Back To School

Wheeeeee! It's the most wonderful time of the year. No, not Christmas or the day the new phone books arrive, it's back to school time at last! I have been waiting breathlessly for this day for longer than I care to admit. Okay, I'll admit it, I've been waiting for this day since about two weeks after school let out in June. My children have reached an age that dictates they must bicker, argue, fight and push each other's every button. I have no doubt that, had summer vacation gone on any longer, someone in my house would not have survived. The only real question was whether one of my children would die by the other's hand or if I would simply crack and smother them both as they slept. They're so very very lucky that they're cute when they're asleep. Indeed, it's the only thing that has saved them. My youngest has taken the 'louder is better' track and my eldest has opted for the 'everything annoys me' mode. Currently, my youngest does everything at both top speed and volume and he can't take a breath without his older brother criticizing his method. My oldest is perfect and knows everything, just ask him.

Back to school time is interesting, particularly when you have kids in both elementary and junior high. I love the supply list, it really does make life a whole lot easier to not have to think very much as you wander the school supply aisle. My kids' school doesn't provide a list past the sixth grade and frankly, I wouldn't mind. Last year, my then seventh grader came home from school on the second day with an entire sheet of additional items he would be needing by the following day. Do you suppose it would have killed these teachers to send the damn thingh out a couple of weeks earlier...maybe taking a deep breath and posting the list on the school website? I'm not asking for an engraved invitation, but a bit of notice would have been helpful. I live in a small town, our options for shopping are a little limited, so we tend to plan out "major" shopping trips in advance. When you have to drive 30 miles one way to do a big shopping, return trips are a huge pain in the butt. So, note to the educators: GET YOUR LISTS OUT BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS!

I do enjoy the give and take, the familiarity that comes with being in a small school. The teachers know all the kids even before they have them in class. You get to know the building, administrators and teachers on a more personal level long before you have to deal with them on a professional level. This can be good and bad, sometimes getting to know these people personally can be a bit of a burden, it changes how you deal with them. You worry if you're going to make them mad when you voice a legitimate concern. You worry that you're going to be seen as hovering or interfering when you raise questions or challenge someone on a professional issue. This is the joy of living in a small town, the lines get a bit blurred once in a while. For example, I questioned the value of the school taking away one English class a week for a Spanish class that the kids didn't get graded or credited in any manner. I questioned this because the latest published set of English test scores was alarming, at best. The principal's response was more than a little snippy. In response to my asking the point of this Spanish class, he said "The point is to learn another language, obviously you don't value that." I do, Mr. Principal, I guess I think they should have a good grasp of their MOTHER TONGUE before moving on to another language. Comprende?

Kitty Olympics

I have two cats at this point, I'm not a crazy cat lady yet. I'm simply someone being driven slowly mad by the creatures that inhabit my house. For some reason, my cats have recently decided that nighttime is the right time for making a racket. They used to do a bit of wrestling and get it all out of their tiny little systems by about midnight or so...no more. These days, it's full scale, all out open warfare from roughly 11 pm until the wee hours, the combat usually taking place at the end of my bed. It's such a big sister/little brother dynamic going on right now, you can even run the dialogue in your head. She: "God, you're SUCH a dork! Get out of my room!" He: "Make me, you can't even catch a bug...OWWWwwww!" She: (pitch rising exponentially) "Get out of here now! Mooooooommmmmmmm!" He: "I wasn't doing anything and she jumped on me, moooooooommmmm!" This is only the opening salvo for the evening's entertainment. The activity level usually reaches fever pitch at about 3 am when one or the other of these feline tornadoes decides to raid my eight year old's room for anything from legos, Hot Wheels cars, marbles, or my personal favorite...a golf ball. If you've never personally experienced the sound of a golf ball bouncing down hard wooden stairs at three in the morning, you've really missed out. It begins with an odd sort of rumble as the ball makes its way down the uncarpeted hall, you don't wake up, but it pierces your conciousness in a small way. Your dream of a field of sunflowers suddenly involves monster trucks and earth moving equipment. Once the ball reaches the cliff edge, it stops due to the physics of the staircase...this is not acceptable to the furry hunter. The target must keep moving for this game to be any fun at all. One extra nudge from the kitty idiot and the fun REALLY begins. The golf ball tips over the edge in what I imagine is extreme slow motion and hits the first step with a fairly, but not yet earth-shattering clunk. This will not wake you, but your dream has left the sunflower field entirely and has shifted completely to the monster truck/earth moving equipment rally. Now the ball has picked up speed and the remainder of the stairs are progressively louder, the CLACK/CLUNK at an increasing speed will actually propel you out of your bed to head for the nearest doorway, despite the fact that you do not live in an earthquake-prone area. Once you come to full awareness, you begin to puzzle out what has just happened. A quick look out the window reassures you that no sort of explosive device has detonated in front of your home. A glance around the room confirms that the house is still standing. One look at the wide-eyed creature crouched under the chair and the truth begins to dawn...this is all HIS fault. He sees comprehension spreading over your face, he knows you know and it's time for damage control. At this point, the furry doofus decides this is a good time to do the twining around the ankles while purring loudly trick...he's sure it's going to work as it has saved him so many times in the past. He's never been so wrong in his short (and getting shorter) life. By now, you're wide awake and any hope of simply falling back to sleep is lost, someone is going to pay. The cat realizes this and takes off, following the same path as the offending golf ball. After a fifteen minute search for the evil beast, who by now has forgotten his crime (the benefit of having a brain the size of a walnut), you're completely awake with hours to go before sunrise. The cats are thrilled to have an audience for the remainer of the evening's competition and pull out all the stops. You are then treated to kitty Greco-Roman wrestling, this generally involves a fair amount of growling, rabbit kicks and an alarming amount of hair flying around the living room. The next event is kitty cross country racing, any and all traversable surface is fair ground. The starting point is usually the back of the couch, followed by a leap over (not always successfuly completed by all competitors) the coffee table, a sprint from dining room to kitchen. This is where things get interesting as the terrain change is not always handled well by at least one, if not both racers. Someone enters an out of control skid, not stopping until a spectactular crash into the refrigerator. Recovery is key at this juncture, as the corner by the bathroom must be successfully navigated in order for the contender to have a chance at winning this event. A final sprint through the office, down the uncarpeted hallway for the final corner back into the living room, a leap back onto the back of the couch (again, not always well executed and sometimes culminating in an inglorious crash onto the floor behind the couch) and the winner of the cross country event is crowned. The final competition of the night is mighty hunter games, a very similar event to the one that started the evening's recreation. The twist in our final event is that, instead of inanimate objects as the prey, the cats have decided to stalk and scare the crap out of each other. It begins with the winner of the previous event attempting to lord their win over the other from a perch in the back of the couch. The loser, not being a very good sport at all, has decided that a king of the hill type game will even the playing field. After a far more graceful leap and ensuing tackle, both cats disappear from view behind the couch, you know they've survived the fall from the amount of thuds and yowls being emitted from no man's land. Soon, one emerges and heads of into the darkened kitchen as if their tail was on fire, closely followed by the other. A few more circuts around the downstairs, several more skids across the kitchen floor and a minimum of one more face plant into the appliances and the game is over. I don't even think anyone ever wins that game due to the distinctly disgruntled looks on both their faces.

This is the point that you come to believe you can go back to bed for a few hours, the cats must be exhausted and will need some sleep. You're dreaming, they wait until you are NEARLY, but not quite, asleep and come looking for affection and kudos for a game well played. With my cats, it generally involves loud purring and attempt to take over my pillow...or use me as theirs.

And my friends without cats think I'm mean for waking them if I see them sleeping during daylight hours.

Hold On A Sec

This is a phrase that's slowly making me crazy. I work part time at a fast food restaurant, primarily in the drive through. You'd be amazed at how many times a day I hear that phrase. The scenario goes something like this...Me: "Hi, may I take you order please?" Them: "Hold on a sec." Me: "Okay, let me know as soon as you're ready." They then spend anywhere from the next 30 to 90 seconds yelling at their kids, talking on the phone or having an animated conversation with their imaginary friends in the backseat. No big deal, you might think. Maybe not, but it goes back to the rude, self absorbed behavoir that's taking over the world because 99% of the time, there is at least one other hapless person waiting behind them. These people populate the drive through mostly during the lunchtime rush, when there are actually eight to ten cars stacked up behind them. A few tips: If you're on a terribly important phone call that can't wait, pull completely through and rejoin the end of the damn line! If your kids are being obnoxious, I'm betting they don't really need shakes, cookies or curly fries right now, bring their sugar levels down a bit and try again later! If the voices in your head are being screechy and insistent, TAKE YOUR MEDICATION! Don't make me listen to it, my little headset forces me to listen as it stays activated as long as a car is sitting at the speaker. I hear it all...you are not invisible or inaudible when you're in your car...we CAN see and hear you. In our case, the whole joint can hear you because we have a speaker hanging over the sandwich makers' area...we ALL hear you. Keep that one in mind the next time you're in the drive through.

I think people really do believe they become invisible when they get in the car. How many times have we seen people exhibiting embarassing behavoirs in the car? The nose pickers are my personal favorite. There they are, energetically mining in their nasal cavity, oblivious to the fact that my kids are nearly wetting themselves at the sight. The singers are my next favorite, mainly because I am one of them. There's a certain thrill when you see the person in the car next to you singing the same song at the top of their lungs that you're currently singing. If you notice each other, there you have a shared moment of communion with a complete stranger, one you'll likely never see again...you hope. I have seen some whoppers of obliviousness while driving; the guy who was plucking nose hairs going down the highway, the woman picking her teeth with a matchbook at a stop light, and my all time favorite, the guy at a standstill in heavy traffic that has taken his shoe off and was clipping his toenails. Wow, doesn't anyone have a bathroom? It does seem like more and more of our personal grooming takes place in the car, doesn't it? I will admit to putting lip stuff on at a stop light, but I'm truly not coordinated enough to do much more than that in the car.

My family and I travel down to see the rest of my relatives just about every major holiday and some of the stuff we see on these journeys is truly notable. We once enountered an alarming number of buffalo on a county highway just before an interstate, they had liberated themselves from their pasture and were milling about in a rather advanced state of confusion when we came upon them. Being unable to find a house or barn nearby, we made our way to the next outpost of civilazation...a nearby junkyard. We told the assembled fellows about the gathering herd and the response was both amusing and a bit disconcerting..."Oh, that's Earl's herd, someone better call him." Not a single gasp, exclamation or even a raised eyebrow, no one even made a mad dash for the phone...rather, he ambled. Our civic duty done, we continued on our journey and had a lovely visit with my family. We took the same route home after the holiday and really had little or no surprise when we encountered the same herd of buffalo loose on the same bit of county highway. Somebody better call Earl.

Driving Me Mad

You have got to love the oblivious driver, they make the rest of us feel quite good about ourselves, don't they? I live in the land of the optional turn signal and where the yellow lines are more like suggestions than actual rules. I don't mind it, really, I feel like a NASCAR driver even when I'm just going to the grocery store. Makes things much more exciting and you're never bored as you run the risk of a spectacular crash everytime you leave your garage. I actually saw a woman reading a magazine as she drove past my house the other day, gotta keep up on "Us Weekly" no matter what, right? I mean, really, Britney might have given birth in the bathroom of McDonald's or Lindsey might have become a nun and you wouldn't know about it. I know how important it is so feel free to run over my kid as he crosses the street, I'll make sure he doesn't mess up your paint job or get any blood on your tires, that would just be RUDE, wouldn't it? By all means, check your email while you're at it, saw a guy doing this last week as we were hurtling down the highway at 65 m.p.h....well, I was going 65, he blew past me like I was standing still. Only rarely do you get the glorious satisfaction of seeing the very same speeder that blew your doors off four miles ago pulled over by a cop. It doesn't happen often, but you'll never forget the feeling when you experience it, trust me.

I am currently engaged in guerilla warfare with the people who constantly speed up and down my RESIDENTIAL street. The posted limit is 30 miles per hour, they average about 40. It may not seem like much, but when your kid is attempting to cross the street to play with a friend, it's terrifying to hear a car going much faster than it should closing in on your child. After fruitlessly begging the city fathers to do something, like a well placed stop sign, my neighbor across the street and I have taken matters into our own hands. First we got signs in our yards that simply made the polite request, "We Live Here. Drive 25", short and sweet. The rest of the neighbors loved the signs, even random people at the grocery store who happened to know which house is mine told me how great they thought my little sign was. All was well, I would see drivers looking at my sign and then checking their speedometers. YAY!! At least they're thinking about it, that's what we really wanted to accomplish. After a couple of weeks, we were told to remove our signs as they violated city ordinance...no really, I'm not kidding. Little 24 inch by 24 inch signs, in our yards, were breaking the law. After reading a copy of the ordinance (one of the most mind numbing collections of words I've ever read), I did establish that indeed, my sign did violate the ordinance. But so did every other sign in someone's yard, we're talking "Support Our Troops", "A Gardener Lives Here" or even a "Welcome" sign, they are all in violation. I called our chief of police (who also lives across the alley from me) and asked him if he was prepared to ask everyone in town with a "We Support Our Troops" sign to take in down or face a ticket. Especially considering the fact that our local National Guard unit has been deployed in Baghdad for almost two years. He really didn't have a response to that, but I haven't been asked to take my sign down again...hee hee hee.

Unfortunately, both of our signs have been stolen by persons unknown so we've had to try another tactic with the speeders on our street. My neighbor and I both bought three or four brightly colored playground balls that live in baskets by both our front steps. From time to time a ball somehow manages to leap out of the basket and make its way across the street to visit its bretheren at the other house. Oddly enough, this usually coincides with someone speeding down my street, I can't explain it. And neither can the driver, once he's pried his brake pedal out of the floorboards. Funny how those things just happen, isn't it?

And Now For The Weather

I have come to believe that the weatherman has the best job in the whole wide world. How many other jobs out there can you be so consistently wrong and still keep your job? This is the perfect setup. There's always a reason to explain away their mistakes. Come on, you've heard them, you know them by heart and you accept them EVERY TIME you hear them. Unexpected drop in pressure, the winds shifted, the isobars are closer together. I hear that one frequently, our annoying weather guy LOVES the old isobars. Half the time when I look up into the great blue, I almost expect to see the damn things up there. Giant red flaglike things accompanied by blue half circley (okay, I just made up a word) things, floating serenely past my house. I never see them, but I know they're there.

But back to the job thing, I've been trying really hard to think of another job that rewards inaccuracy so well. Outside of becoming a hastily fired CEO of a Fortune 500 company, I don't see a whole lot of employment opportunities for the chronically mistaken. I read recently about some of the severance packages given to fired execs. One large home improvement store that uses a lot of orange gave the guy they fired nearly 82 million (yes, million) dollars. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE fire me next! Just let me screw up for a couple of months, then you can fire me and I'll never darken any employer's doorway again, I won't need to, of course. Richard Scrushy (don't you love that name? say it out loud a few times) nearly destroyed Healthsouth and was ousted is due somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 million, but Healthsouth is one of the few comapnies to say no. "Sorry guy, our stock was worth nearly $13 a share before you and after, fourteen CENTS...no soup for you!" How does someone even dare to negotiate a contract like that. Can you imagine those conversations?

CEO To Be: "I appreciate the offer and I'll do my best for your company."

Board Member: "Welcome aboard, I think you'll see we have an attractive package prepared for you."

CEO To Be: "Looks great except for that bit there about you guys having the option to fire me if I bankrupt the company or screw the employees out of their retirement funds."

Board: "You don't think we should be allowed to fire you under those circumstances?"

CEO To Be: "I have no problem with being fired, I just want you to pay me enough that none of my progeny will have to work, for generations to come. You'll have to pay me millions to go away, even if I leave the place in shambles."

Board: "That seems reasonable to me, we'll have the papers drawn up."

Check out this article:
http://moneycentral.msn.com/content/P44954.asp
You're gonna LOVE it.

WHY aren't these people hiring ME? I can destroy a company as well as the next person. I can be uncaring and incompetent. I can live extravagantly on someone else's dime. Where are the headhunters and recruiters? I'm waiting!

Excuse Me?

I need to stop leaving the house, all it does these days is annoy me. I must be getting old and grumpy...no, I'm not! I'm not even forty yet, I'm not a curmudgeon already. Went to the mall (my first mistake, I know) with my eight year old the other day and, as usual, was amazed at how far we have fallen, manners-wise. Long ago, I dubbed people's behavoir in these enclosed, eye scorchingly bright, too-loud enclaves of conspicuous consumption as "mall manners". Just check your awareness of anyone but yourself at the door and come on in! Eye contact is not encouraged, moderation of the volume of your conversation is definitely frowned upon, and anyone using the forbidden phrase will be summarily excommunicated from the collective. What, you ask, is the forbidden phrase? Oh, my dears, we dare not speak it. But I must, I cannot let this simple phrase pass into oblivion. Indeed, I consider it my duty to keep it alive. For the greater good, I will pass this knowledge on. These words, when uttered together, are as rare and little seen as the last of the spotted owls. Small words, three syllables in all...Excuse me. There! I've said it, now you, say it aloud and remember how it sounds. Try using it at home, don't go public immediately, not until you're sure how to wield this most potent of weapons. It can be used easily in the home, especially if you live with children (boy children, in my experience), due to their ability to fart or burp on command. As you gain confidence, as the words begin to come naturally, you can carefully use them outside of the safety of your own domain. Tread carefully, there are those who know not this phrase, and may fear it, may fear you. I suggest using it in context to yourself only at first, that way, you cannot be accused of harming others with this most dangerous combination of words. If YOU, not others, burp in public, say it. If YOU bump into someone, say it. Even if you simply pass between someone and the shelf of canned soup they're examining in the grocery store, say it. Trust me, no harm will come to you.

This said, I return to my story of my son and I at the mall. I don't even remember what possessed me to enter this, my most hated of places. The one guaranteed to make me crabby and occasionally, usually around a major holiday, break out in hives. But there we were, on a weekday afternoon, only the most foolhardy amongst us, venture into this realm on the weekend. I thought my plan was solid, what with the weekday attack, there would more likely to be people like me there at that time, right? They looked like me, there was nothing to indicate I had unwittingly brought my son into dangerous territory, I thought for sure we would be safe. At first, I thought we'd be okay, the mall wasn't too crowded, it looked to me like I was about the average for the age group in attendance. Until IT happened. There we were, passing by Bath and Body Works when my son was struck down, blindsided by a bustling, power walking, ninja of the white sale. She didn't look like an assassin, her weapons were cleverly camouflaged to look as harmless as possible. I spotted it for what it was, that wasn't on overlarge purse she was wielding, it was an instrument of death. Maybe I'm overreacting, maybe it was just a purse, we'll never know because she never even broke stride after whacking my kid on the back of the head as she hustled past us, determinedly striding toward Garden Gnomes R Us or Giant Purse Heaven. My son stopped dead in his tracks, however, and with the outrage that only an eight year old can muster, he bellowed the forbidden phrase for all to hear. "EXCUSE ME!" A hush fell over the nearby mall patrons.

Some seemed confused, was the child speaking in tongues? Others seemed amused, he must not know what he's saying, isn't he precious? But a small number, perhaps part of the rebellion like me, seemed to approve. Could it be? Are there more of us out there? Must we live our lives hidden, fearful of being exposed for what we are? We are a dying breed, the manners afflicted. We must fight on! Together we can prevail! If we utter the forbidden phrase often, if we use it wisely and carefully, one day it may be forbidden no more. On that day, we can begin to show others we are not to be feared and hated, that there are even more phrases once used that caused no harm. We can save them! You know the words, I know you do! Dare I use them all at once? If I am taken for doing so, you must continue what has begun here, promise me. I'll do it, for all of us: Please...Thank You...You're Welcome...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause your child brain damage with my abnormally large and heavy purse. Ooops, that one just kind of slipped in there, my bad.

First of All

Okay, I'm finally giving the blogosphere a shot, we'll see what happens. My mother used to tell me that I've never had an unpublished thought, now I can finally tell her she's right about that. I have decided that there is a tragic lack of logic and a startlingly tiny amount of common sense out there. Well, here it is...I think we might have a corner on the market these days. So you're about to step into Libbydom (I'll think of a better name for my world once I'm done creating it). Please check your cell phones at the door and do everything I say and things will make so much more sense. If everyone would just step back and let me run things...

This whole thing is motivated by an experience at the movie theater the other night. My 13 year old son and I went to see the midnight show of "Harry Potter and The Order Of The Phoenix", we've been waiting for AGES! Things started out just swell, good crowd, everyone was in a great mood, the popcorn smelled wonderful and the Milk Duds were nice and fresh, don't you just hate when the Duds are hard and the chocolate flakes off?, but I digress. All seemed nearly perfect as we waited to go into the movie, ran into some friends, chatted with the strangers in line, generally happily passed the time until the big moment arrived. We were among the first people into the theater, a sea of seats stretched out before us, the possibilities were endless, the best seats were ours for the taking! This is a moment to savor, but only for as long as the buffeting crowd around you allows. My son decided that seats up at the top of the theater were the best, for both movie and people watching. His choice sounded great, the back row, nobody behind me kicking my seat, giving comfort to my inherent paranoia about not knowing who or what is sneaking up behind me...we'll save THAT for another day. We settled into our seats and waited for the lights to dim.
The house lights went down, the crowd quieted (mostly), the previews began and yet, something wasn't right. I became aware of strange lights, they came at me from every direction (except behind, of course). These lights not only glowed solidly and brightly in oddly perfect square shapes, but some flashed incessantly and seemed to light the faces of people only an arm's length away. What could be happening? Why was I the only person who noticed? How is it possible? The possibilites raced through my mind, some sort of alien invasion? Could it be previously undiscovered mutant, giant, square, flashing fireflies? Then, with the dawning horror of the cornered teenage babysitter in any given slasher movie, I realized what was happening. I was trapped, surrounded on all sides by the most feared monster in all the land. The manners-impaired, oblivious to anyone but themselves, hopelessly dependent...the cell phone junkies. Nooooooooooooooooooooooo! I frantically, helplessly, looked for someone, anyone to come to my aid...there was no one. I was alone, more alone than I've ever been in my life. Like the last survivor of a zombie plagued world, I began to wonder if it just wouldn't be easier to succomb, simply give myself over to the inevitable and become one of them. From deep inside my soul I drew strength from the primitive genes of our shared past, the survival instinct kicked in. I MUST prevail so that future generations can learn and never ever repeat this dark and frightening time. My thoughts raced madly. What could I do? How can I win against such insurmountable odds? Weaponry? Cunning? Really loud screaming? I began to plan my escape and eventual attack against this most insidious of foes. I went to the theater owner (small town, the guys who owns the place, runs the place) and suggested some kind of full body search before each movie. He seemed a bit taken aback and I believe he thought I was kidding. Did he not see? Did he not understand? Or...the horrific thought came all at once: Was he one of THEM?
I did suggest a slightly less intrusive option, some sort of "phone check" area, just like a coat check, only without the hangers...and coat racks. Oh, you get the idea. He did tell me about a gadget that is used in theaters in a far flung land called "Canada" that jams the signal of these strange technological weapons. You can use your phone in the lobby, but not in the theater itself. "Canada", I whispered. "Tell me more of this wonderous place, this world saving device. Would they be willing to share their magic with us?" "No" he said, sadly shaking his head, "we can't use it here, it's some kind of civil rights thing or something like that."
It's a violation of our civil rights to make people turn off their cell phones during a movie? You're kiddng, right? Right?! RIGHT?!?! Please be kidding. Please? Nope, not kidding. How sad that we have to be forced to do things that should be common courtesy.
I do have to wonder, these people hauled their butts to the theater at midnight on a Tuesday to pay five bucks to see this movie on the first night and they spend half the time texting the guy sitting two seats away? What was the point? Why did they bother? Do you suppose they put their phones down to go to the bathroom? Or while in the shower? Or when they're...doing other intimate things? Let's not go there, just don't. You'll never ever, ever get that picture out of your head. It's there already, sorry about that.
So that's it for now, if you take nothing else from reading my little saga, take this: Don't use your cell phone in the movie theater, I might be sitting next to you.