As most of you are probably aware by now, I manage apartments. Probably the single thing I hate most about it is the company cell phone that I have to carry at all times. I am also supposed to answer it any time it rings, day or night. The primary reason is because it's the number residents can call 24/7 for maintenance emergencies. I don't mind that so much... those are few and far between, and I can see that as a necessary evil.
What I mind, however, is the fact that the same phone number is the number that people who view our Craigslist ad are directed to call for more information. So when the phone rings, it could be a resident calling with a maintenance emergency, but more often it's someone wanting to know how much it is for a two bedroom apartment. One of these groups of people I can safely ignore for the hour I'm in church, the other I can't. Unfortunately, I have no way of knowing which it is unless I answer the phone. I don't know whose idea this setup was, but I don't like it, and occasions like this morning are why.
This morning I decided to dye my hair, which I've been trying to find a chunk of time to do since I bought the dye a couple of weeks ago. This says something about my life... I can't find an uninterrupted hour in which to put goo on my head and wash it out. But I digress... my point is that I decided I was going to do it this morning, come hell or high water. So I was busily pouring black goo on my head when I hear the company cell phone ringing in on my bed where I left it.
ME: (inside my head) Crap... it's probably a sales call. I'll just ignore it and call them back if they leave a message.
And I go about my business, and I hear the missed call beep. Less than a minute later, it rings again. This usually means one of two things: 1) it's a resident with a maintenance emergency and they're mad that I didn't answer the phone, or 2) it's a sales caller who refuses to accept that the property might not be open for business at 8 AM. It was also possible that it could have been two separate callers. So I sighed, took off the gloves, and started racing down the hall to get the phone, splattering blue-black hair dye on the bathroom wall in the process. I missed the call, and when I looked at the missed calls it was the same number twice. And it wasn't one I recognized, but that doesn't mean it's not a resident... just means it's not a resident who calls often.
So I started carrying the phone back toward the bathroom and dialed the call I missed. Here's the entire course of the conversation:
ME: Hi, this is Meagan from ___________ Apartments. I just missed a call from this number.
HIM: Oh, yeah. I was looking at your ad on Craigslist for 2 bedroom 1 bathroom apartments and I had a question. What school district are you in?
ME: Centennial.
HIM: Okay, thanks ma'am. (hangs up)
Well, crap. Now to deal with the hair dye on the bathroom wall. At my old apartment in Molalla I had dealt with this before. Spray with Awesome, wipe, done. This is when I discovered that my employer apparently uses cheap paint... it took the paint right off the wall.
I guess it's fortunate that I'm the manager and have keys to the paint room. Is it Friday yet?
Showing posts with label whining. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whining. Show all posts
March 13, 2013
January 30, 2013
Mongolian Death Flu...
My household has been suffering the Mongolian Death Flu for almost two weeks now. (Please note, "Mongolian Death Flu" is just a name I made up and is not the name of an actual epidemic as far as I am aware. Please do not panic and/or call the CDC.) We're being a good family and taking turns with it, but at least one of us has been sick at all times since January 18th. It's a lovely virus that starts with fever/chills and lack of appetite/energy and then transitions seamlessly into coughing up various internal organs while not being able to breathe or speak. It's also a deceptive little virus, as we've recently learned, because just when we thought we were shaking it off, we all relapsed back to square one (fever/chills, etc.).
I'm planning on going to work today for the first time this week, and honestly I have no idea how good of an idea that is. I'm feeling about 60% of normal capacity today, which is the highest I've been since Friday evening (today is Wednesday, by the way). Sunday I was at about 10-15%. What that means is that I slept all night Saturday night, slept almost all of the day Sunday (I was awake maybe 5-6 hours total, but not all at once... my longest stretch of consciousness was 3 hours between 8 and 11 PM), and then slept all night Sunday night. I texted the Old Curmudgeon this morning to see how he's doing, and he told me he had given up on work today and was going home. Already. At 8:30 AM. Not encouraging.
So if anyone has been wondering why you haven't seen us out and about for the last couple of weeks, this is why. We're all over here trying not to die, with varying degrees of success. The Chamaco has been going to school, albeit with a bad cough, and he's doing the best so far. I'm going to leave and have a go at the going to work thing in about ten minutes here, so wish me luck...
Song o' the Day: "Sick" by Evanescence (relevant in title only, given that it's not actually about disease)
I'm planning on going to work today for the first time this week, and honestly I have no idea how good of an idea that is. I'm feeling about 60% of normal capacity today, which is the highest I've been since Friday evening (today is Wednesday, by the way). Sunday I was at about 10-15%. What that means is that I slept all night Saturday night, slept almost all of the day Sunday (I was awake maybe 5-6 hours total, but not all at once... my longest stretch of consciousness was 3 hours between 8 and 11 PM), and then slept all night Sunday night. I texted the Old Curmudgeon this morning to see how he's doing, and he told me he had given up on work today and was going home. Already. At 8:30 AM. Not encouraging.
So if anyone has been wondering why you haven't seen us out and about for the last couple of weeks, this is why. We're all over here trying not to die, with varying degrees of success. The Chamaco has been going to school, albeit with a bad cough, and he's doing the best so far. I'm going to leave and have a go at the going to work thing in about ten minutes here, so wish me luck...
Song o' the Day: "Sick" by Evanescence (relevant in title only, given that it's not actually about disease)
March 4, 2012
Random facts and figures...
WARNING: I'm in a bad mood right now. Don't read this if you don't want to hear (read) me complaining. If you read it anyway, don't say you weren't warned....
10 1/2 (approximately): The number of years that have elapsed since, as an 18 year old, I thought it would be a pretty smart idea to get married on June 23, 2001.
9 (approximately): The number of years it has been since my ex-husband and I separated for the third and final time. (After he left, came back, left, came back, then told me he was leaving again. I told him not to bother coming back if he left. So of course, now our divorce is my fault because I told him not to come back.)
4 years, 2 months (almost exactly): The number of years we've been officially divorced. (Someone wouldn't help pay for it (because it was my fault), so it had to wait until I could afford to do it myself.)
Once a year or less: The approximate frequency with which either of the above two facts bothers me in the slightest. (In truth, I'm much more likely to celebrate those same facts on any given day.)
And if I'm gonna be totally fair, it's not him specifically I miss. Okay, actually I don't miss him at all... like I said, in retrospect I'm glad he's gone. I mostly just miss the bed not being empty. Odd if you consider that for the greater part of our marriage we worked opposing shifts and were never in the bed at the same time anyway, but I digress.
In general I've adapted pretty darn well to the single-parenting lifestyle. Since we separated I've managed to get myself a college degree, get myself a job, get myself an apartment, and somehow raise a kid who isn't screwed up in the head (yet). I can kill my own spiders, perform my own basic automobile maintenance, move my own heavy stuff and open my own jars. I have managed to keep us fed, clothed and housed for the most part without even the aid of monthly child support payments (someone doesn't pay them). Some of the above successes are partly attributable to supportive family members, both blood relatives and church family. And a lot of it just attributable to the fact that I do not need a man to survive... I learned that about 9 years ago when he walked.
Of course, that same fact is also the source of my current dilemma. Or at least part of it. That's just the problem... I don't need a man. Most of the time I don't even want one. Sometimes I entertain the notion that the ideal arrangement for me would be one of those marriages where you maintain separate houses and have sleepovers. (Actually, were it not against my religion, the ideal arrangement would probably be more what is termed a "friend with benefits"... no legal entanglements whatsoever.) Some would say that I've never even been in a healthy, functional romantic relationship and just don't know what I'm missing. They're probably right about that, but what am I supposed to do about it? It ain't exactly raining men around here... in fact, it's been more of a nine-year drought. And yes, there have been a couple of close calls in those nine years, but they mostly served to make me realize even more what I don't want to put up with.
Yeah, maybe that's the problem. Having nine years to think it over has made me really picky. I have a long list of deal-breakers. Like these:
NO SMOKING: If you want to poison yourself slowly, go for it. Just do it far away from me. I already tried being married to a smoker. It didn't work for me and I won't do it again, which is why I won't even bother dating a smoker. I don't date people who have zero marriage potential, and smoking is an automatic disqualifier. Sorry!
NO DRUGS: Again, already tried this one in a marriage. It doesn't work. I am not and will never be "420 friendly", and yes, pot is a drug. Go stare at the walls in your own house and stay outta mine.
NO FIXER-UPPERS: This is a more recently adopted rule. Women in general are guilty of this and I think probably Christian women doubly so... we meet someone with a sad and tragic past and we get this romantic notion in our heads that we can somehow make it all better with the power of love or some trite BS like that. Yeah, well, guess what... it doesn't work that way. If a guy has more issues than TV Guide and/or more baggage than the average United Airlines flight, don't get involved.
And before I start sounding too negative, the deal-breaker list isn't my only list. I also have a "must-have" list. Because I work for Head Start and have been thoroughly PBIS indoctrinated, I'm going to call them the "be" rules.
BE a Real Grown-up: I already have a kid. Not looking for another one at this point. I do not want to feel like your mother or your babysitter. Any potential man should be like me in that he is completely capable of functioning solo without anyone to clean up his messes (both literal and metaphorical). Any potential cleaning up of each other's messes would be purely by mutual agreement to do so, not necessity or obligation.
BE Funny: Sense of humor. It is a must for anyone who is going to put up with me for more than, say, five minutes. It is also a must for anyone that I am going to have to put up with for more than, say, five minutes. Witty banter skill is an absolute requirement.
And as if that didn't reduce the field of potential candidates enough, I threw this one on:
BE a Christian: And just like that, I've narrowed my potential field of choices down to two! (Either of which could potentially be reading this... hi guys!) And I'm not saying that there are no other single, Christian men in the universe, I'm just saying that I don't know any personally and I have failed to stumble across any in the last nine years or so. That's all I'm saying. If I insist on church-going, faithful Christian men, the number of proverbial fish in the proverbial sea decreases exponentially.
But I guess really this was just a very roundabout way for me to say this: I'm lonely tonight and want someone to cuddle with. Just tonight, though. I'll probably be fine again tomorrow.
Song o' the Day: While not strictly related to the topic at hand, I'm gonna go with "Just Tonight" by The Pretty Reckless, because I have it in my head right now. See/hear it here.
10 1/2 (approximately): The number of years that have elapsed since, as an 18 year old, I thought it would be a pretty smart idea to get married on June 23, 2001.
9 (approximately): The number of years it has been since my ex-husband and I separated for the third and final time. (After he left, came back, left, came back, then told me he was leaving again. I told him not to bother coming back if he left. So of course, now our divorce is my fault because I told him not to come back.)
4 years, 2 months (almost exactly): The number of years we've been officially divorced. (Someone wouldn't help pay for it (because it was my fault), so it had to wait until I could afford to do it myself.)
Once a year or less: The approximate frequency with which either of the above two facts bothers me in the slightest. (In truth, I'm much more likely to celebrate those same facts on any given day.)
And if I'm gonna be totally fair, it's not him specifically I miss. Okay, actually I don't miss him at all... like I said, in retrospect I'm glad he's gone. I mostly just miss the bed not being empty. Odd if you consider that for the greater part of our marriage we worked opposing shifts and were never in the bed at the same time anyway, but I digress.
In general I've adapted pretty darn well to the single-parenting lifestyle. Since we separated I've managed to get myself a college degree, get myself a job, get myself an apartment, and somehow raise a kid who isn't screwed up in the head (yet). I can kill my own spiders, perform my own basic automobile maintenance, move my own heavy stuff and open my own jars. I have managed to keep us fed, clothed and housed for the most part without even the aid of monthly child support payments (someone doesn't pay them). Some of the above successes are partly attributable to supportive family members, both blood relatives and church family. And a lot of it just attributable to the fact that I do not need a man to survive... I learned that about 9 years ago when he walked.
Of course, that same fact is also the source of my current dilemma. Or at least part of it. That's just the problem... I don't need a man. Most of the time I don't even want one. Sometimes I entertain the notion that the ideal arrangement for me would be one of those marriages where you maintain separate houses and have sleepovers. (Actually, were it not against my religion, the ideal arrangement would probably be more what is termed a "friend with benefits"... no legal entanglements whatsoever.) Some would say that I've never even been in a healthy, functional romantic relationship and just don't know what I'm missing. They're probably right about that, but what am I supposed to do about it? It ain't exactly raining men around here... in fact, it's been more of a nine-year drought. And yes, there have been a couple of close calls in those nine years, but they mostly served to make me realize even more what I don't want to put up with.
Yeah, maybe that's the problem. Having nine years to think it over has made me really picky. I have a long list of deal-breakers. Like these:
NO SMOKING: If you want to poison yourself slowly, go for it. Just do it far away from me. I already tried being married to a smoker. It didn't work for me and I won't do it again, which is why I won't even bother dating a smoker. I don't date people who have zero marriage potential, and smoking is an automatic disqualifier. Sorry!
NO DRUGS: Again, already tried this one in a marriage. It doesn't work. I am not and will never be "420 friendly", and yes, pot is a drug. Go stare at the walls in your own house and stay outta mine.
NO FIXER-UPPERS: This is a more recently adopted rule. Women in general are guilty of this and I think probably Christian women doubly so... we meet someone with a sad and tragic past and we get this romantic notion in our heads that we can somehow make it all better with the power of love or some trite BS like that. Yeah, well, guess what... it doesn't work that way. If a guy has more issues than TV Guide and/or more baggage than the average United Airlines flight, don't get involved.
And before I start sounding too negative, the deal-breaker list isn't my only list. I also have a "must-have" list. Because I work for Head Start and have been thoroughly PBIS indoctrinated, I'm going to call them the "be" rules.
BE a Real Grown-up: I already have a kid. Not looking for another one at this point. I do not want to feel like your mother or your babysitter. Any potential man should be like me in that he is completely capable of functioning solo without anyone to clean up his messes (both literal and metaphorical). Any potential cleaning up of each other's messes would be purely by mutual agreement to do so, not necessity or obligation.
BE Funny: Sense of humor. It is a must for anyone who is going to put up with me for more than, say, five minutes. It is also a must for anyone that I am going to have to put up with for more than, say, five minutes. Witty banter skill is an absolute requirement.
And as if that didn't reduce the field of potential candidates enough, I threw this one on:
BE a Christian: And just like that, I've narrowed my potential field of choices down to two! (Either of which could potentially be reading this... hi guys!) And I'm not saying that there are no other single, Christian men in the universe, I'm just saying that I don't know any personally and I have failed to stumble across any in the last nine years or so. That's all I'm saying. If I insist on church-going, faithful Christian men, the number of proverbial fish in the proverbial sea decreases exponentially.
But I guess really this was just a very roundabout way for me to say this: I'm lonely tonight and want someone to cuddle with. Just tonight, though. I'll probably be fine again tomorrow.
Song o' the Day: While not strictly related to the topic at hand, I'm gonna go with "Just Tonight" by The Pretty Reckless, because I have it in my head right now. See/hear it here.
February 14, 2010
Y'know what's depressing?
Valentine's Day is depressing.
Reading Craigslist personal ads is depressing. A whole, polluted sea teeming with retarded sealife. Some of them seem like decent enough guys, aside from the fact that they're dumber than a box of radishes (this is, for me, a deal-breaker). The majority, however, are arrogant jerks going on about what a "hot commodity" they are and how they're a "limited time offer". If that's really the case, why do you need to post on CL? Surely if you're that fantastic of a catch, you could just stand out on a busy street corner and the girls would be all over you. (Though I suppose that's only legal in certain parts of Nevada.) Normally I wouldn't bother depressing myself by reading ads on Craigslist, but I figure on Valentine's Day I'm depressed enough already and it can't very well get much worse.
I think next year maybe I'll just try drinking. I've never been properly drunk before, and Valentine's Day seems like the perfect time...
Next year I may have to swear off social networking entirely for the month of February. So it's the 4 zillionth V-Day you've spent with *insert name here*... fabulous. Why don't you go spend time with that person rather than posting about it on Facebook? Because let me tell you, if I could only get Wong over on this continent, I wouldn't be sitting around posting on Facebook about it.
Come to think of it, if I could get Wong over on this continent, I wouldn't have to get depressed enough to browse Craigslist.
Why is the rum gone?
Song o' the Day: "Dear Agony" by Breaking Benjamin. (lyrics below)
I have nothing left to give
I have found the perfect end
You remain to make it hurt
Disappear into the dirt
Carry me to heaven's arms
Light the way and let me go
Take the time to take my breath
I will end where I began
And I'll find the enemy within
' Cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin
Dear agony, just let go of me
Suffer slowly, is this the way it's gotta be?
Dear agony...
Suddenly the lights go out
Let forever drag me down
I will fight for one last breath
I will fight until the end
And I'll find the enemy within
'Cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin
Dear agony, just let go of me
Suffer slowly, is this the way it's gotta be?
Don't bury me, faceless enemy
I'm so sorry... is this the way it's gotta be?
Dear agony
Leave me alone
God let me go
I'm blue and cold
Black sky will burn
Love tore me down
Hate lift me up
Just turn around
There's nothing left
Somewhere far beyond this world...
I feel nothing anymore
Dear agony, just let go of me
Suffer slowly, is this the way it's gotta be?
Don't bury me, faceless enemy
I'm so sorry... is this the way it's gotta be?
Dear agony
I feel nothing anymore
Reading Craigslist personal ads is depressing. A whole, polluted sea teeming with retarded sealife. Some of them seem like decent enough guys, aside from the fact that they're dumber than a box of radishes (this is, for me, a deal-breaker). The majority, however, are arrogant jerks going on about what a "hot commodity" they are and how they're a "limited time offer". If that's really the case, why do you need to post on CL? Surely if you're that fantastic of a catch, you could just stand out on a busy street corner and the girls would be all over you. (Though I suppose that's only legal in certain parts of Nevada.) Normally I wouldn't bother depressing myself by reading ads on Craigslist, but I figure on Valentine's Day I'm depressed enough already and it can't very well get much worse.
I think next year maybe I'll just try drinking. I've never been properly drunk before, and Valentine's Day seems like the perfect time...
Next year I may have to swear off social networking entirely for the month of February. So it's the 4 zillionth V-Day you've spent with *insert name here*... fabulous. Why don't you go spend time with that person rather than posting about it on Facebook? Because let me tell you, if I could only get Wong over on this continent, I wouldn't be sitting around posting on Facebook about it.
Come to think of it, if I could get Wong over on this continent, I wouldn't have to get depressed enough to browse Craigslist.
Why is the rum gone?
Song o' the Day: "Dear Agony" by Breaking Benjamin. (lyrics below)
I have nothing left to give
I have found the perfect end
You remain to make it hurt
Disappear into the dirt
Carry me to heaven's arms
Light the way and let me go
Take the time to take my breath
I will end where I began
And I'll find the enemy within
' Cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin
Dear agony, just let go of me
Suffer slowly, is this the way it's gotta be?
Dear agony...
Suddenly the lights go out
Let forever drag me down
I will fight for one last breath
I will fight until the end
And I'll find the enemy within
'Cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin
Dear agony, just let go of me
Suffer slowly, is this the way it's gotta be?
Don't bury me, faceless enemy
I'm so sorry... is this the way it's gotta be?
Dear agony
Leave me alone
God let me go
I'm blue and cold
Black sky will burn
Love tore me down
Hate lift me up
Just turn around
There's nothing left
Somewhere far beyond this world...
I feel nothing anymore
Dear agony, just let go of me
Suffer slowly, is this the way it's gotta be?
Don't bury me, faceless enemy
I'm so sorry... is this the way it's gotta be?
Dear agony
I feel nothing anymore
February 9, 2010
Forecast: February blahs fading into spring freakout...
Generally March is, for me at least, the interminable month of rainy, soggy longness. So I guess it's fittingly ironic and well in accordance with my life that this year, it seems February has taken over as the interminable month of rainy, soggy longness - and February only has 28 days.
Don't know what it is lately, but my hibernation drive is whining at me a lot for not staying in bed and, well, hibernating.
In general I still like the people I work with, but the interminable month of rainy, soggy longness seems to be having adverse effects on the children... so far this week at work has been a small, soggy slice of hell. I don't know if it's just early spring freakout or what. The daffodils behind the center have certainly been confused by this unusually mild winter we're having (not that I'm complaining about that)... maybe the kids' little biological clocks have been confused also.
Spring freakout, for those of you who don't work in education, generally happens right around spring break. It's why spring break was invented... so the kids could go cause havok somewhere else for a week. This probably used to work, but nowadays when kids are home from school Mom plunks them down in front of a TV with a DVD and tells them to shut up, thus burning off exactly no excess energy and coming back to school even worse than they started. From spring break on, teachers count the days until summer vacation, because the kids just get crazier. (Prime teachable time is considered to be that space in between New Year's and spring break... no major holidays to interfere with things, and hopefully the spring freakout doesn't set in too early.)
March had just better not last as long as February seems to be lasting... I'm rather looking forward to the latter part of March, and I'd hate to see the whole first part drag.
Song o' the Day: "It's Not You" by Halestorm.
Don't know what it is lately, but my hibernation drive is whining at me a lot for not staying in bed and, well, hibernating.
In general I still like the people I work with, but the interminable month of rainy, soggy longness seems to be having adverse effects on the children... so far this week at work has been a small, soggy slice of hell. I don't know if it's just early spring freakout or what. The daffodils behind the center have certainly been confused by this unusually mild winter we're having (not that I'm complaining about that)... maybe the kids' little biological clocks have been confused also.
Spring freakout, for those of you who don't work in education, generally happens right around spring break. It's why spring break was invented... so the kids could go cause havok somewhere else for a week. This probably used to work, but nowadays when kids are home from school Mom plunks them down in front of a TV with a DVD and tells them to shut up, thus burning off exactly no excess energy and coming back to school even worse than they started. From spring break on, teachers count the days until summer vacation, because the kids just get crazier. (Prime teachable time is considered to be that space in between New Year's and spring break... no major holidays to interfere with things, and hopefully the spring freakout doesn't set in too early.)
March had just better not last as long as February seems to be lasting... I'm rather looking forward to the latter part of March, and I'd hate to see the whole first part drag.
Song o' the Day: "It's Not You" by Halestorm.
December 2, 2009
This morning....
I staggered out into the hallway toward the bathroom, still rubbing at my eyes and trying to get my brain to engage, and I happened to glance at the stairs. The Chamaco was sitting there on the stairs, playing his DS.
"What are you doing?" I asked him. (Though at that stage of morning it probably sounded more like "Whuttreyadooin?")
He looked me in the eye and said, "I decided I didn't want you to boss me around this morning, so I got up and got dressed and got my coat and shoes on. I didn't brush my teeth yet, though... you can tell me to do that."
I tried to make sense of this for a moment, then I asked, "Did you remember to get your snack for school?"
"Yep," he said. "I already told you... the only thing I didn't do is brush my teeth."
So I left him there on the stairs and went about my morning routine, issuing exactly zero orders for small people to get their shoes on or whatever. It was sort of oddly silent. Then came the point when I went downstairs and opened the blinds on the kitchen window to let some light in, and realized that everything was white out there (frost, not snow). A glance at the thermometer (33!) made me decide I wanted to go back to bed. Unfortunately that's a no-go on Wednesdays (and pretty much every other day of the week too). And then the Chamaco came downstairs ready to go out to the bus, and I looked at him and said, "Get a warmer coat. It's all icy out there."
"What?!" he demanded in that tone of derision that he has mastered so perfectly. This is his standard response anytime I tell him to do anything he doesn't want to do. He likes the flimsy little gray jacket, and he argued with me about whether or not he should have to put on a different coat for a few minutes. But I prevailed, got him into a warmer coat and gloves, and we headed out to the bus stop. As soon as we stepped out the door, he exclaimed, "Brr! It's cold out here!"
"Like I said," I reminded him. "See? Sometimes I still know stuff."
I don't know why, but it seems especially lately I'm on a quest to prove that I'm still relevant as a parent. Aside from cooking meals and washing clothes, he can now do pretty much everything else for himself. I even left him home by himself for 10 minutes the other night while I ran to the store to get some milk after I discovered that ours was more of a chewy solid than it was a liquid. He didn't die or burn the house down. In fact, when I got home he said, "I didn't even move the whole time you were gone." And indeed, he was sitting on the couch playing Wii right where I had left him ten minutes previous.
With his 8th birthday now a mere week away, I'm struggling to get my mind around the concept that the part of parenting where he is completely dependent on me for his every physical need is over. Now comes the hard part... it falls to me to try to guide him as he develops mentally, emotionally and socially, and to help him make good choices for himself until his brain matures. Yeah, he'll still grow, but his physical development is pretty much going to take care of itself from here on out provided I remember to feed him occasionally. I'm a whole 10 years away from being the parent of a legal adult (don't get me started on whether or not 18 year olds are mentally adult).
And no, that thought does not make me want to have another one, thank you for asking.
The first freeze of winter 09-10 this morning prompted deep ponderings of how much I despise Oregon weather. At one point in the planet's orbit you have to wrap yourself in multiple layers just to keep warm, and a mere six months later you find that your skin is bubbling. I am firmly opposed to all things cold and wet, and this includes rain, snow, and animal noses (especially dogs), which means I live in entirely the wrong state, and especially the wrong part of it. Every time I look out my window in the morning and see the ground is white, it prompts thoughts of hibernation... I could totally see crawling into bed and emerging sometime in late May or early June. I mentioned that this morning to the CTG and how ill-suited for Oregon life I consider myself to be. He shrugged and said, "Lots of animals here hibernate." Well fabulous... all I gotta do is get someone to pay my bills and excuse me from work for the next six months so I can crawl into a hole until the weather is nicer.
Or alternatively, I could move back to Cuernavaca where the weather is fabulous year-round and they have way more thunderstorms. (Did I mention that even the rain in Cuernavaca is generally warm? I had never experienced warm rain until living there.)
This was the view from our bedroom window in Cuernavaca. More of this, please!
"What are you doing?" I asked him. (Though at that stage of morning it probably sounded more like "Whuttreyadooin?")
He looked me in the eye and said, "I decided I didn't want you to boss me around this morning, so I got up and got dressed and got my coat and shoes on. I didn't brush my teeth yet, though... you can tell me to do that."
I tried to make sense of this for a moment, then I asked, "Did you remember to get your snack for school?"
"Yep," he said. "I already told you... the only thing I didn't do is brush my teeth."
So I left him there on the stairs and went about my morning routine, issuing exactly zero orders for small people to get their shoes on or whatever. It was sort of oddly silent. Then came the point when I went downstairs and opened the blinds on the kitchen window to let some light in, and realized that everything was white out there (frost, not snow). A glance at the thermometer (33!) made me decide I wanted to go back to bed. Unfortunately that's a no-go on Wednesdays (and pretty much every other day of the week too). And then the Chamaco came downstairs ready to go out to the bus, and I looked at him and said, "Get a warmer coat. It's all icy out there."
"What?!" he demanded in that tone of derision that he has mastered so perfectly. This is his standard response anytime I tell him to do anything he doesn't want to do. He likes the flimsy little gray jacket, and he argued with me about whether or not he should have to put on a different coat for a few minutes. But I prevailed, got him into a warmer coat and gloves, and we headed out to the bus stop. As soon as we stepped out the door, he exclaimed, "Brr! It's cold out here!"
"Like I said," I reminded him. "See? Sometimes I still know stuff."
I don't know why, but it seems especially lately I'm on a quest to prove that I'm still relevant as a parent. Aside from cooking meals and washing clothes, he can now do pretty much everything else for himself. I even left him home by himself for 10 minutes the other night while I ran to the store to get some milk after I discovered that ours was more of a chewy solid than it was a liquid. He didn't die or burn the house down. In fact, when I got home he said, "I didn't even move the whole time you were gone." And indeed, he was sitting on the couch playing Wii right where I had left him ten minutes previous.
With his 8th birthday now a mere week away, I'm struggling to get my mind around the concept that the part of parenting where he is completely dependent on me for his every physical need is over. Now comes the hard part... it falls to me to try to guide him as he develops mentally, emotionally and socially, and to help him make good choices for himself until his brain matures. Yeah, he'll still grow, but his physical development is pretty much going to take care of itself from here on out provided I remember to feed him occasionally. I'm a whole 10 years away from being the parent of a legal adult (don't get me started on whether or not 18 year olds are mentally adult).
And no, that thought does not make me want to have another one, thank you for asking.
The first freeze of winter 09-10 this morning prompted deep ponderings of how much I despise Oregon weather. At one point in the planet's orbit you have to wrap yourself in multiple layers just to keep warm, and a mere six months later you find that your skin is bubbling. I am firmly opposed to all things cold and wet, and this includes rain, snow, and animal noses (especially dogs), which means I live in entirely the wrong state, and especially the wrong part of it. Every time I look out my window in the morning and see the ground is white, it prompts thoughts of hibernation... I could totally see crawling into bed and emerging sometime in late May or early June. I mentioned that this morning to the CTG and how ill-suited for Oregon life I consider myself to be. He shrugged and said, "Lots of animals here hibernate." Well fabulous... all I gotta do is get someone to pay my bills and excuse me from work for the next six months so I can crawl into a hole until the weather is nicer.
Or alternatively, I could move back to Cuernavaca where the weather is fabulous year-round and they have way more thunderstorms. (Did I mention that even the rain in Cuernavaca is generally warm? I had never experienced warm rain until living there.)
October 31, 2009
Well that didn't take long...
I said there would be noise, and behold there is noise! I'm running an all-Seether playlist at the moment, and for those of you who might like to shut it off as quickly as possible you'll find the pause button located to your right directly underneath the "About Me" section.
And now your bits of randomness for the night:
I almost tore off the fingernail on my index finger on my right hand today, and now that finger is very tender and it's a bit difficult to type. I did it while gutting pumpkins. Don't ask how.
I'm to the point in my phasing out of Facebook where all I have to do is get my pictures saved elsewhere. I give it two days, max.
By blogging right now at 23:24, I am putting off going to bed merely because I do not want to. If I were to remain awake much longer, however, I would feel the need to start working on one of the three work-related projects I am actively procrastinating, so soon I will go to bed so as to not have to work. Sometime before Monday, however, I am expected to translate the new report cards for grades K-5 so teachers can start filling them out. The idea of doing this makes me throw up a little in my mouth, because I know it will be boring, will take probably a minimum of six hours, and most of the things on the report cards will be made up "Teacherese" terms that are incredibly difficult to translate. (And they wonder why I don't want to become a "real" teacher...) Also sometime in the near future, I need to read the manual to get my CDL and finish reading "Positive Discipline for Preschoolers", both of which make me sleepy.
You know, I always just talked to my preschooler like he was a normal person. He grew out of being a preschooler, and he seems to be mostly fine (and with an above-average vocab for his age bracket, I might add) so why do I need to read a whole book telling me how to say "knock that off" in a way that sounds positive so I don't damage some child's fragile ego? In my opinion, kids in general don't hear the word "no" nearly enough anymore, and the word "no" is enforced even less. *sigh* If I think on that subject too long, I start having fantasies where I quit the education field all together, start a rock band, and tour the world in an extremely child-unfriendly manner.
Yeah... that'd be fun. *sigh*
And now your bits of randomness for the night:
I almost tore off the fingernail on my index finger on my right hand today, and now that finger is very tender and it's a bit difficult to type. I did it while gutting pumpkins. Don't ask how.
I'm to the point in my phasing out of Facebook where all I have to do is get my pictures saved elsewhere. I give it two days, max.
By blogging right now at 23:24, I am putting off going to bed merely because I do not want to. If I were to remain awake much longer, however, I would feel the need to start working on one of the three work-related projects I am actively procrastinating, so soon I will go to bed so as to not have to work. Sometime before Monday, however, I am expected to translate the new report cards for grades K-5 so teachers can start filling them out. The idea of doing this makes me throw up a little in my mouth, because I know it will be boring, will take probably a minimum of six hours, and most of the things on the report cards will be made up "Teacherese" terms that are incredibly difficult to translate. (And they wonder why I don't want to become a "real" teacher...) Also sometime in the near future, I need to read the manual to get my CDL and finish reading "Positive Discipline for Preschoolers", both of which make me sleepy.
You know, I always just talked to my preschooler like he was a normal person. He grew out of being a preschooler, and he seems to be mostly fine (and with an above-average vocab for his age bracket, I might add) so why do I need to read a whole book telling me how to say "knock that off" in a way that sounds positive so I don't damage some child's fragile ego? In my opinion, kids in general don't hear the word "no" nearly enough anymore, and the word "no" is enforced even less. *sigh* If I think on that subject too long, I start having fantasies where I quit the education field all together, start a rock band, and tour the world in an extremely child-unfriendly manner.
Yeah... that'd be fun. *sigh*
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