Cyn's Corner

God's Post-It -- does He have stock in 3M?

2011-01-30T04:14:00.000-06:00

Every now and again God sends me a post-it note. I count on these as subtle, and sometime no so subtle, reminders from Him. My recent trip to San Francisco for a trade show was a perfect example. As I sat cramped in a too-small seat on a plane bound for San Francisco I was, for the first time, at a loss for a good reason to put myself through this process. It was pre-dawn so the shades were still down and for the first time the window seat offered no relief. My seat-mate, though small in size too up the majority of available space and I found my much larger self trying to take up less room.

As we flew west with the sun chasing us I lifted the shade. What I saw reminded me of what I love about flying...God's artistry! Only a master could paint with colors and textures like I saw below. The ground resembled an old-time country quilt; tan, brown, cocoa and green stitched together with threads of grey and tan. Circles and rectangles intersected squares and parallelograms. Triangles crossed rectangles, everything dotted with sunlight and shadow.

A change in heading took us northwest and the patterns changed. No longer lat, it rose and fell bursting with explosions of red, orange and white highlighted with soft tan and pink. When I looked again I was mesmerized by the vast expanse of pure white. as far as I could see the ground was covered in snow, pure white, unbroken and unmarked. and then suddenly it wasn't all white - there on the soft white carpet were dots of black poking up here and there. Just like a glass of milk after an Oreo cookie had been dunked. In the blink of an eye mountains loomed. Standing majestically they welcomed me like sentries, letting me know silently that I was passing through the unseen gate to my home state.

Below and between smaller hills and mountains were nestled under a blanket of grey. A downy quilt surrounded them while they slumbered. When the sun began to gently wake the west, the grey quilt was pulled back to reveal a lush green floor. Just past the grey edge lay the deepest blue that warms my heart and soothes my soul, filling me with contentment...the Pacific Ocean was yawning it's welcome. as her welcome home anthem hummed through my veins it was as though everything around me faded to nothing.

This was it, the reason I love flying, God paints the most perfect masterpieces that never fail to fill my soul and remind me of his power and glory. My favorite, that he creates just for me, is the ocean. that vast expanse of gentle fury speaks to me and soothes me like nothing else. Ands with every glimpse of the sea the subtle reminder that no matter where I go, the ocean that is part of me is always there, whether I can see it or not, just as He is.

Coming of Age

2010-05-29T01:26:00.003-05:00

Technically I should have written this yesterday, but I'm claiming busy-mom-syndrome and writing this at 1:30 the morning after, so it still counts, right? Right!

When I woke up I recalled the excitement of waking up on this day 13 years ago. I just knew that in a few hours I would hold my son. Things didn't work out quite the way we planned, but the day ended and I had briefly held my son.

This morning I knew it was only minutes before I could hug him,m and I was sure that it to would be brief. I was a bit more apprehensive to wake him up this year, after all I was waking a teenager. Still, I thought that the lure of presents and cake would ensure a good mood long enough for me to get my hug. I was right.

I spent most of the day reflecting on the last 13 years of my son's life. There have been moments of unspeakable joy, heart-wrenching pain, white-hot anger, and sheer frustration. But, underneath every one of those moments was an endless supply of love. I never knew I could love so deeply and so unconditionally. I admit it, I am in love with my son. Not in an icky or, I hope, over-bearing way, but in a manner that allows me to see flaws and diamonds and love them both equally and deeply.

JM learned early on that my love was the "no matter what" kind, which for him is a very good thing. I could swear that he lies awake and thinks of ways to test the theory. Fortunately he also learned that I can separate him from his behavior and when I am most angry or frustrated it's at the behaviors not the person.

Today my son turned 13. In some cultures he would be considered a man. In the culture of my heart he's still my baby boy. The one I am most grateful for, and to; the child I am blessed to have call me Mom. It's been amazing to watch him for the past 13 years, I'm sure the future will be just as amazing. And while I suppose I'm not ready for him to move on and move forward, I'm grateful to be included on the journey.

A painful cut

2010-03-09T22:23:00.005-06:00

My birthday was last week. I look forward to my birthday every year. It's a big deal to me, always has been. This year my cake had 45 candles.

As a treat for my birthday I wanted a haircut. I hadn't had a real haircut in about 9 months, since I was last in CA. I found a salon and made an appointment for the afternoon before my birthday. I arrived at the salon a few minutes early with slightly longer than shoulder length, flat, fine hair. I wanted an inverted cut, shorter in the back, longer in front, with the longest portion being 2 - 3 inches past chin length. We had a good consultation, and the stylist shampooed, conditioned and began cutting my hair. It seemed like she knew what she was doing and our conversation was pleasant if inane.

And then the horrors began. One side was longer than the other. Okay, no reason to panic, it happens. A few snips and, wait...one side is longer than the other. "Just a smidge'" she says. So a few more snips and, one side is longer than the other...by an inch. Just another smidge. I sneak a glance at my watch and realize that I've been in the chair for 45 minutes and the cut still isn't complete. Oh wait, we're blowing out the hair now. Good, almost done. No reason to panic.

Until she says, "I can't wait to see this dry so I can see what pieces I missed." Hello? Seriously? In all the decades I've had my hair cut no one has ever had to dry it to see what they missed! And guess what we found? My hair was uneven! I point it out twice, and realize that my hair is now 4 inches shorter than what I wanted and is no longer past chin length. The salon owner comes over, says she won't charge me, and makes a few snips to even it out. As my chair is turned toward the mirror and the scissors are picked up again, I look in horror at my reflection. I take off the cape, announce my departure and begin to sob uncontrollably. I look like the dutch boy! My hair is shorter than chin length and makes a nice square frame.

I manage to get in my car and call the only person that I can think will understand...my mom. She felt bad, told me not to worry, that I could work with it, and that it would grow back. Surely she would be more sympathetic if she could actually understand what I was saying. "Waaaaa, mmaaaaa haare, I can't....boy!" is what she heard. In actuality, what I said was "The dutch boy, I look like the dutch boy...the day before my 45th birthday and I look like the freaking dutch boy! This is not okay. I refuse to wake up on my birthday and look like this!" I still don't understand what got lost in the translation.

Have you ever tried to drive while sobbing uncontrollably? It isn't easy and it's hard to see things. I drove through 4 strip malls looking for another salon, passed one twice because I was afraid to go in. Apparently there were only two salons nearby; the butcher shop I had just left and the place I was afraid of. Drying my eyes I walked in to Salon #2. I was not reassured by what I found; a small staff and indifferent receptionist. But I pressed on and asked if someone could re-cut my hair. I waited patiently until I heard a chorus of "sorry no time" and one lone "I could fit her in on Saturday."

I admit it, I lost it. I broke down in tears, again, looked at the closest stylist and said, "Tomorrow is my 45th birthday and I can't look like this!" And proceeded to bawl loudly. His customer took pity on me and told him to fix my cut, while trying to reassure me that he was the one person I wanted to cut my hair. I managed to sniffle an acknowledgement that the only way to salvage the cut was to go shorter and he got to work. I heard the razor slicing through my hair and began to breathe. It was a familiar sound and it reassured me that he knew what he was doing. Then the frantic cutting began, it sounded like Edward Scissorhands was behind me, and when I said it out loud he laughed and I offered a watery smile. A few brush strokes, a blow dryer and a flat iron and voila, I was done. I felt better, it looked cuter than when I walked in, and I could live with it. Fortunately, the first person I saw after getting my second haircut told me how great it looked.

I learned something that day; never, ever will I get a haircut the day before my birthday, unless I'm sitting in Bev's chair. Oh, and one other thing I learned? Tears really can work for you!

Gonna be a Bear

2009-12-10T12:31:00.003-06:00

I received the following in an email from a dear friend so I can't take credit for writing it; however, I agree with the sentiment whole-heartedly and that means it goes on the blog. Enjoy!

Writer's Block or Old Age?

2009-12-10T10:28:00.001-06:00

It seems to me that every time I'm away from the laptop I have hundreds of ideas to blog about. However, the moment I boot up, log on and sit down to write I seem to have nothing but air upstairs.

Right about now some people I know will probably be making a snippy comment about what really goes on inside my head. Those of you in the peanut gallery, please keep your comments to yourselves.

Seriously, I'm not sure if it's writer's block or old age, but either way I don't like it. I have a little red notebook around here somewhere that holds ideas that I've jotted down. It doesn't seem to help much. Of course that could be because I spend umpteen minutes just looking for the darn thing. When I finally find it I'm exhausted and not in the mood to write. I've been told I need to carry my idea book everywhere. I'm afraid if I do that I'll just have to look everywhere to find it after I've set it down one too many times.

Maybe I'll just pass on a daily blog and follow the best advice I've been given...when you have something to write about, write. That's much more appealing than old age :)

A button down by any other name...

2009-09-07T12:49:00.002-05:00

This is JM's first year of football. He is required to wear a dress shirt, tie, and dress slacks to school on game days. The first of those days is tomorrow and my darling son falls short on the dress clothes supply.

As luck would have it as we stepped into the mall yesterday my boss called; needing my services for an hour or two, so after checking with the boys a plan was hatched. Hubby and JM would stay at the mall and shop while I took care of work-related matters. They were given a budget and these last minute instructions:

1. Please make sure the pants, shirt and tie are color-coordinated.

2. Dress shirt should be long-sleeved so make sure the sleeves are the appropriate length.

3. Tie; no clip-ons. JM wants a real tie.

4. Button down shirt, not an oxford.

5. Dress slacks, please choose a shade of tan - not black.

And off I went. While I was gone I checked bank balances to see where they were shopping and whether or not they were on budget, but I didn't tell them that. Just under two hours later I was back at the mall and quickly spotted them as they went meandering on their way.

Hmmmm, only one bag. This did not bode well. Upon my arrival I was told that we were out of luck. No button down shirts. Of course this made no sense to me; an entire mall and not one dress shirt in the entire place? Hubby said the only choices were two shades of blue and two shades of white. Again I didn't see the problem. Oh wait, the bag. I was forbidden to open it, but I could see through the bag that the pants inside were black. Still, I didn't understand the problem.

It became clear when Hubby explained that he was looking for "button down" shirts. JM said it didn't matter as long as they were dress shirts. Hubby was sticking to shirts with button down collars and JM just wanted any old dress shirt, preferably black, with a tie. Poor hubby was laughing, but defenseless when I reminded him that he was from a different time (read: old) when a "button-down" meant something different. Of course his suggestion that we talk to a haberdasher didn't actually help his case either. When JM suggested it was 2009 not 1909 and we lived in America, not England where such things still matter, I though he was going to pop a blood vessel. Fortunately, we were able to resolve the discussion with a quick search of Wikipedia on the iPhone. We were both right. "Back in the old days" a button-down referred specifically to a shirt with a buttoned down collar. These days however, it simply refers to a shirt that buttons down the front. These shirts no longer being worn simply for "dress", but are often paired with jeans and left untucked. But, I digress...

Grumbling and grousing that they had been all over the mall, four times, and now knew it so well they found things they had never known were there, we headed back to get JM his dress shirt and tie. The one he wanted two hours earlier, and would have had, if his Dad lived in the current times. Fortunately Hubby had a sense of humor about the whole thing, but I'm still trying to figure out why he headed for the nearest exit as soon as I arrived, leaving me to handle the shirt and tie portion of the event...

Expectations

2009-05-27T09:47:00.006-05:00

I never thought my expectations for my son's academic performance were out of line. Apparently, I was wrong.

Recently my husband came home, grabbed an envelope off the table and began reviewing our son's state required test scores. They were scores any parent and student would be proud of, but our son wasn't proud. He felt as though he failed and let us down in the process. No matter how quietly or loudly we praised his accomplishment he kept saying he failed (using a variety of teen angst-filled phrases, of course).

I finally cracked through the wall of negativity by pointing out that I've never seen him study or do much homework. Then I said to him, "Look at your scores without studying, can you imagine what they'd be if you actually cracked a book?" He laughed and the tension dissipated, but it left me wondering...

Are our expectations too high? Have we set an impossible standard?

This morning I reflected on the conversation. Then I did what I do best. I called a friend. Then I called my mom. Of course, I got two differing opinions. One says I'm too hard and my expectations are too high, the other says that my expectations are are justified and based solely on his abilities. So now what?

It's tough having a gifted child. It's even tougher being a gifted child. I've stood on both sides of the fence and now I understand how my mom must have felt when I put her through the same angst. After much soul-searching and conversation, I think I finally have the words that will hopefully ease the burden of high expectations:

Excellence does not mean perfection.

I expect my son to perform at his best level. I expect excellence from him because he is clearly capable of just that. I do not expect perfection.

I find perfection in his ability to make me laugh. It's in the way he tells me he loves me at just the right moment. It's in his eyes, the exact same shade as mine, every time he smiles. I find perfection in the simple fact that my son exists.

My son is not a perfect person, but to me, he is absolute perfection. And that is most excellent.

From the "It could only happen to me" file

2009-05-03T17:31:00.004-05:00

I was laid off from my last job in February along with a good friend, Magcake, that I met while working there. We jokingly said we should bill ourselves as a package deal and try to get hired by the same company. She had a temp job for two weeks and I've worked a part time position for the last month. Neither of us is getting very many interviews.

Magcake had an interview two weeks ago. She asked for my resume so she could take it with her. To the amazement of the CEO, Magcake left my resume suggesting that he should hire me if he didn't like her. A week later I got a call to meet with him on Saturday.

As the interview was winding down we started discussing Magcake. He mentioned that he was looking for a way to hire her, but wasn't sure where she would fit. Magcake and I have different backgrounds, I'm Exec Admin and she's IP legal. after conversations back and forth I got a call this afternoon. We've both been hired.

Not only did I get myself a job, but I got Magcake one too. It was unorthodox, and it could only happen to me...or Magcake. :)

I have a host of friends...

2009-04-18T22:46:00.004-05:00

At the end of El Dorado (the John Wayne version), James Caan's character is the recipient of good natured ribbing. His reply, as they ride of into the sunset is "I have a host of friends." The line was delivered with the right blend of wit and sarcasm and is one of my favorite lines of any movie and it is also applicable to my life.

My friends run the spectrum of personalities and quirks and fuel different parts of my life an personality. I have a slew of good friends that I rely on to keep me sane, living, out of trouble when necessary, in trouble when it's time, and generally appreciative of life. And then I have a handful of friends that I can count on for anything at any time. They would move mountains for me (and have many times).

It used to bother me that I had unintentionally classified my friends. I've come to realize, however, that it's natural. Not all of my friends can be all things to me. It's a burden that should not be placed on their shoulders. Their job is to fill a niche. Each friend has their unwritten role in my life. Some come in for a specific reason or a short time, others come in, stay awhile and then move on, and some come in, unpack their bags and never leave. You never know which it's going to be. It's kind of the like the prize in the cracker-jack box. You never know what you're going to get, but you know it's gonna be good. I never know how or when I'll have a new friend. Some of my friends have been no-brainer choices, our friendship was obvious and others were unexpected gifts discovered in unexpected places.

One friendship still has the ability to leave me questioning. The fact that we're friends after 33 years still amazes and delights me. But, even though I've known her longer than anyone else, we're total opposites with similar likes and dislikes. Had I been asked on graduation day who I would still be friends with in 30 years, I would not have named her. I expected we would have drifted apart our differences defining us more than our similarities. I have never been happier to be wrong. Ours is an easy friendship with ebbs and flows and yet the unwavering commitment and dedication to each other. And another friendship was gifted to me like a perfect pearl from inside a clam. The shell was hard to crack but held an undeniable treasure. She is my almost-daily connection and compass. I count on her more than she knows even when I don't show it well. Over the years we have developed a bond that allows us to talk about all topics and subjects without recrimination or rejection.

There are those that have special places and roles in my life like family, while others feel like pieces of my soul. And there are those whose company I simply enjoy and others who add peace to my life. There are the bookworm friends, the vegetarian friends, the super mom friend, the cheer mom friend, the mom-of-a-friend friend, the church friends, the knows-all-my-secrets friend, the spiritual friend, the my-twin friend, the school friends, scout friends, PTA survivor friends, the psycho-bitch friend, the neighborhood friends, the long-lost friends, the we-used-to-date-and-I-still-like-you friends, and the very-best-always-supportive-friends.

Each of them fills a different part of my soul. Each is valuable and relied on in different ways. They are all brilliant gems in their own right, but the colors and displays we make when grouped together is the most amazing of any gift I have ever received.

So to all of them I say thank you, I am blessed. I have a host of friends.

Losing Belle

2009-04-15T22:19:00.002-05:00

On February 4, 2009 I got a call that rocked my world. Little did I know how profoundly I would be affected or for how long.

Belle is/was my teacup Maltese. I got her in September 2007 and it was love at first sight. Although she is purebred she was deeply discounted in price - she was 4 months old when I brought her home and she fit in one hand. She immediately claimed me as her person and I was enamored of her. She has a travel bag and a few cute clothes and I loved to take her with me whenever I left the house. Unfortunately that didn't include work.

When Scott called me and told me she was missing I went ballistic. My rage was directed at the neighbors who owned the renegade dog that chased her. It was a vain attempt not to flame my husband for his part in the ordeal.

It's been exactly 10 weeks today. I still look for her, I still miss her and I absolutely want her back. I have spent money on ads and flyers and posters. I have gone door-to-door and reached for the obscure. Part of me knows that it's unlikely I'll ever see her again, but no matter how hard I try I can't seem to let go. Even now the tears threaten. I am her person and perhaps, against all odds, I hope that it is enough to keep her connected and bring her home.

She's a dog and yet she's so much more. At least to me. If I could only figure out how to convey that to whomever has her, it might be enough to get her back. For now I pray for her return and I pray for the pain to ease. I know which one I want more.

Catching Up

2009-04-15T08:20:00.002-05:00

Boy, I have no idea where the time went. I just started working a part time job last week and I feel like I have no time to get anything done. This makes no sense to me. While working full time it seems like I managed to get so much more done, including this blog. But for some reason working 10A to 3P three days a week leaves me with no time. I'm sure there are other things I'm missing, but I can't quite figure this out. When I do you can count on regular updates again. Speaking of which...

It must be a boy thing. When we lived in Southern California my son wanted to learn to surf, loved playing soccer, enjoyed baseball, and had absolutely zero interest in football. What happened? In Texas, all of a sudden he wants to play football. We are not a football family. I have a favorite team (Go Steelers) and have enjoyed watching specific players over the years (Swann, Piccolo, Alzado, Long, Christensen, Matuzak, Bradshaw, a host of others and of course, Montana is the ultimate), but I don't live and die by the game. So where does the football desire come from?

It's a boy thing. And my son wants to fit in. Which is why, in spite of my better judgement I gave parental approval for him to begin a 7-on-7 flag football camp and tournament through his school. With trepidation we bought cleats, a practice jersey and extra pair of shorts. The first day of practice went off without a hitch and JM was glowing after practice. Tired, but glowing. He proclaimed that he would be a wide receiver since he caught more balls than he dropped. As long as he wasn't a linebacker I had to breath a little easier, but not much.

The second day of practice I was a little less worried. It was FLAG football so I was fairly sure he wouldn't be stomped on and broken like a twig. Until I picked him up afterwards and he told me that he couldn't catch anything. He held up his right hand and informed me that he jammed his finger on his third catch, didn't tell the coaches and kept playing. And my insides turned cold. It was only a finger, but it looked like more than a jam. He was determined to tough it out and refused medical treatment. Until later.

After returning from urgent care we have a possible fracture. A radiologist will review the films today and we'll know tomorrow if we need to see an orthopedist. So for now there's no football, no diving which starts in two weeks, and no flute practice. And while I do feel really bad for him missing the tournament, I'm secretly a little relieved. And yet I have to contend with the whole badge of honor issue since he's now thrilled that if it is a fracture he's finally received his first broken bone. That must be a boy thing!

Someday My Race Will Come...

2009-04-05T21:29:00.004-05:00

I've been a NASCAR fan for a hundred years, or at least it feels that way. I spent many years following Indy and Formula 1, especially enjoying and working the Toyota Gran Prix of Long Beach. That is a race that I have seen in person at least a dozen times.

Still NASCAR was always my first love. Drive fast, turn left! For the second time in my life I live within spitting distance of a race track with huge races. Here in Texas they have the race twice a year. But, have I ever managed to see a race in person? Uh, no.

For some reason it seems like this year just about everyone I know, including some that I never thought were race fans, got invited to today's race. Fully half of them got to see the race from a suite! Before we moved to TX the DH went to California Motor Speedway and saw a race. Oh yeah, from a suite! Did I get to use the extra ticket? NO! And he isn't really even a NASCAR fan.

Am I just a wee bit jealous? Ya think?! But that's okay, someday my race will come. When it does not only will I have great seats, maybe even a suite, but my favorite driver will be in the winner's circle! Until then I'll just whine a little on race days.

The Crush

2009-04-04T16:31:00.004-05:00

During the last year of elementary school most of the boys and all of the girls had crushes on one another. Some even went so far as labeling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. My darling son wasn't among them. Part of me worried, but another part of me wasn't concerned at all. I knew one day a girl would see what others had and at some point there will be more girls than any one boy should have. Even if there were only one girl he would be okay. JM has plenty of girl friends, three of his best and most loved are back home in CA.

But Texas is different and I've noticed that if the girls don't like you neither do the boys. Granted he told me about the crushes of all of his friends. Occasionally I asked him if like anyone. The answer was always no. Once I even asked if there was a boy he liked. That was met with a resounding 'eeeeewwww', but I had to ask.

This afternoon, my darling son waltzes in the door says he's grabbing lunch for him and a friend then they are going to the park. One his way out the door he drops the bomb. There are two girls he likes and has since the middle of last year, but they don't like him. Momentarily stunned, I mumbled 'Thanks for sharing, love you.' He stopped turned around and asked if I were going to tease him now. I assured him I wouldn't and I won't.

I'm pretty proud of how I handled myself. I was all nonchalant on the outside, but inside, I was doing the world's best Tigger impersonation and trying hard not to let my excitement for him show. But we'll keep that just between us, right?

Clean Up on Aisle 3!

2009-04-04T02:10:00.005-05:00

Having a tween doesn't mean what I thought it did. I thought my son would, by now, clean his room by himself. It's simple really, all I ask is that his crap...excuse me, his very important, most treasured belongings, be put away where they belong. Much to my chagrin, I found myself in the position of upholding an edict this afternoon.

Apparently, even though I don't issue many, I need to be more careful about the ones I do issue. See, I have asked him for months to please clean up his room. It wasn't tragically messy, but crap was stuffed and piled in every nook and cranny, and I do mean every. I reminded him that if I had to come in and do it I would most likely remove his most beloved possessions without his consent. I thought I had my ace-in-the-hole when he decided that Jack and Daisy (his two 70 lb. dogs) would be sleeping in his room. Jack needed a new, larger crate. This crate would be identical to Daisy's crate. Each crate is 47L x 23W x 36H -- they are gargantuan. One takes up a huge chunk of floor space, two is just horrendous. We had the new crate and I was tasked with getting it Jack ready before Friday night. Completing my mission required reorganization of furniture and toy storage.

With trepidation I began the excavation of space. I hauled out everything...storage boxes from the closet, the bins of miscellaneous toys, all the games, more stuffed animals than any boy has ever had, and a cache of weaponry. Some I instantly set aside for donation, others I tossed (gasp!), and the rest got moved into another room. In case I wasn't certain that I actually have a boy, I would have figured it out today. I discovered rocks, twigs, bottle caps, paper clips, rubber bands, and pieces of heaven knows what. Oh, and a Zoo Pals pig paper plate with the eyes cut out - I think he was two when that was created. I tossed the pig face and put the rest of the rocks and junk in an empty shoebox I unearthed.

When I was done I closed the door and waited for the arrival of my darling child. Fully prepared to face his wrath with justification and stoicism, I was surprised when upon his arrival he was fairly bursting with excitement and asked me to cover his eyes and 'reveal' his new room. (Think he's seen one too many design makeover shows?) I did as he asked, he walked in and, well, here's the rest of the exchange...

JM: Awesome
Me: Think so?
JM: Yeah! Hey, wait...where's my...(frantically looking around room and into closet)...Mom, what you'd do with my? Where's my?...What's in the trash can? MOM! You threw out my pig mask? How could you?
Me: I told you if I had to do this I would clean it all out (said very gently).
JM: Yeah I know, I just wasn't expecting all of it to be gone.
Me: Monkey, what did you think "all" meant?
JM: Not everything. Where's my bottle cap? Where's my pebble from Big Bear?
Me: Big Bear? You were 3 the one time we went and you kept a pebble? Don't panic, everything hasn't left yet, you have 10 boxes in the other room and we will go through them tomorrow. You can pick 5 things from each box to keep. After that it's the toy box...
JM: YOU ARE NOT TOUCHING MY TOY BOX! How come only 5?
Me: Can I finish? We will clean it out. You don't get to keep all the toys, and stuffed animals. It's time to donate the older things.
JM: Okay, but where's my bottle cap?
Me: We'll deal with it tomorrow.
JM: Seriously Mom, my pig mask? Trash? My room looks great and Jack will love his crate, but I miss my stuff.

And so it boils down to a paper plate with holes in it. Did he look for his PSP? The 52 games for his GBA and DS? Was he even concerned about the GI Joes that he swears he can't live without? Nope. A paper plate, a pebble, and a bottle cap. Those are the only things he worried about. I can't wait for the argument that ensues when I firmly refuse to allow him to keep trash for another 12 years. And when he asks to please keep the lincoln logs that I swear he hasn't played with since he was 5, the answer is "Oh hell no!" I just hope I can keep him from out negotiating me. I can see myself offering the bottle cap in exchange for the lincoln logs and losing badly. And no edicts either, when this task is accomplished I'm looking for edicts anonymous. Can someone please just remind me?

Virtual Reality

2009-04-02T10:57:00.005-05:00

I found a job! And I was hired!

The job market stinks so I accepted a job as a virtual assistant. Yes, I researched everything first and no, I wasn't required to give out banking information. I had no reason to suspect anything was amiss. I agreed to an exclusive signing with their agency in exchange for a signing bonus along with their standard equipment bonus. I signed the papers and had my check in hand on March 31st.

Yesterday I headed out to get the equipment I needed, but first I had to deposit the check. The check was drawn on B of A, where I also have an account, so I didn't think there would be any problems. The teller let me know that there would be no hold placed on the check and funds would be available immediately.

I left and headed off to shop! While shopping I got a call from the bank manager informing me 'the bank is unable to negotiate the check at this time', which didn't mean anything to me until she continued. The check is fraudulent. For a minute I thought it was an April Fool's joke. But no, the joke was onme. I was stunned momentarily and left the cart where it stood and walked outside. Took a breath and drove home.

I took a job as a virtual assistant. I just didn't know it came with a virtual paycheck. The contract requires that I provide notice and agree to an exit interview should I decide to terminate my association. I think I virtually resigned when the virtual paycheck was virtually gone. They can virtually sue me.

Scotty said only I could make $5000 and lose it in the same day. Yep, it could only happen to me and it virtually does.

Bailout Shmailout

2009-03-31T21:06:00.008-05:00

Everyone is talking about bailouts. Some folks agree with them, some don't. And everyone seems to want their piece of the bailout pie. For the most part I don't think the government should keep handing out money to anyone who has screwed up as royally as the banks and car manufacturers. I'm not interested in pointing fingers or placing blame, but if I screwed up my bank account like AIG has screwed up theirs, no one in their right mind would bail me out and someone would absolutely take the checkbook away.

Some folks are afraid that if the government doesn't step in and the Big 3 fail, the domino effect will thrust the nation into another depression. I can understand why that scares people. It scares me. I don't pretend to have answers or really know enough to believe that we are on the road to recovery. I think every story is different and everyone will react based on how they are personally affected.

But, if President Obama is interested, there is another alternative. It's called the Real Bailout and it was forwarded to me in an e-mail chain so I can't take credit for thinking it up. Okay, here we go:

Offer approximately 4 million workers over the age of 50 $1 million each to retire immediately, with 2 severance stipulations.

First, upon their retirement each retiree will be required to purchase one new American made automobile. With orders for 4 million cars the auto industry will recover and can begin to create more economical and fuel-efficient vehicles.

Second, each retiree will be required to pay off their existing mortgage or purchase a new home (for cash). This will rejuvenate both the housing and lending markets. Banks will have the time to reorganize, re-prioritize, re-budget, and repay their bailout money.

Finally, by offering the retirement bailout approximately 4 million jobs will be created. That's a bonus win that will create economic residuals.

I'm sure there are at least a thousand little details that someone can nitpick about, but it really can be that basic. I'd vote for it and not just because my husband is one of those 4 million 50+ employees.

So, when can we expect those checks?

My life as a Borg

2009-03-30T00:27:00.008-05:00

In a past life I worked for a company that seemed to operate under the mistaken impression that employees were automatons. Looking back the atmosphere seemed more like the Borg collective than an office. Resistance was futile.

This particular collective was more insidious than most. Once they got you in they gave you warm and fuzzies for a few days. But little by little the warm fuzzies were replaced by the cold furies. Mistakes were not tolerated. Conversation was to be avoided. Certain people were off-limits. Circus performances were a daily requirement.

For me the daily grind became a walk of the tightrope while twirling fire batons. Apparently someone mistook my grimace of concentration for the insidious emotion of joy. One afternoon I was called to the Borg-King's office. I was informed that the King himself had performed these functions for many a year and never, in all that time, had he found anything humorous about the work we did. I was now forbidden to smile, laugh, or emote joy. Seriously, was this for real? I started to smile and was met by a look that froze me in a way that only my mother had managed.

I shared this new edict with others of my kind. Disbelief stunned them into silence. We managed to find a way to express our humor, careful to conceal it from the Borg-Kings and Queen. But alas we were not successful and one glorious morning we were dis-similated. I was stunned and sad. Looking back it was a toxic atmosphere, but at the time I was too busy jumping through hoops to notice.

For now I'm still working on laughing without first looking around to see who's watching, while I look for a more humane collective to join.

When exactly will he grow up and am I really ready for it?

2009-03-28T23:17:00.009-05:00

Tonight I sit marveling at the sleeping man-child that I gave birth to almost 12 years ago. This is the baby that my grandmother took one look at and said, "He's been here before." She was right. He has a wise old soul. The exact combination of innocence and knowledge that makes you pull your hair out one moment and stare in awe the next. In sleep he seems so innocent. It is then that I can see the man inside the child.

This boy has a heart as big as the sky, with a gift of compassion as warm as the sun. He can also be incredibly self-centered and obnoxiously rude. Sometimes he manages to be the best and worst in the span of a nanosecond. He thinks he's all grown up, but I'm still wondering when he's really gonna grow up. This child that cannot sleep if I have not walked him to bed and uttered the nightly exchange we have shared since he could repeat after me. This same boy looks forward to Saturday mornings so he can have snuggle time while we watch cartoons. And this young man doesn't want his friends to see me kiss him goodbye when I drop him at school. There are times when he seems more like a 5-year-old than an 11-year-old. When we watch westerns and he has to have his toy gun 'just in case', when he throws a tantrum, and when he asks the same question 20 times or whines for five minutes straight (actually the whining is more 2-year-old). But then, we're walking through the store and he slips his hand into mine, or stops what he's doing just to tell me he loves me, or he tells me that 24/7 just isn't enough time to spend with me. I know the time is coming soon when he will want to spend less time with me. I also know that, for a time at least, he will be emotionally withdrawn from me.

Still, I find myself asking 'when is this child going to grow up?' At those times I try to stop, breathe, and remind myself that he'll grow up when he's ready. And no, I'm not ready for it, so I will wait, mostly patiently. Because the reality is I love the moments I share with my child. I wouldn't trade a single snuggle, held hand, or I love you for one grown up second.

One of my favorite Trace Adkins songs, "You're Gonna Miss This" is about letting go of things too fast. I will miss this, but I will also remember this and treasure the little blessings this man-child gifts me with. I am lucky to be his mom.

Navigating Texas

2009-03-26T17:02:00.008-05:00

I’ve never been navigationally challenged. As long as I had gas and a steering wheel, I could find my way anywhere and sometimes I even found places that weren’t on the map! Unlike my beloved Gram, who could be turned around, and I quote, “ass backward” in a mall, I was fortunate not suffer that indignity. I’d bet anything that part of it was my Dad’s doing – there were many family trips where directions consisted of ‘go my way’ or ‘turn your way’ ‘not that left, the other left’ and ‘no not that way’ quickly followed by ‘that’s not what the map said’. Even the Auto Club’s TripTik wasn’t foolproof (and still isn’t, but that’s another blog). I’m sure that somehow he made it important for me to know how to read a map, locate N/S/E/W while driving, and know my left and right. If not, I’ll give him the credit anyway.

While it’s true that back home there were landmarks to guide me, I rarely relied on them except to judge distance and air quality. (Can you actually see downtown LA, Century City or the Hollywood sign?)

Here in TX, navigational direction takes on a new meaning. Direction is hard to determine as most roads run in circles or at least very zigzag. You can’t even use just a freeway number to give general direction since the major N/S freeway also bears an E/W designation. (If you want to go to Dallas you take 35E South, for Fort Worth you take 35W South.) Moreover, don’t get me started on the names of freeways or the road numbers assigned. Out here, you have to know the exit number since most businesses run along the frontage road, which bears the same name as the freeway. I long for the days of the 710, 5, 57, 210, 605, 405, and 91 freeways.

But, I digress. I KNOW that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West. Not even Texans have the power to change that and I KNOW that Denton is north of both Dallas and Fort Worth. Holding these pieces of knowledge close, while trying to drive around and get acclimated, has helped greatly. After all, there are no mountains to orient me to the North! I was delighted to discover that the front of our house faces west, resulting in beautiful sunsets being viewed from our front yard. Things had been going along just fine and I’d managed to keep from getting lost as well as be able to give Scott directions from time to time to keep him from getting lost.

Then we headed to swim lessons last week and all was lost. It was a very warm day and I still hadn’t adjusted to the time change so I was startled to find myself walking into the sunset after leaving the pool with JM. This wouldn’t seem like a big deal except that I drove East, AWAY from our house and the pool also faces east (or so they said). I was confused. I was trying to figure out how the roads that took me East suddenly had me facing West. I kept reviewing the route in my mind, picturing the roads and the turns. Not once did I drive in a loop or circle.

My confusion grew as I drove home. Scotty kept trying to explain, but his explanation made no sense to me. I had driven EAST, away from my house. And yes, I understood that West for me was West for a lot of other people, some over water, others not. However, it still didn’t make sense – I would have had to drive in a circle in order to be facing West again. Scotty and I kept discussing this among ourselves in the front seat. JM was happily watching cows in the back seat.

Finally, when we made a right turn and the sun was once again off to my right, I said to Scott “I just don’t get it; I need the map when we get home. I’m confused and I don’t like it.” Just as Scott was going to explain one more time, a tiny voice from the back speaks up. JM, my darling boy who, for the moment, thinks I’m really smart and brave, says….

“It’s okay Mom. Just wait a couple of hours. The sun will go down and you won’t be confused anymore.”

That’s my boy! I laughed all the way home – and still do every time I think about it.