It's the Olympics, and I love the Olympics. I get goosebumps for people I don't know who are competing in sports I have no other interest in. I tear up when they win. What an amazing accomplishment - a dream realized.
I very recently met a Canadian hockey player who went to the Olympics at Lake Placid, the year the US beat Russia for gold. I remember that game, jumping up and down in the living room of our house in Chicago. Anyway, Canada missed the medals round by a tiebreaker, apparently. I talked to him about his experience--he was 18 and travelled with that team for a little over a year. Amazing tales of Herb Brooks (Canada trained with the US in Colorado for awhile, I now know). Amazing tales of putting on the jersey of your country and skating out, getting chills (at the time, and me hearing about it now). He says that no matter how big, mean and/or manly you are, you cry when you stand on the podium and hear the national anthem of your country. I believe him - heck, I cry watching at home. My hat's off to him and all the other athlets who are so driven by a vision to become the best in the world.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
perhaps if I ply you with adorable photos,
you won't notice that I haven't written lately. Overcome with the boy's cuteness, you'll smile happily the rest of the day. That's what happened to me when I made the latest pic my background, anyway.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Isn't that the guy who disintegrated his pants?
I sure didn't expect to hear that sentence in everyday conversation.
My sister is about ten years younger than me. It's pretty amazing what things you remember about a point in time based on your perspective. Saturday I was at her first bridal shower (it's true - I'm not actually 22, though I look it), and I told an embarrassing story about myself. No - that's a whole different story about walking through a warehouse store pushing one cart and pulling another, both full of about 15 cases of beer and running into a friend from high school who I hadn't seen in years (funny guy - he looked at me and said, "Thirsty?"). You see, the beer was for a work function I was coordinating, and - well, anyway, I was telling this story when my sister piped up and said, "Isn't that the guy who disintegrated his pants?" I had no idea what she was talking about.
Turns out that she remembered a story I'd told her when I got home from school one day. It's from Chemistry, which would've been 10th grade - I'm 16, so she's 6. Apparently this stands out in a six-year-old memory: Kent (ha! used his real name, just in case my sis remembered the right person) was in chemistry with me. Our class was experimenting with some chemicals one day, and he jumped up to sit on the counter during the lab. He sat on the chemicals (whatever they might have been), and disintegrated part of his pants. I bet that really was funny - too bad I don't remember it even a little bit!
My sister is about ten years younger than me. It's pretty amazing what things you remember about a point in time based on your perspective. Saturday I was at her first bridal shower (it's true - I'm not actually 22, though I look it), and I told an embarrassing story about myself. No - that's a whole different story about walking through a warehouse store pushing one cart and pulling another, both full of about 15 cases of beer and running into a friend from high school who I hadn't seen in years (funny guy - he looked at me and said, "Thirsty?"). You see, the beer was for a work function I was coordinating, and - well, anyway, I was telling this story when my sister piped up and said, "Isn't that the guy who disintegrated his pants?" I had no idea what she was talking about.
Turns out that she remembered a story I'd told her when I got home from school one day. It's from Chemistry, which would've been 10th grade - I'm 16, so she's 6. Apparently this stands out in a six-year-old memory: Kent (ha! used his real name, just in case my sis remembered the right person) was in chemistry with me. Our class was experimenting with some chemicals one day, and he jumped up to sit on the counter during the lab. He sat on the chemicals (whatever they might have been), and disintegrated part of his pants. I bet that really was funny - too bad I don't remember it even a little bit!
Monday, August 4, 2008
now you know the truth - i can't really keep up
This probably explains why I was so happy to be a little ahead of the curve last week (and I'm still happy about that.)
My little family is in an even littler house, it seems sometimes. Dear Hubby and I are dreaming of space, more space. I'm sure Aidan is too, after spending time in some of our friends' play rooms, but he's not complaining. To be fair to Aidan, he can't because he doesn't have the words (though yesterday he did pick up a very clear Mommy), and to be fair to the house, it's the house I bought single, and it was plenty big for just me.
We're thinking that in the spring or summer next year, we might be ready to move. Now I find myself wanting to surf real estate sites, telling myself it's just to see what's out there and available, but knowing that I'm bound to get a crush on at least one house I view. Yesterday this number was closer to twenty, but you get the idea.
Our lives are crazy busy, even by my standards, which is saying something. Something has to go, but instead we're adding to it getting a house ready to sell. The good part of this is that it really needs it - we never really decided what to keep and/or get rid of when Hubby moved in. I wouldn't normally tell you this, but I feel kind of safe because I know you can't see them: my garage and basement are ridiculously full of junk (mostly junk). We can park our cars in the garage, but barely so. Also, the office is suffering from becoming the office/spare room when we made the nursery. What I'm saying here is that the clutter's taking over. It's taking over everything.
And the yard. If the house is cluttered, the flower beds in the back are wrecked. The yard's pretty small, and you wouldn't think that much could go wrong, but I promise you that it can. My folks came over for a day and helped us completely re-do the front yard (thankfully); now the front yard looks wonderful! The back, though - ugh. I have an entire flower bed, say, 8 x 15 or so, entirely made up of weeds. Some of those weeds are taller than me. Not just weeds, either - weeds and grass which is now thigh-high. It's horrid.* Sure, we mow, but not in the flower beds. As a cherry on top of this extravaganza, a viney-sort of weed is taking over what's left of my lawn. Somehow this has to be presentable enough first for me be able even to glance at it and not wince, and second to make a buyer feel that it must be his/hers/theirs.
So, we now have good reason, not that we didn't already, to clean out EVERYTHING. In our "spare" time, of course. We're trying to accomplish at least one thing a week, so when it gets a little overwhelming, we focus on whatever we're trying to accomplish that week. Truly, I am happy about whatever baby step we make. This weekend, it was new screen doors in front and back. They look great.
*horrid if you live in the house and see it enough to make you crazy. We're not receiving notices from the city, but likely only because those who might complain (and many of them reside in my neighborhood) cannot see the back yard.
My little family is in an even littler house, it seems sometimes. Dear Hubby and I are dreaming of space, more space. I'm sure Aidan is too, after spending time in some of our friends' play rooms, but he's not complaining. To be fair to Aidan, he can't because he doesn't have the words (though yesterday he did pick up a very clear Mommy), and to be fair to the house, it's the house I bought single, and it was plenty big for just me.
We're thinking that in the spring or summer next year, we might be ready to move. Now I find myself wanting to surf real estate sites, telling myself it's just to see what's out there and available, but knowing that I'm bound to get a crush on at least one house I view. Yesterday this number was closer to twenty, but you get the idea.
Our lives are crazy busy, even by my standards, which is saying something. Something has to go, but instead we're adding to it getting a house ready to sell. The good part of this is that it really needs it - we never really decided what to keep and/or get rid of when Hubby moved in. I wouldn't normally tell you this, but I feel kind of safe because I know you can't see them: my garage and basement are ridiculously full of junk (mostly junk). We can park our cars in the garage, but barely so. Also, the office is suffering from becoming the office/spare room when we made the nursery. What I'm saying here is that the clutter's taking over. It's taking over everything.
And the yard. If the house is cluttered, the flower beds in the back are wrecked. The yard's pretty small, and you wouldn't think that much could go wrong, but I promise you that it can. My folks came over for a day and helped us completely re-do the front yard (thankfully); now the front yard looks wonderful! The back, though - ugh. I have an entire flower bed, say, 8 x 15 or so, entirely made up of weeds. Some of those weeds are taller than me. Not just weeds, either - weeds and grass which is now thigh-high. It's horrid.* Sure, we mow, but not in the flower beds. As a cherry on top of this extravaganza, a viney-sort of weed is taking over what's left of my lawn. Somehow this has to be presentable enough first for me be able even to glance at it and not wince, and second to make a buyer feel that it must be his/hers/theirs.
So, we now have good reason, not that we didn't already, to clean out EVERYTHING. In our "spare" time, of course. We're trying to accomplish at least one thing a week, so when it gets a little overwhelming, we focus on whatever we're trying to accomplish that week. Truly, I am happy about whatever baby step we make. This weekend, it was new screen doors in front and back. They look great.
*horrid if you live in the house and see it enough to make you crazy. We're not receiving notices from the city, but likely only because those who might complain (and many of them reside in my neighborhood) cannot see the back yard.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Basking isn't just for sunshine
So, I'm feeling pretty big right now. I'm caught up at work and I did a little project for home. Is my home clean? Nope. Is it less cluttered? Nope. However, I did a project for fun, and that's making me feel pretty big.
Aidan and I went to the park on Sunday - we rode our bike (with cart) in the morning and had the place all to ourselves for a couple of hours. We climbed, climbed and climbed some more. We slided (slid?), we played on the swings (swang?) - we had a grand old time. Due to a fancy new habit in which I carry my camera in my (now mom-sized) purse, it occurred to me that this would be a wonderful opportunity for photos. I'm not going to lie - I took 130. We snacked, we rode home, with the wind blowing through our hair and only one of us arriving awake (luckily, me, the driver).
As Aidan napped, I went online and made a book of our morning. I always mean to make books of my photos, but I don't ever have time. I have grand plans of doing "this is my first year" or "times with Grandma & Grandpa" as gifts, but those are pretty large undertakings. Putting together a book made of a sample of 130 photos - that's manageable in one naptime. I sat, I designed, I chose the very cutest pictures - no easy feat given a smorgasboard of cute pics, I might add - I made a book. Already, it's arriving today! I'm excited like Birthday Excited to get it. AND I'm feeling big.
I'm a mom who has it together. I plan on the weekend for a potluck on a Thursday night (actually done this week); I have a present ready for the expectant book club mom before the day of bookclub (actually done last week); I use a slow cooker occasionally having dinner ready when we get home from work; I do fun projects in my "spare" time. Honestly, I rarely am this good. Even a little bit of "together" makes me feel big, but that doesn't mean I won't bask in it for a brief moment. I'm basking.
Aidan and I went to the park on Sunday - we rode our bike (with cart) in the morning and had the place all to ourselves for a couple of hours. We climbed, climbed and climbed some more. We slided (slid?), we played on the swings (swang?) - we had a grand old time. Due to a fancy new habit in which I carry my camera in my (now mom-sized) purse, it occurred to me that this would be a wonderful opportunity for photos. I'm not going to lie - I took 130. We snacked, we rode home, with the wind blowing through our hair and only one of us arriving awake (luckily, me, the driver).
As Aidan napped, I went online and made a book of our morning. I always mean to make books of my photos, but I don't ever have time. I have grand plans of doing "this is my first year" or "times with Grandma & Grandpa" as gifts, but those are pretty large undertakings. Putting together a book made of a sample of 130 photos - that's manageable in one naptime. I sat, I designed, I chose the very cutest pictures - no easy feat given a smorgasboard of cute pics, I might add - I made a book. Already, it's arriving today! I'm excited like Birthday Excited to get it. AND I'm feeling big.
I'm a mom who has it together. I plan on the weekend for a potluck on a Thursday night (actually done this week); I have a present ready for the expectant book club mom before the day of bookclub (actually done last week); I use a slow cooker occasionally having dinner ready when we get home from work; I do fun projects in my "spare" time. Honestly, I rarely am this good. Even a little bit of "together" makes me feel big, but that doesn't mean I won't bask in it for a brief moment. I'm basking.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
oh, excuse me, Highness
Why do some people think their time is so much more valuable than everyone else's?
I earn an hourly rate with no paid time off; my time is, literally, valuable (at least during working hours - after that, the value is more intrinsic).
Today I went to an appointment a few minutes early to be safe. This came out of my chargeable hours. I sat and waited, waited, and waited some more. When it was a half hour past my appointment time, I asked whether I should reschedule, because it was a half hour past my appointment time. I was informed that they told me my time was 15 minutes earlier than it actually was. Really? Am I a child to be managed? Is the rest of the world so inferior that only those people are allowed to worry about being inconvenienced? All of this oblivious to the fact that still, it was 15 minutes past my appointment time. They assure me that I'll not be waiting longer - no need to reschedule.
Fifteen minutes later, I rescheduled. They couldn't believe it. I couldn't help it - I had a client meeting that I had to attend. In total I was away from my client for an hour and a half. The amount I lost isn't staggering, but the principle of the thing is.
I won't get on my soapbox about the state of service industries today, other than to say this: I contend that any industry is at heart a service industry, and I'm stymied by people who don't seem to understand that they're at our service; we're not at theirs. Oh, excuse me - am I bothering you as I sit here waiting to give you my money? Would your day be easier if I showed up first thing in the morning and just waited quietly until the mood struck you to give me the time of day? No problem.
I earn an hourly rate with no paid time off; my time is, literally, valuable (at least during working hours - after that, the value is more intrinsic).
Today I went to an appointment a few minutes early to be safe. This came out of my chargeable hours. I sat and waited, waited, and waited some more. When it was a half hour past my appointment time, I asked whether I should reschedule, because it was a half hour past my appointment time. I was informed that they told me my time was 15 minutes earlier than it actually was. Really? Am I a child to be managed? Is the rest of the world so inferior that only those people are allowed to worry about being inconvenienced? All of this oblivious to the fact that still, it was 15 minutes past my appointment time. They assure me that I'll not be waiting longer - no need to reschedule.
Fifteen minutes later, I rescheduled. They couldn't believe it. I couldn't help it - I had a client meeting that I had to attend. In total I was away from my client for an hour and a half. The amount I lost isn't staggering, but the principle of the thing is.
I won't get on my soapbox about the state of service industries today, other than to say this: I contend that any industry is at heart a service industry, and I'm stymied by people who don't seem to understand that they're at our service; we're not at theirs. Oh, excuse me - am I bothering you as I sit here waiting to give you my money? Would your day be easier if I showed up first thing in the morning and just waited quietly until the mood struck you to give me the time of day? No problem.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Berries!
My boy loves fruit like no child I know. If I fed him nothing but fruit, I'm sure he would love me even more than he does, or at least be happier with me.
He's learning a few words - we've added "hot," "doggie," and a version of "tree" to our repertoire. This morning after he finished his waffle, I asked him if he'd like some berries. "Berries!" he yelled. Fast forward to tonight and dinner of dino-nuggets. Every minute or two, he'd look at his nuggets, which he likes, and yell, "Berries!" Hey - at least he has an opinion and know what he wants.
On the other front, more hitting and biting. I don't know why; he can be as happy as a clam, and then you can see him get an idea and hit me. He has a consistent sound he makes when he hits, so at least I have warning about that. There is no warning when he goes in for a kiss and bites a chunk out of my face. Okay, he hasn't actually bitten a chunk out of my face, but it sure feels like it. His teacher says that he was very loving and gentle with a baby doll at school today, so it seems as though for now the hitting and biting is directed principally toward me. Why am I the lucky one?
He's learning a few words - we've added "hot," "doggie," and a version of "tree" to our repertoire. This morning after he finished his waffle, I asked him if he'd like some berries. "Berries!" he yelled. Fast forward to tonight and dinner of dino-nuggets. Every minute or two, he'd look at his nuggets, which he likes, and yell, "Berries!" Hey - at least he has an opinion and know what he wants.
On the other front, more hitting and biting. I don't know why; he can be as happy as a clam, and then you can see him get an idea and hit me. He has a consistent sound he makes when he hits, so at least I have warning about that. There is no warning when he goes in for a kiss and bites a chunk out of my face. Okay, he hasn't actually bitten a chunk out of my face, but it sure feels like it. His teacher says that he was very loving and gentle with a baby doll at school today, so it seems as though for now the hitting and biting is directed principally toward me. Why am I the lucky one?
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