New Olympic Category

They should have a category to see who can open a toy that has been packaged in China, complete with small parts, the fastest with the LEAST amount of damage to the package itself. It would be terribly difficult, and you would have to have nimble fingers and death defying fingernails, not to mention a sharp eye and extreme flexibility. Extra points could be given for not snapping those stupid clear rubber bands in half- you know, the ones that took over the thick twist ties like a bunch of locusts taking over a corn field? And no tools allowed. My guess is China would win this sport each and every time, since they are the ones that tie these toys down like gravity may just dissipate in an instant.

Remember when you were a kid? When Christmas morning you could go downstairs and just open your present? The toy may or may not have been inside a box, but you could almost always get it out yourself. Then came bubble packaging, the kind that forms to the figure inside so you can see it out of that cute little package unobstructed. More and more toys were hung up because of this stupid non-recyclable packaging, and the days of simple toy opening were slipping away. Then came anchors and twist ties and rubber bands in conjunction with the bubble packaging. Oh, and don't forget rubber cement. And now, evil invisible rubber bands the size of thread.

I just spent 20 minutes getting some stupid Littlest Pet Shop toys out of two little packages. I have a meeting today where a few smaller kids need to come with, so I used a gift card on some relatively gender-neutral pet-related toys for the kids to play with to keep them happy. Twenty Fucking Minutes of my life sapped away by some insane packaging demons. Why the rubber bands? Seriously? I couldn't get the toys out of the bubble plastic, much less think they may actually shift (Oh, the Horror!) in the package should a tornado come out of the sky and suck the package from my hands.

Christmas morning is going to be a nightmare this year. I'm going to stock up on Exacto knives, manicure scissors and wire cutters now, less Matchbox cars become the next victims of the toy industry's packaging demons.

You May Have Too Much Money

....if your three year old little girl is whining because she is "jonesin' for a pedicure" (your words, not mine) and you cave... for a pedicure AND a manicure. And she listens to her own Ipod while she lets her nails dry. I'm just sayin'.

A Few More

A Summer In Pictures

I thought I'd share some pics from July- now. Pics from May- June were lost in the great camera robbery of '08. So, unfortunately, I have no 4th birthday pics to share. But, we only lost a couple of months, so it could've been worse. Now I download pics every single week, just in case.

A Serious Conversation, part 2

Evan's buddy was over again today, and there is nothing more hilarious than listening in on the conversations of 4 year old boys while you are filling out mundane grant applications and doing data entry. I wish all cubicles could be blessed with such entertaining conversation:

"Hey! You be a dog, and I'll be a baby. And the dog is a BIG dog and the baby is scared. Ok. Be a scared baby."
"But dogs aren't scary."
"Yes, but I am. So be scared, ok?"
"Oh, ok. Right... ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Don't scream, you cry baby!"



Before the pool, while all 4 year old boys are getting their swim suits on... yet again.

"Hey! We've got the SAME Pee Pees!"
"Yeah! We STILL DO!! Hahahahahaha!"
"But yours is bigger than mine!"
"Yes, it is.... I think it's bigger because mine is older than yours. Yes, that's why it's bigger."


In the pool:
Evan dumps a watering can over the head of his buddy in the pool. He laughs an evil maniacal laugh and says:

"Hahahahahaha! I WATERED YOU LIKE A FLOWER, YOU POO POO!" Burn!!!

A Financial Crunch

We're in a pickle financially, gas prices having finally caught up to us and bleeding us dry. We had a happy little budgeted stay-at-home thing going for the last 3 1/2 years, but the last 6 months have been really really hard. Add to that the fact that Evan is now wanting to do things, you know, like preschool and t-ball, it adds to the crunch.

Working from home for a not-for-profit is awesome. It's rewarding and Evan loves being my assistant most days (meaning he feels important though he doesn't do any work- easy there, child labor geeks). We're torn because I need to bring in money RIGHT NOW and he's not quite ready for school full-time. We're about a year away from kindergarten now, and it seems silly to go to work part time just to pay for someone to watch him and come out even. I could work nights, but Hubby does not have a dependable schedule which means I could work, oh, 11pm to 4am or something like that and be a zombie the next day. I could work weekends, but Hubby protests, and I also spend 80% of my weekends working on the not-for-profit stuff. I could work full-time again, but again, Hubby protests and we both know that these years with Evan are so precious, we want to avoid that if we can. So, what to do?

For one, we switched to Trader Joe's for grocery shopping. I was able to do the equivalent of a $200 grocery shop for $105 just this past week. Sweet. Secondly, we are now buying all of Evan's clothes at Once Upon A Child. Just got about $250 of Gap and Children's Place clothes for $52. The air conditioning is turned off, the lights go off the second they are not needed, I'm coupon clipping for those trips to the store that Trader Joe's does not cover, and I'm streamlining trips anywhere to include any and all stops that are along the way to conserve gas. The good thing is that I get paid for mileage that I rack up for the not-for-profit. The bad news is that the amount I get paid no longer covers the actual cost of gas. It hasn't for a long time.

I don't need to bring in that much money to keep us afloat. $100-$150 a week would be great. I am dog-sitting in our house this week, which, if I could do on a regular basis, would certainly help. But, Hubby doesn't want to advertise this service, so back to square one. All the things that I am good at making or doing end up being all tied to the not-for-profit. So....? Fuck.

I don't know what to do. I'll figure something out, but we're bleeding pretty hard right now.

Forgiveness

You've all heard that old line, "Forgive and Forget." Easier said than done, right? I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately, mostly due to my dad. I've been trying this exercise in thinking called "putting yourself in his/her shoes", which really, doesn't help me much in a lot of cases. For example, I try this in my professional realm before making a tough phone call. I tend to fail miserably, as most people's excuses in life are cop-outs, laziness, and full out asshole. I have a hard time putting myself in those people's shoes, and then when I do, I tend to beat myself up while in those shoes for being such a dumbass no-good fuckwad. I'm sorry, but I don't role play well when I have to play the idiot.

Anywho, I've been thinking about this a lot because of how much Evan loves my dad. I mean, I love my dad, but Evan has this... connection. I can't explain it, but for how few and far between my dad sees Evan, Evan's eyes just light up when his Poppy is around. Evan found an old picture of my mom and dad taken when they originally reconciled for a split second, and he was ecstatic! Poppy AND Grandma TOGETHER! His two favorite adults in the universe IN THE SAME PICTURE. I was more than devastated, and Russ had to try to explain it to him since they now live with other people. Thankfully, it was beyond his grasp, and he let it go.

So I got to thinking. What is it that made my dad leave 30 years of his life behind for a trucker-whore woman? Could I put myself in his shoes? Was it the sex? Sure. Was it feeling wanted? Ok. But is that worth it? I mean, really worth it? To throw away 30 years of your life for sex and want? I don't know.

I wonder if my dad did ok while we needed him, and then began to flail when we got older. He was the champion bringing home the bacon, supporting t-ball and horseback riding lessons, taking us camping and to other outings. And then suddenly, we were coping out there in the real world, excelling in life, no longer needing parents as young children, but needing them as adults do. Wouldn't most parents bond over this, put their heads together in pride as they look onto the two fully functional, socially responsible and kind-hearted people they had raised and go party... together? Hell, I'd be all teary eyed and proud, and then see if hubby wanted to go to the Bahamas or go to a Cubs game. It didn't work that way for my parents. My dad went out and found a new family, a new "son" who needed him to help him buy a car, a new "woman" who needed him to pay the bills and buy a house. I have a hard time figuring it out. Because when my mom and dad are together, there is still love there. It's blatantly obvious to everyone to the point of confusion if mom and dad's current significant others aren't present. I don't get it.

I keep trying and trying to put myself in his shoes, to forgive and forget, but I cannot seem to do it. I end up at sex and want, and to me, that doesn't seem like enough to throw everything away. When I factor in happiness, it actually makes me sad to think that we couldn't make my dad happy. That my dad may have been miserable for so many years, and stayed.... why? To wait until we didn't need him anymore? We still need him. He crushes my brother again and again and again telling stories of "her" son, when he has shut himself out of my brother's life. He doesn't even realize it most times. Doesn't register the complete heartbreak on my brother's face as he goes on and on and on about his other life, this other boy who he is now a father figure to. I know children have suffered much much worse, and I know that the complaints are petty. I'm just trying so hard to put myself in my dad's shoes so I can forgive him for tearing his family apart, forgive him for not knowing his grandson like he should, forgive him for hurting all of us, but I just find... not enough.

I need to keep working on this. Life is too short, I know. But forgiveness is hard. Understanding may never come, I know this as well, but for Evan's sake, I need to keep working at it. And really, when I put myself in my dad's shoes, I just find an asshole standing there, and I don't want to do that exercise anymore.

A Serious Conversation

Evan and his buddy, also 4 years old, are changing into their swim suits to play in the pool out back.

"Hey! You have a Pee Pee just like mine!"

"Yeah??? Yeah!! We have the SAME Pee Pees!"

"Hey! We can be Pee Pee Brothers!"

"YEAH!!!!"

50,000 Miles And a Visit From Gram

Rolling around the suburbs of Chicago today, I was surprised to look down and see the odometer eeking towards 50,000 miles. I had to count backwards in my head, and then again on my hands, to see how many years we have owned the soccer-mom, kid-toting, dog-hauling mini-van. Not even three years yet.

I look in the reflector mirror to see Evan konked out in his car seat, sleeping comfortably like a sack of potatoes uprooted after a sharp turn, as only as a slouched over toddler can enjoy. Was it really only 50,000 miles ago that Evan went from sweet infant son to glorified dog rescuing assistant? I think back to the hundreds and thousands of jaunts in this car, and think, my God, how much we've both grown as these wheels have turned.

The stained floormats show 50,000 miles worth of dropped bottles, juice from overly grippy hands on a juice box, summer sun melted fruit snacks embedded into carpet fibers (those don't come out no matter how hard you scrub), and the slight tint of green to one cup holder where a crayon from T.G.I. Friday's met its demise one August afternoon in a parked car. The dog hair sticks to all surfaces, so much that no lint roller can de-hair it completely, and I can remember the hundreds of four-legged passengers whose lives have literally been saved by a trip in our mini-van. Evan can name probably a hundred of them, and just today, named the newest saved life that clamored into the front seat and passed out from the sheer exhaustion of being out of the pound environment... finally.

Memories from Evan's first real road trip with all the dogs piled in the back, to being carted back and forth to friends' houses, excursions to new places and old, holidays and family trips, they are all rolled up into those 50,000 miles. I can't believe how quickly the miles add up or how quickly they roll right past. I thought by now there would be two car seats in that minivan, and with life just getting eaten up with each stretch of road, I can feel the pressure of time welling up and around me. Yesterday Evan asked if I was going to have a baby. I said, no, not right now, why- do you want a baby? And he said, quite indignantly, no, babies are stinky. Right. I should remember that.

A couple weeks ago, as Evan spent one of his last days in summer camp, I was driving alone, thinking those deep alone thoughts when life is not completely interrupting your every train of thought, when I simply looked up and said out loud, Gram, we need your help. We need a baby, and God hasn't answered any prayers with a yes thus far, so how about a little help here? Because if anyone is willing to help us, it's you. I knew she heard me, somehow, and went on about the day.

A few days later, Gram visited in a dream for the second time since she died. Now some of you might argue that it was a sub-conscience response to my prayer the other day. I beg to differ. Because for the first time ever, I woke up sobbing. I'll give you the short version of the dream:

Hubby and I are at a party, and I'm feeling inferior to the women at the party. They are young, they are beautiful- they are curvy, fertile beings that I am not. Hubby grabs the hand of a young woman of a goddess-like state, and they disappear into a room. I am not concerned, and feel as if I deserve this. Everyone around me is drunk, so I disappear into a room to soak my worries away in a bubble bath. Hubby appears, and tries to get frisky, until I remember him slipping away into a room with Fertile Myrtle. I shoot him down, dress and go back to the party, where it has now become a family function. Everyone is still drunk. Oddly enough, everyone there is from my dad's family, and I sit between my brother and my cousin, who are talking loudly and obnoxiously as I look on. At a table across the room, my eyes stop and take a second to register that my Gram is sitting at the table, looking pre-stroke disheveled, but still wearing her lipstick, hair brushed upward to defy gravity (with the help of much hairspray) and bright eyed. I jump up and grab her hand, and pull her into my other Grandma's bedroom (oddly enough, the party scene changed to my still-living Grandma's house). I say, What are you doing here!?! And I hug her like an insane person who holds onto the thing they love most in this world before drowning into an abyss. I am sobbing hysterically and loudly, but not so loud that I cannot hear her say, "I can't stay long." My aunt and my cousin come in, and we are all hugging her tightly, and I say incredulously, "You can see her?" and my aunt replies, "of course I can see her!". That's when I look at my Gram from where I am holding onto her, and see that she is now wearing a beautiful white flowing gown, and her hair is long, curly and golden to the point that it has a glow to it. I cling to her tightly with the realization and wake up. Sobbing.

The emotion attached to those words, "I can't stay long" are like some sort of mantra in my head. I can hear her, and the sound of hope and distress at the same time in her voice. I know that her transformation was angel-like, and it makes my heart leap. I know I was sobbing because she came, when I needed her more than ever, when my time on this earth became too burdensome for a moment, she appeared and lifted me up. I don't think she was answering my prayer, just reassuring me that she is here and there and everywhere I need her to be. But it also reminded me of those miles, eating away at the road and leaving so many memories behind.

These days, these are the ones I'm going to want back. The sweet words from Evan, the defiant yelling, the little giggles, the jokes, the back talk. I'm going to want it all back, and it will be tomorrow when I will look up from my death bed and wonder where all the time went. I'll wonder what I did with my time, with all of those days that seemed to stretch in front of us- poof, they'll be gone, just like that. 50,000 miles are already behind us, and I want to rejoice in the ones ahead. Instead, days like today, I'm reminded to just focus on the miles today. Tomorrow's will come no matter what, and I want to be able to remember all of the them- the tedious, the exhausting, the joyful. The road seems long, but it's not. It's far too short.

Thanks, Gram. I needed that.

Why Apple Should Rule The Free World (or maybe the whole thing)

Let me start out by saying that I haven't always loved Apple. I learned how to use a giant dinosaur of a computer in the 5th grade by playing the Oregon Trail in the computer learning center- and each one had a giant rainbow apple with a bite taken out of it on the front. We learned to map out pixels to make a picture and then, because printers were really expensive, had to wait for ONE printer to print out all of our pictures. The machines were huge, and somewhat loud, but boy oh boy, we lived in upper middle class suburbia, so we were the lucky ones. Some kids had not idea what a computer even looked like.

In middle school and high school, computers became more mainstream, but we still typed papers on my electric word processor that was the shit compared to my friends old type-writers that had been handed down by their mothers. I had "rich" friends who had giant computers at home, but they paid a good $6000 for those systems. I was in luck, however, because by my graduation, Intel had become mainstream in computers as well, and my parents felt that me being the first kid to go to college in the family deserved a Personal Computer. So we went to Best Buy and bought an HP package that ran my parents $2700. They couldn't afford that. But they wanted me to be able to work in my room whenever I wanted so that I could get the most out of college- and I did. Emails to my boyfriend on dial-up, music on the cd player, Minesweeper at 2am when that paper was due at 7am. I definitely used it whenever I wanted. I even had an awesome color printer that only took up half the desk! I was in love with my PC. I had forgotten all about my very first Apple experience. Then I decided to major in Advertising...

My second run-in with an Apple computer was in the computer lab my second year of college. I was a year ahead of the game, slated to graduate in 3 years total, so I was working with kids who had already had a year of Mac lab. I didn't quite understand the whole Mac/PC thing quite yet. But in about 5 minutes, I was hooked on Macs. These computers were so... simple! But you could do anything! And they crashed only once in a while, not daily. And things made sense, and you could find programs and extras and... well, you didn't have to be some computer geek to understand how to get around one. I loved the Mac Lab, and began spending more and more time working on the school's computers versus my own. When I graduated from college and moved into the "Real World", I happily handed my computer over to my brother, and bought a used Mac for $300. I loved it.

In the last 10 years since then, I've only had Macs. They are still hand-me-downs, usually bought from my husband's company, which only buys the best of the best Macs on the market every 2-3 years. I can't wait for the day I can buy a brand new Mac. I did get an ibook brand new, and it was beautiful until the motherboard blew out and it was no longer under warranty. Needless to say, it is a beautiful shelf filler in my closet now. But I didn't hold that against Mac. I suspect it had something to do with my husband not zipping up my laptop bag before slinging it over his shoulder and sending my laptop flying onto the granite tile some 10 feet away. Poor little Mac. My business recently had a pc laptop donated to it, on which I write this now. It does the job it needs to do- like run software not sold in Mac format- and that's it. I prefer the Mac over the PC in all fields, except I can't haul the Mac down to the couch to type in comfort.

So, back to why the free world should be ruled by Apple. Ah, yes. I bought an iphone yesterday. My job entails I have access to phone and email pretty much whenever I am awake. So I needed to decide- Blackberry or iphone. Guess who won? My iphone experience was something out of a dream. I walked into the store to research my product. I was treated with respect immediately, handed information immediately, literally got to see the answers to my questions on a Mac screen so I could remember how to do it myself, and was not rushed out of the store when I told them I needed to research the Blackberry, too. Yes, I researched the Blackberry, too, and I got some half-assed answers from some semi-interested kids who sort of knew what they were or were not talking about. Sort of. It was like black and white between the two options, mostly because of the sales end of things. So, back to the Apple Store.

And it was like a dream yet again. A really, really good one. The first time hadn't been some facade to get me to think the Mac people knew what they were doing. I went in, I was served immediately by a very skinny man with moussed hair and tight jeans (why, oh, why are those back in style? Yuck!) who was polite, smiley but not in a fake used car salesman way, answered all my questions, and the kicker- registered me and checked me out exactly in the place where our conversation began- in the middle of the store by the giant table of iphone demos. Everything he did was on a hand-held computer the size of a graphing calculator. I never had to go to a "check out"- the same guy who helped me from the minute I walked in the store also made sure he finished my transaction. I literally bought, registered, transferred my phone number, and set-up my iphone in about 15 mintues flat. Without feeling rushed. Do you remember the last time you went to buy your new cellphone? Well, this is waaaaay different. The efficiency and streamlined process just about blew me away. I kept waiting for the "wait, m'am, now you need to step over into this line of 400 people" or "oops, hold on, let me call customer service." But it never came.

I'm thinking the next President should have Apple come to the Whitehouse to overhaul a few things. I'm not kidding. The experience of buying something so complex was so incredibly streamlined and well-thought out that I think Apple should definitely be the WhiteHouse's new technology go-to company. I mean, if Apple ruled the free world, we might actually get somewhere in an orderly, well-timed fashion. I can already imagine such stupid day to day things like Rush Hour and lines to the women's bathroom and, good god, dealing with the cable company- all beng run like a Mac store. Can you imagine? No more rush hour? Cable fixed in mere minutes by someone who actually knows what they are doing? Ok, you can tell that I am in the euphoric stages of love, but still. I'm so incredibly impressed, it will last forever. I will forever recommend you go to an Apple Store. Truly, it's the way shopping was meant to be.

Apple, I love you.