At one of my newspapers, I sit in a cluster of 4 desks: the Navy guy, the Crime guy, the Education guy and me. We all write a bit more broadly than these categories, but for bloggy simplicity we'll go with that, OK?
I like them all and consider them all good at what they do. The Education guy started out at my job, years ago, so although I do not know what he earns, I know it is at least several thousand dollars per year more than I get.
Today, Education Guy realized that on his income, his 2 children qualify for free school lunches (for non-local readers: here we determine that based on a combination of household income and family size. So, the larger your family, and the lower your income, the more likely you are to qualify for assistance).
He looked so completely disheartened. I mean, this week he canceled cable TV, because it was getting expensive, and started applying for part-time jobs as a cashier or pizza delivery guy, for the extra income, but with the hours he works (Like all of us, more than 40 hours--he works a LOT more than 40, actually, but of course none of us is allowed to admit that on our time sheets) he's not sure when he can fit that in.
I think it had not REALLY hit him, though, until he saw that, today.
His family is officially below the poverty line.
And, yes, as Education guy, he interviews people every day who make more than he ever will, and who complain relentlessly about their poor compensation.
Showing posts with label THERE's yer problem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label THERE's yer problem. Show all posts
Friday, July 09, 2010
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
The Hurt (your wallet) Locker
Let me just quote Son #3:
"Gym lockers are mandatory. I never used mine. And I did not know, when they assigned me the locker, that there was a $3 fee for it. If I don't pay the fee, they won't let me graduate. I had to pay for a regular locker, too. $5. And I shouldn't have had to pay for that, either, because I never used it, never wanted it, but it's mandatory. It's not a lot of money, but still. It's like when you're at a stop light and some hobo 'washes' your windshield with dirty water, and expects you to pay him. Of course, there's nothing wrong with NOT paying the hobo, but if you don't pay the government, they won't let you graduate."
Excellent analogy, my son who was just informed he has been selected for a program for students with the potential to be high academic achievers.
And on a totally unrelated note (or absolutely connected, depending on your perspective), yesterday I had to proofread an article about negotiations between the school board and the teacher's union of a nearby public school system.
The union rep insisted that the schools would never be able to hire enough summer school teachers, if they did not raise the pay rate by $4/hour. The rate the school system is currently offering summer school teachers is, according to the union rep, "not even what they pay a first-year teacher."
What is this pittance they expect teachers to accept in exchange for their services on a summer morning? This ridiculously low amount no teacher in a sane frame of mind would stoop to accept?
$41/hour.
No, that is not a typo.
Honest.
"Gym lockers are mandatory. I never used mine. And I did not know, when they assigned me the locker, that there was a $3 fee for it. If I don't pay the fee, they won't let me graduate. I had to pay for a regular locker, too. $5. And I shouldn't have had to pay for that, either, because I never used it, never wanted it, but it's mandatory. It's not a lot of money, but still. It's like when you're at a stop light and some hobo 'washes' your windshield with dirty water, and expects you to pay him. Of course, there's nothing wrong with NOT paying the hobo, but if you don't pay the government, they won't let you graduate."
Excellent analogy, my son who was just informed he has been selected for a program for students with the potential to be high academic achievers.
And on a totally unrelated note (or absolutely connected, depending on your perspective), yesterday I had to proofread an article about negotiations between the school board and the teacher's union of a nearby public school system.
The union rep insisted that the schools would never be able to hire enough summer school teachers, if they did not raise the pay rate by $4/hour. The rate the school system is currently offering summer school teachers is, according to the union rep, "not even what they pay a first-year teacher."
What is this pittance they expect teachers to accept in exchange for their services on a summer morning? This ridiculously low amount no teacher in a sane frame of mind would stoop to accept?
$41/hour.
No, that is not a typo.
Honest.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Not "it," but "something"
Yesterday I accepted two part-time jobs. They kinda add up to one full-time job. I'll start next Wednesday.
I'll be writing for the local newspaper 3 days each week, and for the paper one county over on the other 2 days. Features, mostly, and Other Stuff as the rest of the writing staff need assistance. They're owned by the same company, so they'll treat it all as one job. Which means I will be eligible for a 401(k).
But the total pay is: what? Floor scrapings? It is less than half of what they were talking about at the job I did not get last week; that's what it is. And, yeah, that is a major ego hit, even though several people at that company have reassured me that I am in the pipeline for the next tech writer slot to appear, and even though the newspapers seem thrilled to have me.
I keep telling myself, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." I also keep telling myself that I am pretty sure my Dad made more than that as a guy in his early 20s, with one semester of college under his belt, back in the 1970s. And that at the time, that was enough to support a family of 4.
That is probably not the most useful thing to be focusing on at this point.
It is so little, I could almost cry, except I have a raging head cold so I have no energy for that. I feel, as my favorite Southern woman puts it, like Hitler on a biscuit. But, hey, kudos to me for doing a job interview with a raging head cold. I am nothing if not determined.
It is better than nothing, as they say. And steadier than freelancing. It will keep me shoving stuff into my clips file, which has at this point grown large enough to require a third 27-quart storage tub. But, you guessed it, if I can find another position with higher pay, I will drop this gig like a hot rock.
And, yes, I will have to cut back on my Census duties, but since there is only a few weeks' worth of work left on that effort I figure I can at least work on the weekends and evenings, on that.
Perhaps once that is done, I can look into taking some sort of certification course which will improve my hireability in the larger world. There's grant money out there for people like me, or so Facebook keeps saying.
In the mean time, I don't have to be at work for the Census until noon today, so I am living on Zicam and tea.
And, yes, a less pathetic person would not even bother posting this blog entry. Please feel free to ignore. I am sick. It is crapping up my already less than stellar mood.
I'll be writing for the local newspaper 3 days each week, and for the paper one county over on the other 2 days. Features, mostly, and Other Stuff as the rest of the writing staff need assistance. They're owned by the same company, so they'll treat it all as one job. Which means I will be eligible for a 401(k).
But the total pay is: what? Floor scrapings? It is less than half of what they were talking about at the job I did not get last week; that's what it is. And, yeah, that is a major ego hit, even though several people at that company have reassured me that I am in the pipeline for the next tech writer slot to appear, and even though the newspapers seem thrilled to have me.
I keep telling myself, "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." I also keep telling myself that I am pretty sure my Dad made more than that as a guy in his early 20s, with one semester of college under his belt, back in the 1970s. And that at the time, that was enough to support a family of 4.
That is probably not the most useful thing to be focusing on at this point.
It is so little, I could almost cry, except I have a raging head cold so I have no energy for that. I feel, as my favorite Southern woman puts it, like Hitler on a biscuit. But, hey, kudos to me for doing a job interview with a raging head cold. I am nothing if not determined.
It is better than nothing, as they say. And steadier than freelancing. It will keep me shoving stuff into my clips file, which has at this point grown large enough to require a third 27-quart storage tub. But, you guessed it, if I can find another position with higher pay, I will drop this gig like a hot rock.
And, yes, I will have to cut back on my Census duties, but since there is only a few weeks' worth of work left on that effort I figure I can at least work on the weekends and evenings, on that.
Perhaps once that is done, I can look into taking some sort of certification course which will improve my hireability in the larger world. There's grant money out there for people like me, or so Facebook keeps saying.
In the mean time, I don't have to be at work for the Census until noon today, so I am living on Zicam and tea.
And, yes, a less pathetic person would not even bother posting this blog entry. Please feel free to ignore. I am sick. It is crapping up my already less than stellar mood.
Monday, February 22, 2010
I'm not suicidal, I just want my phone
Hubby, Son #1 and I all have Verizon phones. We have 2 wall chargers and a car charger, all interchangeable.
Son #1 tends to move the chargers around when he uses them. It is annoying, but doesn't always affect me -- I plug my phone in to the car whenever I drive around, and if the phone dies between trips I find a charger and plug it in at home.
Not today.
My phone has nothing left on it, and both chargers are missing. So I am sitting in the car, with my laptop, so I can apply for jobs while my phone charges. The heated seat is pretty awesome, and I have remembered to back my car halfway out of the garage, so that I don't asphyxiate myself, but I still feel a bit ridiculous.
Son #1 tends to move the chargers around when he uses them. It is annoying, but doesn't always affect me -- I plug my phone in to the car whenever I drive around, and if the phone dies between trips I find a charger and plug it in at home.
Not today.
My phone has nothing left on it, and both chargers are missing. So I am sitting in the car, with my laptop, so I can apply for jobs while my phone charges. The heated seat is pretty awesome, and I have remembered to back my car halfway out of the garage, so that I don't asphyxiate myself, but I still feel a bit ridiculous.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
See, now this is why we didn't want to be with you people
Sons #3 and 4 are entering the school system this year.
A few weeks ago, I realized, "hmmm, it is almost midsummer, I should register the boys." So I called the high school and left a message for the registrar.
"Hi, I have an incoming freshman who has been home-schooled since second grade so I need to make an appointment to register him. Give me a call."
No response.
A week or so later, I called again.
"Hi, I called last week about an incoming freshman who needs to register for school. Here is my home number and my cell number; I will come in with him at your convenience."
No response.
A week later, I called again, this time the main office.
"Hi, I have left two messages for the registrar, and the registrar's office has not returned my calls. Is there someone else I should call to make an appointment to come in and register my son, and make sure I have all his paperwork in order?"
No response.
I called the middle school and they said, "Oh, you don't need an appointment, just drop by." So I did. Got #4 all set up in maybe 15 minutes. Since they are in the same school district, I figured the paperwork the high school would need would be pretty much the same as the middle school. I had gone through this process with Son #1 and Son #2 in years past, as well. So I gathered everything, put it in an envelope, and this morning I said,
"Son #3, they are NOT returning my calls, so I guess we don't need an appointment, or if we do we're not going to get one, since school starts in less than 3 weeks. Let's just go."
So we did.
We went to the counseling department and the registrar was standing in the middle of the office, hand on hip, yakking about personal stuff with her coworkers. She looked up at me and said, "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I've been calling for the past three weeks to request an appointment and no one has returned my calls."
"Sorry," she said. "I get, like, 20 to 30 calls a day."
(and three of those have been from me, this month, and could have just been ONE call, if you'd handled it the first time around, so I wonder how much of that phone ringing you bring on yourself by not answering the phone)
She said I could have an appointment. So I followed her back to her office, where she asked when I'd like to come in.
"As soon as possible. School starts in a little over 2 weeks."
She handed me a list of all the paperwork I need. Which I had, in my hand. I told her so. She offered to keep my envelope in her office, until our appointment tomorrow. Yeah, like I am going to give her my son's Social Security card and birth certificate to keep. Sure.
She reviewed the list of paperwork, again, and I again stated, "Yes, I have all of that ready for you whenever you are ready to process it."
A third time she pointed to the list, and enumerated the various things which I would need to bring...and...which...I...had...assured...her...were...in...my...lap...already.
Then she asked for transcripts-or-equivalent, and I explained to her twice why I have them in an unfamiliar format, but that I have the information required by the state, and that I would give it to her at our appointment.
So, tomorrow Son #3 and I go back for our appointment, which will probably take all of 15 minutes.
I swear, though, that woman should be ashamed of herself for accepting a paycheck.
A few weeks ago, I realized, "hmmm, it is almost midsummer, I should register the boys." So I called the high school and left a message for the registrar.
"Hi, I have an incoming freshman who has been home-schooled since second grade so I need to make an appointment to register him. Give me a call."
No response.
A week or so later, I called again.
"Hi, I called last week about an incoming freshman who needs to register for school. Here is my home number and my cell number; I will come in with him at your convenience."
No response.
A week later, I called again, this time the main office.
"Hi, I have left two messages for the registrar, and the registrar's office has not returned my calls. Is there someone else I should call to make an appointment to come in and register my son, and make sure I have all his paperwork in order?"
No response.
I called the middle school and they said, "Oh, you don't need an appointment, just drop by." So I did. Got #4 all set up in maybe 15 minutes. Since they are in the same school district, I figured the paperwork the high school would need would be pretty much the same as the middle school. I had gone through this process with Son #1 and Son #2 in years past, as well. So I gathered everything, put it in an envelope, and this morning I said,
"Son #3, they are NOT returning my calls, so I guess we don't need an appointment, or if we do we're not going to get one, since school starts in less than 3 weeks. Let's just go."
So we did.
We went to the counseling department and the registrar was standing in the middle of the office, hand on hip, yakking about personal stuff with her coworkers. She looked up at me and said, "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, I've been calling for the past three weeks to request an appointment and no one has returned my calls."
"Sorry," she said. "I get, like, 20 to 30 calls a day."
(and three of those have been from me, this month, and could have just been ONE call, if you'd handled it the first time around, so I wonder how much of that phone ringing you bring on yourself by not answering the phone)
She said I could have an appointment. So I followed her back to her office, where she asked when I'd like to come in.
"As soon as possible. School starts in a little over 2 weeks."
She handed me a list of all the paperwork I need. Which I had, in my hand. I told her so. She offered to keep my envelope in her office, until our appointment tomorrow. Yeah, like I am going to give her my son's Social Security card and birth certificate to keep. Sure.
She reviewed the list of paperwork, again, and I again stated, "Yes, I have all of that ready for you whenever you are ready to process it."
A third time she pointed to the list, and enumerated the various things which I would need to bring...and...which...I...had...assured...her...were...in...my...lap...already.
Then she asked for transcripts-or-equivalent, and I explained to her twice why I have them in an unfamiliar format, but that I have the information required by the state, and that I would give it to her at our appointment.
So, tomorrow Son #3 and I go back for our appointment, which will probably take all of 15 minutes.
I swear, though, that woman should be ashamed of herself for accepting a paycheck.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Yeah, "Mark", I'm talking to you
I've been in Dell Tech Support Hell for the past couple of weeks, trying to fix Son #4's computer. My joy is made even more full with the knowledge that when I finally get this one fixed, I am going to have to move on to Son #3's computer. Basically, I am spending every free moment, and a lot which are NOT free, on the phone with people with hard-to-understand accents and a script which requires I shoot myself or throw the computer off a cliff before they'll honor the return-to-depot warranty we've purchased.
First, I had to convince them it was a hardware issue. That took about 6 hours, over 2 days.
Then, I had to convince them that the part they sent was not compatible with the machine. That took a while.
Now, I am working on convincing them that the second replacement part they sent is STILL not going to fit into the machine. Because it is not built for the machine we own. Because the tech support guys keep sending stuff that is not designed for our system.
I do not need it explained to me. I do not need to run one single minute of diagnostics, or talk to anyone else other than a supervisor--someone who can put an end to this and just get things fixed.
And I keep requesting said supervisor, which gets me put on hold.
Which is a good thing, because I use the time on hold to cook dinner.
Everyone in Tech Support sounds Indian, or something. I swear, they do not make enough curry to reimburse me for my time.
So yesterday, in a desperate bid to SHOW "Mark" that the part he sent is physically different from the part I am trying to replace, I offered to take a photo of the 2 hard drives, side-by-side, and email it to him.
He said I could.
I took the photo.
I saved it in a folder which I then named in a fit of "I am trying to be civil but these people have sent me over the edge and it's not like they'll ever know anyway".
And then he said I could not email it to him. Instead, I had to let him control my computer remotely, and find the photo and look at it that way.
So, yeah, that is when I had to tell "Mark" to look for the photo in the file labeled "Dell Bastards".
First, I had to convince them it was a hardware issue. That took about 6 hours, over 2 days.
Then, I had to convince them that the part they sent was not compatible with the machine. That took a while.
Now, I am working on convincing them that the second replacement part they sent is STILL not going to fit into the machine. Because it is not built for the machine we own. Because the tech support guys keep sending stuff that is not designed for our system.
I do not need it explained to me. I do not need to run one single minute of diagnostics, or talk to anyone else other than a supervisor--someone who can put an end to this and just get things fixed.
And I keep requesting said supervisor, which gets me put on hold.
Which is a good thing, because I use the time on hold to cook dinner.
Everyone in Tech Support sounds Indian, or something. I swear, they do not make enough curry to reimburse me for my time.
So yesterday, in a desperate bid to SHOW "Mark" that the part he sent is physically different from the part I am trying to replace, I offered to take a photo of the 2 hard drives, side-by-side, and email it to him.
He said I could.
I took the photo.
I saved it in a folder which I then named in a fit of "I am trying to be civil but these people have sent me over the edge and it's not like they'll ever know anyway".
And then he said I could not email it to him. Instead, I had to let him control my computer remotely, and find the photo and look at it that way.
So, yeah, that is when I had to tell "Mark" to look for the photo in the file labeled "Dell Bastards".
Friday, June 26, 2009
Obviously, you are not a golfer
Yesterday I covered a golf tournament in Gainesville, VA.
I am sunburned and tired and the house is a mess, even though the boys assured me it was clean both times I called, yesterday afternoon, but I have to work on my article & the photos today so the house is going to stay a mess and I am going to stay tired and aloe vera is my friend.
And here is yesterday's Shoe of the Day: These, I love.
I am sunburned and tired and the house is a mess, even though the boys assured me it was clean both times I called, yesterday afternoon, but I have to work on my article & the photos today so the house is going to stay a mess and I am going to stay tired and aloe vera is my friend.
And here is yesterday's Shoe of the Day: These, I love.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Why we are so darn fat, reason #632:
Two things you need to know about this picture:
The hand belongs to Son #2, who is 6'3" tall. In other words, it's a big hand.
The soda is a size "medium".
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Spit out that Chantix!
This weekend I was talking w/Hubby's friend and he told me he just got MS.
From taking Chantix.
Yeah, he was trying to stop smoking because smoking is bad for you, and now he has multiple sclerosis.
Apparently, it is a known, but rare, side-effect.
Or, as he put it, "It's like taking an aspirin that gave me AIDS."
So, um, if you are taking Chantix maybe you want to check that stuff out. Holy crap, you know?
From taking Chantix.
Yeah, he was trying to stop smoking because smoking is bad for you, and now he has multiple sclerosis.
Apparently, it is a known, but rare, side-effect.
Or, as he put it, "It's like taking an aspirin that gave me AIDS."
So, um, if you are taking Chantix maybe you want to check that stuff out. Holy crap, you know?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Aftermath: a guessing game
First of all, yesterday morning I actually thought, "I have nothing to blog. I am getting boring." So, um, Thank You, Universe, for responding with a car accident. Yeah. I will avoid stupid thoughts in future.
Honestly, though, 18 hours later I am thankful that I came out of it with a tender nose and no traffic citation. Could be worse, you know?
Yesterday, within hours of The Accident, Hubby and I went to a benefit concert: he performed. In the car, on the way, he mentioned the accident to all the people with whom he spoke on the phone:
My brother-in-law: the one the Sons say acts like a 9-year-old.
The singer for the band Hubby just quit.
The singer who fired Hubby a couple of bands ago.
A guitarist I've met once before.
The woman who asked Hubby to fill in for the band originally scheduled to perform yesterday.
My mother-in-law.
A huge biker: pretty much everyone is afraid of this guy, at first glance.
A bass player.
Two drummers.
A body shop owner, after hours, at his home.
And a convicted felon.
Every single one of them, their first words were, "Is Christine OK?"
Except for one. Can you guess?
Honestly, though, 18 hours later I am thankful that I came out of it with a tender nose and no traffic citation. Could be worse, you know?
Yesterday, within hours of The Accident, Hubby and I went to a benefit concert: he performed. In the car, on the way, he mentioned the accident to all the people with whom he spoke on the phone:
My brother-in-law: the one the Sons say acts like a 9-year-old.
The singer for the band Hubby just quit.
The singer who fired Hubby a couple of bands ago.
A guitarist I've met once before.
The woman who asked Hubby to fill in for the band originally scheduled to perform yesterday.
My mother-in-law.
A huge biker: pretty much everyone is afraid of this guy, at first glance.
A bass player.
Two drummers.
A body shop owner, after hours, at his home.
And a convicted felon.
Every single one of them, their first words were, "Is Christine OK?"
Except for one. Can you guess?
Monday, January 12, 2009
Victoria's Secret Burned My Dinner!
Last night I joined some local ladies for a night in the hot tub. A sedate affair, and relaxing, but as the youngest woman there I had to rock the cleavage, right?
OK, so today I washed my tankini in the washing machine. And when it came out, the push-up pads had fallen out.
And they look weird.
I wasn't sure how to get them in right, but I gave it a shot. And they didn't look right to me.
"I need a tutorial," I thought. So, I put dinner on the stove and called Customer Service.
Barry just laughed and transferred me to one of his female coworkers. Such disappointment! Isn't that why Barry got a job at the Vic Secret Customer Service hotline? Eh, maybe not.
Boy, that rice smells good. Just about time to put the pork chops on, as soon as I talk to Marissa.
She was no help, either. Apparently all the push-up pads in their suits are the same, they go in the same, there is no instruction or chart or anything, I just have to fiddle with it and play with it and eventually it will smooth out.
Or, you know, not.
Around this time, I noticed the burning smell.
So, now it is nearly 7, I am on a second pot of rice, the pork chops are half cooked, and I have a deconstructed tankini top on my desk. Which I shall play with until it looks right.
I hope.
OK, so today I washed my tankini in the washing machine. And when it came out, the push-up pads had fallen out.
And they look weird.
I wasn't sure how to get them in right, but I gave it a shot. And they didn't look right to me.
"I need a tutorial," I thought. So, I put dinner on the stove and called Customer Service.
Barry just laughed and transferred me to one of his female coworkers. Such disappointment! Isn't that why Barry got a job at the Vic Secret Customer Service hotline? Eh, maybe not.
Boy, that rice smells good. Just about time to put the pork chops on, as soon as I talk to Marissa.
She was no help, either. Apparently all the push-up pads in their suits are the same, they go in the same, there is no instruction or chart or anything, I just have to fiddle with it and play with it and eventually it will smooth out.
Or, you know, not.
Around this time, I noticed the burning smell.
So, now it is nearly 7, I am on a second pot of rice, the pork chops are half cooked, and I have a deconstructed tankini top on my desk. Which I shall play with until it looks right.
I hope.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Theeeeeeese little town bluuuuuues arrrrrrrrre melting awaaaaaaay
Yeah, I had 'em. And, yeah, all it took was about 2 seconds of bright lights to shake me out of the doldrums. We are already planning our next trip back to NYC.
Coincidentally, today my mother asked if I wanted to join her, and my sister, and my great-aunt, for a trip to see the Rockettes this December. Yeah, in New York.
I turned her down.
Because no matter how much I want to go, I do not want to ride the Chinese Bus with my mother and sister. They would arrest me on arrival in New York. I just know it. Ain't worth it. My mom can say it will be fun, as many times as she likes, but that does not make it so.
And here is Hubby, again, with his old pal Satan, at the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market. Which rocked, hard core. I mean, they had a giant, inflatable Satan, OK? Top THAT.
Coincidentally, today my mother asked if I wanted to join her, and my sister, and my great-aunt, for a trip to see the Rockettes this December. Yeah, in New York.
I turned her down.
Because no matter how much I want to go, I do not want to ride the Chinese Bus with my mother and sister. They would arrest me on arrival in New York. I just know it. Ain't worth it. My mom can say it will be fun, as many times as she likes, but that does not make it so.
And here is Hubby, again, with his old pal Satan, at the Hell's Kitchen Flea Market. Which rocked, hard core. I mean, they had a giant, inflatable Satan, OK? Top THAT.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Can't Say They Didn't Warn You
For those of you who do not live in the Happy Boondocks with me: We live in a Navy town. Lots of non-military people still make a living off the water. And yes, that is a strip joint in the background.
I laughed all the way home.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Can't Mom Do It?
Last night, before leaving to take the three youngest Sons to tae kwon do, I asked Son #1 to empty the dishwasher.
Naturally, he did not.
After dinner, late again because of said tae kwon do schedule, I was beat. Pretty much collapsed into bed just a hair after 9, dishes only partially done.
Woke up this morning, sat bleary-eyed at the computer to get my daily email fix, and Son #1's first words were:
"You sure are making this hard. You do everybody's laundry but mine."
Which means, of course, that I do whatever laundry makes it into the laundry room.
Gave Son #2 lunch money. Checked the gym schedule, the kids' schedule (Son #3 gets new spacers on today, for his upcoming braces) while everyone else got ready for their day. Made some minor preparations for lunch-to-come. Woke Son #3 up so he would take a shower. Got back to reading the news of the day. Because, you know, I am sleepy.
Hubby came down the hall a little miffed.
"You forgot to make the coffee!"
Yes, I usually make the coffee, even though I don't drink coffee. It started out as something he asked me to do, and I did to be nice, but has turned into something he expects me to do, and won't do himself, because our current coffeemaker requires a thorough daily cleaning or it does not function.
We bickered. Which is not the way either of us wants to start the day. He is now willing to make his own coffee, some mornings, so long as he can invest in a new coffeepot that is not as big a pain in the butt to operate. That's fair. Then, I can go back to making coffee for him out of niceness, instead of feeling like it has become yet another thing I am expected to do, even though I don't benefit from it and the person who does benefit could do it for himself.
Much hugging and making up ensued. Hubby assured me he would be more self-reliant and do for himself those things he can. I apologized for taking out my frustrations with children who practically expect me to chew their food for them, on him. I brought my breakfast into the bedroom, so we could have a few relaxing moments together while Hubby got dressed for work. He looked down at his feet.
"Sweetie, can you trim my toenails for me?"
Naturally, he did not.
After dinner, late again because of said tae kwon do schedule, I was beat. Pretty much collapsed into bed just a hair after 9, dishes only partially done.
Woke up this morning, sat bleary-eyed at the computer to get my daily email fix, and Son #1's first words were:
"You sure are making this hard. You do everybody's laundry but mine."
Which means, of course, that I do whatever laundry makes it into the laundry room.
Gave Son #2 lunch money. Checked the gym schedule, the kids' schedule (Son #3 gets new spacers on today, for his upcoming braces) while everyone else got ready for their day. Made some minor preparations for lunch-to-come. Woke Son #3 up so he would take a shower. Got back to reading the news of the day. Because, you know, I am sleepy.
Hubby came down the hall a little miffed.
"You forgot to make the coffee!"
Yes, I usually make the coffee, even though I don't drink coffee. It started out as something he asked me to do, and I did to be nice, but has turned into something he expects me to do, and won't do himself, because our current coffeemaker requires a thorough daily cleaning or it does not function.
We bickered. Which is not the way either of us wants to start the day. He is now willing to make his own coffee, some mornings, so long as he can invest in a new coffeepot that is not as big a pain in the butt to operate. That's fair. Then, I can go back to making coffee for him out of niceness, instead of feeling like it has become yet another thing I am expected to do, even though I don't benefit from it and the person who does benefit could do it for himself.
Much hugging and making up ensued. Hubby assured me he would be more self-reliant and do for himself those things he can. I apologized for taking out my frustrations with children who practically expect me to chew their food for them, on him. I brought my breakfast into the bedroom, so we could have a few relaxing moments together while Hubby got dressed for work. He looked down at his feet.
"Sweetie, can you trim my toenails for me?"
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
JUST LIKE HER
Growing up, just about the angriest thing my mother could say to me was that I was JUST LIKE HER--my grandmother. She always meant that I was exhibiting some of her mother-in-law's worst qualities.
I am starting to think that, for good or ill, I am a lot like Granma Bolz. And even though that includes her faults, I don't mind.
When she passed away, she left me one of her coctail rings. It was a little loose to be a pinky ring, and too tight to wear anywhere else, so I stuck it in a drawer. But this week I had it sized to fit my middle finger. I've been wearing it and it feels like it belongs on me. I think that if she were a 40-year-old woman, we'd get along famously and understand each other.
And probably also drive my mother nuts.
Wonder Twin Powers, ACTIVATE!
I am starting to think that, for good or ill, I am a lot like Granma Bolz. And even though that includes her faults, I don't mind.
When she passed away, she left me one of her coctail rings. It was a little loose to be a pinky ring, and too tight to wear anywhere else, so I stuck it in a drawer. But this week I had it sized to fit my middle finger. I've been wearing it and it feels like it belongs on me. I think that if she were a 40-year-old woman, we'd get along famously and understand each other.
And probably also drive my mother nuts.
Wonder Twin Powers, ACTIVATE!
Friday, February 15, 2008
My Parents Are Coming
Son #3's birthday, and my parents' wedding anniversary, are both this Sunday. Since Son #3 is having a sleepover tomorrow, my parents have decided to come down tonight, for dinner and presents.
It is time to prepare.
I have to clean everything, like everyone does when the parents descend. But I have a list of other things I need to do, too.
Must get the mail before Mom empties my mail box, flipping through each envelope and asking about it (and perhaps opening one or two, if they pique her interest). If the mail lady brings an actual BOX to the door, while my parents are around, I have no chance of opening it in private. None.
Must hide my desk calendar, because she will note all events over the next month or two and invite herself along. "1:00, Copsey's Seafood, what is that? We'd love to come."
Must stash all my medications, because at this point she does not know that I have a few manageable health conditions and I do not want to spend the next 25 years listening to advice about them.
Must finish writing the article that's due today, because if I'm still writing when she gets here she will stand in the narrow path between my desk chair and the wall, to read over my shoulder and make "Hmmmm. Huh!" noises and ask when I'm going to write something about my sister.
Must stash my bag of "stuff to sell on eBay", because I am not allowed to get rid of ANYTHING.
Must get rid of the recycling, because it's got mail and scrap paper in there and she will look through it.
Must encourage Son #2 to finish assembling the complicated furniture she bought for his room (that he does not want).
Must discourage Son #1 from sharing too many Colorful Stories about life in high school.
Must remove blue nail polish.
Is that it? I think so. My day is planned for me, huh?
It is time to prepare.
I have to clean everything, like everyone does when the parents descend. But I have a list of other things I need to do, too.
Must get the mail before Mom empties my mail box, flipping through each envelope and asking about it (and perhaps opening one or two, if they pique her interest). If the mail lady brings an actual BOX to the door, while my parents are around, I have no chance of opening it in private. None.
Must hide my desk calendar, because she will note all events over the next month or two and invite herself along. "1:00, Copsey's Seafood, what is that? We'd love to come."
Must stash all my medications, because at this point she does not know that I have a few manageable health conditions and I do not want to spend the next 25 years listening to advice about them.
Must finish writing the article that's due today, because if I'm still writing when she gets here she will stand in the narrow path between my desk chair and the wall, to read over my shoulder and make "Hmmmm. Huh!" noises and ask when I'm going to write something about my sister.
Must stash my bag of "stuff to sell on eBay", because I am not allowed to get rid of ANYTHING.
Must get rid of the recycling, because it's got mail and scrap paper in there and she will look through it.
Must encourage Son #2 to finish assembling the complicated furniture she bought for his room (that he does not want).
Must discourage Son #1 from sharing too many Colorful Stories about life in high school.
Must remove blue nail polish.
Is that it? I think so. My day is planned for me, huh?
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