Co-authored by an MSU professor. Today's must-read.
Friday, December 7, 2007
Bloody Hell
Has been my refrain at my little green apron shop. Pronounced with a Scottish brogue so it comes out more like "Bloody Ell, Mate."
Last night I thought I was getting a visit from Santa Claus himself. An interesting old character walked in the door, just before close. He had a jolly old belly, a great big fur hat on his white head, and a diamond pinky ring. Linda directed him to me when he asked for a coffee expert, and knowing full well that it is poor customer service to pass him on again to someone truly knowledgable, I faked it. Me!
Anyway, we quickly bypassed the $2,000 Jura machine to look at the more appropriately priced Breville for $300. Visions of working as a barista 13 summers ago danced through my head as I expertly pulled on the frother hose and jabbed at the expresso holder thingy. He settled at last upon a Krups Combi, a fine choice, if I do say so myself, and pulled out a list that I thought for sure would have my name at the top. Turns out he was not Santa Claus but a dad whose firm is well-known with politicos around here (just before his order got royally screwed at the end I almost said are you ___?) Anyway, I thought it was great fun advising him because he used "bloody" as an adjective.
And, get this, the New Joisey town where my customer's daughter lives happens to have the same name as the street upon which I live. Get outta town! That just doesn't happen.
But, I have a dilemma. It is the one that everyone who has ever worked faces at one time or another. Scheduling. The sons of bitches scheduled me to work next Saturday. Now for The Jolly Mama loyalists, you know that I cannot work next Saturday because it is the day of the party that will be bigger than jesus. Yes, Browniefoot turns five next Saturday. And I have pledged to him that I will not labor again on December 15.
To call in sick or to take it like an adult.... That is the question. There is an unethical part of me that says "F it. I told them I was unavailable on that date. They only pay me $8.00 per hour. I'm not budging." (Sidenote: I don't know why everything is alway F this and F that. It's just part of my vernacular.) If I do that, I strategize, I must complete all of my xmas shopping there this weekend because I will lose my almight discount if I am summarily discharged from their employ for failure to report. But really, I am not going to work next weekend.
Last night I thought I was getting a visit from Santa Claus himself. An interesting old character walked in the door, just before close. He had a jolly old belly, a great big fur hat on his white head, and a diamond pinky ring. Linda directed him to me when he asked for a coffee expert, and knowing full well that it is poor customer service to pass him on again to someone truly knowledgable, I faked it. Me!
Anyway, we quickly bypassed the $2,000 Jura machine to look at the more appropriately priced Breville for $300. Visions of working as a barista 13 summers ago danced through my head as I expertly pulled on the frother hose and jabbed at the expresso holder thingy. He settled at last upon a Krups Combi, a fine choice, if I do say so myself, and pulled out a list that I thought for sure would have my name at the top. Turns out he was not Santa Claus but a dad whose firm is well-known with politicos around here (just before his order got royally screwed at the end I almost said are you ___?) Anyway, I thought it was great fun advising him because he used "bloody" as an adjective.
And, get this, the New Joisey town where my customer's daughter lives happens to have the same name as the street upon which I live. Get outta town! That just doesn't happen.
But, I have a dilemma. It is the one that everyone who has ever worked faces at one time or another. Scheduling. The sons of bitches scheduled me to work next Saturday. Now for The Jolly Mama loyalists, you know that I cannot work next Saturday because it is the day of the party that will be bigger than jesus. Yes, Browniefoot turns five next Saturday. And I have pledged to him that I will not labor again on December 15.
To call in sick or to take it like an adult.... That is the question. There is an unethical part of me that says "F it. I told them I was unavailable on that date. They only pay me $8.00 per hour. I'm not budging." (Sidenote: I don't know why everything is alway F this and F that. It's just part of my vernacular.) If I do that, I strategize, I must complete all of my xmas shopping there this weekend because I will lose my almight discount if I am summarily discharged from their employ for failure to report. But really, I am not going to work next weekend.
A Blog is a Blog
Subtitle: A Blog By Any Other Name
Names, obviously, are very important to me. I love the interplay of words. The way two or more sounds juxtapose to create a new idea.
I may even love words more than I like writing. In fact, I know I do because I have compared the process of writing to bloodletting, in some of my more dramatic moments. Of course, I like the vision this evokes, blood spilling onto a page, transforming the texture of the paper. Not that I like blood. It is yucky, but I hope you, dear reader, get my point anyway. As an evocative image, bloodletting is more palatable than say, words being burped or puked onto a page, a revolting metaphor, to say the least. Bloodletting puts one more in the mind of romantic vampires than frat boys who've had too much beer.
But, I digress. The reason for this post is that Griffin has re-named himself. It happened this summer in the sandbox. A split-second decision on his part has transformed him forever into "Browniefoot." A name that makes me smile and shake my head in pride for its own evocativeness and sheer brilliance.
Bela Simone has become to myself, and, lately, the rest of the family, simply BooBoo. I have loved the little girl character in Monsters Inc. since we watched that movie for the first time with Griffin years ago and always imagined that one day we would have our very own dark-haired, dark-eyed Boo. Bela is more red-head than her cine-predecessor, but whatever!
I am known online as Ooo Lala, a name I irreverently chose one day when I registered for some website and then thought was a hilarious choice as I began receiving mail addressed "Dear Ooo" or "Attention Mrs. Lala."
Terri Gross interviewed the screenwriter from the new film Juno yesterday afternoon, a woman named Diablo Cody. The really interesting thing about her (besides her crazy name and the fact that she may just have created a girl character that will become as iconic as Ferris Bueller) is that she got her break as a writer doing a blog about the sex industry. Most, of course, were more pornographic in nature than Ms. Cody's blog, which was very literary (with a few titillating videos and pictures).
All of this to say, I am considering changing some of the identifable information on the blog for privacy reasons. Not that anyone's reading it. But, I suppose, there is always the possibility. Treehuggermama had a visitor from Poland recently. Yours truly has stumbled, unawares, into the blogs and family websites of people I will never likely meet.
As for the details of this momentous change, pictures and videos will remain but our aliases will have to suffice in the descriptions and stories. Our location will have to go underground. And, this message will, of course, self-destruct.
Dear reader, please leave a comment about these proposed changes. And, for heaven's sake, if you are from Poland, introduce yourself, please!
Names, obviously, are very important to me. I love the interplay of words. The way two or more sounds juxtapose to create a new idea.
I may even love words more than I like writing. In fact, I know I do because I have compared the process of writing to bloodletting, in some of my more dramatic moments. Of course, I like the vision this evokes, blood spilling onto a page, transforming the texture of the paper. Not that I like blood. It is yucky, but I hope you, dear reader, get my point anyway. As an evocative image, bloodletting is more palatable than say, words being burped or puked onto a page, a revolting metaphor, to say the least. Bloodletting puts one more in the mind of romantic vampires than frat boys who've had too much beer.
But, I digress. The reason for this post is that Griffin has re-named himself. It happened this summer in the sandbox. A split-second decision on his part has transformed him forever into "Browniefoot." A name that makes me smile and shake my head in pride for its own evocativeness and sheer brilliance.
Bela Simone has become to myself, and, lately, the rest of the family, simply BooBoo. I have loved the little girl character in Monsters Inc. since we watched that movie for the first time with Griffin years ago and always imagined that one day we would have our very own dark-haired, dark-eyed Boo. Bela is more red-head than her cine-predecessor, but whatever!
I am known online as Ooo Lala, a name I irreverently chose one day when I registered for some website and then thought was a hilarious choice as I began receiving mail addressed "Dear Ooo" or "Attention Mrs. Lala."
Terri Gross interviewed the screenwriter from the new film Juno yesterday afternoon, a woman named Diablo Cody. The really interesting thing about her (besides her crazy name and the fact that she may just have created a girl character that will become as iconic as Ferris Bueller) is that she got her break as a writer doing a blog about the sex industry. Most, of course, were more pornographic in nature than Ms. Cody's blog, which was very literary (with a few titillating videos and pictures).
All of this to say, I am considering changing some of the identifable information on the blog for privacy reasons. Not that anyone's reading it. But, I suppose, there is always the possibility. Treehuggermama had a visitor from Poland recently. Yours truly has stumbled, unawares, into the blogs and family websites of people I will never likely meet.
As for the details of this momentous change, pictures and videos will remain but our aliases will have to suffice in the descriptions and stories. Our location will have to go underground. And, this message will, of course, self-destruct.
Dear reader, please leave a comment about these proposed changes. And, for heaven's sake, if you are from Poland, introduce yourself, please!
In Retrospect...
Okay, so after my post about "squeeze free" parenting, some calls and emails have come in from people who know me, who know my kids, and know my parenting style, and the consensus is that I am being far too hard on myself.
Hmmmm....
I will concede the following: ruthless perfectionism is my operating style; everything is always about me, even when it is not about me; and I would do anything for those I love, especially my ultravulnerable little children.
Okay, so now I will acknowledge that maybe those three "facts" are not grounded in logic; maybe they are values that do not adhere to any sound principles; and perhaps I need to relax.
In the inimitable words of one of my high school buddies:
"Sometimes you just gotta say F it. And then F it."
A statement that was made to me half my life ago but probably no truer words were ever spoken. Of course he didn't say F. That's an adaptation I have made since being a MOM.
Anyway, I am off to eat some peppermint stick ice cream - my second helping today because 'tis the season!
Hmmmm....
I will concede the following: ruthless perfectionism is my operating style; everything is always about me, even when it is not about me; and I would do anything for those I love, especially my ultravulnerable little children.
Okay, so now I will acknowledge that maybe those three "facts" are not grounded in logic; maybe they are values that do not adhere to any sound principles; and perhaps I need to relax.
In the inimitable words of one of my high school buddies:
"Sometimes you just gotta say F it. And then F it."
A statement that was made to me half my life ago but probably no truer words were ever spoken. Of course he didn't say F. That's an adaptation I have made since being a MOM.
Anyway, I am off to eat some peppermint stick ice cream - my second helping today because 'tis the season!
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Baboon Metaphysics
The authors of Baboon Metaphysics were interviewed on Fresh Air this afternoon. I want to read this book -- and I want to rid my life of the huge stack of books that meanders around my home, chastising me for not getting around to reading any of them yet.
The GOOD Book
Hip, hip hooray!!! My library recently added Screamfree Parenting by Hal Runkel to its collection. Trying to get the book with Griffin and Bela in tow was a challenge worthy of the book.
While I am not much of a screamer, I am a squeezer, as in a squeeze of the wrist, arm, or nape of the neck, in order to get my point across to Griffin (as of yet, Bela has not *needed* such intervention). And, whereas I would NEVER EVER spank my children, I have been known to yank them.
These actions were so troublesome to me that earlier this summer I *confessed* them to my mom, a child protective services supervisor for the state. She said that what I was doing was not considered abuse. She even laughed at me a little bit because a lot of parents do these things all the time.
But it still bothers me... a lot. I did a lot of squeezing yesterday as my two little demons ran through the adult section of the library. Why? Because they were squealing with joy and laughing at each other. I couldn't find my book where it was supposed to be on the shelf. And I became consumed with worry about what the other patrons would think -- of me, as a mom, for letting my kids run amok.
Generally, my mantra is "I care far more how my family feels and far less what other people think." Yesterday in the library, however, was a different story.
In the car on the way home, I asked Griffin how it had made him feel when I was rough. Unsurprisingly, it did not make him feel good about himself. It made him scared. Together, he and I thought of other ways I could *show* him that I love him. He got over it much more quickly than I did, as I sit here today, embarassed and ashamed about an incident that rarely occurs.
As it turns out, when I gathered myself together to check out, the librarian told me that the book was in the front of the library with the other new books. DUH! Thankfully, she seemed to understand that if I'm looking for this book, then I might need a little extra help, and went to get the book for me.
So, now it's off to read the book because I NEVER want to be so out of control that I use my hands, even to just get someone's attention. While squeezing may not be abuse, it is absolutely not how I want to parent.
While I am not much of a screamer, I am a squeezer, as in a squeeze of the wrist, arm, or nape of the neck, in order to get my point across to Griffin (as of yet, Bela has not *needed* such intervention). And, whereas I would NEVER EVER spank my children, I have been known to yank them.
These actions were so troublesome to me that earlier this summer I *confessed* them to my mom, a child protective services supervisor for the state. She said that what I was doing was not considered abuse. She even laughed at me a little bit because a lot of parents do these things all the time.
But it still bothers me... a lot. I did a lot of squeezing yesterday as my two little demons ran through the adult section of the library. Why? Because they were squealing with joy and laughing at each other. I couldn't find my book where it was supposed to be on the shelf. And I became consumed with worry about what the other patrons would think -- of me, as a mom, for letting my kids run amok.
Generally, my mantra is "I care far more how my family feels and far less what other people think." Yesterday in the library, however, was a different story.
In the car on the way home, I asked Griffin how it had made him feel when I was rough. Unsurprisingly, it did not make him feel good about himself. It made him scared. Together, he and I thought of other ways I could *show* him that I love him. He got over it much more quickly than I did, as I sit here today, embarassed and ashamed about an incident that rarely occurs.
As it turns out, when I gathered myself together to check out, the librarian told me that the book was in the front of the library with the other new books. DUH! Thankfully, she seemed to understand that if I'm looking for this book, then I might need a little extra help, and went to get the book for me.
So, now it's off to read the book because I NEVER want to be so out of control that I use my hands, even to just get someone's attention. While squeezing may not be abuse, it is absolutely not how I want to parent.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Gorilla Buttons and the Ha Ha Ha
Earlier this summer, I grabbed a parenting book from the library that introduced me to the concept of "gorilla buttons." These are the things that our children do that annoy us more than anything else and cause us to react in negative ways. The book listed several examples, all of which were things that make me see red (yikes!). Thus, The Jolly Mama, and a renewed awareness of calm, was born.
Tonight our little family went to the mall. Brett and I had both had a long day already. There were crowds. Stress levels were high. After feeling a little cranky, sighing more than an adult really should, I remembered a super important meditation. I call it the "Ha ha ha" breath - to do it simply say "Ha ha ha" until you are laughing. It works like a charm!
Tonight our little family went to the mall. Brett and I had both had a long day already. There were crowds. Stress levels were high. After feeling a little cranky, sighing more than an adult really should, I remembered a super important meditation. I call it the "Ha ha ha" breath - to do it simply say "Ha ha ha" until you are laughing. It works like a charm!
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