Over the years, I have learned to adapt in many different ways. I’m not even talking about relationship dynamics here that is a whole other blog series. This all has to do with mechanical operations around the house. You all know that my husband is a very resourceful handy man when it comes to fixing things. If he can’t fix it, he usually knows a guy.
One prime example that I love to give in order to fully understand how my husband operates is when my oldest was six months old (oh the glory days of only having one child). The water softener broke. If you live in a city that has heavy iron in the water, you completely understand my issue. To illustrate, without a water softener all your white clothes develop a nice rusty orange glow (same thing happens to blond hair). On top of this, my oldest was a chronic spit upper after eating (which was hell to get out before the water softener broke). As a wife, I rarely nag my husband, let me repeat “I AM NOT A NAG.” Letting this go on for another nine months, you can see that my previous statement holds true.
In my younger days, I probably would have said something after about three months. I have mellowed out since I have had kids and I have become much more passive aggressive (most likely because I’m a responsible adult now and kids are present and fighting like a bunch of 2 year olds is not a good example for children to watch).
Any way I feel I am not being heard when I have asked a few times is there a way we can fix the water softener over the specified nine month period (I really want my white clothes back). I take it upon myself to call a few companies to come in and give me estimates on fixing it or replacing the system. A guy comes in to take a look, he writes up an estimate to replace the unit. He won’t be able to fix it. I smile, say thank you and say I will give him a call when I discuss this with my husband.
My loving husband comes home from work. I hand him the estimate. He looks at it, crumples it up and heads down stairs mumbling some kind of impolite profanity. He comes back up after about an hour and says that the softener is fixed. I keep my mouth shut, but can’t hide my huge grin. I am adaptable, but there are limits.
I have been operating with a stove that only has two small working burners for the last three years (not the big burners). To turn on the washing machine, I have to use a utensil to turn the dial. The dryer needs to run twice to dry one load of clothes. The main bathroom still doesn’t have a center light installed. Casper the friendly ghost visits once in awhile because the lights tend to flicker occasionally (something to do with the breakers on the panel, oh did I mention my husband is an electrician). There is more, but I think you get the idea.
I’m not writing this because I want to complain about all things that are broken or half working in my house, I’m writing this because I’m frustrated with the way he gets mad at me when I tell him about another issue. Well maybe I am writing this to complain.
What tripped my trigger was our new-used car we bought. Something was wrong with the front end because every time I would go over a bump (Wisconsin winters aren’t friendly to the roads) the car would vibrate. I let him know about the issue, but he gets mad at me because he is sick of fixing cars (considering we just bought this vehicle, I understand how he feels). He left for a trip over the weekend and said he would look at it when he got back. I think great, it will be fixed then. Over the weekend, I was with my brother and sister-in-law and my brother-in-law says your right tire on the passenger side seems to be really low. I ask him if he can fill the tire up for me. Sure. He comes back and says the valve stem on the tire is leaking. After about a minute, he comes back in and says the tire is fixed. Obviously, I thanked him profusely.
Thank God, I have family to help me.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Worst Mom Award Goes to...
It's official I am the worst mom ever. The morning started okay. My routine was good until the mid morning when some unforeseen circumstances came up at work and threw me for a loop. I had dove into the issues at hand and was coming just coming out of them when the phone rang. I work from home on Fridays so it was my home phone that I was checking the caller ID on. It was child number one's school calling. Now at this point I am saying to myself that is weird they are calling me at 4:00 pm she would have already been on the bus. I pick up the phone. It is the secretary at school. She proceeds to inform me that my daughter said she was supposed to be picked up at school, but they had put her on the bus because no one was there to pick her up.
Let me explain that I rely on my sister-in-law for before and after school care. So I drop her off in the morning and she takes the bus with my nephew to and from school everyday. My sister-in-law had informed me earlier in the week and confirmed yesterday that she was taking my nephew to the doctors for a check up after school and wouldn't be home for my daughter. I had agreed to pick her up from school. No problem.
My exact words were "Oh my God! I have to go get her." The secretary proceeds to tell me what bus she is on and I hang up on her. I literally had a heart attack. She was going to freak out if I didn't get there before she got off the bus. I think I might have driven 55 in a 35 mph zone. It is also possible I might have pissed off a few people on the way too and I definitely experienced a little case of road rage that involved a few F-boms as well. I was completely panicking thinking she was going to have to go to therapy for this one. She's a very sensitive kid and little things can effect her dramatically. I wasn't completely sure how this experience would play out. In my head, I was already figuring out where we could fit in a therapy session during the week.
But I got there just in time to pick her up as the bus pulled up to the stop. She was teary eyed, but holding up well. I apologized continually and then we went over a plan just in case I wasn't there in the future to pick her up not that this would ever happen again.
I think she forgave me for now. To be continued...whether that holds true for the future.
Let me explain that I rely on my sister-in-law for before and after school care. So I drop her off in the morning and she takes the bus with my nephew to and from school everyday. My sister-in-law had informed me earlier in the week and confirmed yesterday that she was taking my nephew to the doctors for a check up after school and wouldn't be home for my daughter. I had agreed to pick her up from school. No problem.
My exact words were "Oh my God! I have to go get her." The secretary proceeds to tell me what bus she is on and I hang up on her. I literally had a heart attack. She was going to freak out if I didn't get there before she got off the bus. I think I might have driven 55 in a 35 mph zone. It is also possible I might have pissed off a few people on the way too and I definitely experienced a little case of road rage that involved a few F-boms as well. I was completely panicking thinking she was going to have to go to therapy for this one. She's a very sensitive kid and little things can effect her dramatically. I wasn't completely sure how this experience would play out. In my head, I was already figuring out where we could fit in a therapy session during the week.
But I got there just in time to pick her up as the bus pulled up to the stop. She was teary eyed, but holding up well. I apologized continually and then we went over a plan just in case I wasn't there in the future to pick her up not that this would ever happen again.
I think she forgave me for now. To be continued...whether that holds true for the future.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Still reading too much!
I just read an article that listed the top ten mysterious diseases that doctors have no cure for. The article goes on to give a definition for each disease. To my surprise, Schizophrenia is one of them. If I’m not mistaken, this disease has been around for sometime now. I found this far too fascinating to let this go. I think in a past life I was a psychologist or sociologist since I just love observing and analyzing people’s behaviors. Well, 95% of the analyzing is actually my own behavior, which leads to a tiny bit of obsessive issues. Anyway the article gives this description of Schizophrenia.
Experts consider this the most puzzling of mental disorders, one which robs the sufferer of the ability to logically distinguish between reality and fantasy (I don’t know if I could get through a single day without visiting my fantasy world, especially when I am on my yacht in the Mediterranean). Symptoms range wildly between patients and include delusions (Sometimes when I buy a pair of shoes and read the receipt after the purchase, I swore the sale tag read $30), hallucinations (When I go down the basement stairs, I envision myself falling down the stairs breaking something and wondering how I am going to get back up the upstairs to take care of my kids and get help for myself), disorganized speech (Hell, disorganized is the understatement of the year, my head is so inflated with disorganization there is no room for organization in here. My husband would definitely vouch for this one), and lack of motivation or emotion (Oh my God, every morning I thoroughly lack the motivation to get up. My responsible personality has to yell at my tired personality to get up. Or maybe it is just the sound of my kids fighting over the space in my bed that motivates me to get up everyday.), but the disease has no defining medical tests (so in other words you can diagnosis yourself, lucky me).
If I would have gone to medical school, I would have ended up in a mental institution. I would have diagnosis myself with everything I would have studied or at least I would have related something about myself to every disease, illness and/or sickness out there. Oh, the joys of being me. At least they haven’t taken me away yet.
Experts consider this the most puzzling of mental disorders, one which robs the sufferer of the ability to logically distinguish between reality and fantasy (I don’t know if I could get through a single day without visiting my fantasy world, especially when I am on my yacht in the Mediterranean). Symptoms range wildly between patients and include delusions (Sometimes when I buy a pair of shoes and read the receipt after the purchase, I swore the sale tag read $30), hallucinations (When I go down the basement stairs, I envision myself falling down the stairs breaking something and wondering how I am going to get back up the upstairs to take care of my kids and get help for myself), disorganized speech (Hell, disorganized is the understatement of the year, my head is so inflated with disorganization there is no room for organization in here. My husband would definitely vouch for this one), and lack of motivation or emotion (Oh my God, every morning I thoroughly lack the motivation to get up. My responsible personality has to yell at my tired personality to get up. Or maybe it is just the sound of my kids fighting over the space in my bed that motivates me to get up everyday.), but the disease has no defining medical tests (so in other words you can diagnosis yourself, lucky me).
If I would have gone to medical school, I would have ended up in a mental institution. I would have diagnosis myself with everything I would have studied or at least I would have related something about myself to every disease, illness and/or sickness out there. Oh, the joys of being me. At least they haven’t taken me away yet.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Spring is here!
Yay, Spring is here! The plan for this summer is to start a vegetable garden so the girls can experience the value of taking care of a living being. Baby steps towards getting a dog. Right?
Thus we head out last weekend to Home Depot to purchase seeds, soil and trays to start the growing process inside. The girls get to pick out their choice of vegetables, which they are all excited about. This completely baffles me since they don’t even like eating vegetables. Round one, the girls ended up fighting over which vegetable seed package they were getting. We quickly move on. Daddy grabs some dirt and trays and we head to check out. $50 later, the happy Hansen family is ready to plant some seeds.
When we get home, Daddy takes the initiative and starts filling the trays with potting soil and hands one off to me. It was great we were a family working together. I made little holes in each section and the girls dropped the seeds in and lightly covered them up. I labeled each section. And we handed the trays back to Daddy to put the final touches on, watering the seeds.
At this point you think what a boring little story. This is where the “Awww what a perfect little family” ends. Somehow the seeds have taken life a little too quickly and the soil starts to rise. In a moment of panic, Daddy starts to push the soil back down. Now most people would stop watering. Go ahead shake your head, I did. No not this Daddy, he continues to put water over the soil and the soil continues to expand. He continues to press the soil back down.
Finally, he grabs the packaging the trays were wrapped in. If he would have read the directions before, he would have figured out we didn’t need soil. The pellets that he thought were fertilizer were actually compressed soil that expands with water. Step One: place seeds in each section, Step Two: Add water, Step Three: You’re done. No extra soil was needed. At this point, we have used most of the seeds and starting over would require a trip back to Home Depot. Oh well, the strong will survive.
The next morning, we set the trays outside and then forgot to bring them in at night. Okay now, the strong will only survive. Strike two. Apparently, a green thumb doesn’t run on this side of the family.
How are the girls going to learn the value of taking care of a dog when their parents can’t even teach them how to plant seeds correctly?
Thus we head out last weekend to Home Depot to purchase seeds, soil and trays to start the growing process inside. The girls get to pick out their choice of vegetables, which they are all excited about. This completely baffles me since they don’t even like eating vegetables. Round one, the girls ended up fighting over which vegetable seed package they were getting. We quickly move on. Daddy grabs some dirt and trays and we head to check out. $50 later, the happy Hansen family is ready to plant some seeds.
When we get home, Daddy takes the initiative and starts filling the trays with potting soil and hands one off to me. It was great we were a family working together. I made little holes in each section and the girls dropped the seeds in and lightly covered them up. I labeled each section. And we handed the trays back to Daddy to put the final touches on, watering the seeds.
At this point you think what a boring little story. This is where the “Awww what a perfect little family” ends. Somehow the seeds have taken life a little too quickly and the soil starts to rise. In a moment of panic, Daddy starts to push the soil back down. Now most people would stop watering. Go ahead shake your head, I did. No not this Daddy, he continues to put water over the soil and the soil continues to expand. He continues to press the soil back down.
Finally, he grabs the packaging the trays were wrapped in. If he would have read the directions before, he would have figured out we didn’t need soil. The pellets that he thought were fertilizer were actually compressed soil that expands with water. Step One: place seeds in each section, Step Two: Add water, Step Three: You’re done. No extra soil was needed. At this point, we have used most of the seeds and starting over would require a trip back to Home Depot. Oh well, the strong will survive.
The next morning, we set the trays outside and then forgot to bring them in at night. Okay now, the strong will only survive. Strike two. Apparently, a green thumb doesn’t run on this side of the family.
How are the girls going to learn the value of taking care of a dog when their parents can’t even teach them how to plant seeds correctly?
Friday, March 20, 2009
My family cracks me up.
I always get a kick out of the in-laws especially when they step into the 20th century. I know you thought I made a mistake about the century. Right? It's okay you can admit it. It's not a mistake. If they happen to have gotten cell phones then I would have said the 21st century, but they called me to try out their new cordless phones. They were so surprised how clear they were. Then they go on about how they don't have to hold the phones to talk anymore. I just about died laughing and responded, "that would be called speaker phone." This stuff entertains the hell out of me. A lot of times things are only funny to me, but they were entertained too.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Too many what if's
Wow what a week. We came back from Vegas, I had child number one’s parent teacher conference, bought a new car and James just had an appendectomy. I was never meant to handle this much drama in one week. And to top it all off Friday ends with a 13. I always wonder when its okay to eat cookies in the middle of the night. Would this be an okay time?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Who decided?
It’s been a few days, so my initial emotional rawness has worn off slightly so I am able to write about this. A few days ago I had a parent teacher conference with child number one’s teacher. It doesn’t matter who or what situation you are in when someone says something critical about your child the mama bear defenses come flying out and a wave of emotional blustering is uncontrollable even if you are already aware of the issues at hand. Nothing can bring me to my knees more than my children. To tell you the truth, nothing can bring me to my knees except my children. It can be something as simple as a silly comment about my child or as big as my child physically getting hurt. I have gone through some emotionally challenging times defending my children over the years (this is definitely scary since my oldest is only five). But it has always been an outside source harming my child so I was able to protect my children by putting a stop to the physical harm. This is an entirely different kind of beast that I have to tackle. It doesn’t matter what level your child is at, as a mother, it emotionally breaks your heart knowing your child is struggling.
Basically, child number one is a little behind in the reading comprehension part of Kindergarten, which hinders her writing capabilities (I know who would have thought Kindergartners would be expected to write sentences). The teacher is concerned that if she doesn’t catch on quicker she will fall behind in first grade. I want to make it completely clear that her teacher is the most wonderful, sensitive and understanding teacher I have ever met. I am sooooo glad the principal was able to place my child in the Kindergarten class I chose. (Yes, I am that mom, but there were underlining circumstances for me to request her to be in a certain classroom or at least away from another child that is at her school). It’s not that she’s not getting it, but it’s the rate she is moving along. This is where I’m a little frustrated. I want to scream at all of society “SHE’S ONLY FIVE YEARS OLD! IT’S KINDERGARTEN!” Why do we have to put so much pressure on these poor kids? Yes some kids get it and move along and others move along a little slower. Why can’t we accommodate all learning styles? Why does this have to be a problem?
Now that I am done yelling at society, I will put some of the blame on myself. I have been resisting this higher level of Kindergarten. The level they are teaching Kindergarten at is the same level as second grade was for me. I want my kids to stay kids as long as possible. I want them to be able to play and enjoy being a kid. Allowing them to be kids for a little longer, I have hindered them somehow. Of course, I constantly read to them, talk and listen to them. Apparently, this doesn’t help in the comprehension area. For some kids it might, but mine no such luck. Oh, but she gets an A+ in socializing. So for the next three months, the Hansen household will be living, breathing, eating, sleeping site words and comprehension games. Yay!
Basically, child number one is a little behind in the reading comprehension part of Kindergarten, which hinders her writing capabilities (I know who would have thought Kindergartners would be expected to write sentences). The teacher is concerned that if she doesn’t catch on quicker she will fall behind in first grade. I want to make it completely clear that her teacher is the most wonderful, sensitive and understanding teacher I have ever met. I am sooooo glad the principal was able to place my child in the Kindergarten class I chose. (Yes, I am that mom, but there were underlining circumstances for me to request her to be in a certain classroom or at least away from another child that is at her school). It’s not that she’s not getting it, but it’s the rate she is moving along. This is where I’m a little frustrated. I want to scream at all of society “SHE’S ONLY FIVE YEARS OLD! IT’S KINDERGARTEN!” Why do we have to put so much pressure on these poor kids? Yes some kids get it and move along and others move along a little slower. Why can’t we accommodate all learning styles? Why does this have to be a problem?
Now that I am done yelling at society, I will put some of the blame on myself. I have been resisting this higher level of Kindergarten. The level they are teaching Kindergarten at is the same level as second grade was for me. I want my kids to stay kids as long as possible. I want them to be able to play and enjoy being a kid. Allowing them to be kids for a little longer, I have hindered them somehow. Of course, I constantly read to them, talk and listen to them. Apparently, this doesn’t help in the comprehension area. For some kids it might, but mine no such luck. Oh, but she gets an A+ in socializing. So for the next three months, the Hansen household will be living, breathing, eating, sleeping site words and comprehension games. Yay!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Another thing about Vegas
This city completely exhausts me. The back of my calves feel like a charley horse that has never gone away (too much walking). I think I could sleep for a week. I need a vacation from the vacation.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Vegas
Well, we still have to go to work on Monday. We're not millionaires like we hoped, but we made a lot of new friends. James entertained every table we played at. He's definitely a riot. Imagine the class clown of your high school and times that by five. I laughed so hard at times I was crying. (We're actually sitting in the airport right now while I'm writing this and James is trying to see how many Hot Tamales he can eat at once without crying. If you know James, you know he is making this as funny as possible with his facial experssions.)
We had a great time in Sin City, gambled, ate, drank and gambled some more. I do have one minor gripe, but let me point out that I am the least materialistic person out there or as I see it I am way too cheap to purchase anything that is ridiculously expensive or full price so Target and Kohl's clearance racks are my choice when it comes to wardrobe options. Occasionally, I do buy gap jeans, but this is fully funded through the Discover Card Cashback program. And now I'm going to break the Vegas golden rule, "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." If you're going to put a Coach purse on your shoulder, all I ask is that you leave the mom jeans and your husband's oversized t-shirt in the suitcase. I feel this whole Coach purse business has become extremely cliche-like. Now normally I wouldn't notice these things walking on the sidewalk or in the mall, but riding in an elevator it's hard not to notice when all you get to stare at is the person in front of you. I'm only mentioning this because it wasn't just once I saw this but three times. Patterns tend to stick in my mind. I found this slightly humorous in my own little way because I'm probably the last one to be judging fashion especially since I don't even own a Coach purse.
We had a great time in Sin City, gambled, ate, drank and gambled some more. I do have one minor gripe, but let me point out that I am the least materialistic person out there or as I see it I am way too cheap to purchase anything that is ridiculously expensive or full price so Target and Kohl's clearance racks are my choice when it comes to wardrobe options. Occasionally, I do buy gap jeans, but this is fully funded through the Discover Card Cashback program. And now I'm going to break the Vegas golden rule, "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." If you're going to put a Coach purse on your shoulder, all I ask is that you leave the mom jeans and your husband's oversized t-shirt in the suitcase. I feel this whole Coach purse business has become extremely cliche-like. Now normally I wouldn't notice these things walking on the sidewalk or in the mall, but riding in an elevator it's hard not to notice when all you get to stare at is the person in front of you. I'm only mentioning this because it wasn't just once I saw this but three times. Patterns tend to stick in my mind. I found this slightly humorous in my own little way because I'm probably the last one to be judging fashion especially since I don't even own a Coach purse.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Self absorbed, Pretentious, Busybody
Since my kids go to daycare, I have had experience dealing with other families. Over the years, I have overcome several challenges. However, yesterday was a delightful encounter I wasn't expecting to experience. Child number one had a birthday party to go to. This is a family I have known for several years from the daycare, but the girls go to different schools now so my child didn't know any of the other girls at the party except for the birthday girl. No big deal, she needed a check on her comfort zone anyway. Child #1 had reverted back to her old shyness that I haven't seen in over six months. She wanted me to stay so the mom hosting the party distracted her and I snuck out the door. I had to run a few errands and then I came back about half hour before it was over.
I was catching up with the birthday girl's mom when I was rudely interrupted with a "I don't think I know you," (of course, you don't know me bimbo, we've never met) the mom turns to address the birthday girl's mom, "who is she?" (Where did you learn your socializing skills? From a pig?) After she realized she said this in a snotty-tone, she kind of laughed it off and said, "Which one is your daughter?" (Let me give you a few pointers on socializing with people you don't know, "Hi my name is Bimbo XXX, what is your name? Simple. No?)
Now, I have to explain something about myself (most of you know already), I don't give two shits what people think about me. Further more, I don't care if you are the president of the PTO or the president of the United States. My kids are the most important thing to me not what status you hold in the community. Now I know I'm not perfect and I'm completely aware of my faults, opinionated, loud and obnoxious occasionally, but these almost always take place in appropriate places. What you see is what you get?
Obviously, my first impression wasn't the best of this self absorbed, pretentious, busybody, thinks she knows everyone woman. Granted, I'm not as hot headed as I used to be (maturity must have come and hit me upside the head when I had kids) so I politely continue with the conversation answering her question. I explain who my kid is and before I can complete my sentence she quickly tells me who her kid is and what she is wearing. Since I have a pretty good sense of when people want to know more, I tell her that my daughter and the birthday girl went to daycare together. The birthday girl's mom jumps in to add, "They have been buddies for awhile," (Give five points to the birthday girl's mom). The Bimbo quickly asks, "What school does your daughter go to?" At this point, she is trying to gauge if I am worthy to socialize with or not. I answer her civilly. The only benefit of doubt I can give this woman is maybe the way I'm dressed (not that this is any kind of excuse but we have all been guilty of it one time or another). My weekend outfit consists of jeans, t-shirt, zip-down hoodie and no make-up with my hair in a messy bun (or what Child #1 calls a puffy-tail). I've always looked young for my age, which is something not to complain about except when you are twenty-one and you look sixteen. According to my loving husband, I've graduated to looking nineteen when I'm in my weekend gear (Oh, goody!).
Popularity has never been a priority to me, I like to hang out with people who are real, have similar interests and love to have fun. This whole conversation was quite entertaining for me and gave my husband and I a good laugh. I am always fascinated with people's behavior and what drive's them.
I was catching up with the birthday girl's mom when I was rudely interrupted with a "I don't think I know you," (of course, you don't know me bimbo, we've never met) the mom turns to address the birthday girl's mom, "who is she?" (Where did you learn your socializing skills? From a pig?) After she realized she said this in a snotty-tone, she kind of laughed it off and said, "Which one is your daughter?" (Let me give you a few pointers on socializing with people you don't know, "Hi my name is Bimbo XXX, what is your name? Simple. No?)
Now, I have to explain something about myself (most of you know already), I don't give two shits what people think about me. Further more, I don't care if you are the president of the PTO or the president of the United States. My kids are the most important thing to me not what status you hold in the community. Now I know I'm not perfect and I'm completely aware of my faults, opinionated, loud and obnoxious occasionally, but these almost always take place in appropriate places. What you see is what you get?
Obviously, my first impression wasn't the best of this self absorbed, pretentious, busybody, thinks she knows everyone woman. Granted, I'm not as hot headed as I used to be (maturity must have come and hit me upside the head when I had kids) so I politely continue with the conversation answering her question. I explain who my kid is and before I can complete my sentence she quickly tells me who her kid is and what she is wearing. Since I have a pretty good sense of when people want to know more, I tell her that my daughter and the birthday girl went to daycare together. The birthday girl's mom jumps in to add, "They have been buddies for awhile," (Give five points to the birthday girl's mom). The Bimbo quickly asks, "What school does your daughter go to?" At this point, she is trying to gauge if I am worthy to socialize with or not. I answer her civilly. The only benefit of doubt I can give this woman is maybe the way I'm dressed (not that this is any kind of excuse but we have all been guilty of it one time or another). My weekend outfit consists of jeans, t-shirt, zip-down hoodie and no make-up with my hair in a messy bun (or what Child #1 calls a puffy-tail). I've always looked young for my age, which is something not to complain about except when you are twenty-one and you look sixteen. According to my loving husband, I've graduated to looking nineteen when I'm in my weekend gear (Oh, goody!).
Popularity has never been a priority to me, I like to hang out with people who are real, have similar interests and love to have fun. This whole conversation was quite entertaining for me and gave my husband and I a good laugh. I am always fascinated with people's behavior and what drive's them.
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