laughing about harder than anyone. The best story of all:
P: So Gregory, what did you do back in Russia?
G: I was a delivery man.
P. What did you deliver? Pizza? Mail?
G: Babies.
Gregory is actually a physician in Russia, but his credentials are not recognized here in the United States. So he runs a scanning machine and reads books written in Russian every day, and appears to have an excellent time doing it.
Our technicians were a man from Russia and a woman who I believe had eastern Indian roots. They were hysterically funny.
We returned after a 3 to 4 hour wait while the nuclear material spread through his body, and mentioned that we had breakfast at Panera. Our Russian tech asked if we liked the "onion French." The way he spun his words around was reminiscent of a portion of Henry Rollin's Spoken Word.
The other tech told several stories of the funniest things he's said, which he was laughing about harder than anyone. The best story of all:
P: So Gregory, what did you do back in Russia?
G: I was a delivery man.
P. What did you deliver? Pizza? Mail?
G: Babies.
Gregory is actually a physician in Russia, but his credentials are not recognized here in the United States. So he runs a scanning machine and reads books written in Russian every day, and appears to have an excellent time doing it.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Meme that isn't about me - from Dooce dot com
About my better half:
What are your middle names? My middle name is Elaine. My mother has since stated that she wished she would have spelled it “Alaine” because that’s how we all say it. Aaron's middle name is Shawn. Do you think he might be Irish?
How long have you been together? We’ve been married for 3 years this coming May, and we’ve been together (this time) for 7 years.
How long did you know each other before you started dating? I met him on June 16th, 1992 in the early afternoon. I fell in love with him the minute I saw him. We met up later that night, and we were inseparable for the 9 days between the day we met and the day he drove away to attend college in the south. That was the beginning of quite a history.
Who asked whom out? We have completely different versions of this story.
My version: He walked past me outside a store on his way out for his lunch break. Our eyes met, we noticed each other, that was it. 10 minutes later, he returned and re-entered the store with a bag of Taco Bell. We noticed each other again, and I thought he was very cute. Since he obviously worked in that particular store, I wandered in there and hung out until he came around and noticed me. He struck up a conversation about water skis. After a few minutes of chatting, he offered me his pager number. (Remember folks, this was 1992. The pager was a very cool thing back then. Cellular phones came in bags, weighed 45 lbs., and nobody could afford them.) I called him later that day, and we made plans to meet up. It was he who offered the number and asked me to call, and it was he who suggested we meet up that night. So I say he asked me out.
His version: “She picked me up in a parking lot.”
How old are each of you? I'm 33, he's 36.
Whose siblings do you see the most? Mine.
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple? Hmmm. It was always about time. We never had enough time together. We spent most of our marriage living in separate states throughout every week and getting together on the weekends. It was never easy or often even possible to get any vacation time together. We must have passed the test, because all that has finally changed. He found a job close to home, his schedule is enviable, he works only 1 mile from home, and has every other Friday off. I’m home 24/7 right now.
Now that time is not an issue, I’d say the challenges of being a foster parent to teenaged kids who don’t come from very nice backgrounds and need a LOT of work is the most stressful component. But it’s still a labor of love, even when it gets stressful.
The one thing that isn’t ever stressful is money. We do not fight about money. We never have, and hopefully never will. Whether we have any or not, we just don’t fight about it. This is so important to me.
Did you go to the same school? Not at all. Until now. I went to CMU, and he’s now attending CMU.
Are you from the same home town? No. But close… I grew up in Warren, and he grew up in Southfield.
Who is smarter? I look at it as equal. Aaron would probably say I’m smarter, but I don’t believe that it’s so simple. We are intelligent in different ways. The part of him I fell in love with the fastest was his mind, and the part of him that a piece of me stayed in love with for years and years and years was his mind. We can talk about anything for hours and never run out of conversation or lose interest.
Who is the most sensitive? This is hard. I would bet it’s Aaron. But neither of us are overly sensitive.
Where do you eat out most as a couple? When we are running crazy and need to grab food fast, it’s unfortunately at one of the local chains like Chili’s or B-Dubs. We don’t prefer this food though. It becomes a matter of convenience when we end up there. If we plan to eat out on a date, my favorite is Sweet Lorraine’s. We also go to Mongolian BBQ often because it’s easy and healthy.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?Cocoa Beach, Florida. Oddly, for various reasons, most of our travel since we’ve been married has been separate. This is a bummer. We still haven’t even had a honeymoon.
Who has the craziest exes?Oh gosh, definitely me. But whereas I have but one nutty ex that is off the charts, he has many exes that were just slightly wacky. In the end we’re almost even.
Who has the worst temper? Our tempers are different. He has a quicker temper, but milder. So he gets angry faster, but not as intense. I have patience from here to China, but when I get to the end of the line, it’s ugly. His temper manifests itself with either extreme withdrawal and silence, or heavy sarcasm. Mine manifests in long talks to explain the situation in detail and formulate a fix.
Who does the cooking? I do! But, Aaron is far better at it. He’s cooked in two different five-star restaurants, and is an amazing chef. He makes the best chicken cordon bleu you’ll ever taste. And our Christmas dinner every year is all his doing too. I do all the cooking now because I’m home to do it. When we both work, we share everything and go out often.
Who is the neat-freak? Neither. Life is too short to be freaky about neatness. We both prefer things clean and organized, but if I go two weeks before laundering clothes or dishes pile in the sink for a couple days, neither of us care. Right now, Aaron just got a new Jeep, so he’s funny about making sure nothing is left in it after each ride. Give him two months maximum and that will be over with. The one exception to all of this is with our workplaces. We are both rather neat-freaks at work. (Especially Aaron – he’s probably neater at work than I am.) Home is where we relax.
Who is more stubborn? I’d have to say he is, overall, but I’m my share of stubborn too.
Who hogs the bed? Neither. We sleep in a ball. We could have just bought a twin bed and saved the money we spent on a queen-sized bed.
Who wakes up earlier? He does. As soon as the alarm clock makes noise, he is coherent and alert. Throughout my childhood, my parents used to have fun counting how many times my alarm clock would ring before I’d get up and shut it off. When I did, I honestly thought it had only rang twice. I would sleep through a nuclear attack. However, let a baby cry two doors down, and I hear it. Don’t ask me how. I have no babies. But I’ll wake up if a child makes noise.
Where was your first date? Either when we each brought a friend along and met in downtown Royal Oak to walk around and see where we ended up, or it was to the movies to see Batman. (Depending on what your personal definition of “date” is.)
Who is more jealous? Neither. I don’t think either of us has a jealous bone in our respective bodies, and this is one of the reasons we fit together so well. I don’t think either of us is capable of being happy with a jealous mate. It’s suffocating to either of us. He would probably tolerate it better than I would.
How long did it take to get serious? This is a hard one to answer. The simple answer would be 10 years. But it’s far more complicated than that.
Who eats more? I eat more at one time, but he eats more overall. We can sit down to breakfast and he will eat half of his, I’ll eat ¾ if not all of mine. I will be full until dinnertime, but he will be eating again in an hour.
Who does the laundry? Me. By choice. He does not watch for stains to be pre-treated, or pay attention to whether or not those stains have come out in one washing before hurling the garments into the dryer, no matter what they are made of.
Who's better with the computer? Definitely Aaron. He does the vast majority of his design work on a computer attached to multiple monitor screens, so he can multi-task. He actually takes the time to do the clean up & defrag sort of thing. I want to turn it on, do my business, and then leave it and go see people. I would say that (when I was working) I spent only half or less time on the computer. The other half was in meetings, on the phone, in customer offices or plants, and on the road. He has suggested I consider his line of work, and the specific reason I would not is that I could not sit and stare at a tube for that many hours each week without needing a stay in a padded room.
Who drives when you are together? It’s really a split, but I’d say I drive the majority of the time. It depends on which car we take. He drives his truck, I drive my car. The one exception to this rule is the frequent occasion that he becomes intolerant of me critiqueing his driving (the man cannot merge…) and he’ll just ask me to drive to save him the trouble of hearing me nag.
What are your middle names? My middle name is Elaine. My mother has since stated that she wished she would have spelled it “Alaine” because that’s how we all say it. Aaron's middle name is Shawn. Do you think he might be Irish?
How long have you been together? We’ve been married for 3 years this coming May, and we’ve been together (this time) for 7 years.
How long did you know each other before you started dating? I met him on June 16th, 1992 in the early afternoon. I fell in love with him the minute I saw him. We met up later that night, and we were inseparable for the 9 days between the day we met and the day he drove away to attend college in the south. That was the beginning of quite a history.
Who asked whom out? We have completely different versions of this story.
My version: He walked past me outside a store on his way out for his lunch break. Our eyes met, we noticed each other, that was it. 10 minutes later, he returned and re-entered the store with a bag of Taco Bell. We noticed each other again, and I thought he was very cute. Since he obviously worked in that particular store, I wandered in there and hung out until he came around and noticed me. He struck up a conversation about water skis. After a few minutes of chatting, he offered me his pager number. (Remember folks, this was 1992. The pager was a very cool thing back then. Cellular phones came in bags, weighed 45 lbs., and nobody could afford them.) I called him later that day, and we made plans to meet up. It was he who offered the number and asked me to call, and it was he who suggested we meet up that night. So I say he asked me out.
His version: “She picked me up in a parking lot.”
How old are each of you? I'm 33, he's 36.
Whose siblings do you see the most? Mine.
Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple? Hmmm. It was always about time. We never had enough time together. We spent most of our marriage living in separate states throughout every week and getting together on the weekends. It was never easy or often even possible to get any vacation time together. We must have passed the test, because all that has finally changed. He found a job close to home, his schedule is enviable, he works only 1 mile from home, and has every other Friday off. I’m home 24/7 right now.
Now that time is not an issue, I’d say the challenges of being a foster parent to teenaged kids who don’t come from very nice backgrounds and need a LOT of work is the most stressful component. But it’s still a labor of love, even when it gets stressful.
The one thing that isn’t ever stressful is money. We do not fight about money. We never have, and hopefully never will. Whether we have any or not, we just don’t fight about it. This is so important to me.
Did you go to the same school? Not at all. Until now. I went to CMU, and he’s now attending CMU.
Are you from the same home town? No. But close… I grew up in Warren, and he grew up in Southfield.
Who is smarter? I look at it as equal. Aaron would probably say I’m smarter, but I don’t believe that it’s so simple. We are intelligent in different ways. The part of him I fell in love with the fastest was his mind, and the part of him that a piece of me stayed in love with for years and years and years was his mind. We can talk about anything for hours and never run out of conversation or lose interest.
Who is the most sensitive? This is hard. I would bet it’s Aaron. But neither of us are overly sensitive.
Where do you eat out most as a couple? When we are running crazy and need to grab food fast, it’s unfortunately at one of the local chains like Chili’s or B-Dubs. We don’t prefer this food though. It becomes a matter of convenience when we end up there. If we plan to eat out on a date, my favorite is Sweet Lorraine’s. We also go to Mongolian BBQ often because it’s easy and healthy.
Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?Cocoa Beach, Florida. Oddly, for various reasons, most of our travel since we’ve been married has been separate. This is a bummer. We still haven’t even had a honeymoon.
Who has the craziest exes?Oh gosh, definitely me. But whereas I have but one nutty ex that is off the charts, he has many exes that were just slightly wacky. In the end we’re almost even.
Who has the worst temper? Our tempers are different. He has a quicker temper, but milder. So he gets angry faster, but not as intense. I have patience from here to China, but when I get to the end of the line, it’s ugly. His temper manifests itself with either extreme withdrawal and silence, or heavy sarcasm. Mine manifests in long talks to explain the situation in detail and formulate a fix.
Who does the cooking? I do! But, Aaron is far better at it. He’s cooked in two different five-star restaurants, and is an amazing chef. He makes the best chicken cordon bleu you’ll ever taste. And our Christmas dinner every year is all his doing too. I do all the cooking now because I’m home to do it. When we both work, we share everything and go out often.
Who is the neat-freak? Neither. Life is too short to be freaky about neatness. We both prefer things clean and organized, but if I go two weeks before laundering clothes or dishes pile in the sink for a couple days, neither of us care. Right now, Aaron just got a new Jeep, so he’s funny about making sure nothing is left in it after each ride. Give him two months maximum and that will be over with. The one exception to all of this is with our workplaces. We are both rather neat-freaks at work. (Especially Aaron – he’s probably neater at work than I am.) Home is where we relax.
Who is more stubborn? I’d have to say he is, overall, but I’m my share of stubborn too.
Who hogs the bed? Neither. We sleep in a ball. We could have just bought a twin bed and saved the money we spent on a queen-sized bed.
Who wakes up earlier? He does. As soon as the alarm clock makes noise, he is coherent and alert. Throughout my childhood, my parents used to have fun counting how many times my alarm clock would ring before I’d get up and shut it off. When I did, I honestly thought it had only rang twice. I would sleep through a nuclear attack. However, let a baby cry two doors down, and I hear it. Don’t ask me how. I have no babies. But I’ll wake up if a child makes noise.
Where was your first date? Either when we each brought a friend along and met in downtown Royal Oak to walk around and see where we ended up, or it was to the movies to see Batman. (Depending on what your personal definition of “date” is.)
Who is more jealous? Neither. I don’t think either of us has a jealous bone in our respective bodies, and this is one of the reasons we fit together so well. I don’t think either of us is capable of being happy with a jealous mate. It’s suffocating to either of us. He would probably tolerate it better than I would.
How long did it take to get serious? This is a hard one to answer. The simple answer would be 10 years. But it’s far more complicated than that.
Who eats more? I eat more at one time, but he eats more overall. We can sit down to breakfast and he will eat half of his, I’ll eat ¾ if not all of mine. I will be full until dinnertime, but he will be eating again in an hour.
Who does the laundry? Me. By choice. He does not watch for stains to be pre-treated, or pay attention to whether or not those stains have come out in one washing before hurling the garments into the dryer, no matter what they are made of.
Who's better with the computer? Definitely Aaron. He does the vast majority of his design work on a computer attached to multiple monitor screens, so he can multi-task. He actually takes the time to do the clean up & defrag sort of thing. I want to turn it on, do my business, and then leave it and go see people. I would say that (when I was working) I spent only half or less time on the computer. The other half was in meetings, on the phone, in customer offices or plants, and on the road. He has suggested I consider his line of work, and the specific reason I would not is that I could not sit and stare at a tube for that many hours each week without needing a stay in a padded room.
Who drives when you are together? It’s really a split, but I’d say I drive the majority of the time. It depends on which car we take. He drives his truck, I drive my car. The one exception to this rule is the frequent occasion that he becomes intolerant of me critiqueing his driving (the man cannot merge…) and he’ll just ask me to drive to save him the trouble of hearing me nag.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Simple Things
This morning I opened a new gallon of milk for coffee. (I don't like cream in my coffee - only milk.) I pulled off the plastic ring and gave it to the cats to bat around for awhile. They were so happy. You'd think I'd given them a piece of cat heaven.
I think my life is similar to theirs these days. My plastic ring is a cup of hot coffee or a chance to sit and get my head together. A 14 year old car in the driveway so I can run to the store during the day if I need to. An opportunity to make plans to meet up with an old friend. Some of these plastic rings I went without for a long time.
The foster kid reported some concern with her brakes today. Specifically that she had a very hard pedal that was going all the way to the floor. She announced she wanted to take the car in and get them looked at. Relevant details: this car was purchased from a licensed mechanic who had been driving it himself, owned the car for 15 years, and had every single receipt for all parts purchased and externally hired work done on the car. He was seriously meticulous to the point of being anal, which is a very nice situation for someone who is buying a car from him. Also, I was in the car recently, and I know it stops fine.
However, she has the money, and is in a very nice situation with regard to finances. I told her the odds were that she needed her rear brakes adjusted based on the whole description she gave me as to what was "wrong." We're working on building her confidence, her consumer savvy, and independence. This means I am not insisting to be in charge and run the show for her anymore. This also means that every last situation is a bigger pain in the rear than if I were running the show.
She announces a bit later in the morning that she wants to take the car to Bell Tire. I tell her (for at least the second time) that Bell Tire is not the best choice for brake inspection. As usual, she does not listen. She begins to argue with me about all the reasons she should go to Bell Tire, and I stop her mid-sentence and tell her to take the car anywhere she wants to go for inspection.
Every intuition tells me this will be a repeat of the recent battery situation. We told her that her battery only had maybe a year of life left, so she should consider replacing it or just paying attention to various clues that it was dying. I gave her the whole explanation of how long they last, etc. etc. So she decides to run out and price batteries. I tell her where to go. She goes elsewhere, and calls in hysterics because they even ran a REPORT on her battery, and concluded that she only had TWO or THREE more starts before it DIED. And, they couldn't even run the REPORT without charging the battery FIRST. Give me a break. The poor girl, it's as if she runs into a repair shop with the word "naive" written on her forehead. However, the price for the battery was reasonable, the warranty was the same as the two places I'd have chosen to buy from, and installation was included. So despite my disagreement with this whole report fiasco and the advice of these "experts," it wasn't a bad place to buy a new battery from. Interestingly, after the battery had been installed, the technician brought the car around to the front parking lot and parked it. When she got inside to drive away after paying, the car wouldn't start. The battery had come unhooked in the time it took to drive around the building. They openly admitted that something wasn't done properly, and assured her they'd fix it. This fell right in line with my explanation to her earlier about why I'd go to store A or store B for a car battery, and why you don't go to an Italian restaurant for tacos. She came home that day with her new battery in her car, and we sat and talked to her about the sales tactics. She argued, and seemed to believe that we were just untrusting of the sales people. A couple days later, her therapist came for our in-home session and she told him of the battery story. He laughed harder than we had and gave her the same response we had. It was reinforcement, but she never learns anything the easy way, and I could have told you that very day that she'd live through it all at least twice more before she learned her lesson.
Anyway, back to the present. Twenty minutes later, I get an odd number appear on my phone, which I ignore because I am in the middle of reviewing a source for a research paper. Two minutes after that, my husband calls to inform me that Bell Tire is calling him directly for authorization to work on the foster kid's car. I knew what happened before hearing anything more. Unqualified people looked at the car and decided the car needed all new everything, gave a ridiculous quote, put pressure on the foster kid, and because she was in a position where she didn't feel stepping away to make calls on her own and ask questions, she told them to do it. It was her way of passing the buck.
That is precisely what happened.
They told her she needed new calipers, rotors, pads, etc. etc. etc. Which sometimes can be the case, but I knew it was not the case presently for this vehicle. And also as expected, they told her she had no back brakes at all, and should not move the car out of their shop without repair. Yes, this is the same shop that told her she should not leave their shop without a new battery or after two or three more starts, it would be DEAD and she would be STRANDED. On both occasions she went to this particular store because the location is very close to home and easy to pull in and out of. It's on her route to and from work, so she's comfortable with that road. She's still a bit squirrelly about finding businesses and having to turn left to get either in or out of the parking lots. She's had a license for about a month, so this is not unreasonable. But it is something she has to work through and get past.
Aaron had told her to get her butt and her car home, and quit taking the car to tire shops for brake inspections.
She came home, I told her to realize that what actually happened is exactly what I warned her of only moments before, and she could have saved time and energy by listening instead of being so dead set on ignoring logic. We reviewed for the billionth time the basics of car repair and maintenance basics. I told her to go to the small shop around the corner that was well known and reputable, or to Midas a few miles further. We discussed once again how to present yourself, what to say, what not to say, and what to ask.
The small shop took her right in a short while later, and quoted her new pads for the back, which were considerably worn but working, and a new caliper slide on one side. She calls me to inform me of the quoted price, but cannot tell me what the price includes. I make her go verify what the shop intends to fix/replace with that quote, and she is frustrated. She explains that the guy told her everything once, she just didn't pay attention and understand it. I ask her if she intends to just give each and every repair shop money over the next several years with no information on what's being fixed. She is silent for a minute, and then goes off to verify what needs to be done. Her description comes back clear and reasonable, and the price is fair for the work. It's a fraction of the tire shop's quote, as expected.
It's not easy to start stepping back and letting her deal with these things more independently. She doesn't present herself in a way that keeps her safe from being taken advantage of. But I figure if I don't nudge her to learn along the way, she'll never be able to handle it. So in the end, maybe she paid $50 more than I would have, and maybe she's buying two slides when she only needs one. But, she's learning. And I'm not going to be around to take her car to the brake shop twice a year indefinitely.
And a few minutes later, I realized, taking her car to the brake shop and making her own arrangements is probably her orange plastic ring right now. The littlest parts of independent living that she's gaining, but never believed completely that she'd have. The simple things.
I think my life is similar to theirs these days. My plastic ring is a cup of hot coffee or a chance to sit and get my head together. A 14 year old car in the driveway so I can run to the store during the day if I need to. An opportunity to make plans to meet up with an old friend. Some of these plastic rings I went without for a long time.
The foster kid reported some concern with her brakes today. Specifically that she had a very hard pedal that was going all the way to the floor. She announced she wanted to take the car in and get them looked at. Relevant details: this car was purchased from a licensed mechanic who had been driving it himself, owned the car for 15 years, and had every single receipt for all parts purchased and externally hired work done on the car. He was seriously meticulous to the point of being anal, which is a very nice situation for someone who is buying a car from him. Also, I was in the car recently, and I know it stops fine.
However, she has the money, and is in a very nice situation with regard to finances. I told her the odds were that she needed her rear brakes adjusted based on the whole description she gave me as to what was "wrong." We're working on building her confidence, her consumer savvy, and independence. This means I am not insisting to be in charge and run the show for her anymore. This also means that every last situation is a bigger pain in the rear than if I were running the show.
She announces a bit later in the morning that she wants to take the car to Bell Tire. I tell her (for at least the second time) that Bell Tire is not the best choice for brake inspection. As usual, she does not listen. She begins to argue with me about all the reasons she should go to Bell Tire, and I stop her mid-sentence and tell her to take the car anywhere she wants to go for inspection.
Every intuition tells me this will be a repeat of the recent battery situation. We told her that her battery only had maybe a year of life left, so she should consider replacing it or just paying attention to various clues that it was dying. I gave her the whole explanation of how long they last, etc. etc. So she decides to run out and price batteries. I tell her where to go. She goes elsewhere, and calls in hysterics because they even ran a REPORT on her battery, and concluded that she only had TWO or THREE more starts before it DIED. And, they couldn't even run the REPORT without charging the battery FIRST. Give me a break. The poor girl, it's as if she runs into a repair shop with the word "naive" written on her forehead. However, the price for the battery was reasonable, the warranty was the same as the two places I'd have chosen to buy from, and installation was included. So despite my disagreement with this whole report fiasco and the advice of these "experts," it wasn't a bad place to buy a new battery from. Interestingly, after the battery had been installed, the technician brought the car around to the front parking lot and parked it. When she got inside to drive away after paying, the car wouldn't start. The battery had come unhooked in the time it took to drive around the building. They openly admitted that something wasn't done properly, and assured her they'd fix it. This fell right in line with my explanation to her earlier about why I'd go to store A or store B for a car battery, and why you don't go to an Italian restaurant for tacos. She came home that day with her new battery in her car, and we sat and talked to her about the sales tactics. She argued, and seemed to believe that we were just untrusting of the sales people. A couple days later, her therapist came for our in-home session and she told him of the battery story. He laughed harder than we had and gave her the same response we had. It was reinforcement, but she never learns anything the easy way, and I could have told you that very day that she'd live through it all at least twice more before she learned her lesson.
Anyway, back to the present. Twenty minutes later, I get an odd number appear on my phone, which I ignore because I am in the middle of reviewing a source for a research paper. Two minutes after that, my husband calls to inform me that Bell Tire is calling him directly for authorization to work on the foster kid's car. I knew what happened before hearing anything more. Unqualified people looked at the car and decided the car needed all new everything, gave a ridiculous quote, put pressure on the foster kid, and because she was in a position where she didn't feel stepping away to make calls on her own and ask questions, she told them to do it. It was her way of passing the buck.
That is precisely what happened.
They told her she needed new calipers, rotors, pads, etc. etc. etc. Which sometimes can be the case, but I knew it was not the case presently for this vehicle. And also as expected, they told her she had no back brakes at all, and should not move the car out of their shop without repair. Yes, this is the same shop that told her she should not leave their shop without a new battery or after two or three more starts, it would be DEAD and she would be STRANDED. On both occasions she went to this particular store because the location is very close to home and easy to pull in and out of. It's on her route to and from work, so she's comfortable with that road. She's still a bit squirrelly about finding businesses and having to turn left to get either in or out of the parking lots. She's had a license for about a month, so this is not unreasonable. But it is something she has to work through and get past.
Aaron had told her to get her butt and her car home, and quit taking the car to tire shops for brake inspections.
She came home, I told her to realize that what actually happened is exactly what I warned her of only moments before, and she could have saved time and energy by listening instead of being so dead set on ignoring logic. We reviewed for the billionth time the basics of car repair and maintenance basics. I told her to go to the small shop around the corner that was well known and reputable, or to Midas a few miles further. We discussed once again how to present yourself, what to say, what not to say, and what to ask.
The small shop took her right in a short while later, and quoted her new pads for the back, which were considerably worn but working, and a new caliper slide on one side. She calls me to inform me of the quoted price, but cannot tell me what the price includes. I make her go verify what the shop intends to fix/replace with that quote, and she is frustrated. She explains that the guy told her everything once, she just didn't pay attention and understand it. I ask her if she intends to just give each and every repair shop money over the next several years with no information on what's being fixed. She is silent for a minute, and then goes off to verify what needs to be done. Her description comes back clear and reasonable, and the price is fair for the work. It's a fraction of the tire shop's quote, as expected.
It's not easy to start stepping back and letting her deal with these things more independently. She doesn't present herself in a way that keeps her safe from being taken advantage of. But I figure if I don't nudge her to learn along the way, she'll never be able to handle it. So in the end, maybe she paid $50 more than I would have, and maybe she's buying two slides when she only needs one. But, she's learning. And I'm not going to be around to take her car to the brake shop twice a year indefinitely.
And a few minutes later, I realized, taking her car to the brake shop and making her own arrangements is probably her orange plastic ring right now. The littlest parts of independent living that she's gaining, but never believed completely that she'd have. The simple things.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Memory Lane Monday
Someone who crossed my mind this past week was an old supervisor. In high school, I worked for a jewelry story. Not a glamorous jewelry store with gorgeous lights. Certainly not a jewelry story with blue boxes. Nope. This was the little inset area inside Sam's Club. If you don't remember, I can give you enough information to have a fairly good visual. Imagine a large warehouse selling items in bulk, and serving mostly small and large business owners. Now you've got the surrounding area set. Now take a few jewelry cases and arrange them in a rectangle. Leave an opening for a swinging door and a cash register on a stand with a safe underneath it. Make one jewelry case full of perfume. Litter the tops of the jewelry cases with sunglass rounders and plastic signs. There we are. Now you understand where I worked. I hate to just say "jewelry store," and have anybody mislead. It wasn't your average jewelry store.
I loved this job. I really loved it. The customers were regular people from all walks of life. Because we were right inside the gate opening to enter the main part of the store, we saw everyone who came in, and came to recognize a few regulars. I also had the pleasure of working with my best friend at the time. Sundays were especially fun, because we worked together from open until close, and often got Papa Romano's for lunch. Pasta salad and bread to share. We could eat like that back then and not look like whales.
Our supervisor was Karen. She was a no-nonsense woman who dressed to the nines. She was always put together. Her son never came in to the store that I remember, but we knew so much about him that I felt like we knew him. Except, we didn't know his real name. She called him Buddha. He allegedly earned this name as a baby, and even at 17 had not outgrown it.
Karen is one of two people who affected my career path more than any others. She left the "jewelry store" to take a job in a far more high-end retail location with more money, more opportunity, and less warehouse dust. She told me I was the hardest worker she'd ever known in all her years, and the minute she got established, she called me in for an interview. I followed her to an anchor retail store at Somerset before any north mall or SkyWalk existed. That job funded college, a down payment on a home, and the best time of my life.
I would have never in a million years at that time thought I'd be considered for a position like that. I'd have never applied, or even asked if they were hiring. If it weren't for Karen's encouragement, I'd have spent many more early college years working in a small rectangle inside a warehouse, and my student loans today would be much bigger than they are.
I have tried to find Karen over the years, but have never been successful. I didn't stay in her department long. Not even three months. Store management offered me a job one floor upwards, which is very much a hierarchical thing in that industry. I sat with Karen and discussed what had been offered to me. I felt like I was betraying her by leaving. She told me she didn't even want to hear about it - if I didn't take that job, she'd be very disappointed. So I did, and I was glad. After two months I held the second highest sales in the department, working with people who had been doing that job for as long as 30 years.
That job taught me far more than how to sell things effectively or how to be competitive and still maintain friendships. (Which is a tedious balance in that environment.) I began to understand how people live differently in the world based on "class," culture, nationality, religion, etc. I learned about Jewish holidays, and customary gifts. I learned that you get better service running to the local mom & pop shop engraver to have something serviced than if you mail it to a larger vendor. I learned how shipping companies work. I learned a thing or two about effective displays. I learned just how bored wealthy stay-at-home moms are when they have people hired to do every job they'd traditionally do on their own.
I saw Karen here and there while working, but eventually she left for another opportunity. Unfortunately, I didn't know about it until she was already gone. I haven't seen her since, but I think of her often and hope our paths cross in the future.
I loved this job. I really loved it. The customers were regular people from all walks of life. Because we were right inside the gate opening to enter the main part of the store, we saw everyone who came in, and came to recognize a few regulars. I also had the pleasure of working with my best friend at the time. Sundays were especially fun, because we worked together from open until close, and often got Papa Romano's for lunch. Pasta salad and bread to share. We could eat like that back then and not look like whales.
Our supervisor was Karen. She was a no-nonsense woman who dressed to the nines. She was always put together. Her son never came in to the store that I remember, but we knew so much about him that I felt like we knew him. Except, we didn't know his real name. She called him Buddha. He allegedly earned this name as a baby, and even at 17 had not outgrown it.
Karen is one of two people who affected my career path more than any others. She left the "jewelry store" to take a job in a far more high-end retail location with more money, more opportunity, and less warehouse dust. She told me I was the hardest worker she'd ever known in all her years, and the minute she got established, she called me in for an interview. I followed her to an anchor retail store at Somerset before any north mall or SkyWalk existed. That job funded college, a down payment on a home, and the best time of my life.
I would have never in a million years at that time thought I'd be considered for a position like that. I'd have never applied, or even asked if they were hiring. If it weren't for Karen's encouragement, I'd have spent many more early college years working in a small rectangle inside a warehouse, and my student loans today would be much bigger than they are.
I have tried to find Karen over the years, but have never been successful. I didn't stay in her department long. Not even three months. Store management offered me a job one floor upwards, which is very much a hierarchical thing in that industry. I sat with Karen and discussed what had been offered to me. I felt like I was betraying her by leaving. She told me she didn't even want to hear about it - if I didn't take that job, she'd be very disappointed. So I did, and I was glad. After two months I held the second highest sales in the department, working with people who had been doing that job for as long as 30 years.
That job taught me far more than how to sell things effectively or how to be competitive and still maintain friendships. (Which is a tedious balance in that environment.) I began to understand how people live differently in the world based on "class," culture, nationality, religion, etc. I learned about Jewish holidays, and customary gifts. I learned that you get better service running to the local mom & pop shop engraver to have something serviced than if you mail it to a larger vendor. I learned how shipping companies work. I learned a thing or two about effective displays. I learned just how bored wealthy stay-at-home moms are when they have people hired to do every job they'd traditionally do on their own.
I saw Karen here and there while working, but eventually she left for another opportunity. Unfortunately, I didn't know about it until she was already gone. I haven't seen her since, but I think of her often and hope our paths cross in the future.
Not really new news... I've been living as a statistic here...
Reality is very ugly, folks.
Source: http://msn.careerbuilder.com/Article/MSN-1772-Job-Search-15-Worst-States-to-Find-Work/?ArticleID=1772&cbRecursionCnt=1&cbsid=ae752bfb3e7443c983d0ceff940c4e32-288106657-JU-5 Viewed on 16 February 2009, 1:42 p.m. EST
While many factors come into play as reason why you might not be landing a job -- the economy being the No. 1 reason to speak of -- one thing job seekers often don't think of as being a cause is the state they live in.
State unemployment rates play a huge role in whether or not you are likely to find work; the higher the unemployment rate, the more difficult it is to find a job. With today's national unemployment rate at a dismal 7.2 percent, there aren't many states with unemployment rates much less than that.
The latest numbers from the Bureau of Labor Statistics* showed six states recording rates of 9 percent or more. Overall, 10 states had significantly higher jobless rates than the average and 18 had similar rates. Michigan recorded the highest unemployment rate at 10.6 percent, followed closely by Rhode Island at 10.0 percent.
The largest numerical decrease in employment since November 2008 was in California, which lost 78,200 jobs, followed by Michigan, New York, Illinois, Indiana and North Carolina, respectively. Idaho saw the largest percentage cut in employment since December 2008 (1.6 percent), followed by Michigan, Hawaii and Indiana.
All 50 states and the District of Columbia had considerable jobless rate increases since December 2007. Rhode Island had the highest rate increase over the year (4.5 percent), followed by Arizona and Idaho (4.3 percentage points each), Michigan (4.1 percentage point each) and Indiana (3.7 percent). Nine other states and the District of Columbia recorded increases of 3 percentage points or more since December 2007 and 36 states had smaller, but still significant, increases.
Here are 15 states with unemployment rates higher than the national average and that have seen momentous rate increases since last year. If you're having trouble finding a job and you live in one of the following states, know that you might not be the (only) reason behind your unemployment:
1. Michigan ... 10.6 percent
December 2007: 7.4 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.2 percent
Mean annual salary: $42,210
2. Rhode Island ... 10.0 percent
December 2007: 5.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 4.8 percent
Mean annual salary: $42,210
3. South Carolina ... 9.5 percent
December 2007: 6.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.3 percent
Mean annual salary: $34,650
4. California ... 9.3 percent
December 2007: 5.9 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.4 percent
Mean annual salary: $45,990
5. Nevada ... 9.1 percent
December 2007: 5.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $16,750
6. Oregon ... 9.0 percent
December 2007: 5.4 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $40,040
7. District of Columbia ... 8.8 percent
December 2007: 5.7 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.1 percent
Mean annual salary: $64,150
8. North Carolina ... 8.7 percent
December 2007: 4.7 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 4.0 percent
Mean annual salary: $36,900
9. Florida ... 8.1 percent
December 2007: 4.5 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $37,260
10. Georgia ... 8.1 percent
December 2007: 4.5 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $38,320
11. Mississippi ... 8.0 percent
December 2007: 6.3 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 1.7 percent
Mean annual salary: $31,730
12. Tennessee ... 7.9 percent
December 2007: 5.0 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $35,380
13. Kentucky ... 7.8 percent
December 2007: 5.1 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 1.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $34,950
14. Ohio ... 7.8 percent
December 2007: 5.8 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.0 percent
Mean annual salary: $38,640
15. Illinois ... 7.6 percent
December 2007: 5.3 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.3 percent
Mean annual salary: $43,050
*According to the most recent numbers released by the Bureau of Labor Statistics on Jan. 27, 2009.
**Mean annual salary per state, according to the most recent Occupational Employment and Wage Estimates, May 2007, Bureau of Labor Statistics.
Rachel Zupek is a writer and blogger for CareerBuilder.com. She researches and writes about job search strategy, career management, hiring trends and workplace issues.
Copyright 2009 CareerBuilder.com. All rights reserved. The information contained in this article may not be published, broadcast or otherwise distributed without prior written authority.
Story Filed Tuesday, January 27, 2009 - 2:48 PM
Source: http://msn.careerbuilder.com/Article/MSN-1772-Job-Search-15-Worst-States-to-Find-Work/?ArticleID=1772&cbRecursionCnt=1&cbsid=ae752bfb3e7443c983d0ceff940c4e32-288106657-JU-5 Viewed on 16 February 2009, 1:42 p.m. EST
While many factors come into play as reason why you might not be landing a job -- the economy being the No. 1 reason to speak of -- one thing job seekers often don't think of as being a cause is the state they live in.
State unemployment rates play a huge role in whether or not you are likely to find work; the higher the unemployment rate, the more difficult it is to find a job. With today's national unemployment rate at a dismal 7.2 percent, there aren't many states with unemployment rates much less than that.
The latest numbers from the Bureau of Labor Statistics* showed six states recording rates of 9 percent or more. Overall, 10 states had significantly higher jobless rates than the average and 18 had similar rates. Michigan recorded the highest unemployment rate at 10.6 percent, followed closely by Rhode Island at 10.0 percent.
The largest numerical decrease in employment since November 2008 was in California, which lost 78,200 jobs, followed by Michigan, New York, Illinois, Indiana and North Carolina, respectively. Idaho saw the largest percentage cut in employment since December 2008 (1.6 percent), followed by Michigan, Hawaii and Indiana.
All 50 states and the District of Columbia had considerable jobless rate increases since December 2007. Rhode Island had the highest rate increase over the year (4.5 percent), followed by Arizona and Idaho (4.3 percentage points each), Michigan (4.1 percentage point each) and Indiana (3.7 percent). Nine other states and the District of Columbia recorded increases of 3 percentage points or more since December 2007 and 36 states had smaller, but still significant, increases.
Here are 15 states with unemployment rates higher than the national average and that have seen momentous rate increases since last year. If you're having trouble finding a job and you live in one of the following states, know that you might not be the (only) reason behind your unemployment:
1. Michigan ... 10.6 percent
December 2007: 7.4 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.2 percent
Mean annual salary: $42,210
2. Rhode Island ... 10.0 percent
December 2007: 5.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 4.8 percent
Mean annual salary: $42,210
3. South Carolina ... 9.5 percent
December 2007: 6.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.3 percent
Mean annual salary: $34,650
4. California ... 9.3 percent
December 2007: 5.9 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.4 percent
Mean annual salary: $45,990
5. Nevada ... 9.1 percent
December 2007: 5.2 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $16,750
6. Oregon ... 9.0 percent
December 2007: 5.4 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $40,040
7. District of Columbia ... 8.8 percent
December 2007: 5.7 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.1 percent
Mean annual salary: $64,150
8. North Carolina ... 8.7 percent
December 2007: 4.7 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 4.0 percent
Mean annual salary: $36,900
9. Florida ... 8.1 percent
December 2007: 4.5 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $37,260
10. Georgia ... 8.1 percent
December 2007: 4.5 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 3.6 percent
Mean annual salary: $38,320
11. Mississippi ... 8.0 percent
December 2007: 6.3 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 1.7 percent
Mean annual salary: $31,730
12. Tennessee ... 7.9 percent
December 2007: 5.0 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $35,380
13. Kentucky ... 7.8 percent
December 2007: 5.1 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 1.9 percent
Mean annual salary: $34,950
14. Ohio ... 7.8 percent
December 2007: 5.8 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.0 percent
Mean annual salary: $38,640
15. Illinois ... 7.6 percent
December 2007: 5.3 percent
Over-the-year rate change: 2.3 percent
Mean annual salary: $43,050
*According to the most recent numbers released by the Bureau of Labor Statistics on Jan. 27, 2009.
**Mean annual salary per state, according to the most recent Occupational Employment and Wage Estimates, May 2007, Bureau of Labor Statistics.
Rachel Zupek is a writer and blogger for CareerBuilder.com. She researches and writes about job search strategy, career management, hiring trends and workplace issues.
Copyright 2009 CareerBuilder.com. All rights reserved. The information contained in this article may not be published, broadcast or otherwise distributed without prior written authority.
Story Filed Tuesday, January 27, 2009 - 2:48 PM
Sunday, February 15, 2009
One of the few things I look forward to
is when people come over. I love to have a houseful. Tonight at 5, my family is coming over for dinner and birthday cake.
I also have received a nice tip on what I might do for my next career, since I'm not confident the automotive world is ever going to need me at my historic salary level, and I'm not sure I'd be willing to be a part of that ridiculousness for half the money. It's time to make a move, that's for sure. I need some time to look into this new idea - but it sounds good so far.
I also have received a nice tip on what I might do for my next career, since I'm not confident the automotive world is ever going to need me at my historic salary level, and I'm not sure I'd be willing to be a part of that ridiculousness for half the money. It's time to make a move, that's for sure. I need some time to look into this new idea - but it sounds good so far.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Found a great read.
If you haven't read the Pioneer Woman, you should. It's fantastic.
www.pioneerwoman.com.
www.pioneerwoman.com.
This looked like fun. Blog tag
This is a brand new blog, so I'm not really that connected yet, but this looked like way too much fun to pass up. So I'm going to do it...
Blog Tag Instructions
1. Pick the 6th Folder, then select the the 6th picture in that folder.
2. Post that picture on your blog and the story that goes along with the picture.
3. Tag 6 other people that you know or don’t know to do the same thing and leave a comment on their blog or an e-mail letting them know you chose them.
Here is my 6th picture in my 6th folder:
This is a shot inside of the Shillelagh bar in Detroit taken on May 26th 2008 before a Red Wing's playoff game. These brick walls are covered in years of graffiti and illuminated by very industrial lighting. I took a few pictures thinking some of them might come out neat. I wish I had a better camera! Some day...
This is not the 6th, but I liked it better:
Blog Tag Instructions
1. Pick the 6th Folder, then select the the 6th picture in that folder.
2. Post that picture on your blog and the story that goes along with the picture.
3. Tag 6 other people that you know or don’t know to do the same thing and leave a comment on their blog or an e-mail letting them know you chose them.
Here is my 6th picture in my 6th folder:
This is a shot inside of the Shillelagh bar in Detroit taken on May 26th 2008 before a Red Wing's playoff game. These brick walls are covered in years of graffiti and illuminated by very industrial lighting. I took a few pictures thinking some of them might come out neat. I wish I had a better camera! Some day...
This is not the 6th, but I liked it better:
Thursday, February 12, 2009
A day off with newborn toes
Today I took the day off. From job searching, from routine tasks, from everything. I rolled out of bed. I went to breakfast with Erica at the little dive near our house that makes great over-easy eggs and the best hashbrowns. Then, I fixed my hair and make-up, and went to walk around the mall and find an inexpensive baby gift. (This friend is so special that I'd like to take a time machine back to when we were a two-income household and have no limit on her new-baby-gift, but the financial situation warrants restraint.)
I found an entire rack of wonderful infant clothes marked down to $4.99. I chose a little pink three-piece outfit. It rang up $3.17 out the door. Regular price was $28.00.
The day would have been nearly perfect at this point if I had not been able to find one single item in the entire baby department made in the United States. Not. One. Item.
On the way out of the mall, Erica called to say she'd gotten her job. It's an amazing deal, and I'm so proud of her I could explode. I can't wait to take the train and visit her.
For the rest of the day, I held a 4 week old baby girl. The world seems so much more peaceful, and worries seem so much smaller when you can get hold onto a real life miracle for awhile.
I found an entire rack of wonderful infant clothes marked down to $4.99. I chose a little pink three-piece outfit. It rang up $3.17 out the door. Regular price was $28.00.
The day would have been nearly perfect at this point if I had not been able to find one single item in the entire baby department made in the United States. Not. One. Item.
On the way out of the mall, Erica called to say she'd gotten her job. It's an amazing deal, and I'm so proud of her I could explode. I can't wait to take the train and visit her.
For the rest of the day, I held a 4 week old baby girl. The world seems so much more peaceful, and worries seem so much smaller when you can get hold onto a real life miracle for awhile.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The one with a disappearing appendix and two interviews
This morning I was not only greeted with texted birthday sentiments, but also news that my sister had been taken in for emergency surgery. So of course the plans for the day were flexed a bit as would be expected. She is okay, and there is even a chance they'll release her tonight. I had a chance to run out and get her a balloon and some flowers (yikes! get-well gifts of that nature cost so much more near Valentine's Day... but I think she liked them.) Her appendix had decided to quit working and possibly begin to "leak." The fear was that it would rupture, or per chance had already done so. If the thing had already ruptured, she would not be able to get to the version of the surgery where they make three small holes and pull it out. The old school version has to be used if there is a rupture, and that involves a more hefty incision. But thankfully, the abridged version of the appendix extraction worked.
I had to leave the hospital by 1 pm for an interview. For a job today that I was shocked and horrified to find paid far less than 1/4 my old base annual salary before bonus, car, etc. etc. I have not earned that little since my junior year in high school. The weekly paychecks would literally be less than unemployment, which is not easy to live on while job searching anyhow. (But because we're lucky enough to have one of us still working, and I cashed out essentially every investment we had when I lost my job given the state of the economy, we can still eat and have the lights on. We're grateful for the littlest things these days...)
My other sister had a much better day than the one mentioned above. She had a job interview today too, for an amazing opportunity with a company in Chicago. She should hear from them by tomorrow either way.
And now, I'm off to birthday dinner with my family.
I had to leave the hospital by 1 pm for an interview. For a job today that I was shocked and horrified to find paid far less than 1/4 my old base annual salary before bonus, car, etc. etc. I have not earned that little since my junior year in high school. The weekly paychecks would literally be less than unemployment, which is not easy to live on while job searching anyhow. (But because we're lucky enough to have one of us still working, and I cashed out essentially every investment we had when I lost my job given the state of the economy, we can still eat and have the lights on. We're grateful for the littlest things these days...)
My other sister had a much better day than the one mentioned above. She had a job interview today too, for an amazing opportunity with a company in Chicago. She should hear from them by tomorrow either way.
And now, I'm off to birthday dinner with my family.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
The never ending journey, and funeral flip flops
I love our house. It's the perfect size. Not too big, not too small. It's big enough for any sort of family gathering we'd want to hose, but not so big that it's too difficult to keep up. It's big enough to raise a family in, but not so big that there won't be sharing rooms and fighting over toys.
The difficulty is the amount of details that are still left undone. It was a foreclosure home when we bought it. We expected tons of time, money, and elbow grease spent on this place. Lots of the things left to do such as staining and cutting more trim, possibly tiling over the formica countertop, and using chemicals to clean up the baseboards (from paint messes the last owners left, mostly,) are all better to do with warmer weather so that the windows can be open and some of the work can be done outside in the fresh air.
I remember my last bout with staining. I had huge cardboard boxes cut up into strips across the yard, covered in oak quarter round. It was quite a job. That was for only one room... Our great room and hallway do not have any trim around the edge of the new laminate yet.
Some days it's overwhelming. Those are usually the days I don't get anything done. Then the days that follow are a bit more frustrating than the days that preceded based on how much is still left to do.
But, on a good note, lots of organizing has commenced. I have a deadline of February 27th to get all the clothes and linens bagged for goodwill, and all closets and drawers cleaned out and perfect. I'm a good way there already. I'm going to take pictures of each room at the point when it's finally finished. Our bedroom will be first - all that is left there is to buy the nightstands and adjust the closet doors (if not replace them... They are horrid...)
If I had the time and money, I'd have changed all doors, closet doors, and baseboards in the whole house, as well as the tile that runs from the foyer through the walkway and then spreads out through the kitchen, dining room, pantry, and laundry room. I hate it. The worst part of it is it's very smooth tile, and it's more dangerous than I realized. Any amount of moisture on there and it's a slip and slide. (I've had a few injuries from this - one very serious that took a good year to heal. I can't share in detail in case you are squeamish... I will tell you I had a very broken toe. The rest of the injury you can imagine from that.) I ended up going to my grandmother's funeral in black glittery flip flops, because it's all that would work with my horrible bandaged toe. That was the most painful injury I've ever had.
The difficulty is the amount of details that are still left undone. It was a foreclosure home when we bought it. We expected tons of time, money, and elbow grease spent on this place. Lots of the things left to do such as staining and cutting more trim, possibly tiling over the formica countertop, and using chemicals to clean up the baseboards (from paint messes the last owners left, mostly,) are all better to do with warmer weather so that the windows can be open and some of the work can be done outside in the fresh air.
I remember my last bout with staining. I had huge cardboard boxes cut up into strips across the yard, covered in oak quarter round. It was quite a job. That was for only one room... Our great room and hallway do not have any trim around the edge of the new laminate yet.
Some days it's overwhelming. Those are usually the days I don't get anything done. Then the days that follow are a bit more frustrating than the days that preceded based on how much is still left to do.
But, on a good note, lots of organizing has commenced. I have a deadline of February 27th to get all the clothes and linens bagged for goodwill, and all closets and drawers cleaned out and perfect. I'm a good way there already. I'm going to take pictures of each room at the point when it's finally finished. Our bedroom will be first - all that is left there is to buy the nightstands and adjust the closet doors (if not replace them... They are horrid...)
If I had the time and money, I'd have changed all doors, closet doors, and baseboards in the whole house, as well as the tile that runs from the foyer through the walkway and then spreads out through the kitchen, dining room, pantry, and laundry room. I hate it. The worst part of it is it's very smooth tile, and it's more dangerous than I realized. Any amount of moisture on there and it's a slip and slide. (I've had a few injuries from this - one very serious that took a good year to heal. I can't share in detail in case you are squeamish... I will tell you I had a very broken toe. The rest of the injury you can imagine from that.) I ended up going to my grandmother's funeral in black glittery flip flops, because it's all that would work with my horrible bandaged toe. That was the most painful injury I've ever had.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Memory Lane Monday
This is a new idea I have. I've heard of "Meme Monday," but that's not really my style. So every Monday, I'm going to take a walk down memory lane and write about someone who has been part of my life. These will not be in any order. Not in importance, not chronologically, not logically. It will be based on someone who happened to cross my mind in the days preceeding. Some of them will still be around, some not. But the best part is, some of it will be funny, you can bet.
And now I give you the first Memory Lane Monday. The topic is the old friend from yesteryear I recently had the pleasure of finding a blog for, and finding she has built herself an amazing life with three babies, a husband, and great taste in music. (yes, I left her page open for awhile in the background to hear her song list...)
Suzy lived down the street from me as we grew up. We walked to school together many times before the school on the corner was closed, torn down, and replaced with new houses. Somewhere, I have a picture of us on the first day of school one year. (I wish I knew where that was - she'd laugh...)
We swam in her pool, played in her treehouse, and slept overnight in her parents' pop-up camper parked in the driveway. Her house had a real flag pole. (I always thought this was the coolest thing.)
She taught me a family recipe. They are called "meltwiches." You take one piece of bread, followed by the spread of your choice (I liked mustard), covered by a slice of lunch meat with the corners cut so it doesn't curl when heated, and finished with a slice of cheese. A few seconds in the microwave, and you have yourself a meltwich. I turn 33 the day after tomorrow, and I still do this.
Once we took an enormous bowl of popcorn, coloring books, and crayons to the racquetball court where her mother played racquetball. We had a great time, and even got to borrow a ball and a couple racquets ourselves to horse around with. We weren't very good at it. That seemed to make it even more fun.
Once, she had a birthday party in the summer. I ran barefoot through the yard and stepped in dog poop. In front of everyone. Her mom hosed my foot off. She actually apologized for it, which at the time I remember I was amazed by. I thought to myself, "heck, I was the stupid one who landed in the poo and created a mess, I should apologize...." I just thought everyone had a dog, and everyone had poo bombs to dodge in the yard at any given time. It was just part of life. That was the same party where everyone worked together to create a whirlpool in the round above ground pool, and the same party where I dove and hit my nose on the bottom. Thankfully nobody noticed.
She had a beautiful golden retriever. I think his name was Sparky, but I can't remember for sure. I had a cocker spaniel.
We played house in her basement. Sometimes boys would play the mother or the teacher, and girls would play the father or the policeman. I remember clearly the first time I realized this was the gameplan, and I questioned it. My friend gave me a thorough explanation that when it's PRETEND, it doesn't matter if you are a girl or a boy. This may have been my first lesson in tolerance and open-mindedness. I think I was 8 and she was 7.
We rode bikes and watched movies. Her mother read chapters from The Boxcar Children out loud at bedtime. I remember thinking it was so cool that her mom still read out loud even though everyone was old enough to read independently. It was fun. The chapters never lasted long enough, and I remember not caring if I hadn't heard the chapter before, and wishing she'd continue through the whole book. (BTW, Suzy just blogged about a story she reads to her children, which reminded me of hearing The Boxcar Children chapters as a child, and that whole train of thought is what lead to Memory Lane Mondays.)
Her mom made great cookies too. I think my mom's were my favorite, but her mom's were a super close second for sure.
Suzy had the prettiest "church dresses." My family went to church too, but we didn't dress up the same way. Her family was the first I knew to join hands around the table for grace before dinner. I decided one day at her house that I'd do it that way if I had children. I haven't had any, so I can't tell you for sure if we'll follow that custom.
And the funniest part for last. Well, funny for anyone reading. (Not funny for me....) My first truly horrifying moment of sheer embarassment happened at Suzy's house. Our houses were the same layout. There is a door that separates the kitchen (and the rest of the house) from a half bath, side door, garage door, and basement stairs. I was spending the night. We were camping in the living room, complete with sleeping bags. After getting hollered at several times to GO TO SLEEP, we nodded off. I woke up and had to use the bathroom. In effort (honestly) to not wake anyone up, I headed toward the half bath past the kitchen. It's the furthest from the bedrooms, and therefore the most polite thing to do if people are asleep. I often did the same thing in my own house. What I didn't know, was that door I mentioned was attached to the alarm system...
As soon as I turned the handle, the alarm rang. Now, given that I had the same door in my own house, and I was young, I didn't realize that I had caused the noise. I really believed that house alarms only connected to outside doors and windows, not doors in the middle of your floorplan. I believed this to be impossible. My first thought, and I remember this like it was yesterday, was that someone must be coming through one of the windows!
I ran back to our indoor campsite, but Suzy was already heading into her parents bedroom. I heard her, clear as a bell, say "It was Jaime. She didn't know she couldn't go that way." I froze. Panic ran through my veins. I did this? How? Were the police and fire trucks coming? Did I have to go home now? Then, only a fraction of a second has passed since the initial turning of the door handle, and Suzy's very angry father takes a run through the house to shut off the alarm. He looked exhausted and irritated. I thought for sure if I cried, I'd be sent home immediately. I fought the tears, and amidst the panic and fear and now growing embarassment, I started to giggle. Suzy gave me a stern look and told me it wasn't funny. I knew it wasn't funny. And yet, I giggled anyway. I think if I'd been their rightful child, I'd have been in serious trouble with the giggling. I felt horrible. And, I still had to pee. I was afraid to go at that point, and just went back to sleep and held it until morning.
I always wondered if her parents really disliked me after that incident. Shortly after, I wondered if I should write them an apology note. (A humorous aside - that idea was from a SOAP OPERA.) I never did. If they remember that day, I probably should apologize. But if they don't remember, I'd hate to remind them....
And now I give you the first Memory Lane Monday. The topic is the old friend from yesteryear I recently had the pleasure of finding a blog for, and finding she has built herself an amazing life with three babies, a husband, and great taste in music. (yes, I left her page open for awhile in the background to hear her song list...)
Suzy lived down the street from me as we grew up. We walked to school together many times before the school on the corner was closed, torn down, and replaced with new houses. Somewhere, I have a picture of us on the first day of school one year. (I wish I knew where that was - she'd laugh...)
We swam in her pool, played in her treehouse, and slept overnight in her parents' pop-up camper parked in the driveway. Her house had a real flag pole. (I always thought this was the coolest thing.)
She taught me a family recipe. They are called "meltwiches." You take one piece of bread, followed by the spread of your choice (I liked mustard), covered by a slice of lunch meat with the corners cut so it doesn't curl when heated, and finished with a slice of cheese. A few seconds in the microwave, and you have yourself a meltwich. I turn 33 the day after tomorrow, and I still do this.
Once we took an enormous bowl of popcorn, coloring books, and crayons to the racquetball court where her mother played racquetball. We had a great time, and even got to borrow a ball and a couple racquets ourselves to horse around with. We weren't very good at it. That seemed to make it even more fun.
Once, she had a birthday party in the summer. I ran barefoot through the yard and stepped in dog poop. In front of everyone. Her mom hosed my foot off. She actually apologized for it, which at the time I remember I was amazed by. I thought to myself, "heck, I was the stupid one who landed in the poo and created a mess, I should apologize...." I just thought everyone had a dog, and everyone had poo bombs to dodge in the yard at any given time. It was just part of life. That was the same party where everyone worked together to create a whirlpool in the round above ground pool, and the same party where I dove and hit my nose on the bottom. Thankfully nobody noticed.
She had a beautiful golden retriever. I think his name was Sparky, but I can't remember for sure. I had a cocker spaniel.
We played house in her basement. Sometimes boys would play the mother or the teacher, and girls would play the father or the policeman. I remember clearly the first time I realized this was the gameplan, and I questioned it. My friend gave me a thorough explanation that when it's PRETEND, it doesn't matter if you are a girl or a boy. This may have been my first lesson in tolerance and open-mindedness. I think I was 8 and she was 7.
We rode bikes and watched movies. Her mother read chapters from The Boxcar Children out loud at bedtime. I remember thinking it was so cool that her mom still read out loud even though everyone was old enough to read independently. It was fun. The chapters never lasted long enough, and I remember not caring if I hadn't heard the chapter before, and wishing she'd continue through the whole book. (BTW, Suzy just blogged about a story she reads to her children, which reminded me of hearing The Boxcar Children chapters as a child, and that whole train of thought is what lead to Memory Lane Mondays.)
Her mom made great cookies too. I think my mom's were my favorite, but her mom's were a super close second for sure.
Suzy had the prettiest "church dresses." My family went to church too, but we didn't dress up the same way. Her family was the first I knew to join hands around the table for grace before dinner. I decided one day at her house that I'd do it that way if I had children. I haven't had any, so I can't tell you for sure if we'll follow that custom.
And the funniest part for last. Well, funny for anyone reading. (Not funny for me....) My first truly horrifying moment of sheer embarassment happened at Suzy's house. Our houses were the same layout. There is a door that separates the kitchen (and the rest of the house) from a half bath, side door, garage door, and basement stairs. I was spending the night. We were camping in the living room, complete with sleeping bags. After getting hollered at several times to GO TO SLEEP, we nodded off. I woke up and had to use the bathroom. In effort (honestly) to not wake anyone up, I headed toward the half bath past the kitchen. It's the furthest from the bedrooms, and therefore the most polite thing to do if people are asleep. I often did the same thing in my own house. What I didn't know, was that door I mentioned was attached to the alarm system...
As soon as I turned the handle, the alarm rang. Now, given that I had the same door in my own house, and I was young, I didn't realize that I had caused the noise. I really believed that house alarms only connected to outside doors and windows, not doors in the middle of your floorplan. I believed this to be impossible. My first thought, and I remember this like it was yesterday, was that someone must be coming through one of the windows!
I ran back to our indoor campsite, but Suzy was already heading into her parents bedroom. I heard her, clear as a bell, say "It was Jaime. She didn't know she couldn't go that way." I froze. Panic ran through my veins. I did this? How? Were the police and fire trucks coming? Did I have to go home now? Then, only a fraction of a second has passed since the initial turning of the door handle, and Suzy's very angry father takes a run through the house to shut off the alarm. He looked exhausted and irritated. I thought for sure if I cried, I'd be sent home immediately. I fought the tears, and amidst the panic and fear and now growing embarassment, I started to giggle. Suzy gave me a stern look and told me it wasn't funny. I knew it wasn't funny. And yet, I giggled anyway. I think if I'd been their rightful child, I'd have been in serious trouble with the giggling. I felt horrible. And, I still had to pee. I was afraid to go at that point, and just went back to sleep and held it until morning.
I always wondered if her parents really disliked me after that incident. Shortly after, I wondered if I should write them an apology note. (A humorous aside - that idea was from a SOAP OPERA.) I never did. If they remember that day, I probably should apologize. But if they don't remember, I'd hate to remind them....
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