33tekfan’s Weblog

So I am JUST NOW in my laundry room (at 8:45PM), which also doubles as our side entry, when I hear a tap, tap, tap at the door.  Great.  The light is on, and just the screen door is open at the moment.  Someone is obviously at home.

It was a kid - maybe 18 or 19.  He is on some sort of scholarship  donation quest - improving his public speaking and finding out what people do for jobs so that he is MOTIVATED for next year - and “oh yeah, would you like to contribute?”.  I practically had to push this kid off my doorstep after I said “no thank you, but good luck” and he continued talking and trying to get me to donate.  Clearly his approach was just to keep talking until I paid him to go away.  Or pushed him off my doorstep.  I didn’t push him, but I DID walk in the house and close the door.  Look, I’m patient ONCE.  Don’t press your luck with me.

I cannot stand people who come to my door to solicit.  Be it scholarships, sales, or churches.  I did not ask you to come here and try to solicit money or anything else from me.  If I want to donate to a cause, I will do so.  One that I’ve researched and feel compelled to give to - not just some random organization that some kid standing on my doorstep - with no documentation - tells me to.  If I want new windows, frozen food, steaks, or a new pool (::snicker:: that makes it seem like we even have an OLD pool)…I will buy it when I want to and when I’m ready - not because someone has appeared on my doorstep to persuade me to do so.

And don’t even get me started on the church thing.  I am not religious, although I was raised Catholic.  I feel I lead a good life and organized religion just doesn’t hold a place in my life right now.  Might that change?  Who knows…never say never.  On average, we get at least one visit a week from members of local (and maybe not so local) churches.  You know what I do?  I hide.  And I let the dogs bark at the door like the little balls of fluff  mad guard dogs that they are.  So I get the little brochures tucked into my door for me to find later.   I am probably on the fast track to hell.

So does that even work?  Really?  How many people drop whatever it is they are doing at the moment said sales/scholarship/religious person show up at their doorstep and proclaim “THANK YOU!  I HAVE JUST BEEN WAITING FOR YOU, OH SWEET STEAK SALESMAN!  How happy I am that you are finally here and I don’t have to trek three miles to that pesky grocery store.  I hope the baked potato salesman shows up soon.”  

I know I may have offended since I threw the religious card in.  Please don’t take it personally.  I am way cool with religion - it’s just not for me at this point in life.  They probably annoy me because of that lingering Catholic guilt that screams in my head “you should go to church (and take your children) you heathen!” - and they give it an external voice when they show up.

There are no facts, only interpretations.  ~Friedrich Nietzsche

RSVP – French for “Repondez s’il vous plait” or, in plain English, “Please reply”. These little letters are the not-so-secret code that you should call or write your host within a day or two of receiving an invitation to let him know if you can attend or not. All invitations have some sort of a reply mechanism – an enclosed card, a phone number, an email address or a mailing address. A prompt reply is a basic courtesy. (Taken from emilypost.com)

Why has it become so hard for us to pick up the phone and respond to a party invitation?  Or write a thank you card?  Or be even a tad courteous of people in general?

I recently had a birthday party for my son (those of you paying attention will recall his birthday is in December.  We don’t do December parties - too much else going on).  The Captain wanted his party at the bowling alley - complete with bowling, mini-golf, arcade, pizza, and soda.  We had to provide only the cake.  So, we needed to know how many children: 1) so the bowling alley knew how much pizza to provide and how many lanes would be needed. 2) so I knew what size cake to buy. (I baked him a cake on his real birthday.  Don’t judge.) 3) so I knew how many favors to put together (I had extra time since I didn’t bake a cake.) 4) so I knew how many quarters to bring so they all could play arcade games.  Let’s just say on the day of his party, I had NO IDEA how many children would be coming.

The first time I experienced this was when  I was sitting in the limo outside the church on my wedding day.  I watched my husband-to-be’s uncle, aunt, 3 cousins and a date for each cousin strolling up the sidewalk toward the church.  Beyond the fact that the dates weren’t even invited, none of them had RSVP’d.  None.  8 extra people.  That was a whole table!  Where were they going to sit? How much more were we going to have to pay the caterer?

Since then, there have been numerous showers, christenings, and birthday parties that I’ve hosted or helped host.  Every single time, we run into the RSVP problem.  We never really know how many people to plan on because so few actually take the time to respond.

It’s a basic courtesy. 

Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others.  If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter which fork you use.  ~Emily Post

Dear Dunkin’ Donuts,

One hour and 5 minutes for 3 bagel sandwiches is highly unreasonable.  I understand you run out of things sometimes - although on a Sunday morning?  Really?  You couldn’t predict you’d be busy on a Sunday morning at 10:00AM?  Ok…I’ll drive to the OTHER Dunkin’ Donuts in town.  Except, well even though they weren’t out of anything, they weren’t especially speedy.  Customer Service doesn’t seem to be a priority for you so as much as I love your product, I think you’ll find me at Tim Horton’s from now on.

Sincerely,

A disgruntled customer

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Dear Target,

I didn’t mean to shop lift.  Truly, I didn’t.  The fact that I’ve spent about $150 at your store in the last several days should indicate that I didn’t mean to walk out without paying for the $1.49 shoelaces.

I must have been holding them in the same hand as my keys, and when I needed both hands to help my son pick out a new baseball glove I put my keys - and the laces - in my pocket.  When we got home, I was mortified to find them when I reached into my pocket.

The thing is?  I live 40 minutes away from you.  At $3.57 a gallon, driving back to pay for the laces seems somewhat absurd.  But I believe in karma, so what I’m going to do is make an extra charitable donation this month.  Deal?  Good.  Thanks for understanding.

Sincerely,

A most apologetic customer (who loves Target WAY more than Wal-hell*)

*Stolen Borrowed from Morgan.

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Dear Postman,

You rock.  Thank you for putting together the Captain’s pitch back, and tightly strapping his new glove.  I spent 5 years doing all of that by myself (not always with great results!) and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it when you help my kids with things like that.  I know they appreciate it, too.

I love you more,

Me

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Dear Captain and Diva,

I missed you!  I am glad you had a nice time with your dad, but I am also glad you are home! 

Love you lots,

Mom

To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart.  ~Phyllis Theroux

Recently I had someone ask me if the woman she had seen me with was my “real mother”. The Postman beat me to the answer with “No, it’s JUST her mother.”

I cannot tell you how much that question pisses.me.off.

First off, my mother and I are NOT bff’s. Never were. Never will be. A lot happened in my childhood and adolescence that I wish never had. Without divulging too much information, I’ll just say that it probably wasn’t intentional and she couldn’t help some of it. It’s still painful even with that knowledge.

HOWEVER:

It was her who stood at the end of the driveway on my first day of school, and many thereafter, waving to me as I was whisked away on the bus. It was her who braided my hair every.single.day. until second grade when I got it cut short like Dorothy Hamill.

It was her who drove me to countless softball practices and games and became a Girl Scout Troop Leader.

It was her who held my hair back the first time I got drunk and sick when I got the flu.

She helped me buy a car when I was 16. She helped pay for college. She adores her grandchildren.

So while she is not my biological mother, she is my REAL mother. So stop asking such stupid questions, mmkay?

It’s not easy being a mother. If it were easy, fathers would do it. ~From the television show The Golden Girls

Have you read about this yet? Have you seen all the pictures?

Admittedly, I have only seen one picture and the headline that accompanied it. It’s a picture of Rosie O’Donnell with her oldest son. She has a stern look on her face and she has a hold on her son - I believe she is holding on to his t-shirt. He is back to, so his face is not visible. The headline reads “Abusive Rosie bullies son, 12.”

Man oh man.

I am guessing these “journalists” are not parents. Because let me just tell you, as the mother of a 12 year old girl, if they are using these pictures as evidence of abuse, I know about 500 parents who “abuse” their children. Fortunately for them, they do not have paparazzi there to capture every.single.moment. of their lives.

My daughter makes me so angry sometimes that I need to leave the room or ask her to leave the room. She can be rude, mean, selfish, and nasty. She is 12. She has hormones raging through her body, and she has no idea that the world doesn’t revolve around her. I remind her, that’s one of my jobs as a parent. Does that make me a bully? No. I think it makes me a great mom. My children are learning respect, self control, and common courtesy. Sometimes I need to be stern to get their attention.

My daughter - in fits of self-absorption - has turned to walk away as I am in the middle of speaking to her. You better believe she does not get away with that. Have I ever grabbed her t-shirt as Rosie appears to be doing in that picture? I don’t know for sure, but I bet I have. I may have even grabbed her arm to stop her from walking away.

For a magazine to publish those pictures with that headline accompanying it is shameful, irresponsible, and more damaging to that boy than anything his parents could do. His friends are going to see and read that. His teachers, community members, and well…the entire free world are also going to see it. One of my children’s fears is that, if necessary, I will reprimand them in front of their friends, my friends, or our family. It is mortifying to them. Now that poor boy has his picture splashed on the front of a magazine so the entire world can see him being reprimanded by his mother.

Bullying? No. Not by his mother anyway - but by a big corporation that will sacrifice the well being of a child in exchange for a few bucks.

I never had a policy; I have just tried to do my very best each and every day. ~Abraham Lincoln

Yeah. So.

I got my hair cut. Like 3 inches or so…not a huge difference. But still. This morning my hair was below my shoulders, and now it is swinging just above my shoulders. Not drastic, but noticeable, dammit!

Unless you live in my house.

I bet if dinner didn’t make it on the table they’d notice THAT.

Or if laundry didn’t get done for 3 or 4 days - THAT would be noticed.

Or if I didn’t have cash in my wallet. THAT would definitely be noticed.

Jackasses. All of ‘em.

How can I control my life when I can’t control my hair? ~Author Unknown

So the Diva cam home from school early yesterday with a headache and a tummy ache. She actually gets quite a few headaches for a 12 year old and we’re working on figuring out why.

Our school has a rule prohibiting drugs of any kind. That includes Ty*lenol and Ibuprofen. If a child needs Ty*lenol or Ibuprofen or even their inhaler, they must call their parents/guardian to come administer the stuff. I found out there’s a way around this, which is nice for children with chronic conditions or those that must take medication during the day (Rit*alin, for example). Their parent/guardian fills out paperwork describing the specifics of the medication, purpose, dose, etc. The school nurse then faxes this info to the child’s doctor and IF THE DOCTOR SAYS IT’S OK, the nurse keeps the medication in her office and the child goes to her to have their medication administered. So, if I want my daughter to have an Ibuprofen, without me delivering it to her, that’s the route I have to take.

Seems like a bit much for an Ad*vil, no?

Usually the Diva calls me and I dutifully deliver the Ibuprofen to her. She knows about trying to self soothe before leaping for the drugs…hydrate, rest (if possible), quiet (if possible). At school it can be hard to accomplish this so more often than not, I will bring her an ibuprofen.

As I may have mentioned, I work from home for a hospital that’s about 2 hours away. I used to drive there two to three times per month, but that has substantially decreased lately. Because I could not bring her medication if she needed it on those days, I gave her a tiny pill bottle to put in her book bag with TWO otc strength ibuprofen in it, just in case she needed it. When I did this, I knew I was making a mistake. No, not that I was giving it to her…but that the pill bottle I chose to use was a little Ty*lenol bottle. With ibuprofen in it. In my defense, I figured it was better than an apothecary style medicine bottle with NO label on it. Doesn’t matter now…turns out the Diva would have gotten in trouble either way.

When she called me to tell me she didn’t feel well, she was near tears. It turns out, for whatever reason, instead of calling me yesterday she decided to take one of the ibuprofen that she had in her bag. When she didn’t feel better after an hour, she decided she wanted to come home. She went to the office to call me and they instructed her that she needed to see the nurse before she could call home. While with the nurse, it came up that the Diva had already taken an ibuprofen. It seems that having contraband ibuprofen is on the same level as having a dime bag. The nurse went up one side of my daughter and down the other, and there was even mention of the fact that my daughter could be suspended for this infraction.

WTF???

I haven’t yet decided how I’m going to handle this. I understand rules are rules. But seriously, does anyone else think the nurse went just a little too far with this? I really would appreciate feedback on this one folks, because I am stuck somewhere between understanding policy and indignation at how my child was treated.

I don’t know. I never smoked AstroTurf. ~Tug McGraw, when asked if he preferred grass or artificial turf, 1974

The other day was our bi-weekly Sam’s excursion. While we were waiting our turn to check out, we (and everyone else within 3 lanes of us) witnessed the guy in the next lane over from us picking up a bag of Ghiradelli chocolate chips from his cart and yelling at his wife “What the hell is this?!”. She mumbled something that apparently was halfway acceptable and he threw the bag on the conveyor belt. He kept muttering, though, and his wife and two children (yeah…not bad enough he treats her like that at all…but in front of their children and in public. He’s a prize.)walked away toward the exit to wait for him there I guess. He then asked the cashier how much they were, and although I didn’t hear her answer he says to her “Jesus Christ - I’m paying that much for her ass to get even fatter?”. I told the Postman if he EVER talked to me or about me that way I’d be gone so quick he wouldn’t even see my dust. Jackass. Why, why, why do people stay in relationships like that? It’s sad.

Shifting gears: The Diva had an orthodontist appointment this past week. She’s already had one round of orthodontia, now we’re looking at about 2 more years. On the window sill of the room we were in, there were several models of braces that are available. The technician picked up the invisible ones (the kind worn on the inside of the teeth) and said “Miley Cyrus wears these - they are the Cadillac of braces.” The Postman said I should have asked her to show us the Yugo model next since that was most likely the one we would go with. He always comes up with the good responses.

Shift again: The Captain has developed a new talent. He can imitate people. Well, cartoon characters and one human. But still…impressive for 9! The best part is he does them really, really well. It’s kind of cool.

Shift: One of the fundrasiers for the Diva’s class trip was tonight - a spaghetti supper. I’ve been dreading it all week. An evening with the Stepfords. I even dreamed about it last night. I dreamed all the Stepfords showed up in pink ballgowns and tiaras. I was pissed off at first that I didn’t know that was expected…then I realized it was fine because the patrons would easily be able to tell the normal people from the Stepfords - as though it wasn’t already painfully obvious. Thank goddess my friend J and her daughter were on set up duty with me and the Diva! We kept each other grounded.

Lastly, and most importantly: The Postman’s father is back in the hospital. They are doing a lung biopsy tomorrow. One doctor thinks, based on a CT scan, that it is lung cancer. The other doctor involved thinks it is just an infection or bacteria. In addition to the biopsy, they are going to scrape some mucus out (I know - gross!) to culture so they can definitively say it is one or the other. Please do whatever you do (pray, good thoughts, positive energy sent our way, etc.) tomorrow for us. I, and our family, would appreciate it!

Bad is never good until worse happens. ~Danish Proverb

Mainers have this quirky little way about them. They distrust nearly everyone, especially if you are From Away.

From Away means exactly what you think it would. You are not from here. Being that Maine’s motto is Vacationland, we have more than a few visitors and tourists roaming our beaches and snow mobile trails each year. From Away is used to describe them.

However, it has also come to be a label for anyone who moves into a town from anywhere else. I, for example, have lived in Maine since I was two years old. Although I did move away for about three months in my early twenties, the rest of my life has been here. I have lived in a few towns on the southern coast, and kept the same circle of friends and the same job regardless of the town I lived in. Perhaps that’s why being From Away never seemed to pertain to me. Oh, I had heard about it, and read about it, and maybe even thought it myself as I weaved around twenty out of state plates on my way to work each morning, but I never really experienced it first hand.

This last move I made was the farthest I have ever moved, and the first move I made with both kids in school. We moved form the southern coast to the central farm part of the state. In our former community, I was semi-involved in their schools - volunteering for field trips and providing snacks for parties. I was able to attend most special events, but working a 40 hour office job didn’t allow for much more than that. I wanted to do more but couldn’t.

With this move came the opportunity to work from home and a decrease in hours. I am able to contribute more in my children’s classrooms, and I am able to help out with various fund raising projects that I couldn’t before.

As I have written about here, I am part of a committee responsible for planning a 6th grade end of year trip. Our group has gone from an original 11 members, to a die hard 4 or 5. I am not surprised at all with the diminishing numbers, that tends to happen in every group. What I am surprised about is how the 4 other members (none of whom are From Away), make it perfectly clear that I am not an accepted part of the group. Regardless of how many ideas I bring to the table, how much I say “I’ll do it”, or how much I help. I’ve come to realize though, that this happens in almost every group setting. Whoever doesn’t fall into what is accepted as the norm of the group is marked as an outsider.

Mainers have just labeled it - but not correctly. I mean, really, how many people are raised and live in the same town their whole lives? So nearly everyone is potentially From Away. But it’s easier and more acceptable to say that a person isn’t trusted because they are From Away (we don’t know them yet) rather than because they are loud, or fat, or gay, or single, or another race. So groups such as the committee I’m involved with struggle along with only a handful of members because for a lot of people, it is not worth the hassle of remaining just to be made to feel inferior.

It took being “From Away” for me to realize that it has nothing to do with that at all.

Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. ~Winston Churchill

Marie Tasy, executive director of New Jersey Right to Life, said she and a coalition of other opponents would continue to fight the legislation. “This is not a compassionate choice at all.”

Good afternoon,

I ran across this quote on nj.com this morning while I was searching for articles regarding opening records for New Jersey adoptees.

I am writing to ask for some clarification. What exactly is not “a compassionate choice at all”? The choice of allowing adoptees the right to know their heritage and medical history? I find it amazing that an organization, such as yours, can make broad based conclusions such as that. Your mission, dedication to protecting and fostering human life, apparently ends with birth.

I am a 38 year old woman who was adopted in New Jersey in 1969. Over the last 38 years of my life, I have been fortunate enough to be relatively healthy. I get migraines, I have difficult monthly cycles, I am very near sighted. I also have a thyroid condition. All of these issues are easily managed with the help of physicians, medications, and contact lenses. They are not life threatening nor earth shattering illnesses.

In 1998, my son was born with a thyroid condition more serious than my own. His father and I spent several anxious weeks with specialists, watching our tiny newborn son go through blood draw after blood draw to figure out what was wrong with him. I was urged time and time again to find out my medical history - the doctors were sure with my history of thyroid illness that something genetic was occurring. Eventually, his condition was diagnosed, even without a medical history. We were lucky.

What right do you have to tell me I can’t know my medical history? What right do you have to tell my children they can’t know their medical history? Organizations struggled so hard to bring me into this world (RIGHT TO LIFE! ABORTION IS MURDER!), handed me an “amended” birth certificate, and now say “Sorry, you can’t know any of your history”.

The bill presented in the New Jersey legislature has conditions that allow for birth mothers to retain their anonymity. Yes, they will have to provide a medical history in lieu of an original birth certificate being issued. Is that really so much to ask? I for one, (along with many others, I am sure), would be happy just to have that piece of history. I would like to know what I might face, medically, in the future. I also want my children to have access to that same information.

I know you are worried about the birth mothers who bore children out of violent circumstances then gave them up for adoption. They want to forget that period of their life. I would be interested to know what the exact percentage is of children adopted under those conditions. Because, truly, being born in 1969…after the 1968 Summer of Love, Woodstock, and thousands of young men being shipped off to Vietnam, I doubt I, or too many others, were born of violent circumstance. Maybe those birth mothers regret that time in their life, but that does not mean I should be denied my rights now.

I have a right to life. Just no rights beyond that.

Sincerely,

NJ adoptee, 1969