Protected: Update on Social Services

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Idiot Alert

IDIOT ALERT:

I had to have the garage door repaired. The repairman told us that one of our problems was that we did not have a “large” enough motor on the opener. I thought for a minute, and said that we had the largest one made at that time–a 1/2 horsepower. He shook his head and said, “Lady, you need a 1/4 horsepower.” I responded that 1/2 was larger than 1/4. He said, “NO, it’s not. Four is larger than two.” We haven’t used that repair service since.

IDIOT ALERT:

I live in a semi rural area. We recently had a new neighbor call the local township administrative office to request the removal of the deer crossing sign on our road. The reason: “Too many deer are being hit by cars out here! I don’t think this is a good place for them to be crossing anymore.”

IDIOT ALERT:

My daughter went to a local Taco Bell and ordered a taco. She asked the person behind the counter for “minimal lettuce.” He said he was sorry, but they only had iceberg. He was a Chef? Yep.

IDIOT ALERT:

I was at the airport, checking in at the gate when an airport employee asked, “Has anyone put anything in your baggage without your knowledge.” To which I replied, “If it was without my knowledge, how would I know?” He smiled knowingly and nodded, “That’s why we ask.”

IDIOT ALERT:

The stoplight on the corner buzzes when it’s safe to cross the street. I was crossing with an intellectually challenged coworker of mine. She asked if I knew what the buzzer was for. I explained that it signals blind people when the light is red. Appalled, she responded, “What on earth are blind people doing driving?!”

IDIOT ALERT:

At a good-bye luncheon for an old and dear co-worker. She was leaving the company due to “downsizing.” Our manager commented cheerfully, “This is fun, we should do this more often.” Not another word was spoken. We all just looked at each other with that deer-in-the-headlights stare.

IDIOT ALERT:

I work with an individual who plugged her power strip back into itself and for the sake of her own life, couldn’t understand why her system would not turn on.

IDIOT ALERT:

When my husband and I arrived at an automobile dealership to pick up our car, we were told the keys had been locked in it. We went to the service department and found a mechanic working feverishly to unlock the drivers side door. As I watched from the passenger side, I instinctively tried the door handle and discovered that it was unlocked. “Hey,” I announced to the technician, “its open!”  His reply, “I know – I already got that side.”

Editor’s Note:  I’m pretty sure these folks have all been fired from their above-listed jobs and now work for Social Services or Family Court…

Protected: Animal Feces – Part 2

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Protected: It’s just animal feces–What’s the big deal?

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My Top Chef

Last night after we arrived home, my son (the 8-year old) announces to me that he needs some ham… and cheese. He has decided at some point during this day that he wants to make dinner for us and these are the items he needs to purchase. I ask him if he needs shredded or block cheese… What kind… Did he want to run up to the store right now?

Oh, yes. He absolutely wants to go… right now! I suggest that he take the keys and go ahead. He gives me the head-tilted-to-the-side, silly grin, “M-o-o-o-m-m-m-m-m-m-m….” in response. I snatch the keys off of the counter and we set out. At the store, he checks the rows and rows of cheese. We discuss the flavors of the different varieties and he settles on Mild Cheddar. I suggest that he get the shredded kind–because it’s so much easier than shredding it yourself.

“No, no,” he says, “I want to actually do it myself. You know? I want to MAKE it myself.”

Alrighty then. Into the cart goes the block of cheddar and we move on down the aisle to the lunchmeat section.

If you’ve looked for ham recently, you know there are at least 700 different choices–chopped, diced, cubed, sliced, thin sliced, honey, honey-smoked… the possibilities are endless. His eyes grow wide as he looks at his options. Then, he sighs, throws up his hands and says, “Doesn’t anyone just sell HAM anymore? Just plain, old HAM?” I resist the urge to smile and pick up a package of sliced ham… just HAM.

“How about this?”

“No, I don’t want the ROUND kind, Mom. Just HAM. Just plain, old HAM.”

“Well,” I respond, “This is just plain, old HAM. It’s not a block, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s sliced.”

He takes the package from my hands and examines the ham closely, checking for evidence that it is, indeed, sliced. Apparently he is convinced because the round, sliced package of ham goes right over the edge of the cart and takes its rightful place next to the Mild Cheddar. We head for the checkout. I hate to stand in line and we only have a couple of items, so Self-Checkout it is. He unloads the ham and the cheese onto the counter next to our little Self-Checkout stand.

“Can I do it this time, Mom? Please?”

“Sure, why not,” I say. I scan my card and he goes to town. He is very careful to check that the appropriate number of items show on the screen and verify that the price for each is what he expected. I swipe my debit card and we head for the car, me rummaging in my purse for my wallet so that I can put away the debit card and him, little legs high-stepping, plastic grocery bag swinging from his arm, whistling a happy tune.

When we get home, he sets up shop in the kitchen. He opens the block of Mild Cheddar and digs under the counter until he finds the cheese grater and a bowl, cuts himself off a good-sized chunk and begins to grate. He digs out a skillet and grabs the eggs from the refrigerator. I hear him rustling around for utensils, then I hear the click of the knob on the stove. I’m in the living room trying to stay out of it. He’s made some overtures in the cooking world already, but this is a big deal. Cooking dinner all by himself!

I wait a few minutes and decide to go for a glass of water. As I round the corner, I see that he has spilled some of his grated cheese on the floor. There he is, hunched over, broom and dustpan in hand, sweeping it up. I smile, grab my glass of water, and retreat to the living room again, thinking to myself that he’s one heck of a great kid.

Five more minutes go by and the smell wafting from the kitchen is heavenly. I surmise that his eggs, ham and cheese is probably done and decide to go help with dishing it up. No sooner have I dug three forks out of the drawer, than he orders me, in his best 8-year-old firm-and-stern voice, to return to the living room.

“Go sit down, Mom! I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”

“Did you want me to set the table?” I offer.

“NO. JUST GO SIT DOWN. I’ll bring it!”

I obey. Shortly he appears in the living room, plate in hand, piled high with eggs, ham and cheese. I wait for him to serve hubby’s, then for him to get his own.

As he’s serving our dinner, I get a little twinge. I remember not so long ago when he was just a little, bald guy that loved Sweet Potatoes in a jar. I remember getting him out of the bathtub and breathing in the scent of Baby Magic. I remember him taking his first little toddling steps. I remember the first day of Kindergarten. I remember lots of skinned knees and tears. I remember the sound of his gleeful laughter as a little one. I remember the soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing while I rocked him to sleep. I remember looking into his eyes for the first time and wondering what he would be like.

Now here he is–the big 8–and I’m so impressed with him already. He’s a thoughtful, kind, respectful, smart, full of life, full of laughter, mischievous kid with an amazing sense of humor. I feel so blessed to know him, to have him in my life. And he’s evidently going to be quite a chef, to boot!

As I take a bite of some of the best eggs I’ve had in a long time, I think to myself, “I’m the luckiest Mommy alive!”

School Supplies – It’s a sickness

It’s that time, again. The time when all of the stores stock up on all of the supplies our kiddos need to go back to school. With the thermometer hovering around 100 degrees, it’s hard to imagine that the dog days of summer–the days of the perpetual sprinkler, bathing suits, coconut-smelling suntan lotion, backyard BBQs, popsicles and ice-cold lemonade–will soon be replaced with getting up early, homework routines, earlier bedtime, and Back to School Night. But it’s coming.

I actually love this time of year. I don’t love the heat. In fact, I yearn for the crisp mornings of fall–the reds, deep oranges and golds of the leaves, the quiet hum of the ceiling fan that I can hear once the Air Conditioner isn’t running full time, the thought of cinnamon and gingerbread, Halloween costumes, and holiday time. Maybe it’s the thought that those things are coming that make this time of year so great. Maybe it’s just the overwhelming number of school supplies out there.

I’m not much of a shopper, really. I’m a “get in, get it, get out” kind of gal. But I must admit that school supplies are my downfall. I could spend hours in the aisles lined with endless stacks of three-hole punched, pristine, wide-ruled notebook paper. I love to look at the packages of never-opened, never-used pink erasers, pencil toppers, and pencil grips. I love to run my fingers over the smooth covers of the rows and rows of spiral notebooks, glossy folders, three-ring binders, and Composition pads. I get positively giddy over the packages of Number 2 pencils, 10, 24, or 36, sharpened or not.

I love to fill the cart with all of the things the young ones will need, checking each item off of the list I carry in my purse. I love the fact that glue sticks are $0.25 for a 2-pack. I love that the 36-pack of pencils are just $0.99. Rulers are $0.50. School supply boxes–in red, green, purple, or blue–are $0.50, too. But my favorite–the best part–is the brand new boxes of crayons, the tips still sharpened, the smell of wax so fresh, for just $0.20 a box.

I load up on crayons, folders, notebooks, protractors, rulers, notebook paper, sticky notes, and hand sanitizer. I carefully place washable markers, dry erase markers, pencils, supply boxes and Kleenex by the 10-pack into the cart. I shiver with delight at the bargains there are to be had at this time of year.

The kids aren’t even with me. In fact, I don’t think they care so much about this shopping experience. The last few years they’ve been bored about 10 minutes into it. I never have. I remember school shopping as a kid and I feel the same about it now as I did then. Even though none of these supplies are for me, there’s just something about getting all of these new things that is exciting. There’s something about the fact that no one has written on anything, lost the cap to the marker, left the lid off of the gluestick, or bent the folders that makes this purchase almost as exciting as it was when I was 10. I’m sure it had much more to do with the excitement of getting back to the routine, seeing friends I had missed over the summer, making new friends, and learning that I associated with school supply purchase back then, but I truly am excited about it now.

This year, I’m on my own and I’m loving the leisurely pace through the aisles. It’s early enough that the aisles aren’t packed with parents and kids following this same ritual. I shudder as I recall last year’s debacle, four kids surrounding the cart, each of them grabbing for what they need, in the midst of a sea of others doing the same. It reminded me a little of the Cabbage Patch Kid craze in the mid-80’s and I was ready for a Valium by the time we left.

Not so, this time. I finish up with this trip and take my bags of loot to the car. I will go home and divide these many school supplies into separate bags, one for each kiddo. I will label everything and have it ready when mid-August rolls around. The kids will be ready to go and I even have some extras for home. I breathe in the scent of paper, wax, hand sanitizer, and strawberry-scented erasers (no, not on the list, but I had to get them anyway) and shut the trunk.

It will be another year before it’s school supply time again, but I feel satisfied that this trip has gone well. Every item on the list has been checked off and we only need new backpacks. I won’t have to brave Wal-Mart or Target with the packed aisles of screaming children and frazzled parents. It’s all done! And I’m early… I have a momentary twinge of disappointment, thinking that it will be months before I’ll smell that new-crayon smell again–before everything is new once again. I dash back into the store and reach for another box of crayons…

I’ll keep that one for myself… until next year.

Protected: Medical Neglect – The Beginning

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