Happy holidays from the Friends of Spidey. More later!
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Sunday, December 09, 2007
So are the days of my life
First, there was Halloween. And lo, my kids were cute! They were so cute, in fact, that I was getting ready to come here and tell the entire Internet about how cute they were. I was even going to provide photographic evidence of their cuteness. But, since we cannot have everything in this life, a virus ate my computer. Ah, viruses: the e-mail forwards that keep on giving. My computer was functioning quite normally all day Saturday (way back in November, this was, the first weekend after Halloween), and suddenly pop-ups starting appearing with amazing frequency, and some scanning revealed that my computer had more viruses than Boy Wonder got in the winter of 2004/2005, when we were at the doctor's office every other damn week. Instead of blathering on about my adorable children, I needed to back up photos of said adorable children (along with any other photos within a twelve-mile radius, my homework, my freelance work, and two years' worth of e-mail) and reinstall EVERYTHING. All hail the holy flash drive, which I borrowed from my dad and have yet to return. At some point during the festivities, rap music came blaring out of my speakers. This (the backup/reinstall, not the rap music) put quite a damper on computer-related festivities for a while.
Then, there was Thanksgiving! I am seriously considering assembling snack platters and cooking turkey more frequently, if such will make Boy Wonder (normally a touch fussy) eat with the gusto that he did on Thanksgiving. I meant to blog about Thanksgiving too, but there was homework to do, and there were things to do around the house, and there is also Action Hero, who every day accomplishes great feats of physical dexterity (see below).
And then, there was...sewage! Charming Bungalow, like many old houses, seems to really enjoy knocking us for a loop every once in a while. (Bats in the attic! Bat in the basement! Birds in the eaves! Mice in the garage!) However, the most recent house-related event, in which foul-smelling water rose through the basement floor drain whenever I did a load of laundry, takes the prize at the country fair (so far, anyway). It also wins the Totally Most Inconvenient Prize, since I do a LOT of laundry. More details are coming soon; for now, things have been cleared up via Roto-Rooter. I celebrated by doing eight loads of laundry today.
And now, relative calm has returned. For the moment, the drains are functioning properly. My semester is almost over (final on Tuesday), so homework will drift softly over the horizon line, ready to reappear in January but blessedly absent for the holidays. My children are still climbing the walls (and the furniture), but are also lots of fun, and the elder of said children is beside himself with holiday excitement most of the time. May we continue living in wildly uninteresting times.
Then, there was Thanksgiving! I am seriously considering assembling snack platters and cooking turkey more frequently, if such will make Boy Wonder (normally a touch fussy) eat with the gusto that he did on Thanksgiving. I meant to blog about Thanksgiving too, but there was homework to do, and there were things to do around the house, and there is also Action Hero, who every day accomplishes great feats of physical dexterity (see below).
And then, there was...sewage! Charming Bungalow, like many old houses, seems to really enjoy knocking us for a loop every once in a while. (Bats in the attic! Bat in the basement! Birds in the eaves! Mice in the garage!) However, the most recent house-related event, in which foul-smelling water rose through the basement floor drain whenever I did a load of laundry, takes the prize at the country fair (so far, anyway). It also wins the Totally Most Inconvenient Prize, since I do a LOT of laundry. More details are coming soon; for now, things have been cleared up via Roto-Rooter. I celebrated by doing eight loads of laundry today.
And now, relative calm has returned. For the moment, the drains are functioning properly. My semester is almost over (final on Tuesday), so homework will drift softly over the horizon line, ready to reappear in January but blessedly absent for the holidays. My children are still climbing the walls (and the furniture), but are also lots of fun, and the elder of said children is beside himself with holiday excitement most of the time. May we continue living in wildly uninteresting times.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
I want candy
Sort of. Only certain kinds of candy, though.
This just in: Boy Wonder has received his first Pez dispenser. His latest October-birthday classmate (there are 10 kids in his class, and FOUR of them have birthdays in October) brought in party favor bags on Tuesday, and they were a Boy Wonder dream: a Spiderman cup, a Halloween pencil, fruit-flavored candy, Tootsie Rolls ("For you, Mommy!") a couple of other Spiderman toys, and a Halloween Pez dispenser. (We thought it was a Black-Suited Spiderman Pez dispenser for a minute, but it's just a black skeleton.)
Boy howdy, does he ever like Pez. Before I knew it, he had scarfed down a whole package of them. I thought he was playing with the dispenser as he chattered away, but then he said, "Those sure were good, Mommy! Can I have another package?" I had been doing the nod-and-smile thing, saying "Uh-huh" every few minutes as he expounded upon topics such as Halloween, Spiderman, who else in his class is going to be Spiderman for Halloween, when trick-or-treating will be, Spiderman, wanting to find his pencil sharpener, and Spiderman, and said, "Uh-huh...WAIT, WHAT? NO YOU CAN'T! Give me that Pez dispenser!" It was shelved until after dinner tonight, when he was permitted to eat four Pez (since he is four years old, he likes his snacks in groups of four). Hey, we'll be trick-or-treating on Sunday. Soon, there will be enough sugar around for ten people.
Of course, I'll get to eat half of it (or my coworkers will get to eat half of it). I don't think I've mentioned this here before, but Boy Wonder is anti-chocolate. I think it's a texture thing; my mother used to keep those little Hershey candy bars in her cookie jar, and two-year-old Boy Wonder was fascinated by all those shiny, pretty wrappers. So she gave him a bit of chocolate, and he put it in his mouth, looked horrified, and said, "Grandma, chocolate is HOT." She tried explaining to him that chocolate GETS hot when it is in our mouths, and that's called melting, but he was having none of it. And since then, he has had none of it.
Not that he's anti-candy, or anti-sweets. His favorite candy is Smarties, and he's quite fond of the astonishing array of fruit-flavored snacks available in grocery stores today, all branded with favorite cartoon characters guaranteed to make your child take fifteen minutes to decide if he wants to bring Ninja Turtled, Spiderman, Scooby-Doo, Backyardigans, Dora the Explorer, SpongeBob, Care Bears, or Sesame Street snacks to daycare for his birthday treat. (One box of Ninja Turtles and one box of Scooby-Doo, in case you're interested.) Basically, if it's fruit-flavored and can be chewed, he likes it. (This does not apply to lollipops; he also had his first lollipop when he was around two, licked it once, and then stuck it to the side of his neck.) He loves vanilla ice cream, likes Rice Krispie treats (bleargh), and he likes cheesecake (Dragon is particularly proud of this last preference). He also likes cake frosting (this works OK; he eats the frosting, I eat the cake).
Action Hero, so far, has no such preferences. Sure, he likes vanilla ice cream, frosting, and Smarties; he also likes whatever else is not nailed down. This will likely be challenging on Halloween; we may have to institute a rationing system.
This just in: Boy Wonder has received his first Pez dispenser. His latest October-birthday classmate (there are 10 kids in his class, and FOUR of them have birthdays in October) brought in party favor bags on Tuesday, and they were a Boy Wonder dream: a Spiderman cup, a Halloween pencil, fruit-flavored candy, Tootsie Rolls ("For you, Mommy!") a couple of other Spiderman toys, and a Halloween Pez dispenser. (We thought it was a Black-Suited Spiderman Pez dispenser for a minute, but it's just a black skeleton.)
Boy howdy, does he ever like Pez. Before I knew it, he had scarfed down a whole package of them. I thought he was playing with the dispenser as he chattered away, but then he said, "Those sure were good, Mommy! Can I have another package?" I had been doing the nod-and-smile thing, saying "Uh-huh" every few minutes as he expounded upon topics such as Halloween, Spiderman, who else in his class is going to be Spiderman for Halloween, when trick-or-treating will be, Spiderman, wanting to find his pencil sharpener, and Spiderman, and said, "Uh-huh...WAIT, WHAT? NO YOU CAN'T! Give me that Pez dispenser!" It was shelved until after dinner tonight, when he was permitted to eat four Pez (since he is four years old, he likes his snacks in groups of four). Hey, we'll be trick-or-treating on Sunday. Soon, there will be enough sugar around for ten people.
Of course, I'll get to eat half of it (or my coworkers will get to eat half of it). I don't think I've mentioned this here before, but Boy Wonder is anti-chocolate. I think it's a texture thing; my mother used to keep those little Hershey candy bars in her cookie jar, and two-year-old Boy Wonder was fascinated by all those shiny, pretty wrappers. So she gave him a bit of chocolate, and he put it in his mouth, looked horrified, and said, "Grandma, chocolate is HOT." She tried explaining to him that chocolate GETS hot when it is in our mouths, and that's called melting, but he was having none of it. And since then, he has had none of it.
Not that he's anti-candy, or anti-sweets. His favorite candy is Smarties, and he's quite fond of the astonishing array of fruit-flavored snacks available in grocery stores today, all branded with favorite cartoon characters guaranteed to make your child take fifteen minutes to decide if he wants to bring Ninja Turtled, Spiderman, Scooby-Doo, Backyardigans, Dora the Explorer, SpongeBob, Care Bears, or Sesame Street snacks to daycare for his birthday treat. (One box of Ninja Turtles and one box of Scooby-Doo, in case you're interested.) Basically, if it's fruit-flavored and can be chewed, he likes it. (This does not apply to lollipops; he also had his first lollipop when he was around two, licked it once, and then stuck it to the side of his neck.) He loves vanilla ice cream, likes Rice Krispie treats (bleargh), and he likes cheesecake (Dragon is particularly proud of this last preference). He also likes cake frosting (this works OK; he eats the frosting, I eat the cake).
Action Hero, so far, has no such preferences. Sure, he likes vanilla ice cream, frosting, and Smarties; he also likes whatever else is not nailed down. This will likely be challenging on Halloween; we may have to institute a rationing system.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Thy rod and thy staph, they comfort me
Wait, hang on a second. There is not, in fact, a rod involved in this story. I wish I could say the same about the staph. Which, actually, is quite the opposite of comforting. This post title really has nothing to do with the post topic. However, I couldn't immediately think of another well-known phrase in which "staph" could be inserted so readily.
Sign at the daycare on Monday: "We have had one case of Staph Infection in Your Child's Classroom. Please watch for rashes or sores, and see your pediatrician if you have any questions." Unfortunately, Action Hero's classroom is prime territory for such a thing; the toddlers are both drooly and mobile.
Sign at the daycare on Tuesday: "We have had two cases of Staph Infection in Your Child's Classroom. Please watch for rashes or sores, and see your pediatrician if you have any questions."
On Wednesday afternoon, upon removing Action Hero from his carseat, I noticed that the corners of his mouth seemed irritated, and hoped against all hope that it was just because of the extra drool sparkling against them (he's cutting his eighth tooth right now). However, by bedtime, they were looking downright sore-ish. I spent some time cross-referencing "staph" and "mouth sores" with Dr. Google, concluding that if they were indeed sores, they were most likely impetigo, a bacterial skin infection which would need a course of antibiotic ointment.
And indeed, there were definite sores this morning, so we paid a visit to the real live doctor, who diagnosed impetigo and provided (free!) samples of the needed ointment, which should put things right by the weekend. Technically, it probably is a staph infection; impetigo can be caused by either staph bacteria or strep bacteria, and considering the signs at the daycare, my money's on staph. Meanwhile, I have talked with Boy Wonder about the importance of not sharing drinking glasses or treats with Action Hero, and made a note to stop at the drugstore for some bleach.
I can't think of anything further to say, except a resounding, "Yuck."
Sign at the daycare on Monday: "We have had one case of Staph Infection in Your Child's Classroom. Please watch for rashes or sores, and see your pediatrician if you have any questions." Unfortunately, Action Hero's classroom is prime territory for such a thing; the toddlers are both drooly and mobile.
Sign at the daycare on Tuesday: "We have had two cases of Staph Infection in Your Child's Classroom. Please watch for rashes or sores, and see your pediatrician if you have any questions."
On Wednesday afternoon, upon removing Action Hero from his carseat, I noticed that the corners of his mouth seemed irritated, and hoped against all hope that it was just because of the extra drool sparkling against them (he's cutting his eighth tooth right now). However, by bedtime, they were looking downright sore-ish. I spent some time cross-referencing "staph" and "mouth sores" with Dr. Google, concluding that if they were indeed sores, they were most likely impetigo, a bacterial skin infection which would need a course of antibiotic ointment.
And indeed, there were definite sores this morning, so we paid a visit to the real live doctor, who diagnosed impetigo and provided (free!) samples of the needed ointment, which should put things right by the weekend. Technically, it probably is a staph infection; impetigo can be caused by either staph bacteria or strep bacteria, and considering the signs at the daycare, my money's on staph. Meanwhile, I have talked with Boy Wonder about the importance of not sharing drinking glasses or treats with Action Hero, and made a note to stop at the drugstore for some bleach.
I can't think of anything further to say, except a resounding, "Yuck."
Monday, September 24, 2007
Casual where?
Over the past couple of years, I have met various parties who tell me something surprising about their wardrobes. With perfectly straight faces and an earnest attitude, they tell me that they do not own any jeans. Or sweatpants. Or yoga pants. On weekends, they wear khakis, or cords, or cotton slacks...anything but blue jeans. I would imagine that the khakis and cords are accompanied by button-down shirts...perhaps even neatly ironed ones.
I do not understand these people. Business wear is fine for the business world, but at home, I like to be as comfortable as possible, and for me, that means jeans, T-shirts, and sweats. I like to be so comfortable, in fact, that, "Uh. Are you really going to wear that to the grocery store?" is a frequent weekend phrase around here.
However, these people do have one advantage, which is as follows. When a neighbor unexpectedly stops by to drop off some freshly baked cookies one evening, she will not find them cooking dinner in flannel pajama pants and a gray T-shirt that was purchased in 2002.
I do not understand these people. Business wear is fine for the business world, but at home, I like to be as comfortable as possible, and for me, that means jeans, T-shirts, and sweats. I like to be so comfortable, in fact, that, "Uh. Are you really going to wear that to the grocery store?" is a frequent weekend phrase around here.
However, these people do have one advantage, which is as follows. When a neighbor unexpectedly stops by to drop off some freshly baked cookies one evening, she will not find them cooking dinner in flannel pajama pants and a gray T-shirt that was purchased in 2002.
Monday, September 17, 2007
News in (very) brief
Back soon.
Oh, you didn't notice I was gone? Whew, then.
But, in case you care, suffice it to say that I don't recommend taking on a freelance article two weeks before going back to school. At all.
Perhaps I'm insane. But, you know, money. Is nice. As is maintaining contact with sources of freelance work.
I appear to have left my complete sentences in my homework.
Going to bed.
Oh, you didn't notice I was gone? Whew, then.
But, in case you care, suffice it to say that I don't recommend taking on a freelance article two weeks before going back to school. At all.
Perhaps I'm insane. But, you know, money. Is nice. As is maintaining contact with sources of freelance work.
I appear to have left my complete sentences in my homework.
Going to bed.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
"G" is for...
Boy Wonder is almost done with his first official week of kindergarten; he had two half-days last week, and a full schedule this week. He really seems to be enjoying it; his teacher is quite nice, the after-school care room is also nice, and he even has a new little friend already. (More on that later.) Plus, he went to his first all-school liturgy this week. I was expecting to hear all about God, and saying prayers, and how church is still a singing place, after that. Instead, I've been hearing about...gingerbread.
Apparently, his class learned the story of the Gingerbread Man this week, and Boy Wonder has told it to me about six different times. It changes each time; so far, my favorite version is, "And then he jumped out of the pan! And the little old lady called her husband, and some old farmer. And then a woodcutter...no, a fox...wait. Run run run as fast as you can!" His first official gym class was today, and he was under the impression that his class was going to the gymnasium to look for the gingerbread man. They must be talking about baking gingerbread men, too, because he keeps asking when we can make gingerbread cookies. With frosting. In fact, can we make a whole gingerbread cake? For dinner? Tonight?
Actually, having a whole gingerbread cake for dinner sounds rather appealing; I like gingerbread cookies, but baking them from scratch is kind of a project so I don't do it that often. However, we're about to have a long weekend, so a baking project sounds nice. Maybe we'll find the Gingerbread Man in our kitchen...
Apparently, his class learned the story of the Gingerbread Man this week, and Boy Wonder has told it to me about six different times. It changes each time; so far, my favorite version is, "And then he jumped out of the pan! And the little old lady called her husband, and some old farmer. And then a woodcutter...no, a fox...wait. Run run run as fast as you can!" His first official gym class was today, and he was under the impression that his class was going to the gymnasium to look for the gingerbread man. They must be talking about baking gingerbread men, too, because he keeps asking when we can make gingerbread cookies. With frosting. In fact, can we make a whole gingerbread cake? For dinner? Tonight?
Actually, having a whole gingerbread cake for dinner sounds rather appealing; I like gingerbread cookies, but baking them from scratch is kind of a project so I don't do it that often. However, we're about to have a long weekend, so a baking project sounds nice. Maybe we'll find the Gingerbread Man in our kitchen...
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Sticks, stones, and eye-rolling groans
Today's insult, courtesy of Boy Wonder:
"You're a...a...a...MEAN UNDERWEAR! I DON'T WANT TO LIVE HERE ANYMORE!"
(I think that was right after I told him, for about the fiftieth time, that he could wait until after the kitchen table was cleared off to play with his paper and glue. Or after I told him to stop sliding off the arm of the couch, or perhaps after I told him that really, not being able to find the safety scissors did not warrant a full-blown floor-flinging tantrum and ten minutes of wailing.)
Overheard at the grocery store's deli counter:
"I am just so sick of cutting the cheese."
To their credit, the other employees did not break out into mad giggle fits or say, "Haha! Well, I'm sick of you cutting the cheese too!" Instead, they commiserated morosely with, "Well, I'm sick of this JOB." I suppose that if you work full-time at the deli counter, any jokes about cutting the cheese get old real fast.
"You're a...a...a...MEAN UNDERWEAR! I DON'T WANT TO LIVE HERE ANYMORE!"
(I think that was right after I told him, for about the fiftieth time, that he could wait until after the kitchen table was cleared off to play with his paper and glue. Or after I told him to stop sliding off the arm of the couch, or perhaps after I told him that really, not being able to find the safety scissors did not warrant a full-blown floor-flinging tantrum and ten minutes of wailing.)
Overheard at the grocery store's deli counter:
"I am just so sick of cutting the cheese."
To their credit, the other employees did not break out into mad giggle fits or say, "Haha! Well, I'm sick of you cutting the cheese too!" Instead, they commiserated morosely with, "Well, I'm sick of this JOB." I suppose that if you work full-time at the deli counter, any jokes about cutting the cheese get old real fast.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Religious education
Boy Wonder on his day:
"Today I meet God! And learned about NameofFatherSonHolySpiritAmen." (accompanied by little hand-waving motions, mostly correct) "And Papa is up in heaven with Jesus."
Well, that just about covers it, don't you think? Especially that first bit. Two half-days of Catholic kindergarten, and he's already met God.
"Today I meet God! And learned about NameofFatherSonHolySpiritAmen." (accompanied by little hand-waving motions, mostly correct) "And Papa is up in heaven with Jesus."
Well, that just about covers it, don't you think? Especially that first bit. Two half-days of Catholic kindergarten, and he's already met God.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Passages
As many people do, I have anxiety dreams every once in a while. Usually, they focus on either school or work. In the work ones, which usually occur during my first few weeks at a new job, I'm either standing in a conference room saying absolutely ridiculous things, or performing one repetitive task (past work dreams have consisted of shelving in an endless warehouse of books, swiping items across a scanner, typing countless address labels, or copying and pasting data into an Excel spreadsheet). In the school ones, I'm back in high school, and my math homework, which always seems to consist of several hundred incomprehensible algebra problems, isn't done. Or it's the first day of a new semester, and I have no schedule, no textbooks, and no backpack...and I can't remember my locker combination. Or I'm just running late, very late, and getting to school at midnight. And, many moons ago, during a particularly stressful week at Former Employer, I got a a double whammy, dreaming that I was back at my high school...and so were my coworkers.
A new era of anxiety dreams has dawned, though. Last night, I kept waking up in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright, and checking the alarm clock; this happened at least three times that I can remember. What was I dreaming about?
Well, you know you're a grownup when you stop dreaming about being late for school, and start dreaming about making your kid late for school. Today was Boy Wonder's first official day of school, and since it's been thunderstorming a whole damn lot here and we had a power outage that knocked out the alarm clocks* night before last, I was somewhat concerned (more than somewhat, judging by what my subconscious was doing) about oversleeping and making Boy Wonder get his very first tardy. I don't know what he dreamed about; perhaps nothing, as he fell into an utterly exhausted sleep after melting down completely before bedtime. To hell with the subconscious; when you're four, everything comes whooshing right out your conscious. (After his third bout of howling hysteria, we sat and talked about how school will be fun and exciting, but it's TOTALLY OKAY to be a little scared about going new places and making new friends.)
As it was, though, we got up early and arrived at school right on time, and I got to stand on the playground (in a light drizzle, because it's still raining a whole damn lot here) watching the classes line up and enter the building. I even got to hold Boy Wonder's hand as he followed his new classmates down the hall, and wave at him as he placed his backpack on the table and joined his class for morning circle time.
*Hey, the kids wake up at 5:51. Who needs an alarm clock anyway?
A new era of anxiety dreams has dawned, though. Last night, I kept waking up in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright, and checking the alarm clock; this happened at least three times that I can remember. What was I dreaming about?
Well, you know you're a grownup when you stop dreaming about being late for school, and start dreaming about making your kid late for school. Today was Boy Wonder's first official day of school, and since it's been thunderstorming a whole damn lot here and we had a power outage that knocked out the alarm clocks* night before last, I was somewhat concerned (more than somewhat, judging by what my subconscious was doing) about oversleeping and making Boy Wonder get his very first tardy. I don't know what he dreamed about; perhaps nothing, as he fell into an utterly exhausted sleep after melting down completely before bedtime. To hell with the subconscious; when you're four, everything comes whooshing right out your conscious. (After his third bout of howling hysteria, we sat and talked about how school will be fun and exciting, but it's TOTALLY OKAY to be a little scared about going new places and making new friends.)
As it was, though, we got up early and arrived at school right on time, and I got to stand on the playground (in a light drizzle, because it's still raining a whole damn lot here) watching the classes line up and enter the building. I even got to hold Boy Wonder's hand as he followed his new classmates down the hall, and wave at him as he placed his backpack on the table and joined his class for morning circle time.
*Hey, the kids wake up at 5:51. Who needs an alarm clock anyway?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Let my spam filter entertain you
(Because my brain is melting.)
Today I received six separate spam e-mails with the header "Stop going to bars to meet people." Spammers do not know me very well (thank you, Queen of Stating the Obvious), as I don't even go to bars to drink, much less to meet people.
Other spam topics, both recurring and standalone, from today's e-mail check:
PHONES WITH RINGS ARE HOT
I thought phones with rings were...standard issue. I have never had a phone without a ring.
DO YOU NEED TO PULL MONEY FROM YOUR HOME
I need to pull money from somewhere. I suppose my home is the least offensive option.
GET YOUR CRIMINAL JUSTICE DEGREE WHILE YOU TAKE CARE OF THE KIDS
Are these two tasks related somehow?
THE ABSOLUTE HOTTEST TOY OF THE YEAR
Judging from the e-mail's text, the hottest toy of the year is a remote-control toy helicopter, perfectly safe for indoor flying. Hey, if the bat ever comes back, we'll have a trained air force all ready for it.
WHAT DOES YOUR CREDIT REPORT SAY
Plenty. But nothing I want to hear right now.
CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT YOUR CREDIT REPORT SAYS
Wait, I just said...no. No, I'm not.
WANT TO GET TO KNOW SOMEONE FIRST
Better than going to the bar, I suppose.
Today I received six separate spam e-mails with the header "Stop going to bars to meet people." Spammers do not know me very well (thank you, Queen of Stating the Obvious), as I don't even go to bars to drink, much less to meet people.
Other spam topics, both recurring and standalone, from today's e-mail check:
PHONES WITH RINGS ARE HOT
I thought phones with rings were...standard issue. I have never had a phone without a ring.
DO YOU NEED TO PULL MONEY FROM YOUR HOME
I need to pull money from somewhere. I suppose my home is the least offensive option.
GET YOUR CRIMINAL JUSTICE DEGREE WHILE YOU TAKE CARE OF THE KIDS
Are these two tasks related somehow?
THE ABSOLUTE HOTTEST TOY OF THE YEAR
Judging from the e-mail's text, the hottest toy of the year is a remote-control toy helicopter, perfectly safe for indoor flying. Hey, if the bat ever comes back, we'll have a trained air force all ready for it.
WHAT DOES YOUR CREDIT REPORT SAY
Plenty. But nothing I want to hear right now.
CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT YOUR CREDIT REPORT SAYS
Wait, I just said...no. No, I'm not.
WANT TO GET TO KNOW SOMEONE FIRST
Better than going to the bar, I suppose.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Recent hits
School Supplies
Boy Wonder will be starting school--real school; heaven help us all, where did the time go?--next week, and in preparation, his batch of school supplies has been boxed up neatly, awaiting transport to his classroom during next week's open house. Action Hero really likes these boxes, and occasionally will remove the lid, examine the box's contents, and rearrange things a bit. Then he'll replace the lid and move along. At least I thought he was moving along.
My parents were visiting this weekend, and Mom noticed the boxes. "Oh, are those his school supplies? What kind of stuff does he need?" she said. I opened the boxes, and said, "Oh, just standard stuff. Crayons, markers, glue sticks..."
"What will he be using the CDs for?"
"Nothing...I mean, they weren't on the list...wait, what? There are CDs in there?"
"Uh-huh. Oh look, there's a sock too! And a little toy dog!"
Needless to say, socks and little toy dogs were not on the supply list, nor were CDs; apparently Action Hero felt the need to pack a few extra things. He has good taste, however, as one of the CDs was a Hawkins-compiled mix.
Bathroom talk
Many years ago, when I was an eighth grader babysitting for the neighbor kid, his mom said to me, "I'm just at a loss! He and his friend use bathroom words all the time! They change the lyrics to songs and think it's the funniest thing ever! Last week one of them sang, 'Santa Claus is coming to...FART!' and they laughed for a good twenty minutes about that! What should I do?" At the time, my younger cousins were making similar jokes, and I was like, "Uh. Well, I think all boys do that. I'm sure he'll stop sometime."
And it is now time to tell myself, "Uh, well. All boys do that. I'm sure he'll stop eventually." The bathroom humor has landed, and lo, it is gross. For once, I'll spare you the details. The daycare teacher has confirmed that everyone is now doing this, not just Boy Wonder. Must be a fun classroom these days.
Two out of three ain't bad
Earlier this summer, during my first conversation with the principal of Boy Wonder's school, she said, "And how old is Boy Wonder?" I said, "He's four. Which he'll tell you himself, within five seconds of meeting you. He will then tell you that he has Shrek shoes. He might also possibly tell you that he has a baby brother called Action Hero."
Later that day, we went to go tour the school and meet the principal. She said, "Hi, Boy Wonder! How are you today?" He said, "HI I'M BOY WONDER I'M FOUR YEARS OLD! LOOK THERE IS SHREK ON MY SHOES!" (pause) "Where is your bathroom? I need to go potty."
Well, I was close.
Batman returns
So far, no more sightings of the flying mammal kind have occured, but that doesn't mean that I don't jump three feet whenever a door squeaks...and, as Charming Bungalow was built in 1924, that's a frequent occurence. Batman did return, and I hope this is the end of the bat situation, because I'm running out of bad bat-related puns to use in blog post titles and also because I DON'T WANT WILDLIFE IN MY HOUSE ANYMORE. Batman said that he could not find any, um, signs that bats had been visiting recently, and usually those are quite evident.
As a special reminder, however, dinner tonight featured soft flour tortillas. Boy Wonder was eating his with great concentration; he then unfolded it to reveal that he had nibbled his tortilla into the shape of a bat.
Yeah, I think he's ready for kindergarten.
Boy Wonder will be starting school--real school; heaven help us all, where did the time go?--next week, and in preparation, his batch of school supplies has been boxed up neatly, awaiting transport to his classroom during next week's open house. Action Hero really likes these boxes, and occasionally will remove the lid, examine the box's contents, and rearrange things a bit. Then he'll replace the lid and move along. At least I thought he was moving along.
My parents were visiting this weekend, and Mom noticed the boxes. "Oh, are those his school supplies? What kind of stuff does he need?" she said. I opened the boxes, and said, "Oh, just standard stuff. Crayons, markers, glue sticks..."
"What will he be using the CDs for?"
"Nothing...I mean, they weren't on the list...wait, what? There are CDs in there?"
"Uh-huh. Oh look, there's a sock too! And a little toy dog!"
Needless to say, socks and little toy dogs were not on the supply list, nor were CDs; apparently Action Hero felt the need to pack a few extra things. He has good taste, however, as one of the CDs was a Hawkins-compiled mix.
Bathroom talk
Many years ago, when I was an eighth grader babysitting for the neighbor kid, his mom said to me, "I'm just at a loss! He and his friend use bathroom words all the time! They change the lyrics to songs and think it's the funniest thing ever! Last week one of them sang, 'Santa Claus is coming to...FART!' and they laughed for a good twenty minutes about that! What should I do?" At the time, my younger cousins were making similar jokes, and I was like, "Uh. Well, I think all boys do that. I'm sure he'll stop sometime."
And it is now time to tell myself, "Uh, well. All boys do that. I'm sure he'll stop eventually." The bathroom humor has landed, and lo, it is gross. For once, I'll spare you the details. The daycare teacher has confirmed that everyone is now doing this, not just Boy Wonder. Must be a fun classroom these days.
Two out of three ain't bad
Earlier this summer, during my first conversation with the principal of Boy Wonder's school, she said, "And how old is Boy Wonder?" I said, "He's four. Which he'll tell you himself, within five seconds of meeting you. He will then tell you that he has Shrek shoes. He might also possibly tell you that he has a baby brother called Action Hero."
Later that day, we went to go tour the school and meet the principal. She said, "Hi, Boy Wonder! How are you today?" He said, "HI I'M BOY WONDER I'M FOUR YEARS OLD! LOOK THERE IS SHREK ON MY SHOES!" (pause) "Where is your bathroom? I need to go potty."
Well, I was close.
Batman returns
So far, no more sightings of the flying mammal kind have occured, but that doesn't mean that I don't jump three feet whenever a door squeaks...and, as Charming Bungalow was built in 1924, that's a frequent occurence. Batman did return, and I hope this is the end of the bat situation, because I'm running out of bad bat-related puns to use in blog post titles and also because I DON'T WANT WILDLIFE IN MY HOUSE ANYMORE. Batman said that he could not find any, um, signs that bats had been visiting recently, and usually those are quite evident.
As a special reminder, however, dinner tonight featured soft flour tortillas. Boy Wonder was eating his with great concentration; he then unfolded it to reveal that he had nibbled his tortilla into the shape of a bat.
Yeah, I think he's ready for kindergarten.
Monday, August 06, 2007
A new classic
Quoth Boy Wonder, trying to entertain Action Hero, during today's drive home:
"Eeny meeny miney mo. Baby in the seat! Catch a baby by the toe!
Baby has a toe! And shoes!
Let him holler! Let him holler! Give him a cracker!
Baby Action Hero! ONE YEARS OLD! Eeny meeny miney mo!"
"Eeny meeny miney mo. Baby in the seat! Catch a baby by the toe!
Baby has a toe! And shoes!
Let him holler! Let him holler! Give him a cracker!
Baby Action Hero! ONE YEARS OLD! Eeny meeny miney mo!"
Monday, July 30, 2007
When bat things happen to good people
Alternate titles for this post include "Getting the Batman to Cometh Back," "The Curious Incident of the Bat in the Night-time," and "Mother Nature, What Did I Ever Do to You?"
Previously on About Some Boys: Anithe relates an absorbing tale about how bat exclusions are done, why her house needs one, and why the previous homeowners didn't know about the bats. Join our intrepid heroine now as she shares an even closer encounter of the bat kind.
So, it's Saturday night, around 10:00. The kids are asleep, Dragon is off having fun in California, and I am relaxing on the couch and watching an episode of Medium. (Good one, too.) I am briefly distracted--was that something I just saw out of the corner of my eye?--but decide that I am crazy and turn my attention back to the television.
Unfortunately (at least this time), I am not crazy, as is soon evidenced by a flying creature zooming across the room. I briefly wonder if it is a bird, having recently had the family of birds living in one of our eaves called to my attention by a neighbor, but after a couple of seconds realize that it is not squawking, not issuing forth any white splats, and not feathered. In short, it is a bat. You know, the type of creature that was supposed to be GONE from the house after the bat exclusion? Yeah, one of those.
After letting out a few girlish shrieks (which is OK, as I am a girl), I get up and take a few minutes to observe it, having researched via Google what to do in this very situation. The bat whizzes around the room at a furious rate of speed, circling the ceiling frantically, and it becomes apparent that the bat does not want to be anywhere near a human--its radar is in fine working order, and it neatly avoids me every time it completes a lap. This reassures me slightly. I grab a T-shirt, thinking perhaps to trap it under a T-shirt and escort it outside, but bats fly awfully fast and have excellent radar, and it dodges the T-shirt expertly. Then I try holding open the front door, thinking perhaps it will fly out, but even passing by a human on the way outside is too much for it to contemplate...and it flies into the kitchen. I chase it in there, still holding the shirt, close the door to the upstairs and thus the sleeping children, and lose sight of it. Oh, dear.
Thinking "Oh no! It's gone in the basement and I'll never find it down there," I flip on the light in the back hall. Nope; having had enough of Crazy T-shirt Waving Lady, it's decided to hit the deck and hide by the recyclables. I drop the T-shirt on it, grab a bowl, and remove the T-shirt as I place the bowl over the bat, which is sort of cute up close. (But I still don't want to share a bedroom or living room with it.) Then I put the T-shirt over the bowl and call the local bat rescue lady, who a couple of months ago said she'd be happy to come pick up any bats I might encounter, but she does not answer. So I decide to leave the bat contained until morning, see what advice the Humane Society has, and sleep at my parents' house until then. The children wake up slightly when we get there; Boy Wonder falls asleep again readily, but Action Hero wants to stay up playing peek-a-boo with Mickey Mouse and a blanket. Yawn.
In the morning, I call the Humane Society ("I trapped a bat in my home last night. As far as I know, it is still under a bowl which is underneath a T-shirt. May I now retrieve it and bring it to you?"), and they say, "Sure, bring it in; we'll take it from there." (They also say, "You're so logical about this! Most people call up in a panic, asking if we can send someone out to pick up the bat--which, being a nonprofit organization, we can't--because they'll NEVER EVER GO IN THAT ROOM AGAIN. Thanks, it's nice talking to you.")
But alas, when I (along with my dad, for moral support) go to retrieve the bat, it has escaped. Mother Nature is far wiser than I am, it would seem. I try to be rational about the whole thing, and decide that if it can get out from under a T-shirt-covered container, it can certainly find its own way outdoors. But I do spend a few minutes complaining ("Why do I have to have bats? And birds? Why can't I just have the occasional centipede? Sure, they're hideous, but at least they don't whiz around the living room at 40+ mph!"). And I do call Batman back, saying, "I hate to tell you this, but there was a bat in my living room last night!" and he will stop by this week to inspect and, hopefully, re-exclude.
Despite my thinking that I will never be able to sleep again, the kids and I pass an uneventful night back at home. The bat rescue lady, who was out of town, calls back just before bedtime, and we chat briefly about my encounter. She also feels that the bat could probably find its own way outside, and suggests that the bat was probably a baby bat just learning to fly. I had been thinking that too. From what I've read, adult bats are very good navigators; once they've been roosting somewhere for a while, they know which crevices lead outdoors and which crevices lead to rooms that contain shrieking humans brandishing T-shirts, and make their choices accordingly. Baby bats, on the other hand, are lousy navigators and will crawl through random openings, making them somewhat likelier to end up freaking out in my living room.
BatWatch 2007 remains in effect, however, and the return of Batman is eagerly anticipated. And, as mothers often do, Mother Nature has the last word. This morning, I noticed a dark spot on the living room carpeting. As I got closer, I thought it was dryer lint. And after I turned on the light, I realized that it was...a centipede.
Mother Nature has a fine sense of humor.
Previously on About Some Boys: Anithe relates an absorbing tale about how bat exclusions are done, why her house needs one, and why the previous homeowners didn't know about the bats. Join our intrepid heroine now as she shares an even closer encounter of the bat kind.
So, it's Saturday night, around 10:00. The kids are asleep, Dragon is off having fun in California, and I am relaxing on the couch and watching an episode of Medium. (Good one, too.) I am briefly distracted--was that something I just saw out of the corner of my eye?--but decide that I am crazy and turn my attention back to the television.
Unfortunately (at least this time), I am not crazy, as is soon evidenced by a flying creature zooming across the room. I briefly wonder if it is a bird, having recently had the family of birds living in one of our eaves called to my attention by a neighbor, but after a couple of seconds realize that it is not squawking, not issuing forth any white splats, and not feathered. In short, it is a bat. You know, the type of creature that was supposed to be GONE from the house after the bat exclusion? Yeah, one of those.
After letting out a few girlish shrieks (which is OK, as I am a girl), I get up and take a few minutes to observe it, having researched via Google what to do in this very situation. The bat whizzes around the room at a furious rate of speed, circling the ceiling frantically, and it becomes apparent that the bat does not want to be anywhere near a human--its radar is in fine working order, and it neatly avoids me every time it completes a lap. This reassures me slightly. I grab a T-shirt, thinking perhaps to trap it under a T-shirt and escort it outside, but bats fly awfully fast and have excellent radar, and it dodges the T-shirt expertly. Then I try holding open the front door, thinking perhaps it will fly out, but even passing by a human on the way outside is too much for it to contemplate...and it flies into the kitchen. I chase it in there, still holding the shirt, close the door to the upstairs and thus the sleeping children, and lose sight of it. Oh, dear.
Thinking "Oh no! It's gone in the basement and I'll never find it down there," I flip on the light in the back hall. Nope; having had enough of Crazy T-shirt Waving Lady, it's decided to hit the deck and hide by the recyclables. I drop the T-shirt on it, grab a bowl, and remove the T-shirt as I place the bowl over the bat, which is sort of cute up close. (But I still don't want to share a bedroom or living room with it.) Then I put the T-shirt over the bowl and call the local bat rescue lady, who a couple of months ago said she'd be happy to come pick up any bats I might encounter, but she does not answer. So I decide to leave the bat contained until morning, see what advice the Humane Society has, and sleep at my parents' house until then. The children wake up slightly when we get there; Boy Wonder falls asleep again readily, but Action Hero wants to stay up playing peek-a-boo with Mickey Mouse and a blanket. Yawn.
In the morning, I call the Humane Society ("I trapped a bat in my home last night. As far as I know, it is still under a bowl which is underneath a T-shirt. May I now retrieve it and bring it to you?"), and they say, "Sure, bring it in; we'll take it from there." (They also say, "You're so logical about this! Most people call up in a panic, asking if we can send someone out to pick up the bat--which, being a nonprofit organization, we can't--because they'll NEVER EVER GO IN THAT ROOM AGAIN. Thanks, it's nice talking to you.")
But alas, when I (along with my dad, for moral support) go to retrieve the bat, it has escaped. Mother Nature is far wiser than I am, it would seem. I try to be rational about the whole thing, and decide that if it can get out from under a T-shirt-covered container, it can certainly find its own way outdoors. But I do spend a few minutes complaining ("Why do I have to have bats? And birds? Why can't I just have the occasional centipede? Sure, they're hideous, but at least they don't whiz around the living room at 40+ mph!"). And I do call Batman back, saying, "I hate to tell you this, but there was a bat in my living room last night!" and he will stop by this week to inspect and, hopefully, re-exclude.
Despite my thinking that I will never be able to sleep again, the kids and I pass an uneventful night back at home. The bat rescue lady, who was out of town, calls back just before bedtime, and we chat briefly about my encounter. She also feels that the bat could probably find its own way outside, and suggests that the bat was probably a baby bat just learning to fly. I had been thinking that too. From what I've read, adult bats are very good navigators; once they've been roosting somewhere for a while, they know which crevices lead outdoors and which crevices lead to rooms that contain shrieking humans brandishing T-shirts, and make their choices accordingly. Baby bats, on the other hand, are lousy navigators and will crawl through random openings, making them somewhat likelier to end up freaking out in my living room.
BatWatch 2007 remains in effect, however, and the return of Batman is eagerly anticipated. And, as mothers often do, Mother Nature has the last word. This morning, I noticed a dark spot on the living room carpeting. As I got closer, I thought it was dryer lint. And after I turned on the light, I realized that it was...a centipede.
Mother Nature has a fine sense of humor.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Welcome to the Hotel (in) California.
I'm hoping that the above is a phrase that Dragon will be hearing sometime tonight, before too much more time passes; he's off to California to visit a friend, and called from the airport earlier this evening to say that his flight was delayed. I hope it's not delayed too long; he enjoys flying about as much as I enjoy finding a bat in the basement, so sitting in an airport is rather stress-inducing for him.
Speaking of things that induce stress...well, four-year-olds are crazy. At least mine is. Lately he's been having more mood swings and "unpredictable" behavior than Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan combined. One minute he's cheerfully waving Mickey Mouse in front of Action Hero, singing "Mickey Mickey you're so fine! You're so fine Mickey Mickey! Here, Action Hero, let's play Mickey! And cars!" And then he is flinging himself on the floor, howling about how he does not want to go to bed, ever again. Actually, he never wants to go anywhere lately. He's very much in a "the grass is greener" phase; he'll ask where we are going, I'll tell him, and without fail, the response is, "I don't WANT to go there! I want to go SOMEWHERE ELSE!" Even if we're on the way to Grandma's house, which, as the place where root beer, apple juice, and fruit-flavored snacks can be had simply for the asking, generally rates as a favorite.
Example, from today's drive home:
"Blah blah blah blah need to get home so we can give Daddy hugs and kisses before he rides the airplane to California!"
"I don't WANT to go home!"
"Well, where do you want to go?"
"The doughnut store!"
"Oh, haha! We don't have doughnuts for dinner!"
"NOOOOOOOOOWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHH." (cue noisy tears) "I don't WANNA go home to home or anyfing I WANNA GO TO THE DOUGHNUT STORE AND GET DONUTS FOR BREAK....BREAK....BREAFIST!" (more noisy tears)
"Calm down, hon. I think Grandma will probably have some doughnuts at her house tomorrow."
"NO NO NO I DON'T EVER WANT TO GO TO GRANDMA'S HOUSE AGAIN NEVER! I ONLY WANT TO GO TO THE DOUGHNUT STORE!"
I am usually at a loss about what to do when he designates a particular event, conversation, or observation as Something to Freak Out About. Obviously, if we're in the car, there's not a lot I can do (other than keep my eyes on the road even as my car begins to sound like an entire three-ring circus is taking place inside it); I just wait for the tantrum to pass, and he'll either fall asleep mid-sentence or fall silent for a few minutes and then continue whatever surreal monologue preceded the tantrum. At home, it's more difficult, particularly since he frequently stages screamfests at bedtime, when he's so tired he can't see straight yet refusing to admit it. (Side note: I don't just have one child who does this. After 9PM, Action Hero also tips over, giggles, stands up and waves cheerily, and then trips again. But he's not tired, of course...) It's hard to avoid getting frustrated at these times; as an adult, I know that he's utterly exhausted, and an exhausted kid flipping out over what color his toothpaste is is rather run-of-the-mill. However, as an adult, I think, "He's TIRED. Why can't he just admit that, lie down, and go to sleep already?" And the four-year-old mind just doens't work that way; it just tries to come up with more ways to keep Mommy in the room, and throwing a ferocious tantrum does the trick.
Working on that. Will keep you posted. Meantime, if you happen to live near me, buy earplugs. Boy Wonder can scream loudly, and my New Year's resolution about not yelling at him so much is going horribly.
Speaking of things that induce stress...well, four-year-olds are crazy. At least mine is. Lately he's been having more mood swings and "unpredictable" behavior than Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan combined. One minute he's cheerfully waving Mickey Mouse in front of Action Hero, singing "Mickey Mickey you're so fine! You're so fine Mickey Mickey! Here, Action Hero, let's play Mickey! And cars!" And then he is flinging himself on the floor, howling about how he does not want to go to bed, ever again. Actually, he never wants to go anywhere lately. He's very much in a "the grass is greener" phase; he'll ask where we are going, I'll tell him, and without fail, the response is, "I don't WANT to go there! I want to go SOMEWHERE ELSE!" Even if we're on the way to Grandma's house, which, as the place where root beer, apple juice, and fruit-flavored snacks can be had simply for the asking, generally rates as a favorite.
Example, from today's drive home:
"Blah blah blah blah need to get home so we can give Daddy hugs and kisses before he rides the airplane to California!"
"I don't WANT to go home!"
"Well, where do you want to go?"
"The doughnut store!"
"Oh, haha! We don't have doughnuts for dinner!"
"NOOOOOOOOOWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHH." (cue noisy tears) "I don't WANNA go home to home or anyfing I WANNA GO TO THE DOUGHNUT STORE AND GET DONUTS FOR BREAK....BREAK....BREAFIST!" (more noisy tears)
"Calm down, hon. I think Grandma will probably have some doughnuts at her house tomorrow."
"NO NO NO I DON'T EVER WANT TO GO TO GRANDMA'S HOUSE AGAIN NEVER! I ONLY WANT TO GO TO THE DOUGHNUT STORE!"
I am usually at a loss about what to do when he designates a particular event, conversation, or observation as Something to Freak Out About. Obviously, if we're in the car, there's not a lot I can do (other than keep my eyes on the road even as my car begins to sound like an entire three-ring circus is taking place inside it); I just wait for the tantrum to pass, and he'll either fall asleep mid-sentence or fall silent for a few minutes and then continue whatever surreal monologue preceded the tantrum. At home, it's more difficult, particularly since he frequently stages screamfests at bedtime, when he's so tired he can't see straight yet refusing to admit it. (Side note: I don't just have one child who does this. After 9PM, Action Hero also tips over, giggles, stands up and waves cheerily, and then trips again. But he's not tired, of course...) It's hard to avoid getting frustrated at these times; as an adult, I know that he's utterly exhausted, and an exhausted kid flipping out over what color his toothpaste is is rather run-of-the-mill. However, as an adult, I think, "He's TIRED. Why can't he just admit that, lie down, and go to sleep already?" And the four-year-old mind just doens't work that way; it just tries to come up with more ways to keep Mommy in the room, and throwing a ferocious tantrum does the trick.
Working on that. Will keep you posted. Meantime, if you happen to live near me, buy earplugs. Boy Wonder can scream loudly, and my New Year's resolution about not yelling at him so much is going horribly.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
My decade with Harry
Last week's headlines included alarmist gems such as "What Will Bookstores Do After Harry Potter?" and "What Will People Read Now?" (I can't find any of these actual articles now, but I do recall reading several articles to that effect last Thursday and Friday.) Gosh, what WILL we ever do after Harry Potter, do you think? I plan to keep reading, myself. That's how I got into this series in the first place. My affair with various fictional worlds is not going to end just because one series is. As for the bookstores, they might not be able to have midnight release parties for a while (however, having formerly been on the front lines of bookselling, I think that is probably just fine with them), but they were selling books long before 1997. I think they'll make it too.
Still, I'll miss this series. It's been enjoyable to read...and the decade that it has spanned has been a big one for me, as well. Please enjoy the following chronology of two journeys: mine and Harry's.
Book 1, 1997: Harry Potter finds out that he is a wizard, begins his first year of school at Hogwarts, and has his first run-in with Lord Voldemort. I pay no attention, having not discovered the series yet.
Book 2, 1998: Harry begins his second year of school at Hogwarts, and starts hearing voices. Again, I pay no attention, having decided, "EVERYONE is reading this series; why should I join the herd?"
Book 3, 1999: The general public prepares to read the chronicles of Harry's third year at Hogwarts, in which he discovers that he has a godfather; I, being a bookstore employee at the time, open the mail one day and say, "Hey! Here's an advance galley of that third Harry Potter book. Anyone want it?" And my supervisor says, "You should take it. I can't believe you haven't read these yet; they're right up your alley. Read the first one, and if you still want someone else to take it after you're done, let me know." I survey a few coworkers, who say, "Oh, shut up and READ IT already. You'll like it." And I not only read the first one, I stay up all night to finish it. And the next day, I do the same thing with the second one. And I take the advance copy, and my supervisor smiles. (Thanks, Julie.) Shortly thereafter, the general public reads the third book.
Book 4, 2000: Harry begins his fourth year at Hogwarts, going up against dragons, merfolk, and giant spiders in the Triwizard Tournament. Ms. Rowling promises to kill off a major character. I begin my first real non-retail job, going up against deadlines, printers, and art directors (not really. we got along fine. at least I think we did. Hawkins?) in the publishing world. As I am no longer working in a bookstore, I miss some of the hype surrounding the release, skip the midnight party, reserve a copy for Saturday morning pickup, and join most other readers in saying, "Cedric who?"
Book 5, 2003: Harry begins his fifth year at Hogwarts. I begin my first year as a parent. Although I am undoubtedly up at midnight, Boy Wonder being just two months old, I skip the party, and again pick up my book when the bookstore opens on Saturday morning. Boy Wonder, being a fairly mellow baby and perhaps sensing the day's momentous nature, takes a lot of naps, and I am finished by dusk. Boy Wonder, as seen below, is not impressed.
Book 6, 2005: Harry begins his sixth year at Hogwarts. Due to the vagaries of business trips, I am in Chicago on the release date. Before the trip, I'd joked to one of my business trip compatriots, not a Harry Potter fan but a good friend, that she would need to drive myself and our other compatriot, a good friend AND a Harry Potter fan, to a bookstore somewhere. I considered this a joke, as I did not actually intend to ask her to do this, but around 10PM, she said, "So, should we find a bookstore, or what?" We are stunned, yet grateful, and select a bookstore from the concierge-provided list. Five hours later, after some fun experiences (a Jane Austen quiz book!) and not-so-fun experiences (there are some awfully cranky people in Chicago bookstores at midnight), we leave with two copies of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I stay up another few hours reading it (I do not finish it, and am very tired at the trade show), and finish it on the way back home, my friend being kind enough to tolerate my ignoring her as she drives. If you're out there, guys, thanks again. I'd do it again anytime, although this time I'd volunteer to drive.
Book 7, last Friday/Saturday: Harry comes of age as a wizard (17), and prepares for his final battle with Lord Voldemort. Me, I'm also in a milestone year (30); although there are no Dark Lords in my world at the moment, I do fight a number of battles daily, including I Don't Want to Wear That Shirt, I Don't Want to Go to School, No Candy for Breakfast, and Stop Hitting Your Brother with Toy Cars. I'm on my fifth year as a parent, with the added bonus of a baby brother for Boy Wonder. And, after the kids are in bed, I go to the midnight party at the local bookstore, because it's the last book and the last release party. Being at home instead of in Chicago, I get my very own reserved copy (placed on hold back in February) by 12:45, go home, and read until 3AM, whereupon Action Hero wakes up, sneezes, and calls, "Mama? Mama? Maaaamaaa...." and settles happily against my shoulder when I lift him out of his crib.
The last ten years have provided plenty of magic, in Harry's world and in my world; I'm sure that plenty more is waiting. And, although I don't need a series of books to remind me of that, I won't stop reading, these books or any books.
And, although I don't think that my own boys will ever have to defeat a basilisk, clobber a mountain troll, or track down and destroy the divided soul of a dark wizard, I can't wait to introduce them to Harry.
Still, I'll miss this series. It's been enjoyable to read...and the decade that it has spanned has been a big one for me, as well. Please enjoy the following chronology of two journeys: mine and Harry's.
Book 1, 1997: Harry Potter finds out that he is a wizard, begins his first year of school at Hogwarts, and has his first run-in with Lord Voldemort. I pay no attention, having not discovered the series yet.
Book 2, 1998: Harry begins his second year of school at Hogwarts, and starts hearing voices. Again, I pay no attention, having decided, "EVERYONE is reading this series; why should I join the herd?"
Book 3, 1999: The general public prepares to read the chronicles of Harry's third year at Hogwarts, in which he discovers that he has a godfather; I, being a bookstore employee at the time, open the mail one day and say, "Hey! Here's an advance galley of that third Harry Potter book. Anyone want it?" And my supervisor says, "You should take it. I can't believe you haven't read these yet; they're right up your alley. Read the first one, and if you still want someone else to take it after you're done, let me know." I survey a few coworkers, who say, "Oh, shut up and READ IT already. You'll like it." And I not only read the first one, I stay up all night to finish it. And the next day, I do the same thing with the second one. And I take the advance copy, and my supervisor smiles. (Thanks, Julie.) Shortly thereafter, the general public reads the third book.
Book 4, 2000: Harry begins his fourth year at Hogwarts, going up against dragons, merfolk, and giant spiders in the Triwizard Tournament. Ms. Rowling promises to kill off a major character. I begin my first real non-retail job, going up against deadlines, printers, and art directors (not really. we got along fine. at least I think we did. Hawkins?) in the publishing world. As I am no longer working in a bookstore, I miss some of the hype surrounding the release, skip the midnight party, reserve a copy for Saturday morning pickup, and join most other readers in saying, "Cedric who?"
Book 5, 2003: Harry begins his fifth year at Hogwarts. I begin my first year as a parent. Although I am undoubtedly up at midnight, Boy Wonder being just two months old, I skip the party, and again pick up my book when the bookstore opens on Saturday morning. Boy Wonder, being a fairly mellow baby and perhaps sensing the day's momentous nature, takes a lot of naps, and I am finished by dusk. Boy Wonder, as seen below, is not impressed.
Book 6, 2005: Harry begins his sixth year at Hogwarts. Due to the vagaries of business trips, I am in Chicago on the release date. Before the trip, I'd joked to one of my business trip compatriots, not a Harry Potter fan but a good friend, that she would need to drive myself and our other compatriot, a good friend AND a Harry Potter fan, to a bookstore somewhere. I considered this a joke, as I did not actually intend to ask her to do this, but around 10PM, she said, "So, should we find a bookstore, or what?" We are stunned, yet grateful, and select a bookstore from the concierge-provided list. Five hours later, after some fun experiences (a Jane Austen quiz book!) and not-so-fun experiences (there are some awfully cranky people in Chicago bookstores at midnight), we leave with two copies of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I stay up another few hours reading it (I do not finish it, and am very tired at the trade show), and finish it on the way back home, my friend being kind enough to tolerate my ignoring her as she drives. If you're out there, guys, thanks again. I'd do it again anytime, although this time I'd volunteer to drive.
Book 7, last Friday/Saturday: Harry comes of age as a wizard (17), and prepares for his final battle with Lord Voldemort. Me, I'm also in a milestone year (30); although there are no Dark Lords in my world at the moment, I do fight a number of battles daily, including I Don't Want to Wear That Shirt, I Don't Want to Go to School, No Candy for Breakfast, and Stop Hitting Your Brother with Toy Cars. I'm on my fifth year as a parent, with the added bonus of a baby brother for Boy Wonder. And, after the kids are in bed, I go to the midnight party at the local bookstore, because it's the last book and the last release party. Being at home instead of in Chicago, I get my very own reserved copy (placed on hold back in February) by 12:45, go home, and read until 3AM, whereupon Action Hero wakes up, sneezes, and calls, "Mama? Mama? Maaaamaaa...." and settles happily against my shoulder when I lift him out of his crib.
The last ten years have provided plenty of magic, in Harry's world and in my world; I'm sure that plenty more is waiting. And, although I don't need a series of books to remind me of that, I won't stop reading, these books or any books.
And, although I don't think that my own boys will ever have to defeat a basilisk, clobber a mountain troll, or track down and destroy the divided soul of a dark wizard, I can't wait to introduce them to Harry.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
My turn: Get some new (*%&$*&(%$ friends
Carrie Friedman needs to get some new friends and acquaintances, and perhaps switch eye doctors and take a different yoga class too. Seriously. In what social sphere is it acceptable to, while at a party, place your hands on the belly of an acquaintance, UNDER HER SHIRT, and ask personal questions about whether or not she plans to reproduce? Or to not discipline a four-year-old who whacks someone in the face? Or respond to "I am very proud of my recent work accomplishment!" with "You'll never be happy until you have kids!" (Then again, I don't go to a lot of parties. Maybe if I did, evil spirits would possess me somehow and I'd start spouting horribly intrusive questions. Like a fountain. But probably not.)
I know that hyperbole has long been a hallmark of journalism, particularly the personal essay form of it. And I know that when you're writing a persuasive piece, everyone who has ever done you wrong, on any topic possibly related to that piece, will get a mention. And, of course, if you're writing a piece that involves taking a stance on some aspect of motherhood, every single self-centered mother you've ever come across is put front and center, making it easy to trot out the "All Mothers are Blithering Idiots, Unable to Focus on Anything but Their Own Precious Spawn" stereotype.
Whoopee! Anyway. I notice that the author lives in Los Angeles, so yeah, I'm pretty sure that she lives in a different social sphere than I do. Actually, I've noticed that most Horrible Stereotypical Parents tend to live on either coast, where it seems that people really do spend hours in line waiting to get their children into exclusive preschools, agonize over buying just the right stroller and accessories, and spent thousands, if not tens of thousands, of dollars on kids' birthday parties. Me, I live in flyover country, where, for the most part, people behave...well... normally. Strollers are purchased at Target, some schools have waiting lists but not waiting LINES, and kids' birthday parties are usually fairly simple affairs held in rec rooms and backyards, with the occasional "destination" ones at Chuck E. Cheese or that tea party place (when I was growing up, birthday parties were at the roller rink).* And, oddly enough, parents are capable of holding conversations--coherent, worthwhile ones, even--on topics other than themselves and their children. We may not read as many books as we used to, but that doesn't mean that our brains have flown out the window. Surely all mothers who can converse in a pleasant, rational manner cannot be concentrated in the Midwest?
This may be just the "Midwestern nice" talking, but you couldn't pay me to say some of the things that Friedman relates as being said to her. If someone doesn't have kids, I'm not going to ask them why they don't, or if and when they're going to. Sure, it's none of my business. More importantly, however, I don't care. Unlike the people this author knows, I don't really think that much about other people's reproductive plans, or lack thereof. I am too frackin' busy...working, playing, being a new homeowner, and, yes, parenting.
Which, although it is very noisy and involves far more bodily fluids than I would have ever imagined possible, is wonderful, and I do think that I am the happier for it. However, I think most grownups are smart enough to know what they want out of life, and whether or not that involves being a parent.** My personal views are thus: people who want kids should be able to have them, easily and in the manner of their choosing. People who don't want kids should be able to NOT have them without being asked why they aren't pregnant yet. And people who feel that their way is the One True Path to Happiness would be granted the good manners to shut up.
And people who have to contend with strangers groping them would be granted the ability to say, "Man. I have GOT to start hanging out with a different crowd."
*I realize that money is no doubt a factor in this; if I rubbed elbows with the well-monied denizens of my city, I'm sure I'd know some people who rent ten jumping castles for Suzie's birthday party.
**The rest of the grownups can be viewed on daytime talk shows, regaling the audience with Tales of Raging Dysfunction.
I know that hyperbole has long been a hallmark of journalism, particularly the personal essay form of it. And I know that when you're writing a persuasive piece, everyone who has ever done you wrong, on any topic possibly related to that piece, will get a mention. And, of course, if you're writing a piece that involves taking a stance on some aspect of motherhood, every single self-centered mother you've ever come across is put front and center, making it easy to trot out the "All Mothers are Blithering Idiots, Unable to Focus on Anything but Their Own Precious Spawn" stereotype.
Whoopee! Anyway. I notice that the author lives in Los Angeles, so yeah, I'm pretty sure that she lives in a different social sphere than I do. Actually, I've noticed that most Horrible Stereotypical Parents tend to live on either coast, where it seems that people really do spend hours in line waiting to get their children into exclusive preschools, agonize over buying just the right stroller and accessories, and spent thousands, if not tens of thousands, of dollars on kids' birthday parties. Me, I live in flyover country, where, for the most part, people behave...well... normally. Strollers are purchased at Target, some schools have waiting lists but not waiting LINES, and kids' birthday parties are usually fairly simple affairs held in rec rooms and backyards, with the occasional "destination" ones at Chuck E. Cheese or that tea party place (when I was growing up, birthday parties were at the roller rink).* And, oddly enough, parents are capable of holding conversations--coherent, worthwhile ones, even--on topics other than themselves and their children. We may not read as many books as we used to, but that doesn't mean that our brains have flown out the window. Surely all mothers who can converse in a pleasant, rational manner cannot be concentrated in the Midwest?
This may be just the "Midwestern nice" talking, but you couldn't pay me to say some of the things that Friedman relates as being said to her. If someone doesn't have kids, I'm not going to ask them why they don't, or if and when they're going to. Sure, it's none of my business. More importantly, however, I don't care. Unlike the people this author knows, I don't really think that much about other people's reproductive plans, or lack thereof. I am too frackin' busy...working, playing, being a new homeowner, and, yes, parenting.
Which, although it is very noisy and involves far more bodily fluids than I would have ever imagined possible, is wonderful, and I do think that I am the happier for it. However, I think most grownups are smart enough to know what they want out of life, and whether or not that involves being a parent.** My personal views are thus: people who want kids should be able to have them, easily and in the manner of their choosing. People who don't want kids should be able to NOT have them without being asked why they aren't pregnant yet. And people who feel that their way is the One True Path to Happiness would be granted the good manners to shut up.
And people who have to contend with strangers groping them would be granted the ability to say, "Man. I have GOT to start hanging out with a different crowd."
*I realize that money is no doubt a factor in this; if I rubbed elbows with the well-monied denizens of my city, I'm sure I'd know some people who rent ten jumping castles for Suzie's birthday party.
**The rest of the grownups can be viewed on daytime talk shows, regaling the audience with Tales of Raging Dysfunction.
Monday, July 16, 2007
I: Camp Wannahockaloogie
Last week, on the way back from T-ball practice:
Boy Wonder: I am so tired! I will go to sleep! Good night, everyone! pulls hat down over face and begins to "snore" loudly
Note to the uninitiated: when Boy Wonder pretends to snore, he actually sounds like he is trying to...well...hock a loogie. A big one.
Action Hero: Cough! Cough! Garf! Haaackkkkkspl!
Me: Oh no! Is he choking? Does he have something in his throat?
Action Hero: Garf! Cough! Hahaha! Hahahah! Garf! Hacckpspl! HAHAHA! Bleh!
Me: Oh, dear God. He's trying to "snore" too.
The sound of loogie-hocking traveled merrily across the summer sky for the next few minutes. Ah, the wonder of boys...
II: Call Me
New toy: a Spiderman "cell phone." Looks sort of like a real phone. Boy Wonder has been "calling" Spiderman a whole lot this week.
"Mom? I don't think I'll call Spiderman while we're grocery shopping."
"That's fine; we've been calling him a lot. And you know, he might be busy sometimes too!"
"Mom. He's not busy. He just spends all day swinging around on his web."
III: Guess Who?
"Hello, Spiderman? Hi, it's Boy Wonder! Yeah. OK. See you later!" (sound of toy phone being hung up) "Mom? Spiderman is coming over for dinner!"
IIII: Visualize eaten peas
"I don't want my peas. I don't LIKE peas. We have begtables at school. Not peas here. I don't like peas." (sound of post-dinner Rice Krispie treat being offered) "I realize now that I like peas."
"Realize" sounds hilarious coming from a four-year-old.
IV: Gratuitous '80s Songs
Action Hero has recently developed a liking for a small stuffed Mickey Mouse, purchased for him by Grandma last year around this time. He brought it over to me one day, and I tossed out the first few bars of "Mickey." Of course, now I have to do this EVERY TIME he shows me the stuffed animal. He must like this a lot, as he keeps running over, handing me Mickey, and then standing there clapping and looking expectant.
Last week, on the way back from T-ball practice:
Boy Wonder: I am so tired! I will go to sleep! Good night, everyone! pulls hat down over face and begins to "snore" loudly
Note to the uninitiated: when Boy Wonder pretends to snore, he actually sounds like he is trying to...well...hock a loogie. A big one.
Action Hero: Cough! Cough! Garf! Haaackkkkkspl!
Me: Oh no! Is he choking? Does he have something in his throat?
Action Hero: Garf! Cough! Hahaha! Hahahah! Garf! Hacckpspl! HAHAHA! Bleh!
Me: Oh, dear God. He's trying to "snore" too.
The sound of loogie-hocking traveled merrily across the summer sky for the next few minutes. Ah, the wonder of boys...
II: Call Me
New toy: a Spiderman "cell phone." Looks sort of like a real phone. Boy Wonder has been "calling" Spiderman a whole lot this week.
"Mom? I don't think I'll call Spiderman while we're grocery shopping."
"That's fine; we've been calling him a lot. And you know, he might be busy sometimes too!"
"Mom. He's not busy. He just spends all day swinging around on his web."
III: Guess Who?
"Hello, Spiderman? Hi, it's Boy Wonder! Yeah. OK. See you later!" (sound of toy phone being hung up) "Mom? Spiderman is coming over for dinner!"
IIII: Visualize eaten peas
"I don't want my peas. I don't LIKE peas. We have begtables at school. Not peas here. I don't like peas." (sound of post-dinner Rice Krispie treat being offered) "I realize now that I like peas."
"Realize" sounds hilarious coming from a four-year-old.
IV: Gratuitous '80s Songs
Action Hero has recently developed a liking for a small stuffed Mickey Mouse, purchased for him by Grandma last year around this time. He brought it over to me one day, and I tossed out the first few bars of "Mickey." Of course, now I have to do this EVERY TIME he shows me the stuffed animal. He must like this a lot, as he keeps running over, handing me Mickey, and then standing there clapping and looking expectant.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Then I had religion
Recent quotes from Boy Wonder on random topics:
"Mom? Winnie the Pooh is a friendly bear." (Said thoughtfully, as though he is just now realizing this about Pooh. I can't even remember the last time we watched a Pooh movie.)
"Mom? Do ducks go peepee in the grass, or in the water?"
"Mom? Do worms bite?"
"Mom? When I am 30 years old, how old will Action Hero be?"
Boy Wonder is once again having Big Thoughts in the car. (Lots of them seem to be about nature; perhaps, in thirty years or so, he'll build his own little Walden so he can focus on attaining answers.) His thoughts are about to get bigger, though. Because this fall, he'll be starting K4...at the Catholic school down the street.
During recent efforts to find quality daycare for the boys, I wasn't sure whose needs to place first. At four, Boy Wonder is now old enough to know that he's going to a different school, old enough to ask why, and old enough to miss his former caregivers and friends. (And to tell me so. Repeatedly.) On the other hand, he's four; he'll only need full-time, year-round care for at most another year. Action Hero, at just over fifteen months, won't remember much about this time, and he'll be in daycare for at least three more years. He's younger; he needs to be at a center that posts health alerts and communicates effectively with parents. I couldn't decide what to do, and found myself wishing that our school district, which does feature an after-school program, had all-day K4, rather than their current half-day program (which, being just over two hours long, isn't even half a day). Then I remembered my cousin's wife talking about enrolling their son in school, and about how some of the local Catholic schools had all-day K4. And, the next time I drove the boys to their old daycare (the bitey one), I noticed a sign saying, "Now enrolling: K4-8!"
And I called the number, and as I found out more information about the program, it sounded better and better. They have an after-school program as well, and there will probably be just 10 kids in Boy Wonder's class; much better than the two dozen or so that were on the list for Bitey Daycare's summer program. Boy Wonder and I took a tour of the school, and he said that he liked it. He seemed particularly captivated by the music room; all grades have "official" music class, and there's a separate art class once a week as well. Kids in K4 and K5 are assigned "buddies" from the upper grades, who help them with their lunch trays in the cafeteria and sit with them when the school attends Mass together. The principal is nice. It feels like a good place...as does the daycare that Action Hero will be attending once a spot opens up for him.
Of course, as it is a Catholic school, there is tuition; if you're a parish member, that tuition is cut in half. Since parents with children at the school are expected to take said children to Mass weekly, joining the parish seemed rather sensible. And it doesn't seem like a big deal, either. I'm already comfortable with most of the Ten Commandments, although now I'm going to have to work on not taking the Lord's name in vain. Keeping the Sabbath day holy should be fairly easy, especially since Boy Wonder is up by 6AM on weekends. The church is pretty, with a nice open-concept design and lots of stained glass, and the priest materialized beside us to introduce himself as soon as I filled out my sign-up form. He was quite good-natured also, particularly when listening to me explain to Boy Wonder that no, I didn't have any coins, but in any case, that fountain is not the sort that we throw coins into, and those candles are special candles that people pay to light. (Yes, that would be the holy water fount and the prayer candles.)
I'm looking forward to this. Sure, they have uniforms, but those can be purchased at Target these days and consist of navy blue pants and navy or white polos. And Boy Wonder, like Dragon, looks grand in navy blue. He'll get to make Advent chains, learn Christmas carols and all sorts of obscure hymns, and hear interesting stories.
And, last but not least, he'll no doubt come up with some REALLY interesting questions during commutes.
"Mom? Winnie the Pooh is a friendly bear." (Said thoughtfully, as though he is just now realizing this about Pooh. I can't even remember the last time we watched a Pooh movie.)
"Mom? Do ducks go peepee in the grass, or in the water?"
"Mom? Do worms bite?"
"Mom? When I am 30 years old, how old will Action Hero be?"
Boy Wonder is once again having Big Thoughts in the car. (Lots of them seem to be about nature; perhaps, in thirty years or so, he'll build his own little Walden so he can focus on attaining answers.) His thoughts are about to get bigger, though. Because this fall, he'll be starting K4...at the Catholic school down the street.
During recent efforts to find quality daycare for the boys, I wasn't sure whose needs to place first. At four, Boy Wonder is now old enough to know that he's going to a different school, old enough to ask why, and old enough to miss his former caregivers and friends. (And to tell me so. Repeatedly.) On the other hand, he's four; he'll only need full-time, year-round care for at most another year. Action Hero, at just over fifteen months, won't remember much about this time, and he'll be in daycare for at least three more years. He's younger; he needs to be at a center that posts health alerts and communicates effectively with parents. I couldn't decide what to do, and found myself wishing that our school district, which does feature an after-school program, had all-day K4, rather than their current half-day program (which, being just over two hours long, isn't even half a day). Then I remembered my cousin's wife talking about enrolling their son in school, and about how some of the local Catholic schools had all-day K4. And, the next time I drove the boys to their old daycare (the bitey one), I noticed a sign saying, "Now enrolling: K4-8!"
And I called the number, and as I found out more information about the program, it sounded better and better. They have an after-school program as well, and there will probably be just 10 kids in Boy Wonder's class; much better than the two dozen or so that were on the list for Bitey Daycare's summer program. Boy Wonder and I took a tour of the school, and he said that he liked it. He seemed particularly captivated by the music room; all grades have "official" music class, and there's a separate art class once a week as well. Kids in K4 and K5 are assigned "buddies" from the upper grades, who help them with their lunch trays in the cafeteria and sit with them when the school attends Mass together. The principal is nice. It feels like a good place...as does the daycare that Action Hero will be attending once a spot opens up for him.
Of course, as it is a Catholic school, there is tuition; if you're a parish member, that tuition is cut in half. Since parents with children at the school are expected to take said children to Mass weekly, joining the parish seemed rather sensible. And it doesn't seem like a big deal, either. I'm already comfortable with most of the Ten Commandments, although now I'm going to have to work on not taking the Lord's name in vain. Keeping the Sabbath day holy should be fairly easy, especially since Boy Wonder is up by 6AM on weekends. The church is pretty, with a nice open-concept design and lots of stained glass, and the priest materialized beside us to introduce himself as soon as I filled out my sign-up form. He was quite good-natured also, particularly when listening to me explain to Boy Wonder that no, I didn't have any coins, but in any case, that fountain is not the sort that we throw coins into, and those candles are special candles that people pay to light. (Yes, that would be the holy water fount and the prayer candles.)
I'm looking forward to this. Sure, they have uniforms, but those can be purchased at Target these days and consist of navy blue pants and navy or white polos. And Boy Wonder, like Dragon, looks grand in navy blue. He'll get to make Advent chains, learn Christmas carols and all sorts of obscure hymns, and hear interesting stories.
And, last but not least, he'll no doubt come up with some REALLY interesting questions during commutes.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Happy birthday!
Happy birthday to Wordwitch! Your birthday this year is so auspicious, hundreds of thousands of people are getting married today. Apparently, it's a very powerful day for those who believe in numerology. Or slot machines. Anyway, all good wishes to people getting married, believing in numerology, or playing the slots today. But even better good (huh?) wishes to you; hopefully Hawkins and Gomez managed to work up a special day for you.
As she often does, Wordwitch brings up a good point. Those of us who work full-time outside of the home spend A LOT OF DAMN TIME at work. Having cordial relationships with your coworkers is quite pleasant, particularly if you do something that involves hours spent staring at a computer screen or pile of papers and doesn't require a lot of face-to-face interaction. Being cordial does not take a lot of effort (well, at least I don't think it does), and everyone HAS a birthday; it's not that hard to remember when someone's is, and how (or if, for all you Jehovah's Witnesses out there) they might like it to be recognized.
Having friendly relationships with your coworkers is even nicer. I don't know about you, but I like to know all kinds of things about my coworkers: where they commute from, where they hail from originally, what they studied in school (I find that particularly fascinating: not only what they studied, but how they ended up in the current job if it's not something immediately related to what they studied), if they watch TV and what shows they like, if they enjoy reading and what sort of books they like, etc. It turns out that I'm far more social than I would have thought, had you asked me back when I was in high school wearing my black trench coat. Or maybe I'm just practical. I'm spending at least forty hours a week working in close proximity to these people, and I like my workplaces harmonious, thanks.
I've had both "cordial" and "friendly" workplaces (shoot, even when I had that temp job back in February, I ended up in a department full of people who watched Lost and 24, and those are great icebreakers right there) and haven't often realized that I've been fortunate to have such. Thanks for reminding me. May your office wise up and get cordial. If they don't, send them to me for lessons.
As she often does, Wordwitch brings up a good point. Those of us who work full-time outside of the home spend A LOT OF DAMN TIME at work. Having cordial relationships with your coworkers is quite pleasant, particularly if you do something that involves hours spent staring at a computer screen or pile of papers and doesn't require a lot of face-to-face interaction. Being cordial does not take a lot of effort (well, at least I don't think it does), and everyone HAS a birthday; it's not that hard to remember when someone's is, and how (or if, for all you Jehovah's Witnesses out there) they might like it to be recognized.
Having friendly relationships with your coworkers is even nicer. I don't know about you, but I like to know all kinds of things about my coworkers: where they commute from, where they hail from originally, what they studied in school (I find that particularly fascinating: not only what they studied, but how they ended up in the current job if it's not something immediately related to what they studied), if they watch TV and what shows they like, if they enjoy reading and what sort of books they like, etc. It turns out that I'm far more social than I would have thought, had you asked me back when I was in high school wearing my black trench coat. Or maybe I'm just practical. I'm spending at least forty hours a week working in close proximity to these people, and I like my workplaces harmonious, thanks.
I've had both "cordial" and "friendly" workplaces (shoot, even when I had that temp job back in February, I ended up in a department full of people who watched Lost and 24, and those are great icebreakers right there) and haven't often realized that I've been fortunate to have such. Thanks for reminding me. May your office wise up and get cordial. If they don't, send them to me for lessons.
