Lately, I need to check back over my old posts to make sure the issue I am about to whine about is not one I've written about already. I tend to complain about the same things all the time, and I don't wish to repeat myself.
So here goes....Is it me or has Valentine's Day gotten completely out of control? I went to the store today to get a few small bags of chocolate for my husband and daughter, along with Valentine cards for Ava to give her classmates. I found five aisles of Valentine's day crap, and I do mean crap. Huge stuffed animals; heart-shaped games, puzzles, and trinkets; and any kind of candy you can imagine with a special Valentine wrapping (meaning it costs more). There were also rows and rows of cards: Happy Valentine's Day to my husband, wife, boyfriend. girlfriend, Mom, Dad, son, daughter, grandparents, aunt, uncle, teacher, garbage man, hairdresser, mail carrier, doctor, lawyer, and accountant. As far as I am concerned you should get a card for your significant other, maybe your child, and that's it. The rest is nonsense.
Each year my daughter's class has a Valentine Party. They make a little mailbox out of a manila folder and decorate it. It's very cute and the kids enjoy getting their little notes from each other. Oh but that's not enough, you see. Disney, Nickelodean, and other manufacturers of children's media have jumped on the bandwagon and designed Valentines -emblazed with pictures of TV and cartoon characters - that kids can give to each other. Each one comes with a pencil or a lollipop, small toy or candy. So do this times 20 and your kid comes home with a whole pile of junk. Add to this the parents who feel to send in a small BAG for each child. Yes, a bag filled with more candy, pencils, erasers, little toys, bubbles, bracelets, you name it. Oh and then there's the party itself where he kids usually get a whole pile of treats and more stuff.
Is all this really necessary? I don't think so. I am not anti-fun; I think the kids should have their party and their treats, and be allowed to exchange cards. But it should be limited to cards, since they get enough treats at the party, and who needs a houseful of more small toys that no one will ever touch? It is all part of something I despise: excess. I hate when people (mostly helicopter parents) feel the need to micromanage and make sure their children's holidays are filled with more than they could ever want. I don't know if they are compensating for something else they lack, or if they felt deprived as children, or what. But I cannot stand that people overdo everything in an effort to create a perfect situation, as if there is such a thing. And what upsets me more is that many children have come to expect all this nonsense, and then moan "That's IT?" when someone gives them one piece of candy or a treat bag that has only 3 items in it. "You want somethin'? I'll give you somethin'..."
In any event, I will buy 2 Valentines cards: one for my husband and one for my daughter. I will buy them a bag of their favorite candy to share and that will be it. Enough is enough already. Maybe one day my daughter will tell her therapist I was a bad mother for not giving her a huge heart-shaped poofy pink bear for Valentine's Day, but I'll be dead by then so who cares? Oh and Happy Valentine's Day.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
I's All About Me
Anyone who knows me well knows that I am not the most patient person that ever lived...hell just read this blog and you'll understand that. The Whinery was built upon the fact that I am continuously irritated by the countless number of people I encounter who are self-absorbed, ill-mannered, and believe that the world revolves around them.
Recently I took my daughter to physical therapy at the outpatient office of our local children's hospital. Ava goes to PT once a week, at the same time each week, and so I see the same people there all the time. Most people are typical, but there are always a few who irritate me.
Today there was a woman who I've seen a handful of times. Her son was in the therapy room for his session and she was in the waiting room, ordering dinner from her cell phone. I usually go to the lobby or outside if I have to talk on my phone, but since she was just ordering dinner I figures it would be a short call. Oh how wrong I was.
The conversation went like this:
"Hello? Is this the Glastonbury location? Oh good, I've made a few calls and I finally found you. I'd like to place an order. Um, it will be to go. I'd like the balsamic chicken and the fried chicken. (Pause) Does the fried chicken come with mashed potatoes? It does? Can I have fries instead? OK now does the balsamic chicken come with mashed potatoes? (Pause) Allright that's fine. Can I add a green salad to that order? Dressing? What kind do you have? (Pause) Um, I'll take the house dressing. (Pause) Yes that will be all. Can I get a total on that please? You know, a total of how much it all costs? (Pause) Now I have a gift card. Do I need to give you the number or do I just turn that it when I come? When I come? OK. Can you have that ready at 5:15 for pickup? Wait what time is it now? (Pause) Do you know what time it is now? Allright, better make it 5:30 then. Yes, see you then."
The phone call mercifully ended, until about 40 seconds later I hear her pick up the phone and say, "Hi, I just placed an order to go. Can I make a change to it? (Pause) Um it had the balsamic chicken and the fried chicken? Yeah I need to make a change? You can't find it? Oh maybe it's because I am picking it up at 5:30, it hasn't been placed yet..."
At that point of course I wanted to rip the phone out of her hand, stomp on it with both my feet until it was smashed to bits rip up the menu and scream "GET OUT!" However, I my thought process was interrupted my "favorite"child who comes to PT every week. Every week this child comes tearing into the waiting room at a 1oo miles an hour, his bedraggled mother following behind him. He is one of those kids who is inherently annoying: hyper, mouthy, and his mother thinks he's a real charmer. I do not. His first task, after bouncing in like a kangaroo, was to grab a truck from another smaller child and start running around the waiting room. It took every ounce of my self restraint not to stick my foot out and trip the little shit. He is about 6 or 7 and I have no idea what his "issue" is. The therapist always looks like she'd rather have every hair on her head ripped out by the root than see this kid. Since I am in the waiting room for an hour waiting for Ava I have overheard a few conversation between his mother and he therapist. His mother is now home-schooling him because "the school just doesn't know what to do with him and it's all we can do until we find an appropriate placement for him." I was about to suggest the local zoo, but felt this would not be well received. I shouldn't judge, but this kid just seems like a brat who has parents who enable his behavior. Maybe he really does have a problem, but the cynic in me thinks not.
I wish I was better at ignoring these things. Why should these people irritate me? I guess I just see too much of it. Everybody is always squawking into a cell phone, blasting their business all over the place. People don't discipline their kids and let them literally run all over the place in public places. And they think that their needs are most important, first and foremost. I talk on my cell phone if I need to, but I go outside. I do text my friends but usually to make plans, not about what I ate for lunch. And I try to discipline my child, although I know I'm not perfect at it. I wonder who I will see in the waiting room at PT tomorrow? I better have a drink before I go..
Recently I took my daughter to physical therapy at the outpatient office of our local children's hospital. Ava goes to PT once a week, at the same time each week, and so I see the same people there all the time. Most people are typical, but there are always a few who irritate me.
Today there was a woman who I've seen a handful of times. Her son was in the therapy room for his session and she was in the waiting room, ordering dinner from her cell phone. I usually go to the lobby or outside if I have to talk on my phone, but since she was just ordering dinner I figures it would be a short call. Oh how wrong I was.
The conversation went like this:
"Hello? Is this the Glastonbury location? Oh good, I've made a few calls and I finally found you. I'd like to place an order. Um, it will be to go. I'd like the balsamic chicken and the fried chicken. (Pause) Does the fried chicken come with mashed potatoes? It does? Can I have fries instead? OK now does the balsamic chicken come with mashed potatoes? (Pause) Allright that's fine. Can I add a green salad to that order? Dressing? What kind do you have? (Pause) Um, I'll take the house dressing. (Pause) Yes that will be all. Can I get a total on that please? You know, a total of how much it all costs? (Pause) Now I have a gift card. Do I need to give you the number or do I just turn that it when I come? When I come? OK. Can you have that ready at 5:15 for pickup? Wait what time is it now? (Pause) Do you know what time it is now? Allright, better make it 5:30 then. Yes, see you then."
The phone call mercifully ended, until about 40 seconds later I hear her pick up the phone and say, "Hi, I just placed an order to go. Can I make a change to it? (Pause) Um it had the balsamic chicken and the fried chicken? Yeah I need to make a change? You can't find it? Oh maybe it's because I am picking it up at 5:30, it hasn't been placed yet..."
At that point of course I wanted to rip the phone out of her hand, stomp on it with both my feet until it was smashed to bits rip up the menu and scream "GET OUT!" However, I my thought process was interrupted my "favorite"child who comes to PT every week. Every week this child comes tearing into the waiting room at a 1oo miles an hour, his bedraggled mother following behind him. He is one of those kids who is inherently annoying: hyper, mouthy, and his mother thinks he's a real charmer. I do not. His first task, after bouncing in like a kangaroo, was to grab a truck from another smaller child and start running around the waiting room. It took every ounce of my self restraint not to stick my foot out and trip the little shit. He is about 6 or 7 and I have no idea what his "issue" is. The therapist always looks like she'd rather have every hair on her head ripped out by the root than see this kid. Since I am in the waiting room for an hour waiting for Ava I have overheard a few conversation between his mother and he therapist. His mother is now home-schooling him because "the school just doesn't know what to do with him and it's all we can do until we find an appropriate placement for him." I was about to suggest the local zoo, but felt this would not be well received. I shouldn't judge, but this kid just seems like a brat who has parents who enable his behavior. Maybe he really does have a problem, but the cynic in me thinks not.
I wish I was better at ignoring these things. Why should these people irritate me? I guess I just see too much of it. Everybody is always squawking into a cell phone, blasting their business all over the place. People don't discipline their kids and let them literally run all over the place in public places. And they think that their needs are most important, first and foremost. I talk on my cell phone if I need to, but I go outside. I do text my friends but usually to make plans, not about what I ate for lunch. And I try to discipline my child, although I know I'm not perfect at it. I wonder who I will see in the waiting room at PT tomorrow? I better have a drink before I go..
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
"Customer Service to the Back Please!"
I am getting older. This is a simple fact. But I am reminded of this fact often when I go out into the world to conduct my daily errands. This is because when I return, my ranting sounds much like the rantings of my father (see Braindrops blog).
My daughter wants an iPod from Santa. So, since Ava endures a lot more than any child should ever have to, Santa got her an iPod. I ordered it on-line from Wal-Mart, since they had a sale. You can have the item shipped to your closest store for free, then go pick it up. Easy enough, right?
Yesterday I walked into the "Site to Store" department, which consist of a small counter with a register. It's attached to a warehouse in the back of the store, and also right near the restrooms. When i got to the dept., 3 young people, maybe in their early 20's, were standing in a huddle texting pictures of a recent party they attended to each other. I knew this because they were laughing wildly and saying loudly, "LOOK HOW DRUNK I WAS HERE?" "BOY WE WERE WASTED." Not one of them approached me until I asked if I could have some help. One of the young ladies (and i use the term loosely) said she would be right back with help. Well, she never returned. The texters continued and then an older man, who was also a Wal-mart employee, walked by asked if he could help. He paged someone for me, but I had little hope. Another 5 minutes went by. Finally, I noticed the credit card pad had a place to "click" to page help.
Finally, around the corner comes my a very large young man. His first words to the young people were "REALLY? You are just standing around texting and doing nothing?" They all replied curtly that "they were on break." He started to help me.
Just when I thought he was my Savior, the large young man took a huge sack of food out of his pocket labeled "Teriyaki Steak Bits" and proceeded to shove them in his mouth while he typed my info into the computer. Yuck. He went into the back room and returned with a box. He was about to open it when I pointed out that it wasn't MY box, so he went to the back room again. This time he had the right box and he finished up my transaction. Then he said, "Hey do you have a pen? I need you to sign this slip." Was he kidding? I'm surprised he didn't ask me to buy him a soda to wash down his dried meat bits.
And finally, as I was about to leave, one of the texters says loudly, "Well my break is over so I better go PEE." What a charmer; those 4 years at Miss Porter's did wonders for her.
Honestly, it was the worst customer service ever. I rarely go to Wal-Mart for just this reason, plus the stores are full of white trash, but they do have good prices on electronics. I realize it's not Tiffany's and I shouldn't expect anything extraordinary, but it would be nice for people to at least have a small amount of work ethic. So there. Harumph.
My daughter wants an iPod from Santa. So, since Ava endures a lot more than any child should ever have to, Santa got her an iPod. I ordered it on-line from Wal-Mart, since they had a sale. You can have the item shipped to your closest store for free, then go pick it up. Easy enough, right?
Yesterday I walked into the "Site to Store" department, which consist of a small counter with a register. It's attached to a warehouse in the back of the store, and also right near the restrooms. When i got to the dept., 3 young people, maybe in their early 20's, were standing in a huddle texting pictures of a recent party they attended to each other. I knew this because they were laughing wildly and saying loudly, "LOOK HOW DRUNK I WAS HERE?" "BOY WE WERE WASTED." Not one of them approached me until I asked if I could have some help. One of the young ladies (and i use the term loosely) said she would be right back with help. Well, she never returned. The texters continued and then an older man, who was also a Wal-mart employee, walked by asked if he could help. He paged someone for me, but I had little hope. Another 5 minutes went by. Finally, I noticed the credit card pad had a place to "click" to page help.
Finally, around the corner comes my a very large young man. His first words to the young people were "REALLY? You are just standing around texting and doing nothing?" They all replied curtly that "they were on break." He started to help me.
Just when I thought he was my Savior, the large young man took a huge sack of food out of his pocket labeled "Teriyaki Steak Bits" and proceeded to shove them in his mouth while he typed my info into the computer. Yuck. He went into the back room and returned with a box. He was about to open it when I pointed out that it wasn't MY box, so he went to the back room again. This time he had the right box and he finished up my transaction. Then he said, "Hey do you have a pen? I need you to sign this slip." Was he kidding? I'm surprised he didn't ask me to buy him a soda to wash down his dried meat bits.
And finally, as I was about to leave, one of the texters says loudly, "Well my break is over so I better go PEE." What a charmer; those 4 years at Miss Porter's did wonders for her.
Honestly, it was the worst customer service ever. I rarely go to Wal-Mart for just this reason, plus the stores are full of white trash, but they do have good prices on electronics. I realize it's not Tiffany's and I shouldn't expect anything extraordinary, but it would be nice for people to at least have a small amount of work ethic. So there. Harumph.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Going to Work with Daddy
My father recently wrote about a trip he made to the Museum of Natural History with his mother when he was about 10. He said that people often don't appreciate those moments as they happen. I want to write about this now so my father and mother know I did appreciate it.
When I was a kid, likely between 8 and 11, my Dad used to take me to work with him one day a year. I think it may have been on Christmas Eve, since he worked half a day, but it may have been any day close to Christmas; I can't remember exactly. We would rise early and take the Staten Island train to the Ferry, and then the subway to where Dad worked. I don't recall where the office was; all I knew was that I had my Daddy to myself for a while and that was very good. I think he may have bought me hot chocolate on the ferry.
When we got to the office, the atmosphere seemed jovial. People popped in and out of Dad's office, doing more socializing than actual work. Looking back, it was the early 70s and people likely had a little "something" in their coffee; those were the days when you could have a drink in the office and no one blinked an eye. We were like Don Draper and his daughter, Sally.
I know I went with Dad several times to work, and although I don't remember any single visit, a few things always stand out. People always made a fuss over me. I am sure my Mom dressed me in a cute outfit and people were just nice to a little kid in the office for a day. Sometimes there were other kids too. I played with the typewriter, drew on paper Dad gave me, and played with the telephone and the things on his desk. He had a Rolodex; it had the letters of the alphabet down one side and if you pushed a little tab down to a letter, the Rolodex popped open to the place where people whose name started with that letter were stored. I thought this was a fine piece of modern office equipment. Who knew there would ever be such a thing as a Blackberry...
I also remember the copy machine and a cafeteria where we got donuts and other assorted goodies. (Leave it to me to remember where the food was.)
On several of these occasions Dad took me to lunch, I think at McDonalds or a coffee shop, and then he took me to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. I remember thinking that I would have been happy enough with the office and McDonalds, but the Nutcracker was a bonus. When I think of it now, it must have been a sacrifice for my parents to get those tickets. They are not cheap now, and I am sure they were not cheap then. My mother could have easily gone instead of me, but she let me have that time with my father. It was precious time that still fills my heart with warm memories. I remember the beautiful music, and the dancing, and my father reading the program with me. I got lost in the magic of that ballet, and in the magic of having a parent to myself for the day. After the ballet, we would go to my Grandma's house for Christmas Eve. (This was before the Christmas Eve celebration moved to Aunt Paula's, where it is to this day.)
I always felt that my Dad and I had special times on those days. My parents both worked hard when I was a child, and outings like that were a real treat. I often wonder what my own daughter will remember of her childhood. I hope that she retains memories of special times. I know I do.
When I was a kid, likely between 8 and 11, my Dad used to take me to work with him one day a year. I think it may have been on Christmas Eve, since he worked half a day, but it may have been any day close to Christmas; I can't remember exactly. We would rise early and take the Staten Island train to the Ferry, and then the subway to where Dad worked. I don't recall where the office was; all I knew was that I had my Daddy to myself for a while and that was very good. I think he may have bought me hot chocolate on the ferry.
When we got to the office, the atmosphere seemed jovial. People popped in and out of Dad's office, doing more socializing than actual work. Looking back, it was the early 70s and people likely had a little "something" in their coffee; those were the days when you could have a drink in the office and no one blinked an eye. We were like Don Draper and his daughter, Sally.
I know I went with Dad several times to work, and although I don't remember any single visit, a few things always stand out. People always made a fuss over me. I am sure my Mom dressed me in a cute outfit and people were just nice to a little kid in the office for a day. Sometimes there were other kids too. I played with the typewriter, drew on paper Dad gave me, and played with the telephone and the things on his desk. He had a Rolodex; it had the letters of the alphabet down one side and if you pushed a little tab down to a letter, the Rolodex popped open to the place where people whose name started with that letter were stored. I thought this was a fine piece of modern office equipment. Who knew there would ever be such a thing as a Blackberry...
I also remember the copy machine and a cafeteria where we got donuts and other assorted goodies. (Leave it to me to remember where the food was.)
On several of these occasions Dad took me to lunch, I think at McDonalds or a coffee shop, and then he took me to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. I remember thinking that I would have been happy enough with the office and McDonalds, but the Nutcracker was a bonus. When I think of it now, it must have been a sacrifice for my parents to get those tickets. They are not cheap now, and I am sure they were not cheap then. My mother could have easily gone instead of me, but she let me have that time with my father. It was precious time that still fills my heart with warm memories. I remember the beautiful music, and the dancing, and my father reading the program with me. I got lost in the magic of that ballet, and in the magic of having a parent to myself for the day. After the ballet, we would go to my Grandma's house for Christmas Eve. (This was before the Christmas Eve celebration moved to Aunt Paula's, where it is to this day.)
I always felt that my Dad and I had special times on those days. My parents both worked hard when I was a child, and outings like that were a real treat. I often wonder what my own daughter will remember of her childhood. I hope that she retains memories of special times. I know I do.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Baby, If you Ever Wondered..
...Wondered whatever became of me, I'm living on the air in Cincinnati, Cincinnati WKRP." Most of you will likely remember a quirky show from the late 70's called "WKRP in Cincinnati." I think it may been on on Saturday night and thus we watched it as a family when I was growing up. I was about 11 or 12 when this show came on: too young for a social life, so I was at home with Mom and Dad. I recently watched the theme song from this show on youtube and was surprised at how much of the scenery I could identify. Never in a million years - as I sat on the blue shag carpeting in our livingroom, watching TV and dreaming of a more glamorous life - did I ever imagine I would ever actually be in Cincinnati. I also never imagined a lot of other things, but here we are.
For some bizarre reason, Cincinnati Children's Hospital is the place to go if you have a child with a "complex airway." Dr. Robin Cotton leads an incredible team of surgeons. This is our third visit and I love the hospital. It is a very family friendly place, and we have come to enjoy the city. I can't say I would come here unless the hospital was here, but we have had our fun.
On our first trip we stayed right next to the hospital, at a place for families with children having surgery. It was clean and quiet, but somewhat depressing, as it was an old hospital building. It was fine for our initial visit because most of our time was spent at the hospital. During this visit, we discovered a beautiful Marriot, right across from the hospital, with an excellent bar and wonderful food. We ate there probably 3 of of the 5 nights we were there, because it was convenient. I looked into staying there for our next trip, but at $220 a night it was just a bit pricey. I think they have a lot of medical conferences there. On our second trip, we stayed at a different Marriot, about a mile and a half from the hospital. It was very nice, with a great pool, and we got a very reasonable rate.
On this trip, the Marriot was full, so I booked us downtown at a place called the Garfield Inn and Suites. It is right in downtown Cincinnati, next to a statue of President Garfied, who was assassinated or died in office or something. This place is a riot. When we checked in they decided to give us a 2-bedroom suite at the rate of the 1-bedroom suite we had booked. I certainly did not argue. They then mentioned the complimentary wine, beer and appetizers they served every Wed evening from 5-6. CA-ching! It was Wednesday and we were downstairs at 4:49. We had a few belts and then went to the in-house restaurant, which was decorated in retro-70s style. The food was very good.
Our suite is quite spacious....however, it was decorated in about 1974 and has not changed a bit since. It's kind of funky and interesting. The people who stay here are a mix of gay men, families for in-town weddings, and some business travelers. They pipe in 70s music throughout the hallways, so when you are waiting for the elevator you find yourself singing "Band on the Run", or some other song you haven't heard in 30 years. On Sunday they were playing a jazz mix, including Ella Fitzgerald, who I loved listening to before my child got interested in music and my CDs got buried at the bottom of a heap.
The people here are very nice. It's not quite west enough to be the midwest, but that attitude of friendliness and politeness dominates. I won't lie; I'd be much happier if this center was in San Francisco so I could visit my old stomping grounds. But I am glad I've had the opportunity to see this small city. Now, if only I could spot Dr. Johnny Fever...
For some bizarre reason, Cincinnati Children's Hospital is the place to go if you have a child with a "complex airway." Dr. Robin Cotton leads an incredible team of surgeons. This is our third visit and I love the hospital. It is a very family friendly place, and we have come to enjoy the city. I can't say I would come here unless the hospital was here, but we have had our fun.
On our first trip we stayed right next to the hospital, at a place for families with children having surgery. It was clean and quiet, but somewhat depressing, as it was an old hospital building. It was fine for our initial visit because most of our time was spent at the hospital. During this visit, we discovered a beautiful Marriot, right across from the hospital, with an excellent bar and wonderful food. We ate there probably 3 of of the 5 nights we were there, because it was convenient. I looked into staying there for our next trip, but at $220 a night it was just a bit pricey. I think they have a lot of medical conferences there. On our second trip, we stayed at a different Marriot, about a mile and a half from the hospital. It was very nice, with a great pool, and we got a very reasonable rate.
On this trip, the Marriot was full, so I booked us downtown at a place called the Garfield Inn and Suites. It is right in downtown Cincinnati, next to a statue of President Garfied, who was assassinated or died in office or something. This place is a riot. When we checked in they decided to give us a 2-bedroom suite at the rate of the 1-bedroom suite we had booked. I certainly did not argue. They then mentioned the complimentary wine, beer and appetizers they served every Wed evening from 5-6. CA-ching! It was Wednesday and we were downstairs at 4:49. We had a few belts and then went to the in-house restaurant, which was decorated in retro-70s style. The food was very good.
Our suite is quite spacious....however, it was decorated in about 1974 and has not changed a bit since. It's kind of funky and interesting. The people who stay here are a mix of gay men, families for in-town weddings, and some business travelers. They pipe in 70s music throughout the hallways, so when you are waiting for the elevator you find yourself singing "Band on the Run", or some other song you haven't heard in 30 years. On Sunday they were playing a jazz mix, including Ella Fitzgerald, who I loved listening to before my child got interested in music and my CDs got buried at the bottom of a heap.
The people here are very nice. It's not quite west enough to be the midwest, but that attitude of friendliness and politeness dominates. I won't lie; I'd be much happier if this center was in San Francisco so I could visit my old stomping grounds. But I am glad I've had the opportunity to see this small city. Now, if only I could spot Dr. Johnny Fever...
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Well, what a coincidence; it looks like my last blog was written right around the time school ended, or more accurately, when all my free time disappeared like a box of doughnuts at a Weight Watchers meeting. Believe it or not, my summer has ended and Ava is scheduled to started second grade tomorrow. I cannot believe I have a second grader, or that yet another summer has gone by.
Back-to-school time is always filled with mixed emotions for me. As a child, I hated it. It meant grumpy teachers, the same old kids year after year, and the end of playing outside after dinner. I didn't like it much more as a high school or college student. I had a few years where it didn't matter much, since I was a working adult in an office, and the start of school really meant nothing to me.
Then I became a teacher, and back-to-school took on another whole meaning. It was the end of my summer off, and back to work. There were boring teacher's meetings to endure, and a whole bunch of new stuff to organize and label. Actually, I liked that part...when the kids came, it was another story. There was some excitement about starting fresh with a new class, but that lasted about 2 days until the chaos started and they began to drive me insane.
And now as a parent, the emotions are even more mixed. For the most part, Ava is a good kid, and I enjoy having her around. This was the first year that it was just the 2 of us; we always had a nurse with us, and this year I felt we didn't need it. We had a nurse come 2 mornings a week, while I worked, but the rest of the time it was just us. Our days were pretty predictable: we started out slowly in the morning, watching some TV or using the computer. We'd go out for the afternoon, sometimes for lunch, sometimes to the library or a friend's house. Sometimes we'd go to the beach or a museum, or to the park. We stopped at the farm stand a lot for fresh fruit and veggies. We did some crafts and made books and pictures. We had some doctor's appointment, karate once a week, and physical therapy twice a week. We tried lots of different ice cream shops and had some dance parties in the evenings. Weekends were often spent visiting friends or family, or sometimes just enjoying our yard and home. If I have tried to instill one thing in Ava, it is the appreciation of the small things in life. I try to simple things mostly. We can't really afford to vacation, so we'd spend long weekends with family of friends. For the most part, this worked fine.
Sure, there were many times, when she'd be screaming for me when I was trying to do laundry, or asking me for the fifth snack of the day, that I glanced desperately at the calendar and wish for Sept. 1. When she started complaining of boredom, or I had to watch the same episode of iCarly for the millionth time, I wanted school to start. But now that it's here, I will miss her during the day.
I hope to get back to exercising (not because I want, but because my ass will need its own zip code soon if I don't). I hope to get back to getting my laundry done, cooking meals, and doing some projects I have started. It's not exciting stuff; it's boring as hell, but boring isn't always bad. I will always be happy to see the bus come home at 3pm, because by then I will want a little Ava time. Here's to the start of school!
Back-to-school time is always filled with mixed emotions for me. As a child, I hated it. It meant grumpy teachers, the same old kids year after year, and the end of playing outside after dinner. I didn't like it much more as a high school or college student. I had a few years where it didn't matter much, since I was a working adult in an office, and the start of school really meant nothing to me.
Then I became a teacher, and back-to-school took on another whole meaning. It was the end of my summer off, and back to work. There were boring teacher's meetings to endure, and a whole bunch of new stuff to organize and label. Actually, I liked that part...when the kids came, it was another story. There was some excitement about starting fresh with a new class, but that lasted about 2 days until the chaos started and they began to drive me insane.
And now as a parent, the emotions are even more mixed. For the most part, Ava is a good kid, and I enjoy having her around. This was the first year that it was just the 2 of us; we always had a nurse with us, and this year I felt we didn't need it. We had a nurse come 2 mornings a week, while I worked, but the rest of the time it was just us. Our days were pretty predictable: we started out slowly in the morning, watching some TV or using the computer. We'd go out for the afternoon, sometimes for lunch, sometimes to the library or a friend's house. Sometimes we'd go to the beach or a museum, or to the park. We stopped at the farm stand a lot for fresh fruit and veggies. We did some crafts and made books and pictures. We had some doctor's appointment, karate once a week, and physical therapy twice a week. We tried lots of different ice cream shops and had some dance parties in the evenings. Weekends were often spent visiting friends or family, or sometimes just enjoying our yard and home. If I have tried to instill one thing in Ava, it is the appreciation of the small things in life. I try to simple things mostly. We can't really afford to vacation, so we'd spend long weekends with family of friends. For the most part, this worked fine.
Sure, there were many times, when she'd be screaming for me when I was trying to do laundry, or asking me for the fifth snack of the day, that I glanced desperately at the calendar and wish for Sept. 1. When she started complaining of boredom, or I had to watch the same episode of iCarly for the millionth time, I wanted school to start. But now that it's here, I will miss her during the day.
I hope to get back to exercising (not because I want, but because my ass will need its own zip code soon if I don't). I hope to get back to getting my laundry done, cooking meals, and doing some projects I have started. It's not exciting stuff; it's boring as hell, but boring isn't always bad. I will always be happy to see the bus come home at 3pm, because by then I will want a little Ava time. Here's to the start of school!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sleepovers
Ava went out with her friend Jayne today. Jayne used to be Ava's nurse and still comes by to take Ava out. They go to lunch, shopping, museums...whatever they want. They are an unlikely pair, considering one is 54 and one is 7, but they get along perfectly. Today they went swimming at the lake and back to Jayne's house for lunch and play. Ava has been asking if she is old enough to sleep over at Jayne's house. She told Jayne that "She would have to ask her Mom because Mom would have a lot of questions, and we don't want to shock Mom." Bless that child, she must know my nerves are shot.
I think I was about 7 when I began to sleep over at people's houses. (My first attempt, at age 3, was a disaster and ended with my poor father having to drive back to Brooklyn from Staten Island late at night to pick me up. My mother was in the hospital at the time since she had just given birth to my brother.)
I also remember crying once when I slept over at my best friend Donna's house; this resulted in Donna crying as well, but the whole mess was solved when Carol, Donna's mother, promised to make us extra large pancakes in the morning (excellent). Clever woman...she knew her target audience.
By far, the best sleepovers were at Grandma and Grandpa Salamo's house. I don't think I ever cried there; in fact, I think I jumped up and clicked my heels when everyone had gone. Most of the time I think my parents left me there on a Sunday after our visit and returned to claim me on a Tuesday.
Life at the Salamo's was far different than life at my house. For one thing, they lived in an apartment in Brooklyn, a far cry from my suburban Staten Island neighborhood. Not too mention that I was the only child there; my brothers were at home with my parents. This made me the center of attention (excellent). And for this reason I was happy to do anything that was asked of me, or cooperate with any plans my grandmother had. Grandma always wanted to go out, which was fine with me. Monday started with an Entenmann's corn muffin, toasted, and Sunday's re-heated coffee. I had Tropicana OJ rather than coffee, but this breakfast was delicious. Then we got dressed; my Grandma always wore a dress back then, and so I probably did too. We always took the bus or the subway to Manhattan, or sometimes to downtown Brooklyn. Being on the bus or subway was an adventure in itself; I was fascinated with the tokens that went into the box on the box, or the turnstile of the subway. There were so many people, and Grandma and I looked out the window and talked. She told me about the buildings and the places we were seeing. Sometimes we went shopping to Saks Fifth Avenue or Macys; A&S if we went to downtown Brooklyn. Grandma liked to shop.We always went out for lunch; it was always a little coffee shop, but it might as well have been Sardi's. I LOVED going out for lunch and ordering anything I wanted from the menu.
As I got a little older, Grandma took me to the museums, the Botanical Gardens, movies, Radio City or theatre shows. I am sure I would have groaned with boredom if my parents had suggested going to the Botanical Gardens, but with Grandma, it was different. She listened to me in a way others did not, and talked to me in a way she likely didn't talk to anyone else. We shared a lot. Wherever we went, we always got home in time to give Grandpa his dinner. He was always in his chair, reading the paper, and would peer at us when we came in, wondering what there was to eat. Most Monday nights it was leftovers from Sunday (excellent). We ate quietly in the kitchen and then changed into our pjs.
Grandpa always wanted to watch the ball game, which was usually on since our sleepovers took place mostly in summer (when school was out). But Grandpa would be snoring in his chair by 9 pm and Grandma took over the TV. We watched MASH and then Lou Grant. I didn't make one sound during any of the TV shows, mostly because I didn't want to be sent to bed. Funny thing is, they never sent me to bed...I just stayed up until they went to bed (excellent). It didn't matter that i didn't understand most of what was going on on Lou Grant; I knew the character from watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show as a younger child, but Lou Grant was a drama and dealt with some fairly mature issues. Sometimes we'd watch the 11 o'clock news and then go to bed. Mind you one of those summers was the Summer of Sam, and so I knew more about the Son of Sam than any other 10-year old around. I even remember when they caught him.
Grandpa, bless his grumpy little heart, slept on the sofa bed and I slept in the big bed with Grandma. We would chat in the morning and then Grandma would do these crazy stretching exercises, which I did too. I didn't care...I was just looking forward to lunch. I guess I was happy to see my parents on Tuesday evening, but I could have stayed at Grandma's for a month. My grandparent's treated me like I was the most precious gift they had ever received; they let me do mostly whatever I wanted; and they never sent me to bed. I thought they were the best people on Earth. Somehow I think they are the best people in heaven too.
I think I was about 7 when I began to sleep over at people's houses. (My first attempt, at age 3, was a disaster and ended with my poor father having to drive back to Brooklyn from Staten Island late at night to pick me up. My mother was in the hospital at the time since she had just given birth to my brother.)
I also remember crying once when I slept over at my best friend Donna's house; this resulted in Donna crying as well, but the whole mess was solved when Carol, Donna's mother, promised to make us extra large pancakes in the morning (excellent). Clever woman...she knew her target audience.
By far, the best sleepovers were at Grandma and Grandpa Salamo's house. I don't think I ever cried there; in fact, I think I jumped up and clicked my heels when everyone had gone. Most of the time I think my parents left me there on a Sunday after our visit and returned to claim me on a Tuesday.
Life at the Salamo's was far different than life at my house. For one thing, they lived in an apartment in Brooklyn, a far cry from my suburban Staten Island neighborhood. Not too mention that I was the only child there; my brothers were at home with my parents. This made me the center of attention (excellent). And for this reason I was happy to do anything that was asked of me, or cooperate with any plans my grandmother had. Grandma always wanted to go out, which was fine with me. Monday started with an Entenmann's corn muffin, toasted, and Sunday's re-heated coffee. I had Tropicana OJ rather than coffee, but this breakfast was delicious. Then we got dressed; my Grandma always wore a dress back then, and so I probably did too. We always took the bus or the subway to Manhattan, or sometimes to downtown Brooklyn. Being on the bus or subway was an adventure in itself; I was fascinated with the tokens that went into the box on the box, or the turnstile of the subway. There were so many people, and Grandma and I looked out the window and talked. She told me about the buildings and the places we were seeing. Sometimes we went shopping to Saks Fifth Avenue or Macys; A&S if we went to downtown Brooklyn. Grandma liked to shop.We always went out for lunch; it was always a little coffee shop, but it might as well have been Sardi's. I LOVED going out for lunch and ordering anything I wanted from the menu.
As I got a little older, Grandma took me to the museums, the Botanical Gardens, movies, Radio City or theatre shows. I am sure I would have groaned with boredom if my parents had suggested going to the Botanical Gardens, but with Grandma, it was different. She listened to me in a way others did not, and talked to me in a way she likely didn't talk to anyone else. We shared a lot. Wherever we went, we always got home in time to give Grandpa his dinner. He was always in his chair, reading the paper, and would peer at us when we came in, wondering what there was to eat. Most Monday nights it was leftovers from Sunday (excellent). We ate quietly in the kitchen and then changed into our pjs.
Grandpa always wanted to watch the ball game, which was usually on since our sleepovers took place mostly in summer (when school was out). But Grandpa would be snoring in his chair by 9 pm and Grandma took over the TV. We watched MASH and then Lou Grant. I didn't make one sound during any of the TV shows, mostly because I didn't want to be sent to bed. Funny thing is, they never sent me to bed...I just stayed up until they went to bed (excellent). It didn't matter that i didn't understand most of what was going on on Lou Grant; I knew the character from watching The Mary Tyler Moore Show as a younger child, but Lou Grant was a drama and dealt with some fairly mature issues. Sometimes we'd watch the 11 o'clock news and then go to bed. Mind you one of those summers was the Summer of Sam, and so I knew more about the Son of Sam than any other 10-year old around. I even remember when they caught him.
Grandpa, bless his grumpy little heart, slept on the sofa bed and I slept in the big bed with Grandma. We would chat in the morning and then Grandma would do these crazy stretching exercises, which I did too. I didn't care...I was just looking forward to lunch. I guess I was happy to see my parents on Tuesday evening, but I could have stayed at Grandma's for a month. My grandparent's treated me like I was the most precious gift they had ever received; they let me do mostly whatever I wanted; and they never sent me to bed. I thought they were the best people on Earth. Somehow I think they are the best people in heaven too.
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