Ian quote of the day

I picked Ian up from school and as it happened, we were at the end of the car lanes, which meant everyone was waiting for us to move so more people could pull up to pick up their kids. Ian couldn't have been less concerned. He wanted to pick up acorns. I finally had to physically pick him up and buckle him in so that we could get going. He fought me every inch of the way, kicking and screaming... including this line.

Ian: I get to pick up acorns from school. It's part of the deal, lady!

-k

New profile photo

Maybe we give him too much kool-aid?

nah!

-k

It really was a good camping trip

Realllly...

-k

Proxemics

Makes perfect sense to me.

I am a person who wants a larger sense of personal space, particularly when I don't know people. I can put forth all kinds of theories as to why that is - but I won't bother. I just know that I am one of those people who wants people to respect my personal boundaries.

And it's also situational. When I am in a crowded place, I understand that you give up your right to personal space. When we aren't, then you are choosing to stand that close... that's harder for me. And I understand that to other people, maintaining physical distance seems unfriendly. I don't mean to give you the impression that I stand across the room, arms folded, tapping my foot. I do... I just didn't want to give you that impression.

I also see the irony that a large part of the reason that I grew my hair long in the first place was so that people would play with it - but I can't stand it when people I don't know touch my hair. That seems so intrusive. If we have that kind of relationship, that's great and I love it. If we don't... that hair is attached to me. You wouldn't reach out and stroke my leg that casually... well, some people would and I think that's my point entirely.

I feel the same way about Katie. I know she's adorable, and you are welcome to touch her hand if you feel you must, but don't put your hands near her face, or stroke her head unless you know us like that. I know children are tempting. I know that chubby, happy, adorable children are virtually irresistible. Please resist.

No one does it to Michael. I guess that's a singular advantage to being a large man. People respect your personal space lest you dent theirs.

-k

Small Business Reflections

Owning a small business like a mail center in a small town is like getting the insiders scoop on a soap opera/reality tv show. We hear little snippets of people's lives all day long. We hear about new houses, marriages and divorces, and business ventures when people need a notary. We hear all about birthdays, new babies, weddings, and other celebrations when people send gifts and cards. We hear about all the various reasons people might need or want a private mail box. Since this is a small town, people who know each other bump into each other in line and strike up conversations about everything you can imagine and things you would never imagine people discussing so casually in public. We hear all kinds of stories from the people who need our copier and/or fax machine as well. And then there are the stories we get when people need us to duplicate a key.

I haven't even touched the fact that more people ship international every day than I would have thought - and there is ALWAYS a story when people need things overnighted. I truly do NOT understand why people would ever dislike working at the Post Office. I think I would LOVE it. It would be like this store, but with government benefits and a uniform. I LOVE sorting the mail every day. It's my moment of zen. I could do that all day long and be perfectly happy. It appeals to my OCD on some deep level. I find it very fulfilling. It's this tangible thing. The buckets of mail come in, I sort them all into the boxes where they belong... people come get the mail and give me more. I LOVE it. I know that's weird, and I just don't care. I love it.

I'm no good at the custom packing and shipping of random strange items. That takes a sense of spacial relationships that I don't have or care to develop. Michael is wickedly good at it. He can take any random weird item, and BOY do we get the random weird items, and pack it into a custom made container from the cardboard and other packing/shipping supplies we have. He is really REALLY good at it. I respect that, because that's NOT me.

Now, if I could just get it to where it was a good living financially...

-k

Camping

We kept up with one of our holiday traditions and went camping Thanksgiving weekend. And oooooh baby, it was nippy. (Yes, my darling Alaskan clansmen, I know nippy is relative). It was in the 30s and 40s, which would be lovely and fun and all that... except that the first night, we found out that the heater in the camper wasn't working. With three children, one of whom is practically a newborn. We bought the kids those little hand warmer packs which they played with - and those little glow-in-the-dark sticks that you snap and they used those as nightlights. They were good sports, but I won't kid you... it was cold. You could see your breath in the camper.

We all bundled up, snuggled up, and made it through just fine and now it makes a good story.

Ironically, the one place in the camper that was toasty warm was the inside of the little fridge.

Dammit.

So, if we'd just left out our perishable goods, they would have been as chilly as the rest of us... but noooooooo... they were in a little snugly toaster oven, which ruined most of them. We think that since we hooked up the electricity AND the propane in an attempt to get the heater working, we may have confused the fridge and the result was the OPPOSITE of refrigerated.

Fortunately, we were just up the road from a local fine retailer of grocery goods... and we simply replaced what we had lost.

Since the weather was no warmer the second day, we went to a local fine retailer of sports and outdoors equipment and bought two little space heaters, one for each end of the estate. We headed back to the camper with our new groceries and our two little heaters, hooked them up, and promptly blew out the breaker and blacked out the camper.

Did I already say "dammit"?

Apparently, two heaters was just too much for the circuit. Thank goodness, it was just the circuit breaker and we flipped it back on and were going again. Of course, we had to play rock-paper-scissors with the kids to see who got to have the space heater aimed at their end of the camper. I'm just kidding. Of course, we took it for ourselves. I mean, they are just our kids, right?

So, on our end of the mighty estate, Michael and I still bundled up and snuggled up, but at least you couldn't see our breath inside anymore. Although if you could have, maybe I would have had some warning when methane emissions were headed my way. You know, I realize that's not a lady-like comment, but you can't tell me that you haven't wished once in a while that you knew these things were coming so that you could run, or try to fight them off.

To make matters worse, it rained off and on the entire time, so we mostly stayed inside the camper and played games. We brought my computer to use as a DVD player for Ian, and he watched his favorite movie at least twice. Cory, Michael, Katie, and I played endless rounds of a game we love called "Catchphrase" where the game gives one player a word, person, or figure of speech and they have to give clues to the other players to get them to guess the word, person, or figure of speech. We don't bother with scoring or official rules. We just try to make the clues as funny as possible.

I think quite possibly my favorite thing about camping is the fact that when you go camping there is no denying that you got away and did something completely different from your normal routine. You don't do all the same things you would do at home and you are in different surroundings so you feel like you really got to break from the status quo and that's refreshing. Sure, you do without some of the "conveniences of home" but it's totally worth it to us. We used to camp at least once a month. Then we bought the candy store and started working six days a week which pretty much killed the camping thing for several years. Now, if we want to get away like that, we have to find someone to work the mail center or be closed.

Ian is at that little kid power-trip stage otherwise known as "the Big Potty-Faker". He has learned that if he announces he has to go to the bathroom, even if he JUST went, we'll take him again. And again. And again... on the off-chance that the little bastard really means it this time.
I say "us", I mean "Cory". Poor Cory had to take Ian to the bathroom just shy of six BILLION times, but then I also let him play his gameboy thing for hours as well, which I never do at home... so it evened out.

Mom, the only smart on in the crew, chose not to come with us.

She said it was quiet at the house. I think I detected a faint wistfulness in that statement. I know Grandma Bob loves living with us, but I'm sure if all things were in her control, she'd have her own grand estate instead of her suite downstairs. We do our best to make sure she knows every day how much we love her and how happy we are that she lives with us - but I'm sure she'd love to have her own place. Well, who wouldn't, but then she'd miss out on moments like when Ian announced that he'd just stuck a booger on Cory, or that he was going to spank Daddy for saying no to him...

On second thought, hey, Mom, I'm coming with you!

-k

Well, I'll be...

I teach my niece, my two nephews, and my oldest son in Sunday School. In order to keep their attention (and mine) I come up with 3-5 topics from that week's Bible lesson and give them funny, often irreverent titles that the kids can choose from. So, this week, I told them I had four titles for them to choose from unless they had something they wanted to talk about.

Rookie mistake.

Which is funny, since I'm hardly a rookie Sunday School teacher at this point.

Lauren's hand shot up. Lauren is generally always my best student, so I was very proud that she had some topic of spiritual importance she wanted to talk about. I invited her to go ahead, and she announced "I want to be a professional ice hockey player."

My mouth dropped open.

Now, I say this with love and genuine affection. Lauren isn't exactly an athlete. And on top of that, we live in South Texas.

On the other hand, I played ice hockey and I grew up in Los Angeles.

I sat there in shock, partly because it was Lauren who had said it, partly because it wasn't at all what I had expected her to say, and partly because I was replaying the events that led up to it and realizing that I had, in fact, left myself wide open for this.

And here, we switch to a transcript of what followed:

Me: A professional ice hockey player?
Lauren: Yes.
Me: And does this have a tie-in to Sunday School or Christian Science in some way?
Lauren: Yes.

Okay, I wasn't expecting that answer either. Stunned again and not completely sure how to respond. If she'd said no, I could have redirected the conversation. Now, there was only one course of action.

Me: Um, how exactly?
Lauren: I prayed about it.
Me: You did?
Lauren: Yes. You see, I've been thinking that I needed to find a physical activity that I really like because I want to be more active, and I haven't ever found a physical activity that I like. So I prayed about it and we went ice skating and that's when it came to me. I'm meant to be a hockey player.
Me: O... K... (then I recovered my stride a little) You start by learning how to skate, then you learn to play hockey, and if you want to be a professional, well there's no reason that you can't do that. And if you don't end up going pro, well you still found a physical activity that you really like and you got to enjoy it the entire time. Nothing wrong with that.
Sean: I'm going into the military.
Me: (so proud that these kids are really working this into their daily lives) You are? Did you pray about that too?
Sean: Nope. I'm just going into the military.

Well, alrightty then...

-k

Conversation we just had

Michael made a non-sequitur statement, and I didn't follow his train of thought. That happens. And we have a deal. Whenever we can, we will walk through the train of thought that took us from one statement to another seemingly unconnected statement. This time, he said and here we switch to quotes:

Michael: That's not a non-sequitur. You just didn't hear how it all connects.
Me: Which would be... a non-sequitur to anyone not currently in your head.
Michael: No. No, it isn't.
Me: Yes. That's what it means.
Michael: Nope.
Me: Yes. And that was AT BEST mildly tangential.
Michael: No, it wasn't a tangent at all.
Me: Look, do you even know what a tangent is?!?
Michael: Yes, it's a type of orange.

And proceeded to crack himself up so much he gave himself a headache.

Sigh.

-k

P.S. I defiantly don't think SO.
P.P.S. Michael said I should say "Orange you glad I blogged that..." And I say again... sigh...

Tweaky Radio

I know this is tweaked but I listen to local radio for the commercials. (Yes, it is a bit like saying I read certain magazines for the articles, but bear with me). Our local radio station is "Americana" format. As far as I can tell, that means a very specific blend of country and whining. No offense to anyone who loves Willie Nelson, but DAMN.

However, having owned two small businesses here in town, I love to listen to other people's local commercials... partly because I know a lot of the other business owners, partly because I always try to listen to what other people are advertising, partly due to wanting to be aware of what else there is in town in case customers ask, and partly to see what we should be aware of in our area.

The music... NOT my thing. In fact, there are times when it makes me crazy. I don't like the old school country-style. I don't care for slide guitar. I don't like the overly twangy accent. I'm sure that there are things about the style of music I listen to that would annoy and offend other people... and they can blog about it on their blog to their hearts content. And more power to the radio station in question... they are the #1 radio station in their format. Admittedly, there are only something like ten radio stations IN this format... but be that as it may... they have clout in their small community and all the artists come and play live for them in their studios. Yes, I can brag on them and their small business accomplishments all day - but if our radio would pick up more radio stations here at the Whoop Whoop (which appears to have some strange combination of steel, brick, and inexplicable magnetic forces ) I would NEVER listen to them again.

Since it won't, and I will... I will continue to tune out the music and listen to the ads...

-k

Defiantly or Definitely

I was reading a blog this weekend (and I should have kept the link, because it was funnier than it was intended to be). The girl was from the UK, and she kept saying "defiantly" when she meant "definitely". You could tell from the context that she meant definitely but that's not what was written there. Two examples, "I would defiantly say that..." and "it's defiantly true that...". It totally cracked me up.

Michael and I were discussing how this came to be. Two theories, equally valid. Theory the First, she went to public school. Theory the Second, she spell-checked... had spelled it wrong, chose replace all with and just chose poorly...

All weekend, we used it. Wrongly.

This is defiantly a true story. I defiantly think you'll use it this way today at some point.

-k

P.S. I just get this mental image of a punk-rocked-out girl in Britain somewhere angrily doing things... don't you? Oh, yes... defiantly.

I have the power of the ju-ju

Michael went bowling without me again last night.

Pause to seethe with irritation but here's the backstory: Since Katie was born, I haven't gone out anywhere without her except here to work. Katie and I snuggled together while Michael and my brother went to see Rush. Katie and I have played together while Michael and my brother have gone out 1-2 times a week lately... and I have been getting progressively more annoyed.

I love Katie. A lot. And I love being with her. But no mother loves her children so much that she doesn't ever want to see the back of their heads in someone else's arms. And I am starting to feel taken advantage of because I never get my chance to go out and have a little "me" time.

In the beginning, it was understandable. She was completely breast-fed and well since I'm the one with the breasts, I get that. And in the beginning, I wasn't ready to leave her with anyone else anyway. But now, she's both breast-fed and bottle fed. She had to be since I am coming in to work at the Whoop Whoop over the holidays. So we both know that she can be trusted for hours with someone else who is willing to take her. And yet, there they were, leaving again... and I just got freakishly irritated.

Meanwhile, Michael is happily preparing to bowl. Joking with his friends. Unaware that my powerful annoyance had transformed itself into ju-ju power. He gets up to bowl his first frame, and any of you who know him know that Michael bowls HARD. He bowls like he means it. He tends to bowl about 21-25 miles per hour, and it's a 16 pound bowling ball. He throws the ball and his foot sticks on the lane... and physics being what they are... a 300+ pound man in full forward throwing motion with the balancing involved suddenly becomes unbalanced with a 600 pound ball hurtling through space at close to 6 billion miles an hour... and he said he basically shot himself forward as though from a giant slingshot and smacked down onto his hands and knees on the lane. He half-expected to leave craters where his knees hit. To his credit, he did get the strike.

He said he stood up, dusted himself off, and announced that was it for him for the night.

Of course, the rest of the story is that it wasn't it for him for the night. He did go on to finish bowling. He didn't even have the good grace to develop bruises on his knees. And to top it off, whenever he bowls, his knuckles swell up and he doesn't wear his wedding ring for nearly a week until they return to normal. Or so he says. I think he's dating the hot new girl down at the Whoop Whoop. At least he would be if her husband would watch the baby so that she could go out once in a while.

-k

Interpretive Lyrics

Today's lesson is from Rush.

You can choose a ready guide in some celestial voice.
If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.
You can choose from phantom fears and kindness that can kill.
I will choose a path less clear. or I will choose a path that's clear.
I will choose free will.

- Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson, Neil Peart

I don't honestly know which one it is. I don't honestly know what they meant. Because Michael and I have listened to it over and over, at high volume. He thinks it's clear. I think it's less clear. And it changes the whole meaning of the lyrics. Fascinating, no?

I think Seal said it best when he was speaking on this exact topic. He said he would NEVER put the lyrics inside his albums because that's so limiting. Often fans have come up with what they thought the lyrics were and their lyrics were better than his. Who was he to tell them that their lyric wasn't right? If they wanted to interpret it how they heard it, he loved that.

I chose the above lyrics from Rush because that's one of my favorite quotes to torment my children with... if you choose NOT to decide, you still have made a choice.

You can well imagine the eye-rolling teenager hate that inspires. It's one of life's little pleasures to torment your children. I know my parents did.

-k

Dear Universe,

You're the Universe, so you have inexhaustible, limitless supply. I'd love it if you chose to share. Soon.

Thanks.

-k

Yup, they're OUR kids

Yesterday, when I picked up Ian from daycare, we were trying to make a left-turn out of the daycare parking lot and the light we needed was green but we could tell it wouldn't be for much longer. That's about the only drawback to that daycare. It's hard to get out of there at the end of the day. Well, I guess Ian's been listening to us, because this is the actual, un-retouched dialogue that came from our sweet little four year-old, and it loses something in type because you can't hear him saying it.

Ian: C'mon, people... you're going to make me miss the light! [we missed the light] Oh, that's GREAT. I missed the green. I don't have TIME for this!

Then, this morning, Michael was taking the kids to school and he was playing a song on the ipod that Ian loves that Cory loved when he was that age.

From the backseat, Cory-the-angst-ridden-teenager-who-doesn't-QUITE-grasp-the-vocabulary-he-loves-to-use, grumbles: I hate this song. It gives me bad accommodations.

Michael couldn't help chuckling at the mental image of Cory lugging his luggage backwards up some rickety old stairs in a shady part of town for listening to a song so bad that he'd been stuck with a crummy low-grade hotel room because he'd been forced to listen to it.

Cory, not surprisingly, didn't see the humor... not only didn't see the humor, but slumped lower in his seat and straightened his god-awful teenager hair over his eyes and shot hater-face at the universe in general and his father in particular.

Yup, they're OUR kids alright.

-k

New blog look and layout

Here's what I've ended up with... for now.

Love the baby toes.

LOVE the baby toes.

It's hard to be grumpy when you look at pictures of baby toes. Even harder when you are actually playing with baby toes.

Did I mention that I love the baby toes? Cause I do. Love them.

-k

P.S. Love the toes.

Humble Pie

Apparently today is the day for our family to eat humble pie. It was Michael's turn first. He went through the drive-through bank with Ian, took Ian to "the Biscuit House", and on to daycare. So far, so good. Then he went to work a few minutes early, and as he went to get out of the car and unlock the store, he saw the little plastic canister thing for the bank in the passenger seat. Sigh. Not a big deal, but that meant he needed to drive it back over to the bank - and as they were all in a morning meeting, he had to go into the bank, where everyone was in the previously mentioned meeting, and hand over the little plastic canister he'd inadvertently stolen in front of everyone. And to top it off, that made him late to open the store.

Then it was my turn. I was out running errands with Mom and Katie, headed back to the house to get them settled before I had to come into work, was running a bit behind, and headed in to work. I was going 60 in a 55 zone, and got pulled over. First of all, that's humiliating in and of itself. Then, to make it fantastic, I discovered that I'd left my checkbook with my license in Mom's purse at the last stop of the errand running. Sigh. I was already apologizing to the trooper for speeding, now I had to charm my way through not having my license with me. However, I must have done a decent job of it [I personally think showing him the baby pictures of Katie and I together when he asked for my id may have been a nice touch] because I netted a warning. And a mouthful of humble pie.

-k

Slooooooow day

Postal Services aren't running today... so in all likelihood, we should have been closed today. However, UPS and FedEx are running, so here we are. Staring at each other... because there's not much else to do.

So we get into long conversations about strange things... like the dream I had last night where a lawnmower ran over my hair and it was cut very short on one side, but was still long on the other... or about the merits and drawbacks of the public school system... or what we'd do if we won the lottery...

All interesting and I'm extremely glad that I get to spend this time with Michael... but all things being equal [which of course they NEVER are], I think we'd far rather we were busy... because busy means more money.

-k

Perspective Gaining Moments

I remember struggling with my parents about my appearance as a teenager. Now, I am doing it with my teenager. I remember believing that my look was MY LOOK and they didn't need to understand it. Now, I understand that his look is his chosen look and I don't need to understand it. I am willing to bend on style because I am not willing to bend on hygiene.

It's my job to raise them to be independent thinkers and to be willing to challenge authority when they believe that challenge is legitimate. Then, it's my job to realize that I'm often that authority whom they will challenge. And it's my job to make them see that it's not always a legitimate challenge and that there may be consequences when they push the right to challenge it.

It's my job to love them unconditionally. Love them so much that there are times when I am more than willing to be unpopular, to have them think less of me, and to have them resent me. That's part of my job. That's actually most of my job, when you think about it. The rest is all fun... that's the part that's work and that has very little payback until they have children of their own and have perspective gaining moments which lead them to walk humbly into my room and thank me for all that I did when it was my turn to be unpopular.

Not that I just did that AGAIN or anything...

-k

Ian calls him...

Puff the Maggot Dragon...

He loves the song - and I have to sing it at least once a day, and I refuse to call him the Maggot Dragon, but Ian always asks for the song by that title.

-k

Computer update

Stick it out. Stick out the wait time. Stick out the lies and the indignity of horrid hold music. If you do, may you have the same INCREDIBLY AWESOME experience with your independent computer contractor that I just did.

He was this little tiny hard-to-define ethnic dude who was so incredibly amazing. He broke down the computer in like five seconds, replaced the motherboard, cleaned the whole thing, replaced it all, and cracked jokes with us the whole time. While he was doing it, he not only cleaned it and made small hilarious small talk, he also gave us insider tips about how to get through Smell's system faster next time if there is a next time.

I wanted his business card but they aren't allowed to do that. I don't know why not. You already paid Smell, and if you used an independent tech, you'd have to pay them and you'd leave Smell alone... but those are the rules.

I am so glad there is a happy ending to the story.

And, now I'm going to take that computer home tonight and back it up to a backup with a backup copy of that... and back that up too.

-k

First it came out of his nose... then it came out of his mouth.

Be warned... unravelling this story is frightening and I'm going to take you there with me.

I picked up Ian from preschool yesterday, and the lady who runs the daycare shared this little gem of information with me. Apparently, when Ian walked in that morning, he announced that his daddy had put his booger on the car tire.

Yes, you read that right.

So, although she desperately wanted to ignore it and move on, she found herself asking if it was his, or Ian's.

Ian's, of course. And Ian knew that because he'd picked it and handed it to Daddy... who then wasn't sure what the hell to do with it. And came to the conclusion that the best way to handle the situation was to put it on the car tire. Which so impressed Ian that he had to share that tidbit with the world.

And, when I asked Michael about it, he blinked... and then said, "Yes, but that was months ago... what made him think of that today?"

I don't know. I don't really want to know. You don't want to know either, did you?

I'm so very, VERY proud... of both of them, really. I may have to start going to pick him up in disguise. Me, no, I'm not his mom or his wife. Me, I'm just the servant wench.

Now, I'd love to say that I don't do boogers. But I do, in fact, pick Katie's nose all the time. Because Princesses don't have bogeys in public. Their servant wenches remove them prior to any public appearance.

In my defense, I have never stuck one to a car tire.

-k

Customer Service responds to this:

I can't even tell you what I went through with a computer company based here in Texas that rhymes, appropriately enough, with Smell. If I told you, you would think that I was making a humorous but enormous exaggeration - which I am often guilty of. In this case, anything I say will downplay what I went through. If you don't believe me, ask either my brother, Jim, or Michael, as they were with me for most of the experience. The computer in question (Mike's laptop) is under warranty, and they didn't even argue that we are covered by warranty... and yet, I spent 4 1/2 hours on the phone with India and literally only finally got resolution pushed forward on the issue because I screamed at someone. Screamed. Like a shark had just taken a bite out of my leg, or I'd just been jumped by one of The Infected. (Although, when I am startled like that, I don't actually scream. It's more of a startled "ooping" sound).

I've never lost my cool on the phone with someone like that. Never. And we've all dealt with awful customer service. We've all dealt with customer service from someone for whom English is a secondary, or third, or not at all, language. I won't dispute that these people spoke far better English than I do Hindi, however you don't see me working a job that requires me to speak Hindi either.

From the moment I got someone on the phone, they got my service tag number and agreed that the unit is in fact covered under warranty. However, they claimed that the owner information wasn't matching what they have in their records, so until I could provide matching data - they wouldn't do anything for me. We are the original and only owners of this machine. I spent the next four and a half hours trying to get someone to understand that I had given them every possible name and/or address and/or phone number that there could possibly be on record for this machine and the problem had to be on their end. Also, since the warranty is FULLY-TRANSFERABLE, why wouldn't they simply update the information and honor the damn warranty already?!?

I was moved up the chain in customer service three times, and up through technical service twice. Finally, the third level manager up the customer service chain admitted that THE FIRST set of information I gave them WAS CORRECT for the Ship To but didn't exactly match the BILL TO address, and that was the hold-up.

So, let me see if I have this right... there might be a scenario where the Ship To information was correct but the Bill To didn't match and therefore the person on the phone DOESN'T have the right to the computer they are calling about, especially bearing in mind that the warranty IS FULLY TRANSFERABLE as I may have mentioned already?

I kept asking them to just transfer it into whatever name they need - because it's OUR computer, it's only ever BEEN OUR computer, and it's a crappy old computer anyway. Tell me that you think I would have stolen a computer this old and decrepit, and would have expected it to have a warranty still?

At the four hour mark, I really did just scream - screamed like a cheap teen-aged tart in one of those slasher movies. And things finally started to happen at that point.

Here's my theory: I can only imagine that there is a system where they track how long you are on the phone, and in the beginning, they are trying to get you to fail out through either staying on hold for so long, or through telling you that they can't help you in one way or another. If you stay online long enough, you get bumped to a manager who gives you the same stupid lame lies. You have to make it through some crucial period of time when they realize that you ARE going to outwait them. All the people who have failed out of the system before in essence offset the cost of actually having to fulfill their warranty on the few who tough it out.

Four and a half HOURS later, they would have saved money by buying me a whole new computer. I can only imagine that phone call wasn't cheap for them. And I talked to five people they have to pay (although the going rate for them is something tragic and awful like $20 a week).

This is exactly why we ALL laughed at that bit in Transformers. Have you seen it? Worth seeing just for that part. And when you see it, you'll think of me. And you will realize that customer service does, in fact, respond to screaming like fire alarm - but probably only if you've already waited through the four hour minimum wait time system that determines if you are more stubborn than they are.

Suffice it to say that I think if some major computer company built an entire ad campaign around the idea that ALL their technical support was done ONLY by those for whom English is their primary language, their sales would skyrocket. They could even offer it as a premium service option that you could pay more for and people would pay it.

And if you don't, settle in for the long haul and have throat lozenges at the ready. You're gonna need 'em.

-k

Tessa!

My newest niece, Tessa, lives in Alaska... is one month younger than Katie and ADORABLE.


And has a very familiar looking hat!



-k

New Look

As part of this new look, I went back to having quotes instead of updating that little section about things I like/crave etc. I could exchange the quotes for that little section... which I found amusing. I wish they would remain recorded somewhere so that you could look back and see previous answers, but I don't have an easy (read free) way to do that... so it was something I just manually updated whenever I remembered and/or felt like it.

I liked having the personal stuff on the left - which was part of the dots version... but like I said before, since this is all part of a free system, I can't and won't complain too much about the lack of total flexibility that I might like. I couldn't possibly justify paying for my blog and can only do it as a hobby... There are those who actually make money on their blogs, but VERY FEW.

You may ask how I have time to blog regularly like this during the day now that I'm working. The answer is simple... as the low man on the totem pole, I do the crappy jobs at work which are time-consuming but menial... and allow me to do this while they are processing...

Besides, what's he going to do, fire me? (For those of you who haven't picked up on this, I work at the mail and parcel center that we own, and I am unpaid. COMPLETELY unpaid.)

-k

Writer's Strike

Sadly, it's official. And that means that the clock is ticking until I am out of new episodes of Heroes which would throw the Emporer off his groove. America's Next Top Model will do fine, since reality tv doesn't fall under the same union protection. Although, if memory serves me, there was a huge debate among reality tv producers that since it's scripted reality and there is so much editing involved in producing a weekly segment, they wanted to be covered by the union. I guess they might be glad they aren't now.

People are predicting that reality tv and game shows will be the big winners since they will garner all this extra airtime. I personally think that America is finally starting to get sick of reality tv and this might be one of those "enough rope to hang themselves with" situations. And although I have loved some of the reality shows with a passion, I would be willing to see their role greatly diminish.

And since I rarely watch anything on live television since the onset of the DVR, I have virtually NO CLUE when anything actually airs on television. I only know when I get around to watching it.

It's a great technological advance and one that wouldn't have been conceivable just a few short years ago. I can't wait to see what they come up with next. Can Smell-O-Vision be far away?

One can only hope...

-k

Poll

So far the results are not rave reviews of the new look - so I'll take a little time and explore other options. It was also only the first day of the poll, so that gives me a little time to work out a "better" answer. Blogger gives you limited options so I may have to go from scratch to design something I like better... within the confines of what is still free... I welcome suggestions.

-k

The New Look

So, it was time. I redesigned the look of my blog. Thought it would freshen things up a little... and if you know me, you know that the dots and colors are VERY me.

The kids were in wild-and-crazy mode and Michael was in a class in Austin, so it was just Grandma Bob and me... against the nutball trio. Wal-Mart wasn't even fun... and I LOVE Wal-Mart.

But now the blog is made over, The Hunt For Red October is on tv (which is one of my all-time favorites), the zaniness of the day is over, and I happen to know there are still freshly made brownies downstairs. Life is sweet.

-k

The Ranks

So, I am among the ranks of the working again. I can't say the "gainfully employed" because it's really more of a volunteer thing. I'm not getting paid, or anything exciting and motivating like that.

Here is the short version: we own a mail and parcel center. It has an intensely busy season from mid-November to mid-January. Most of the year, Michael runs the business by himself - but at that time of the year, it takes two people running full speed. As the holidays approached, we realized that we were going to have to find an employee. And as anyone will tell you, the "worst" part of owning a business is employees. Finding them, training them, trusting them... etc. So, the more we talked about it, the more we thought I might be the best person for the job for several reasons. One, as an owner, I care more about the business than any employee ever would. Two, as an owner, I already know how to do most of what needs to be done and I'm motivated to learn the rest quickly. Three, as an owner, we don't have to worry that I'll quit, be late, be unreliable, or behave inappropriately with customers. And lastly, and I have to admit this may be the biggest one, as an owner, ya don't gotta pay me.

None of this would be possible without the love and support of the great and groovy Grandma Bob, who is willing to help us out with Katie for the next little bit. I am not working full-time hours, because I could NEVER ask that much of Mom, but I am the holiday help here at Super Maily Whoop Whoop.

Today was my first day and I dove in with both feet. I helped Michael re-arrange a few things at work, re-evaluate how he does things in the computer to make it easier on him when he's here by himself, and cleaned up the back area. I also packed us lunches and brought snacks for him. I have learned most, if not all, of what I will need to know for the holidays.

I will admit that I cried when I left the house. Katie was sweetly asleep in her swing and it physically hurt me a little to walk away from her. I've never been away from her this long or this geographically far. I know that as working mothers go, I'm extremely fortunate. I got to stay home with her for several months and after the holidays, I get to go home with her again.

So, it's all good and I'm grateful both for the time I have already gotten to spend with her, and for the time I get to spend with Michael now. And we owe Grandma Bob BIG-TIME.

-k