Grades are in.
Seven classes down.
4.0 average.
Five to go.
My brain is mush. It really needs to get back into shape by next Friday night, when my short-term course starts.
Thankfully, we'll be on a short vacation at the in-law's place soon. I need the easy access to running trails, coffee, and wine.
If all goes well, by this time next year, y'all will have to call me Master Mommy-Tracked. ;)
21 May 2008
14 May 2008
Wow. Just . . um, wow.
Let me preface this by saying that if I find out that any of my children do this in college, I'll throttle them for the profs.
I'm sitting here, on my lunch hour, frantically working on finishing my final project for marketing grad class presentation tonight.
Phone rings.
Undergraduate--who is not my student, btw: Um, hi.
Me: Hello, UC, can I help you?
Undergrad: Um, I heard that you have the capability to TiVo stuff.
---Aside: We do. We have three of 'em hooked up to record stuff for our news archive.---
Me: Well, what exactly are you looking for?
Undergrad: Well, um, like I'm working on my final project for a paper, and I need clips of the governor's races commercials. They are supposed to air for the first time, tonight. Can you clip those for me?
Me: Well, we do have TiVo, but we have it set up to clip items that we need for work. We don't have anyone on staff who can set this up for you right now. Currently, all of our student staff is gone. (This is true. The last techie left yesterday. We're slammed with work for commencement/board meeting. I'm not helping this guy out.)
Undergrad: Well, but I have no way to save those commercials to my computer.
Me: Sorry. I can't help you; there's no one here who can do the clips right now.
And I hung up.
This annoys me on three levels--
1) Who has the nerve to call an office out of the blue, on a long shot, and ask for a major favor like this? I don't know this guy from Adam. I might do it for a student I know and trust, but even then, I'm not trusting our glitchy TiVo setup to just anyone.
2) This guy acted like I would help him, if he just explained why he was in a hole. Not. My. Problem.
3) This guy should have, I don't know, PLANNED OUT a way to get the clips if they are so important to his paper.
I get that we are to be supportive and all, but I didn't bail my kindergartener out last night when he had to redo homework. I'm surely not saving some undergrad's skin when I'm frantically trying to do my work + my homework.
I'm sitting here, on my lunch hour, frantically working on finishing my final project for marketing grad class presentation tonight.
Phone rings.
Undergraduate--who is not my student, btw: Um, hi.
Me: Hello, UC, can I help you?
Undergrad: Um, I heard that you have the capability to TiVo stuff.
---Aside: We do. We have three of 'em hooked up to record stuff for our news archive.---
Me: Well, what exactly are you looking for?
Undergrad: Well, um, like I'm working on my final project for a paper, and I need clips of the governor's races commercials. They are supposed to air for the first time, tonight. Can you clip those for me?
Me: Well, we do have TiVo, but we have it set up to clip items that we need for work. We don't have anyone on staff who can set this up for you right now. Currently, all of our student staff is gone. (This is true. The last techie left yesterday. We're slammed with work for commencement/board meeting. I'm not helping this guy out.)
Undergrad: Well, but I have no way to save those commercials to my computer.
Me: Sorry. I can't help you; there's no one here who can do the clips right now.
And I hung up.
This annoys me on three levels--
1) Who has the nerve to call an office out of the blue, on a long shot, and ask for a major favor like this? I don't know this guy from Adam. I might do it for a student I know and trust, but even then, I'm not trusting our glitchy TiVo setup to just anyone.
2) This guy acted like I would help him, if he just explained why he was in a hole. Not. My. Problem.
3) This guy should have, I don't know, PLANNED OUT a way to get the clips if they are so important to his paper.
I get that we are to be supportive and all, but I didn't bail my kindergartener out last night when he had to redo homework. I'm surely not saving some undergrad's skin when I'm frantically trying to do my work + my homework.
09 May 2008
Miss Independent
My little one has become the most stubborn, willful, independent child in the past month.
She started pushing me away a month ago, when she told me, "I dwess myself" in the mornings. Then the morning snuggles stopped a few days later in favor of playing with her siblings. Then, she decided cuddling while watching TV was passe.
I love that she's becoming her own person, but darn it, I wasn't ready for this yet. I thought I had at least another year. Her brother was still having me dress him when he started kindergarten and I had to force him to dress himself.
I managed to persuade her to cuddle with me this morning for a few minutes, under the ruse of "help me wake Daddy." Those minutes were precious, because it showed to me how much she is growing up. She no longer easily fits curled into my body. She's half my height now (okay, that's not much, but still). She's a bouncy little kid, usually pretty cheerful, and well, she just doesn't want to need me much right now.
After months (years, really) of being clung to and needed, all three of my kids are pulling away at various degrees. My eldest was flirting with an old friend at a band concert last night (that's scary). My middle guy is proving that he's a perfectly capable person when it comes to doing things around the house (if he choses). My little one is practically shoving me out the door of her room most days (because, really, Miss Independent Fashionista doesn't need help).
It's bittersweet, I tell ya.
For Mother's Day, I want the following things: Art made by my munchkins, that I promise to frame and thirty-minutes of cuddle time with each of them -- with their undivided attention -- so I can enjoy those precious moments before they slip away completely from me.
She started pushing me away a month ago, when she told me, "I dwess myself" in the mornings. Then the morning snuggles stopped a few days later in favor of playing with her siblings. Then, she decided cuddling while watching TV was passe.
I love that she's becoming her own person, but darn it, I wasn't ready for this yet. I thought I had at least another year. Her brother was still having me dress him when he started kindergarten and I had to force him to dress himself.
I managed to persuade her to cuddle with me this morning for a few minutes, under the ruse of "help me wake Daddy." Those minutes were precious, because it showed to me how much she is growing up. She no longer easily fits curled into my body. She's half my height now (okay, that's not much, but still). She's a bouncy little kid, usually pretty cheerful, and well, she just doesn't want to need me much right now.
After months (years, really) of being clung to and needed, all three of my kids are pulling away at various degrees. My eldest was flirting with an old friend at a band concert last night (that's scary). My middle guy is proving that he's a perfectly capable person when it comes to doing things around the house (if he choses). My little one is practically shoving me out the door of her room most days (because, really, Miss Independent Fashionista doesn't need help).
It's bittersweet, I tell ya.
For Mother's Day, I want the following things: Art made by my munchkins, that I promise to frame and thirty-minutes of cuddle time with each of them -- with their undivided attention -- so I can enjoy those precious moments before they slip away completely from me.
03 May 2008
Prayers for friends
who lost their firstborn last week. He was due to be born in July.
Instead they will be having a funeral on Wednesday.
Sometimes, without knowing the rhyme or reason, life just sucks. How is it possible that teen starlets (I'm looking at you, Ms. Spears x 2) can have kids, and good people who would be great parents don't get the chance?
Instead they will be having a funeral on Wednesday.
Sometimes, without knowing the rhyme or reason, life just sucks. How is it possible that teen starlets (I'm looking at you, Ms. Spears x 2) can have kids, and good people who would be great parents don't get the chance?
25 April 2008
Political commentary: Baseball and Politics
Done by a friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous.
21 April 2008
Attack of the new screen door
It was a blissfully beautiful Saturday morning. I was making great progress getting ready for the son's birthday party with eight of his friends, ages 5-7. Dinosaur cake was good to go. Ice cream purchased.
I stepped out onto the porch to tell the eldest something. She was cleaning up the yard in preparation for the burial of plastic dinos in our sandbox. I turned back inside.
And learned that the newly installed screen door moves a lot faster than the old screen door.
Four hours at urgent care, 12 stitches, and much gratitude to my husband, my daughter and her friend, who herded the little boys for the first hour of the party, I managed to limp back and enjoy the rest of the day.
The party was a success. Our son proclaimed it "The best birthday ever!!!"
I'm still limping. And I'm hoping that door doesn't go all Stephen King-Christine on us. Let's just say I'm a lot more cautious around it now than I was Saturday at 10 a.m.
I stepped out onto the porch to tell the eldest something. She was cleaning up the yard in preparation for the burial of plastic dinos in our sandbox. I turned back inside.
And learned that the newly installed screen door moves a lot faster than the old screen door.
Four hours at urgent care, 12 stitches, and much gratitude to my husband, my daughter and her friend, who herded the little boys for the first hour of the party, I managed to limp back and enjoy the rest of the day.
The party was a success. Our son proclaimed it "The best birthday ever!!!"
I'm still limping. And I'm hoping that door doesn't go all Stephen King-Christine on us. Let's just say I'm a lot more cautious around it now than I was Saturday at 10 a.m.
16 April 2008
Too many hats
Right now, I think I'm going slightly nuts with the number of hats I'm wearing. Yesterday:
Mom hat in morning
Work hat after 8:30
Student hat at 1:30
Back to work hat at 2
Mom hat at 3:15
Freelancer hat at 4
Mom hat at 5
Student hat at 6
Mom hat at 7
Student hat at 8
Wife hat at 10
Sherrie hat at 11
Sleep.
Mom hat in morning
Work hat after 8:30
Student hat at 1:30
Back to work hat at 2
Mom hat at 3:15
Freelancer hat at 4
Mom hat at 5
Student hat at 6
Mom hat at 7
Student hat at 8
Wife hat at 10
Sherrie hat at 11
Sleep.
08 April 2008
Career guilt
It's time for some professional development, some professional bonding, and maybe a bit of networking to get outta SWMO.
In 24 hours, I'll be hanging with a bunch of people who are even more grammarian geeky than I am.
The American Copy Editors Society conference starts Thursday. I'm just glad to be with people who understand the entire concept of apostrophes, capitalization, and can debate the use of the serial (or Harvard) comma.
I have mixed feelings about going. It's the mom conundrum: I want to do something for me, for my career, and by extension, will better my family. But I don't want to miss my kids for three days, miss a soccer game, miss the possibility of my eldest winning a regional science fair award (she finds out on Thursday). I hate to leave hubby in a lurch, trying to get all three kids hither and yon on his own. I did ask my bro to help out (thanks, bro!), but I feel guilty that I did that.
I swear, does the guilt end? Ever? I'm trying to not feel guilty about this, because I know I shouldn't, and because my boss is (quite frankly) making me go to this. But I still feel guilty leaving my family because I won't be there to help make things go smoothly.
Heck, I know they'll survive. They can cook. Two of the four people normally in the house know how to operate the stove and can do laundry. But I know how much harder it is with just one parent there, and I hate leaving hubby to juggle it all on his own, even for a few days.
I hate knowing I won't be there to fix the hurts, the slights, and help with homework. I won't be there to cheer on the eldest at either the game or the science thing.
In 24 hours, I'll be hanging with a bunch of people who are even more grammarian geeky than I am.
The American Copy Editors Society conference starts Thursday. I'm just glad to be with people who understand the entire concept of apostrophes, capitalization, and can debate the use of the serial (or Harvard) comma.
I have mixed feelings about going. It's the mom conundrum: I want to do something for me, for my career, and by extension, will better my family. But I don't want to miss my kids for three days, miss a soccer game, miss the possibility of my eldest winning a regional science fair award (she finds out on Thursday). I hate to leave hubby in a lurch, trying to get all three kids hither and yon on his own. I did ask my bro to help out (thanks, bro!), but I feel guilty that I did that.
I swear, does the guilt end? Ever? I'm trying to not feel guilty about this, because I know I shouldn't, and because my boss is (quite frankly) making me go to this. But I still feel guilty leaving my family because I won't be there to help make things go smoothly.
Heck, I know they'll survive. They can cook. Two of the four people normally in the house know how to operate the stove and can do laundry. But I know how much harder it is with just one parent there, and I hate leaving hubby to juggle it all on his own, even for a few days.
I hate knowing I won't be there to fix the hurts, the slights, and help with homework. I won't be there to cheer on the eldest at either the game or the science thing.
04 April 2008
25 March 2008
Slingbacks, candy and other things
Kids can be like living with a Vulcan. You can have a reasonable explanation for something, but if it isn't linear logic, you'll lose the battle.
Point No. 1:
We're rushing to get to church on Friday night. I shout that the kids should have shoes and socks on and get in the car. My three-year-old looks at me, wearing her white patent dress shoes and no socks, points at my feet, currently shod in black slingbacks (sans socks or hose, of course), and says: "You not wearing socks."
We were late. I wasn't even going to try to explain fashion to a three-year-old. I let her go sans socks.
Point No. 2:
It doesn't matter how many times you tell the eldest that she should leave the easy candy (as in, the candy on the ground) for her younger siblings. If she sees it Easter morning, it is hers.
Point No. 3:
It doesn't matter that you are putting the finishing touches on Easter dinner. If the three-year-old wants to lug her basket around the house and gorge, there's not much you can do that won't result in a screaming tantrum over sugar.
Point No. 4:
It doesn't matter how many bribes, begging lectures, cheers, and discussions you can have about poop with a three-year-old. It will be the weirdest thing that you never thought of that will finally get through her head and result in her being fully potty trained.
In our case, it was the fact that another kid at daycare got an ink stamp for pooping on the potty. Kid 3 wanted one, too. The teacher didn't cave, but told her to go poop, and she'd get one. Boom. That's it. She walks in the bathroom, does her thing, and then continues to do it for the rest of the weekend.
Never in a million years would I have thought an ink stamp on her hand would be the thing that convinced her to do her duty.
Sheesh.
Point No. 1:
We're rushing to get to church on Friday night. I shout that the kids should have shoes and socks on and get in the car. My three-year-old looks at me, wearing her white patent dress shoes and no socks, points at my feet, currently shod in black slingbacks (sans socks or hose, of course), and says: "You not wearing socks."
We were late. I wasn't even going to try to explain fashion to a three-year-old. I let her go sans socks.
Point No. 2:
It doesn't matter how many times you tell the eldest that she should leave the easy candy (as in, the candy on the ground) for her younger siblings. If she sees it Easter morning, it is hers.
Point No. 3:
It doesn't matter that you are putting the finishing touches on Easter dinner. If the three-year-old wants to lug her basket around the house and gorge, there's not much you can do that won't result in a screaming tantrum over sugar.
Point No. 4:
It doesn't matter how many bribes, begging lectures, cheers, and discussions you can have about poop with a three-year-old. It will be the weirdest thing that you never thought of that will finally get through her head and result in her being fully potty trained.
In our case, it was the fact that another kid at daycare got an ink stamp for pooping on the potty. Kid 3 wanted one, too. The teacher didn't cave, but told her to go poop, and she'd get one. Boom. That's it. She walks in the bathroom, does her thing, and then continues to do it for the rest of the weekend.
Never in a million years would I have thought an ink stamp on her hand would be the thing that convinced her to do her duty.
Sheesh.
19 March 2008
Oh, and the cosmic kick me sign needs to come off.
Not only did my basement flood, but I got a call from my administrative assistant at 5 yesterday.
At first she asked how my day was (knowing I was battling with Lake Mommy-Tracked in the basement). Then she informed that it was a good thing I wasn't at work yesterday, because two ceiling tiles came crashing down on my desk. There is a leak in a window on the second story, and apparently the low spot in the subfloor is over my desk. Lucky me.
that was sarcasm
I can now see into my building's heating system and despite the best efforts of our janitor, I'm still finding gympsum bits all over my desk and paperwork.
Really, I'm starting to think God is trying to tell me something.
At first she asked how my day was (knowing I was battling with Lake Mommy-Tracked in the basement). Then she informed that it was a good thing I wasn't at work yesterday, because two ceiling tiles came crashing down on my desk. There is a leak in a window on the second story, and apparently the low spot in the subfloor is over my desk. Lucky me.
that was sarcasm
I can now see into my building's heating system and despite the best efforts of our janitor, I'm still finding gympsum bits all over my desk and paperwork.
Really, I'm starting to think God is trying to tell me something.
Welcome to Lake Mommy-Tracked
dock your boat right over there, please.
Oy. Rain is good, but not in the amounts we've been getting.
If you've seen the news, you know that torrential rain hit the Ozarks yesterday.
We at Mommy-Tracked were a bit busy trying to keep our basement from becoming a lake. Yes, we live on a hill, but the water table is now so high that the torrential rains not only filled our crawlspace, but also sent water cascading through our basement at a rate of more than 2.5/gal a minute at times. (Yes, I timed it. My Shop-Vac holds 2.5 gallons, and I was swapping it out every minute there for a while.)
Lake Mommy-Tracked is now at a manageable level--as in a huge puddle under the pool table. I've never been more thankful for the icky linoleum that is in that basement than I was yesterday. It is fairly indestructible.
We managed to save pretty much everything. Our only losses were a few baseball posters, the dog's bed, and all of my Missourian clips. Sadly, I'll no longer be able to read over the details of Ray Beck and Woody Cozad through my own news stories. All in all, not a horrid loss, especially considering some of the damage folks are facing today.
That said, if you have an ark, we might need it. More rain is predicted for the weekend.
Oy. Rain is good, but not in the amounts we've been getting.
If you've seen the news, you know that torrential rain hit the Ozarks yesterday.
We at Mommy-Tracked were a bit busy trying to keep our basement from becoming a lake. Yes, we live on a hill, but the water table is now so high that the torrential rains not only filled our crawlspace, but also sent water cascading through our basement at a rate of more than 2.5/gal a minute at times. (Yes, I timed it. My Shop-Vac holds 2.5 gallons, and I was swapping it out every minute there for a while.)
Lake Mommy-Tracked is now at a manageable level--as in a huge puddle under the pool table. I've never been more thankful for the icky linoleum that is in that basement than I was yesterday. It is fairly indestructible.
We managed to save pretty much everything. Our only losses were a few baseball posters, the dog's bed, and all of my Missourian clips. Sadly, I'll no longer be able to read over the details of Ray Beck and Woody Cozad through my own news stories. All in all, not a horrid loss, especially considering some of the damage folks are facing today.
That said, if you have an ark, we might need it. More rain is predicted for the weekend.
12 March 2008
We're back
I'm just swamped. Work, school, family life. It is chaos. Soccer started. NCAA Div. II rounds of b-ball hosted here. Paper due. Too.Much.To.Do.
And yet, the best thing ever was coming home. Our kids wouldn't let us out of their sights. My husband was hugged by our son. Twice. He never does that.
I think they missed us. And that's nice. They drive us nuts, but apparently we are better than grandma and grandpa, and they love us to pieces, even if they don't show it all the time.
And yet, the best thing ever was coming home. Our kids wouldn't let us out of their sights. My husband was hugged by our son. Twice. He never does that.
I think they missed us. And that's nice. They drive us nuts, but apparently we are better than grandma and grandpa, and they love us to pieces, even if they don't show it all the time.
05 March 2008
We're off!
Headed to the Big Apple and areas thereof for the divine Ms. G's wedding.
See y'all next week.
Pray that the kids don't drive the grandparents loopy.
See y'all next week.
Pray that the kids don't drive the grandparents loopy.
27 February 2008
Overheard
I give you a one-act play: Misinterpretation by a Three-Year-Old
Context: Our youngest still is resisting the potty for No. 2. We had some success, but we've backtracked. To the point that we are now stirring Miralax in her juice to prevent her from holding it for a week or more. We can tell she's holding it because she stuffs her hands down the back of her pants and holds her cheeks together. And walks around like that. It would be funnier if it weren't so frustrating.
Setting: Hubby and I are upstairs working and watching TV. Kids are downstairs eating snack.
Middle child, age 5: Hey, do you have to go to the bathroom?
Younger child, age 3 (presumably with hands down back of pants): No. I fine.
Middle child: Are you sure? You look like you need to poop.
Younger child: NO! I NOT NEED POOP!
(cue parents upstairs valiantly trying not to laugh)
Middle child: It looks like you need to poop. You shouldn't hold it in like that.
Younger child: I fine. I not holding it. See, my hands are cwean!!!
(cue parents, losing battle not to laugh upstairs, and realizing they need to be a lot more specific in their wording with the youngest.)
Yup. It's been fun. Who said being a parent wasn't great? Riiiiiight.
I'm betting no one else in my grad class had to disinfect a tub that had been pooped in last night before proofing a research paper.
She'll figure this out, right? Right?
Context: Our youngest still is resisting the potty for No. 2. We had some success, but we've backtracked. To the point that we are now stirring Miralax in her juice to prevent her from holding it for a week or more. We can tell she's holding it because she stuffs her hands down the back of her pants and holds her cheeks together. And walks around like that. It would be funnier if it weren't so frustrating.
Setting: Hubby and I are upstairs working and watching TV. Kids are downstairs eating snack.
Middle child, age 5: Hey, do you have to go to the bathroom?
Younger child, age 3 (presumably with hands down back of pants): No. I fine.
Middle child: Are you sure? You look like you need to poop.
Younger child: NO! I NOT NEED POOP!
(cue parents upstairs valiantly trying not to laugh)
Middle child: It looks like you need to poop. You shouldn't hold it in like that.
Younger child: I fine. I not holding it. See, my hands are cwean!!!
(cue parents, losing battle not to laugh upstairs, and realizing they need to be a lot more specific in their wording with the youngest.)
Yup. It's been fun. Who said being a parent wasn't great? Riiiiiight.
I'm betting no one else in my grad class had to disinfect a tub that had been pooped in last night before proofing a research paper.
She'll figure this out, right? Right?
19 February 2008
Into the ether
that seems to be where some of my posts went. I can see them, but you guys can't.
Let me know if you can read anything after Eulogy, 'kay?
Let me know if you can read anything after Eulogy, 'kay?
12 February 2008
I HATE winter
We have ice. Again. There's a tree down in our back yard, a tree looming over our house, and branches everywhere.
We just bloody did this, and now we have to clean up the mess again.
Groan.
We just bloody did this, and now we have to clean up the mess again.
Groan.
08 February 2008
What happened in Kirkwood last night
could happen anywhere.
The tragedy isn't as unlikely as you might think, as any city council reporter could tell you.
In my younger reporting days, I'd seen more than a few city council gadflies who seemed around the bend. They'd get up, rant for quite a while, until someone from the council, usually the mayor or city attorney, managed to cut them off. Some cities imposed time limits during public comment just to make sure they had a legal way to shut the mikes off.
Honestly, I'm not surprised this happened. I was stalked by a gadfly who was convinced I was the answer to all of his troubles, if only I'd listen to him and his issues. And not that he didn't have issues or a justifiable complaint, but it wasn't truly news. Or verifyable.
Quite frankly, the fact that he was convinced the power lines in town were a form of mind control impugned his credibility. In that case, the very police I was investigating escorted my pregnant self from City Hall to my car twice a month after meetings. It was only about 50 steps, but this guy would stalk my every step, then try to follow me home. I had cops sitting near me in meetings to protect me. I didn't ask for it, but they didn't trust him, and they worried about me, even though I was doing investigative reporting on their department, which was in the midst of a horrible scandal.
I'm not sure what the answer is, but know this: Every elected official takes a risk by putting themselves out there on the dais to make decisions. Some people take those decisions much, much, much too seriously. When that happens, the potential for a mass shooting in a council chamber is there.
The tragedy isn't as unlikely as you might think, as any city council reporter could tell you.
In my younger reporting days, I'd seen more than a few city council gadflies who seemed around the bend. They'd get up, rant for quite a while, until someone from the council, usually the mayor or city attorney, managed to cut them off. Some cities imposed time limits during public comment just to make sure they had a legal way to shut the mikes off.
Honestly, I'm not surprised this happened. I was stalked by a gadfly who was convinced I was the answer to all of his troubles, if only I'd listen to him and his issues. And not that he didn't have issues or a justifiable complaint, but it wasn't truly news. Or verifyable.
Quite frankly, the fact that he was convinced the power lines in town were a form of mind control impugned his credibility. In that case, the very police I was investigating escorted my pregnant self from City Hall to my car twice a month after meetings. It was only about 50 steps, but this guy would stalk my every step, then try to follow me home. I had cops sitting near me in meetings to protect me. I didn't ask for it, but they didn't trust him, and they worried about me, even though I was doing investigative reporting on their department, which was in the midst of a horrible scandal.
I'm not sure what the answer is, but know this: Every elected official takes a risk by putting themselves out there on the dais to make decisions. Some people take those decisions much, much, much too seriously. When that happens, the potential for a mass shooting in a council chamber is there.
07 February 2008
Oh, how I hate the carpool line
I rarely pick the kids up in the carpool line. We pay for aftercare; I work until 5.
But today, we had an appointment, so I had to pick the eldest up in the line.
I get that some parents get there 30 minutes early to be first in line. I tried to do that today, but alas, I was only 15 minutes early, and thus 10th in line. No biggie.
But man alive, I HATE the parents and grandparents who think they are more important or more rushed than the rest of us. The line is supposed to circle around the perimeter of the playground, out the gate, then north on the street.
We had parents pulling in and parking in the middle of the semicircle. We had them parking three deep in the middle of the semicircle, which makes it dangerous to even pull up in the semicircle when they are trying to unwedge their cars and get out before the rest of us.
I saw one woman squeeze her huge Dodge Durango in a spot wayyyy too small for her car. Still not sure how she didn't manage to clip either car in front or behind her. Then she nearly clipped the person who was first in the line and trying to pull out as Ms. Dodge was backing up to rush out of the lot.
Seriously, the whole line moves through in 15 minutes, tops. Usually when I do carpool line, I come 15 minutes after school is out, because the line is gone and I can wing in and wing out. Alas, today, our appointment was at 3:30, and we'd not be able to pull it off if I'd not gotten there right as school let out.
What are you teaching your kids, presumably at a Catholic school to learn values and ethics, when you place yourself, your time, and your safety (not to mention the safety of other people's children) ahead of others at all costs?
But today, we had an appointment, so I had to pick the eldest up in the line.
I get that some parents get there 30 minutes early to be first in line. I tried to do that today, but alas, I was only 15 minutes early, and thus 10th in line. No biggie.
But man alive, I HATE the parents and grandparents who think they are more important or more rushed than the rest of us. The line is supposed to circle around the perimeter of the playground, out the gate, then north on the street.
We had parents pulling in and parking in the middle of the semicircle. We had them parking three deep in the middle of the semicircle, which makes it dangerous to even pull up in the semicircle when they are trying to unwedge their cars and get out before the rest of us.
I saw one woman squeeze her huge Dodge Durango in a spot wayyyy too small for her car. Still not sure how she didn't manage to clip either car in front or behind her. Then she nearly clipped the person who was first in the line and trying to pull out as Ms. Dodge was backing up to rush out of the lot.
Seriously, the whole line moves through in 15 minutes, tops. Usually when I do carpool line, I come 15 minutes after school is out, because the line is gone and I can wing in and wing out. Alas, today, our appointment was at 3:30, and we'd not be able to pull it off if I'd not gotten there right as school let out.
What are you teaching your kids, presumably at a Catholic school to learn values and ethics, when you place yourself, your time, and your safety (not to mention the safety of other people's children) ahead of others at all costs?
05 February 2008
Legacy
Walking into the Catholic church where I've spent many a major family event, where I spent Sundays as a kid with my grandparents in the front pew on the right-hand side, in the church where just eight months ago one of my cousins was married, I followed my grandmother's casket.
Standing there in the pew, looking around at my family, I was thinking about the legacy she and my grandfather left behind.
Six children.
Sixteen grandchildren.
Eleven great-grandchildren.
All good people. We have our problems, like any family. We have our difficulties with each other. But we are all strong, confident, trustworthy people. Every one of us you can rely on in a pinch.
I looked at my sister and our other female cousins and saw a group of strong, confident women. Each one of us has a different profession, from homemaker to engineer to nurse to teacher and everything in between. But we are all, each one of us, confident at what we do and who we are.
I looked at my brother and our male cousins and saw a bunch of guys who I would trust with my life. Each one of them, in his own way, is the type of guy you'd want your sister to marry. (There are still a few single ones, folks. :)
But the best legacy my grandparents left was laughter.
We are a family who teases constantly. In any situation. That can take outsiders a bit to get used to. I'm pretty sure that most receiving lines at funerals do not have people telling the bereaved: "I'm so sorry. Truly. Very sorry you have to stand next to him." (Insert person pointing at one of my mom's brothers, the one who is the family cut-up; his friends are very like him.)
Sitting in the funeral home's family room, trying to help my youngest cousin write a eulogy, all 16 of us were laughing like loons at our memories of our grandparents.
The cookies hidden in the Tupperware container in the dryer.
The fact that my grandmother would mix both chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies together, so well disguised that you couldn't tell the difference. You had to take the first one you picked. I was unnaturally good at picking the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies -- they are slightly flatter than the raisin ones.
My grandmother chasing the dogs away from Easter eggs so the younger grandkids could actually find a few.
My grandparents loved to laugh. And they passed that ability along to all of us. Somehow, I think that's among one of the better legacies they could have left to us.
So, in honor of Tillie and Bill, do me a favor: Laugh with someone you love today.
Standing there in the pew, looking around at my family, I was thinking about the legacy she and my grandfather left behind.
Six children.
Sixteen grandchildren.
Eleven great-grandchildren.
All good people. We have our problems, like any family. We have our difficulties with each other. But we are all strong, confident, trustworthy people. Every one of us you can rely on in a pinch.
I looked at my sister and our other female cousins and saw a group of strong, confident women. Each one of us has a different profession, from homemaker to engineer to nurse to teacher and everything in between. But we are all, each one of us, confident at what we do and who we are.
I looked at my brother and our male cousins and saw a bunch of guys who I would trust with my life. Each one of them, in his own way, is the type of guy you'd want your sister to marry. (There are still a few single ones, folks. :)
But the best legacy my grandparents left was laughter.
We are a family who teases constantly. In any situation. That can take outsiders a bit to get used to. I'm pretty sure that most receiving lines at funerals do not have people telling the bereaved: "I'm so sorry. Truly. Very sorry you have to stand next to him." (Insert person pointing at one of my mom's brothers, the one who is the family cut-up; his friends are very like him.)
Sitting in the funeral home's family room, trying to help my youngest cousin write a eulogy, all 16 of us were laughing like loons at our memories of our grandparents.
The cookies hidden in the Tupperware container in the dryer.
The fact that my grandmother would mix both chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies together, so well disguised that you couldn't tell the difference. You had to take the first one you picked. I was unnaturally good at picking the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies -- they are slightly flatter than the raisin ones.
My grandmother chasing the dogs away from Easter eggs so the younger grandkids could actually find a few.
My grandparents loved to laugh. And they passed that ability along to all of us. Somehow, I think that's among one of the better legacies they could have left to us.
So, in honor of Tillie and Bill, do me a favor: Laugh with someone you love today.
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