While traveling in the car yesterday:
Hubby: Hey boy! It's football season!
Boy: Yeah! Football!!!!
Hubby:Yep, that's my boy! Football - GRRRR.
Boy: GRRRRRR! I'm a boy! Hiya, hiya, hiya. AAAAAAHHHHHH.
Hubby: Go boy, go - Booya!
Boy: Booya! We're BOYS mommy. We're TOUGH.
Hubby: Yep - tough.
(Various boy hollers until mommy has had enough)
Me: Hey boy! What do you want to be for Halloween this year?
Boy: TINKERBELL!!!!!
......Silence.......
Just keepin' it real, folks. Keepin' it real.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Does Jesus live in Connecticut?
Well, only 3 years in, and we have proof we screwed up. Hubby and I were kinda hoping we could blame Society, or School, or the Snot Nosed Kid Who Tells The Boy Lies, or Anything But Us as the reason our child is a little…off…but nope, it’s us. And well, now I just need to get it all off my chest. And also, I need to write it all down simply so I can make sense of it. Maybe print it and carry it with me and the next time I get unsolicited advice about child-rearing from people I don’t know (which happens way too often, doesn’t it?), I’ll whip it out and say, “Okay Ms. Smartypants, tell me how to fix this?! How?? Hooooowwwww???????” and they will run screaming and I will laugh maniacally but inside I’m still just flummoxed by the whole thing.
Hubby and I are an interesting pairing. We are the best of friends. You could call us soulmates if by soulmate you mean complete opposites in every way. I can be naïve; he’s sharper than all tacks put together. I’m grey; he’s black and white. I’m imaginative; he’s factual. I’m book smart; he’s street smart. I’m spiritual; he’s tangible. We make an incredible team, though, and I used to think the Boy would greatly benefit by the vast personality spectrum he’s been exposed to thus far. We have “agreements” about our “stories”, such as how to explain Santa, God, Heaven, Death, the Birds and the Bees, Bodies, House Rules and other such concepts you don’t give much thought to until your child enters the never-ending “why” phase. We are both on the same page and ready with our answers should we be subjected to the inquisition.
As the Boy is now 3 (“and a HAFF mommy!”), we’ve touched on almost all subjects now except for birds and bees, and we really, truly thought we’d done a good job. We high-five each other when we hear our son talk about what to ask Santa for, or how daddy’s mommy and daddy are in Heaven. But ya know how you go to the store sometimes and you made a list, but you left it at home and you just try to visualize it and do your shopping, and get home and realize you greatly missed the mark on a lot of things? Yeah, well. We missed the mark.
In our quest to answer all things truthfully and keep our stories straight, we’ve created a monster. This poor kid has taken the plethora of information we’ve thrown at him in bits and pieces and has created his own little reality out of it. In retrospect, I can totally follow his logic, but what I don’t know is how to re-explain, if at all. I mean, I’m pretty certain that in a few years it will all just work itself out, but what damage will remain? Oh, alright, for Pete’s sake, I’ll just get it all on the table here and you can tell me what I need to do.
Very recently, I had to run an errand that meant about a 45 minute drive, and I had the Boy with me. We’d been driving for a little bit, just kinda chillin’ out to the Barry (as in Manilow, the God of Easy Listening), when I started to pick up some odd words here and there – the Boy was having a very animated conversation with himself. Concerned, I turned down the radio and started listening. Then I asked a lot of questions and he gave a lot of answers. Instead of providing you the transcript, which would be entertaining but incredibly long, I will sum it up in one paragraph:
Apparently, Jesus lives in Heaven with his daddy, God. (which is like, say, Connecticut in his mind - too far away to drop by today, but certainly we can go for the weekend) And they have a pet rabbit named Easter (the Boy would have named him Tooter) and Santa lives with them and so do hubby's parents and everyone can fly like birds. He wants to visit soon on his super fast motorcycle.
Seriously, folks….what am I supposed to do with that? Tell me, please! Until then, I'm totally blaming the snot nosed kid.
Hubby and I are an interesting pairing. We are the best of friends. You could call us soulmates if by soulmate you mean complete opposites in every way. I can be naïve; he’s sharper than all tacks put together. I’m grey; he’s black and white. I’m imaginative; he’s factual. I’m book smart; he’s street smart. I’m spiritual; he’s tangible. We make an incredible team, though, and I used to think the Boy would greatly benefit by the vast personality spectrum he’s been exposed to thus far. We have “agreements” about our “stories”, such as how to explain Santa, God, Heaven, Death, the Birds and the Bees, Bodies, House Rules and other such concepts you don’t give much thought to until your child enters the never-ending “why” phase. We are both on the same page and ready with our answers should we be subjected to the inquisition.
As the Boy is now 3 (“and a HAFF mommy!”), we’ve touched on almost all subjects now except for birds and bees, and we really, truly thought we’d done a good job. We high-five each other when we hear our son talk about what to ask Santa for, or how daddy’s mommy and daddy are in Heaven. But ya know how you go to the store sometimes and you made a list, but you left it at home and you just try to visualize it and do your shopping, and get home and realize you greatly missed the mark on a lot of things? Yeah, well. We missed the mark.
In our quest to answer all things truthfully and keep our stories straight, we’ve created a monster. This poor kid has taken the plethora of information we’ve thrown at him in bits and pieces and has created his own little reality out of it. In retrospect, I can totally follow his logic, but what I don’t know is how to re-explain, if at all. I mean, I’m pretty certain that in a few years it will all just work itself out, but what damage will remain? Oh, alright, for Pete’s sake, I’ll just get it all on the table here and you can tell me what I need to do.
Very recently, I had to run an errand that meant about a 45 minute drive, and I had the Boy with me. We’d been driving for a little bit, just kinda chillin’ out to the Barry (as in Manilow, the God of Easy Listening), when I started to pick up some odd words here and there – the Boy was having a very animated conversation with himself. Concerned, I turned down the radio and started listening. Then I asked a lot of questions and he gave a lot of answers. Instead of providing you the transcript, which would be entertaining but incredibly long, I will sum it up in one paragraph:
Apparently, Jesus lives in Heaven with his daddy, God. (which is like, say, Connecticut in his mind - too far away to drop by today, but certainly we can go for the weekend) And they have a pet rabbit named Easter (the Boy would have named him Tooter) and Santa lives with them and so do hubby's parents and everyone can fly like birds. He wants to visit soon on his super fast motorcycle.
Seriously, folks….what am I supposed to do with that? Tell me, please! Until then, I'm totally blaming the snot nosed kid.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Letters to Strangers. Part I (Oh yes. Many more will certainly follow.)
Dear Lady in the Blue Volvo on I-35 this morning:
Look, I know my place in the world. I do. And sadly, it was not behind you this morning as you tried to merge onto the freeway.
You must observe the unwritten code of rush hour merging!!!
One car merge, one car go. One car merge, one car go.
It makes for a very bad morning when you decide you are more worthy than the code and attempt a TWO car merge. Luckily, I did put you back in your place as my Suburban is a lot bigger than your Volvo (But alas, not bigger than your hair).
And I'm glad I got through to you as you arrogantly tried the ole nose-in, but I merely went around you forcing you to slam on your brakes. How do I know I got through to you? Because I saw you wave your one finger at me, as if to say, "Oh! I get it! Sorry! I forgot! One car merge, one car go - I got it now, thanks for the reminder!"
You're welcome. Have a great day.
Love,
Self-appointed Enforcer of the Unwritten Merge Code
PS: The Code Must Be Obeyed!
Look, I know my place in the world. I do. And sadly, it was not behind you this morning as you tried to merge onto the freeway.
You must observe the unwritten code of rush hour merging!!!
One car merge, one car go. One car merge, one car go.
It makes for a very bad morning when you decide you are more worthy than the code and attempt a TWO car merge. Luckily, I did put you back in your place as my Suburban is a lot bigger than your Volvo (But alas, not bigger than your hair).
And I'm glad I got through to you as you arrogantly tried the ole nose-in, but I merely went around you forcing you to slam on your brakes. How do I know I got through to you? Because I saw you wave your one finger at me, as if to say, "Oh! I get it! Sorry! I forgot! One car merge, one car go - I got it now, thanks for the reminder!"
You're welcome. Have a great day.
Love,
Self-appointed Enforcer of the Unwritten Merge Code
PS: The Code Must Be Obeyed!
Monday, July 30, 2007
Allow Myself to Introduce...My...Self
I started to write a post today to talk about something that has recently happened in my household and I realized that I haven’t even properly introduced you to my world. So really, this should have been the first post, but whatever. Here’s the lowdown:
Me: I’m a thirty something woman – married with a 3 year old son. We live in Arlen, Texas and I know that Correct Blogger Etiquette dictates not to release personal details, surely I can tell you my real first name. It’s Stareena. Okay, not really. That’s my old bar name I used to use. It’s a good stripper name, too. But I was never a stripper. My real name is Shannon. I have lived in a bunch of different cities and quite often get a little confused about where I am and give out weird directions to tourists. I work full-time at a paying job, work full-time as an entrepreneur co-founding a company with 4 other women (Oh trust me, you’ll hear about that in good time), and also work full-time as a personal assistant to my 3 year old. I’ve got dogs and cats and talking birds, oh my! And an armadillo that winters under my deck. Subsequent posts will reveal my personality, so no need to talk about it.
Hubby: And I don’t like the word hubby. But husband is so formal, and The Man sounds too much like a 60’s peace group target…so I don’t know how else to talk about him. For now I’ll use hubby and we can come up with something else later. I met hubby in one of those many cities I lived in. We’ve been together over 10 years, but only married about 5 years ago. (and you’ll hear about that someday too) He’s a great guy – I couldn’t ask for a better life partner. He’s a typical guy, but has a really big soft spot that he doesn’t let anyone see. He’ll never read this blog, trust me, so I feel comfortable throwing him under the bus for good stories. I will do that often. We are in it for the long haul and most of our disagreements center around child-rearing. He is addicted to Starbucks. (Please let me know of any local support groups.)
Son: I will call him The Boy. Which is exactly what we have called him since day one. Hubby and I call each other and say “How’s The Boy?” “Are you picking The Boy up?” and this was just fine and dandy until the day a coworker said to me, “Really? That’s what you call him? The Boy? That reminds me of that book The Boy Called It. You’re gonna give him a complex.” So…we still call him The Boy, but now I have spurts of massive guilt about it. Anyway, he is a very sweet boy. He’s absolutely adorable (as all kids are, right?) and he knows it. He is a surprisingly laid back kid, which means he takes after his dad, not his neurotic mom. He definitely changed my life. And I’m pretty certain for the better, but check back after the teenage years are over.
Assorted family: They all live far away.
So welcome to my world This post was not funny or even entertaining, I know, but sometimes, you just need the facts.
Me: I’m a thirty something woman – married with a 3 year old son. We live in Arlen, Texas and I know that Correct Blogger Etiquette dictates not to release personal details, surely I can tell you my real first name. It’s Stareena. Okay, not really. That’s my old bar name I used to use. It’s a good stripper name, too. But I was never a stripper. My real name is Shannon. I have lived in a bunch of different cities and quite often get a little confused about where I am and give out weird directions to tourists. I work full-time at a paying job, work full-time as an entrepreneur co-founding a company with 4 other women (Oh trust me, you’ll hear about that in good time), and also work full-time as a personal assistant to my 3 year old. I’ve got dogs and cats and talking birds, oh my! And an armadillo that winters under my deck. Subsequent posts will reveal my personality, so no need to talk about it.
Hubby: And I don’t like the word hubby. But husband is so formal, and The Man sounds too much like a 60’s peace group target…so I don’t know how else to talk about him. For now I’ll use hubby and we can come up with something else later. I met hubby in one of those many cities I lived in. We’ve been together over 10 years, but only married about 5 years ago. (and you’ll hear about that someday too) He’s a great guy – I couldn’t ask for a better life partner. He’s a typical guy, but has a really big soft spot that he doesn’t let anyone see. He’ll never read this blog, trust me, so I feel comfortable throwing him under the bus for good stories. I will do that often. We are in it for the long haul and most of our disagreements center around child-rearing. He is addicted to Starbucks. (Please let me know of any local support groups.)
Son: I will call him The Boy. Which is exactly what we have called him since day one. Hubby and I call each other and say “How’s The Boy?” “Are you picking The Boy up?” and this was just fine and dandy until the day a coworker said to me, “Really? That’s what you call him? The Boy? That reminds me of that book The Boy Called It. You’re gonna give him a complex.” So…we still call him The Boy, but now I have spurts of massive guilt about it. Anyway, he is a very sweet boy. He’s absolutely adorable (as all kids are, right?) and he knows it. He is a surprisingly laid back kid, which means he takes after his dad, not his neurotic mom. He definitely changed my life. And I’m pretty certain for the better, but check back after the teenage years are over.
Assorted family: They all live far away.
So welcome to my world This post was not funny or even entertaining, I know, but sometimes, you just need the facts.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Because Breast Cancer IS Still a Big Deal
Two posts on one day?? Why yes, that IS me. Being productive. (Or avoiding work..just whichever you'd prefer to call it, either way..)
My sister is a breast cancer survivor. And so is my aunt, and another aunt, and my friend's mom, and my coworker's daughter, and on and on and on. So this, too, is a Cause of mine. Breast cancer awareness. One of my favorite bloggers pasted this blog post up. And it's traveling around a lot of blogs. So in the spirit of sisterhood, I am posting it too.
Stay strong, my sisters...and pass this along.
http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/2007/07/26/because-im-not-ready-to-move-on/
My sister is a breast cancer survivor. And so is my aunt, and another aunt, and my friend's mom, and my coworker's daughter, and on and on and on. So this, too, is a Cause of mine. Breast cancer awareness. One of my favorite bloggers pasted this blog post up. And it's traveling around a lot of blogs. So in the spirit of sisterhood, I am posting it too.
Stay strong, my sisters...and pass this along.
http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/2007/07/26/because-im-not-ready-to-move-on/
Where Oh Where Has Customer Service Gone?
I am a self-proclaimed vigilante for many things, such as Pro-Choice (but personally pro-life), recycling, and the right to excellent shoes at rock-bottom prices (thank you DSW), but my most recent "Cause" is Customer Service (or the lack thereof). In this day and age, the mighty dollar trumps good service (don't agree? Two words: The Walmart) and I try very hard to give my business to those establishments that treat me nice. Which is why I am still utterly shocked by the following that occured yesterday.
I ran into my local grocery store (am I even allowed to say the chain name? Well it's not like anyone's reading this, so I don't have a lot of fear of retaliation. Okay, it was Albertson's) to grab a few things. I am always, always a bargain shopper and I spend a lot of time in the aisles with a calculator figuring out the per-ounce cost. So I was delighted to see that my normal bread purchase had dropped in price from $2.19 to $1.99. Not on sale, but a permanent change. It really is the little things for me. So I bought a loaf.
After paying, I looked over my receipt and saw that I was charged $2.19, so over to the customer service counter I head. And experienced the following exchange:
Cashier: May I help you?
Me: Yes (putting bread on counter and handing her the receipt) This bread is $1.99 and I was charged $2.19.
Cashier: (looks at receipt) Sorry. Is it okay if I just give you the difference? (assuming a yes answer, she already has her drawer open and is pulling out a couple of dimes)
Me: Well...isn't your policy to refund the total price if it rings up incorrectly?
Cashier: Yes.
......a few beats of silence as we stare at each other......
Me: Well - then no, that is not okay. I'd like the full refund.
Cashier: Oh.....okay. (and she busies herself with the transaction)
Me: (after thinking for a minute) Why would you offer me just the difference if the policy is a full refund?
Cashier: (Shrugs)
Me: Really? That's all you've got? Why would you do that?
Cashier: Well, they tell us to try to get people to just take the difference to save money.
Me: But that's not policy, right?
Cashier: No.
Me: Wow, I wouldn't think that's a way to save money. I'd think that's a way to lose customers.
Cashier: (smiling brightly as she hands me my $2.19) Oh well.
I really have a problem with this! Now, she was pleasant enough, sure, but still - the message was clear: Bad Customer Service. How many people have taken the difference never knowing the policy? Why is this an okay way to do business? Why not just do away with the policy altogether and not force cashiers to try and slide one over on the customer?
I called my husband on my way home and vented for about 3x the amount of time than the actual encounter. When I was done with my fist in the air rant, he waited a second and then said, "So, then, how much did you spend at the store?" *sigh* A vigilante's work is lonely at times.
PS: My company that is getting off the ground - we are committed to 100% Customer Service. We have high aspirations in this area. Full refunds for dissatisfaction, period. I will never subject my employees or my customers to the ridiculous game of "Who knows the policy?" It's unethical, it's un-sportsman-like, and it's just plain wrong. I don't ever want to stumble across a blog post of someone complaining about our service. Complaints that we suck will be okay, but not that we suck and we're schmucks.
And PSS: I do think Albertson's just lost a customer. It's the principle of it now.
I ran into my local grocery store (am I even allowed to say the chain name? Well it's not like anyone's reading this, so I don't have a lot of fear of retaliation. Okay, it was Albertson's) to grab a few things. I am always, always a bargain shopper and I spend a lot of time in the aisles with a calculator figuring out the per-ounce cost. So I was delighted to see that my normal bread purchase had dropped in price from $2.19 to $1.99. Not on sale, but a permanent change. It really is the little things for me. So I bought a loaf.
After paying, I looked over my receipt and saw that I was charged $2.19, so over to the customer service counter I head. And experienced the following exchange:
Cashier: May I help you?
Me: Yes (putting bread on counter and handing her the receipt) This bread is $1.99 and I was charged $2.19.
Cashier: (looks at receipt) Sorry. Is it okay if I just give you the difference? (assuming a yes answer, she already has her drawer open and is pulling out a couple of dimes)
Me: Well...isn't your policy to refund the total price if it rings up incorrectly?
Cashier: Yes.
......a few beats of silence as we stare at each other......
Me: Well - then no, that is not okay. I'd like the full refund.
Cashier: Oh.....okay. (and she busies herself with the transaction)
Me: (after thinking for a minute) Why would you offer me just the difference if the policy is a full refund?
Cashier: (Shrugs)
Me: Really? That's all you've got? Why would you do that?
Cashier: Well, they tell us to try to get people to just take the difference to save money.
Me: But that's not policy, right?
Cashier: No.
Me: Wow, I wouldn't think that's a way to save money. I'd think that's a way to lose customers.
Cashier: (smiling brightly as she hands me my $2.19) Oh well.
I really have a problem with this! Now, she was pleasant enough, sure, but still - the message was clear: Bad Customer Service. How many people have taken the difference never knowing the policy? Why is this an okay way to do business? Why not just do away with the policy altogether and not force cashiers to try and slide one over on the customer?
I called my husband on my way home and vented for about 3x the amount of time than the actual encounter. When I was done with my fist in the air rant, he waited a second and then said, "So, then, how much did you spend at the store?" *sigh* A vigilante's work is lonely at times.
PS: My company that is getting off the ground - we are committed to 100% Customer Service. We have high aspirations in this area. Full refunds for dissatisfaction, period. I will never subject my employees or my customers to the ridiculous game of "Who knows the policy?" It's unethical, it's un-sportsman-like, and it's just plain wrong. I don't ever want to stumble across a blog post of someone complaining about our service. Complaints that we suck will be okay, but not that we suck and we're schmucks.
And PSS: I do think Albertson's just lost a customer. It's the principle of it now.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Random Act of Kindness...or...Not?
Okay, so I know I haven't explained too much on this blog yet, and already I'm behind, but - one thing I like to do every once and again is Random Acts of Kindness. (Totally Random Mom....get it? It's like a double entendre that isn't sexual! I'm a random thought person AND I commit random acts of kindness.)
Yes, maybe lame. But I like it.
Anyway, so when I get my wild hairs to be overly nice to strangers and commit a random act of kindness, I will probably come here and tell you about it. Not to get kudos or anything like that, but more to inspire you to commit your own & then tell me about it. It really is quite fun once you decide you're going to do it. I decided to start my day with a RAOK (the acronym I'll now use to indicate a random act of kindness. because I'm lazy with the typing thing and also, acronyms make things seem more official) and what better place than Starbucks??
Well - I do have issues with the tip jar thing. (What's up with that anyway? Tipping you for doing your job? It's not like they're making the standard $2.13/hr that waiters make, so what's with the tip? Can I put one on my desk at work? Should I start tipping the cashiers at 7-Eleven when they go through the arduous task of selling me my lottery tickets? Where does this end?? and PS - I use either my credit card or a starbucks card solely to avoid the situation every time.) And most people who start their day with Starbucks aren't necessarily hurting for cash. But anyway, I was there, and I remembered I needed to do a RAOK, so I just did it, okay?
I went through the drive through and it took an inordinate amount of time. Like, way longer than if all 4 cars ahead of me had ordered half frap mochas. I finally realized the problem when I arrived at the window. The cashier was not, uh, recovered from his weekend romp, apparently. But I gave him my credit card (because remember - cash = tip conundrum), explained I wanted to pay for the car behind me, and I kid you not, I sat there for 13 minutes. This is what happened during that 13 minutes:
Yes, maybe lame. But I like it.
Anyway, so when I get my wild hairs to be overly nice to strangers and commit a random act of kindness, I will probably come here and tell you about it. Not to get kudos or anything like that, but more to inspire you to commit your own & then tell me about it. It really is quite fun once you decide you're going to do it. I decided to start my day with a RAOK (the acronym I'll now use to indicate a random act of kindness. because I'm lazy with the typing thing and also, acronyms make things seem more official) and what better place than Starbucks??
Well - I do have issues with the tip jar thing. (What's up with that anyway? Tipping you for doing your job? It's not like they're making the standard $2.13/hr that waiters make, so what's with the tip? Can I put one on my desk at work? Should I start tipping the cashiers at 7-Eleven when they go through the arduous task of selling me my lottery tickets? Where does this end?? and PS - I use either my credit card or a starbucks card solely to avoid the situation every time.) And most people who start their day with Starbucks aren't necessarily hurting for cash. But anyway, I was there, and I remembered I needed to do a RAOK, so I just did it, okay?
I went through the drive through and it took an inordinate amount of time. Like, way longer than if all 4 cars ahead of me had ordered half frap mochas. I finally realized the problem when I arrived at the window. The cashier was not, uh, recovered from his weekend romp, apparently. But I gave him my credit card (because remember - cash = tip conundrum), explained I wanted to pay for the car behind me, and I kid you not, I sat there for 13 minutes. This is what happened during that 13 minutes:
- I was asked no less than 4 times what I ordered for myself (a tall coffee. black.).
- I was asked no less than 6 times why I was paying for the people behind me. (because I'm doing something nice! #)$&**&&!!!!)
- The cashier dropped my credit card on the floor and had to call over 2 other people and a manager to help find it (this took 7 minutes by itself).
- I was given a cold Grande cup of coffee that I had to send back.
- I was asked for my credit card again because he never actually swiped it. For any of the transactions.
The manager finally sent the cashier off on a bathroom break, apologized to me and told me my coffee was free and gave me a buck fifty in cash (I didn't tip). I explained that I was trying to pay for the car behind me, too, and she told me not to worry, that EVERYONE in that line was getting everything they ordered for free.
Sooooo......how do I even classify that? Did I actually commit a RAOK? Or did the hung-over (or something else) cashier inadvertently commit one for a whole lot of people?
I'm counting it. I'll mark it down as a RAOK "with assistance".
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