Today my home page had an article about "the worst mom in America."
Since up to know, I thought that was me, I had to check it out.
Seems that I am not alone in my feelings on "common sense parenting."
Author Lenore Skenazy shares her views on raising "free range kids" in both her blog,
http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/ and new book "Free-Range Kids: Giving Our Children the Freedom We Had Without Going Nuts with Worry.”
For quite some time now, I've felt like American's are becoming more and more "disabled," thanks in part to "helicopter parenting," coupled with the desire to "succeed via lawsuit" rather than working toward excellence.
Guess what folks…Real Life is NOT “Upward.”
Even if you can't see a scoreboard, someone somewhere is keeping score.
How do you teach someone to deal with life’s disappointments, if you don’t have any teachable moments?!
We as parents must equip our children for life as adults! That means learning to do things for themselves, make decisions by themselves, earn some money for the things they want by themselves, not make the squad because they aren’t skilled enough, then do the work to try out again, and Heaven forbid, lose a football/basketball/soccer game every now and then.
Now I admit that I've done my share of "helicopter parenting" (also known as hovering). As a parent, it's natural for one to want to protect their little one from any harm. But short of adding bubble wrap to diapers, that is just not healthy parenting. Our kids must eventually learn that life has bumps, scrapes and hard knocks along the way, and there is a proper way to deal with them without resorting to a lawsuit or running off to hide under Mommy's apron.
How do you teach a child to be trustworthy, without giving them an opportunity to be trusted?
I am doing my children an injustice if I make all their decisions, pay for everything they want, whenever they want something, and stand over them every minute of their day.
I expect my children to have good self confidence and high self esteem. But I don't want them to think they are better than anyone nor I'm not going to expect them to win every battle. The key to being a true winner, is learning to deal with the disappointment of losing every once in a while. Yeah, it sucks, but you learn from your mistakes and move on. And you learn some humility. Once my son made a snearing comment to an opposing team player in line at the concession stand after a victory in park league ball. I will never forget how embarassed that made me, because it showed such a lack of class. I embraced that teachable moment and I quickly reminded him that only 2 weeks before, his team had lost, and regardless of the outcome, you should always be humble. Nothing is gained by being arrogant and rude.
Whatever happened to working harder at something you want to achieve? How much do you really appreciate the things constantly handed to you, versus the things that you've earned?
What ever happened to rewarding excellence?
I will never forget the local lawsuit back in the late 80's brought by the parents of a high school cheerleader hopeful. When the girl did not perform as well as others (despite being a cheerleader the prior year), and did not make the squad, her parents sued the school in an effort to put her on the squad. Rather than encouraging her to work harder to make the squad next year, they expected the school to just give her a spot.
I also don't believe in "paying" for good grades. Good grades should be expected and students should strive to acheive them without having to be bribed. We don't need more school days Mr. Obama. We need more SCHOOLING in school. The school my children are attending care more about what they are wearing than what they are learning.
And how are we to expect our children to behave in public when they are on their own, if we don't teach them how to behave in public when they are with us? I've seen parent trying to reason/bargain/bribe their kids into behaving. What does that teach the child...if I pitch a big enough tantrum, I will be rewarded! Personally, I remember getting my rear-end torn up when I misbehaved in public. I'm a different person because of that...I learned how not to misbehave in public! Nowadays, someone would probably report my mother and she would be arrested for abuse & neglect. But the children that are truly being abused are the ones who's parents are neglecting to properly prepare them for adulthood. I am not condoning all out physical abuse, but a swat on the hand or behind does get the point across quickly.
As I write this, I see a friend has posted on Facebook about being the only parent in the play area of a fast food restaurant. I'm certain her concern stems from being there with a small child. However, if the parents were doing their job, teaching their children how to behave in public, she need not worry.
Okay, I'll crawl down off of my soap box here.
But I leave you with this...
www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AlrFOBmdVI
Bucky Covington's "A Different World"
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
How I survived my trip to Myrtle Beach
Well I survived my third trip to the Beauties of America Pageant in Myrtle Beach SC the weekend of August 14th relatively unscathed. This year I was lucky enough to be accompanied by my mother. Julz was to attend as well, but a last minute event for work changed her plans. I was feeling really confident and surprisingly relaxed, determined to put forth my best. I had felt better this year about my prepartation than in previous years, and planned to rock my sassy, new haircut.
Despite the threat of rain the entire weekend, Myrtle Beach was beautiful. My mother and I drove up Wednesday, in varying degrees of rain (and narrowly missed the tornado in Conway, SC) and made it around 6:30pm local. During the drive, we shared great conversation, as we chatted about a variety of subjects. We got checked into our room and immediately headed out in search of the closest Mystik tan booth.
Now I have to say something here about Mystik tanning. Alabama may be behind in a lot of things, but Mystik tanning technology is NOT one of them. The salon I "tan" at has a very nice Mystik tanner. There are numbers on the floor that show you where to place your feet, progressing a quarter turn for each of 4 head-to-toe sprays, and the whole process is narrarated (for lack of a better term) by a sultry, female voice. I learned that I, like all other redheads, should use "clear" rather than "bronze" for a subtle, streakfree tan. It was a very pleasant experience.The nearest Mystik tanning booth in Myrtle Beach, however, was quite a different story.
The young lady working the counter was quick to inform us that she was "not from this end of the strand," (whatever that was supposed to mean) and wanted my driver's license and thumb-print (4 images of it to be exact) for me to obtain a one-time spray tan. Okay...
When I told her that I needed the clear, she looked at me like I had two heads. "What do you mean by 'clear' ?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. I explained to her, as it was explained to me, that the "clear" formula was best for those with fair complexions. "Well I don't know what that is, we have Levels 1-3. I think you'd be fine with a Level 2." She seemed annoyed with me and though no one else was currently in the shop, impatient with me. " My mother cautioned me against using something I wasn't familiar with. "What if it turns out bad?" Though I'm not really a risk taker, I had to get this tan in so it could mellow before competition began, so I decided to go for it.
When we reached the spray tan booth, I realized that despite the slick, modern appearance of this "ultra" tanning salon, the Mystik tan booth was rather outdated. Instead of the smooth, four point spray sequence, this machine hap-hazardly sprayed up and down from 4 poorly positioned spouts. The enclosed booth filled with a fog of solution, most of which seemed to collect on the palms of my hands. There was a brief pause in which to change positions and the assault continued. When I emerged, I resembled a newborn zebra, as bronzing solution ran, zig-zagging down my legs.
We moved on to the recommended local sea food restaurant, and after circling the block several times to find the entrance to the adjacent parking lot, we settled in for our 45 minute wait. The service was excellent, as was the food, and despite the need to keep it light, I cleared my plate.
The next morning, we ventured out again and returned to the same sea food restaurant, as it's breakfast buffet was highly recommended as well. This would be the last meal my mother and would be able to share until after the pageant. After a satisfying breakfast, we struck out in search of a Sally's Beauty Supply to obtain a tube of Tanwise Exfoilating Self Tan Remover, and to fulfill my daily Wal-mart visit. I pride myself in knowing the location of a Wal-mart in every city I visit. This knowlege has proven quite valuable over the years, as I have survived many an emergency because of it.
I knew exactly where Wal-mart was and we completed the visit without a hitch. Sally's, however was another matter. We were told that it was in a Wal-mart complex, but not the one from which we had started. Despite obtaining several versions of directions and two telephone calls to the shop, we could not locate the store. We were about to give up hope, when we spotted the oft-mentioned Wal-Mart shopping complex.
With 2 hours to go before orientation, we rushed back to the hotel where I began trying to remove the tanner from my palms. I only succeeded in removing the solution on the back of my hands, up to my wrists. Lovely.
Orientation was great as I became aquainted with many wonderful ladies and was able to finally meet some ladies whom, up until then, I'd only met online. Next we prepared for dinner. Friday nights we are encouraged to "dress like a rock star" for our dinner in the private dining room at the Hard Rock cafe. I always struggle with that instruction as the rock stars I followed either wore spandex or their underwear as outerwear. I settled on a black, zera print dress, and cage shoes with 3 inch stiletto heels. After posing for photos in the lobby, the delegates piled into the Hummer limo and we were off. I enjoyed an excellent veggie burger and the good conversation with new friends. Then we returned to the hotel for a question and answer session with the out-going queens.
I fell into bed, exhausted.
Friday morning I glammed up (because at a pageant, one is NEVER observed outside of their room any less than red-carpet ready) and dashed downstairs for some breakfast. Unfortunately, by the time I reached our breakfast, all that remained was a piece of banana nut bread and coffee. It was gloomy and raining and I was glad that everything was in the same hotel. I couldn't imagine trying to stay clean in my white suit, if traveling while raining. Because I couldn't face interviews without a little protien, I ordered room service and was greeted by the largest omelet I think I've ever had. I painted my nails with 90 second nail polish while my mother ironed the pants of my white Calvin Klein nterview suit. I put the finishing touches on my make up and prepared to get dressed. I am not certain at what point I cut my knuckle open, but I discovered it was bleeding, profusely, as I fastened the waistband of my white pants. Luckily, only 1 drop of blood made it's way onto my pants and it was easily covered by my purple blouse. I donned my purple heels and headed for interview.
After nearly hyperventilating in last years interview, I was relieved to hear peals of laughter as I approaced the interview area. Paula snapped a few quick pics and in no time, it was my turn. It's funny how long five minutes is when you are in the interview chair. My first question began with the statement, "I see you are a baton twirler" and was followed by if I had seen "Miss Congeniality" and if so, what did I consider my favorite scene. I have to admit, the double fire-baton routine IS a favorite, though Sandra Bullock strutting to "Mustang Sally," only to trip over her feet runs a close secong. The next question involved my desire to meet the Duggars, and the answer came easy. My grandmother was one of sixteen children, and the opportunity to see what that might have been like has always intrigued me. The question about how I came to be featured in a nationally published women's magazine caught me off guard, because for a split second, I didn't know what she was talking about, but then I realized that is was my recipe in First ( http://justjoyamoodymom.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-here-its-here.html ). I'm certain the look on my face gave me away, and subsequently cost me points. I was asked what I felt were good characteristics for a good customer service rep, to which I answered "patience and empathy." I don't recall how I came to explain how the process worked, but my apology for the hotel NOT being a client brought the desired chuckle from the judges panel. In fact, the panel laughed easily and often and I exited feeling better about interview then I ever had.
Later, I was told the panel laughed more in my interview, than any other.
Lunch was a yummy box number containing a turkey sandwich, pasta salad, pickle, and cookie.
After a few hours of learning and rehearsing the opening number and stage layout, it was time to head for dinner at Planet Hollywood. The housekeeper had not been around yet, and my tray from breakfast was still on the desk. My mother picked it up and went to deposit it in the hall as instructed. In my purple ombre Ann Taylor Loft dress and bare feet, I leaned out the door to ask a question, only to misjudge where my foot was and the door to slam shut behind me. Stranded in the hall with no key, i.d. or cell phone, we began knocking on doors to call the lobby. It seemed like an eternity before another contestant returned to her room so that we could call the lobby, who seemed disinterested in our plight, and half-heartedly agreed to send Security. Luckily, soon Security came to answer a complaint from another guest (not about us) and after some convincing and cajoling, reluctantly let us into our room, where we had to immediatly produce our i.d's and keys. I only had a few minutes to grab my bag and shoes and dash downstairs.
The sun was finally out, in blazing glory, as we reached Planet Hollywood and the earlier rains made it muggy and unbearable. Being in the first limo-load meant waiting for the remainder of the ladies and then taking a group photo in front of the restaurant. With no shade and no breeze, I was melting by the minute and by the time we were arranged for the group photo, I could tell I was developing a sunburn. Dinner was great, as was the conversaton with my dinner mates. So many interesting and accomplished women!
After dinner, we enjoyed a little down time and I gave a guided tour of the local Wal-mart to a few of my new friends. My mother was still awake when I got back, so I sought her advise on what accessories to wear with my on-stage competition wear. It was then that I discovered that my new navy gown, that had been altered to fit me perfectly would not fit. The zipper lacked an agonizing 5 inches from closing! The wave of panic that swept over me was indescribable.
I quickly set out to seek advice from others in our group. Several ladies offered to loan me their back up gown, including an amazing hot pink goddess gown, but a roll of Saran wrap turned out to be my ultimate life saver. Coupled with a "nervous tummy," by breakfast (which for me was just coffee), I was able to zip my gown.
Saturday was the group rehearsal with the addition of two, slick, ramps from the upper stage to the main stage. My biggest fear was realized as me and many other ladies slipped and fell while rehearsing. Lunch was torture, as I watched those around me enjoy chicken and steak fajitas, a favorite dish. I nibbled on almonds and washed them down with water. I completed my interview for Pageantcast, posed for pictures, then went to prepare for the evening.
The pageant went well and I felt confident and beautiful. My mother enjoyed the show and was impressed with the quality of the production. I fell into bed and slept soundly.
Breakfast and final farewells and we headed for Alabama under a lovely sunny sky.
Despite the threat of rain the entire weekend, Myrtle Beach was beautiful. My mother and I drove up Wednesday, in varying degrees of rain (and narrowly missed the tornado in Conway, SC) and made it around 6:30pm local. During the drive, we shared great conversation, as we chatted about a variety of subjects. We got checked into our room and immediately headed out in search of the closest Mystik tan booth.
Now I have to say something here about Mystik tanning. Alabama may be behind in a lot of things, but Mystik tanning technology is NOT one of them. The salon I "tan" at has a very nice Mystik tanner. There are numbers on the floor that show you where to place your feet, progressing a quarter turn for each of 4 head-to-toe sprays, and the whole process is narrarated (for lack of a better term) by a sultry, female voice. I learned that I, like all other redheads, should use "clear" rather than "bronze" for a subtle, streakfree tan. It was a very pleasant experience.The nearest Mystik tanning booth in Myrtle Beach, however, was quite a different story.
The young lady working the counter was quick to inform us that she was "not from this end of the strand," (whatever that was supposed to mean) and wanted my driver's license and thumb-print (4 images of it to be exact) for me to obtain a one-time spray tan. Okay...
When I told her that I needed the clear, she looked at me like I had two heads. "What do you mean by 'clear' ?" she asked, cocking her head to one side. I explained to her, as it was explained to me, that the "clear" formula was best for those with fair complexions. "Well I don't know what that is, we have Levels 1-3. I think you'd be fine with a Level 2." She seemed annoyed with me and though no one else was currently in the shop, impatient with me. " My mother cautioned me against using something I wasn't familiar with. "What if it turns out bad?" Though I'm not really a risk taker, I had to get this tan in so it could mellow before competition began, so I decided to go for it.
When we reached the spray tan booth, I realized that despite the slick, modern appearance of this "ultra" tanning salon, the Mystik tan booth was rather outdated. Instead of the smooth, four point spray sequence, this machine hap-hazardly sprayed up and down from 4 poorly positioned spouts. The enclosed booth filled with a fog of solution, most of which seemed to collect on the palms of my hands. There was a brief pause in which to change positions and the assault continued. When I emerged, I resembled a newborn zebra, as bronzing solution ran, zig-zagging down my legs.
We moved on to the recommended local sea food restaurant, and after circling the block several times to find the entrance to the adjacent parking lot, we settled in for our 45 minute wait. The service was excellent, as was the food, and despite the need to keep it light, I cleared my plate.
The next morning, we ventured out again and returned to the same sea food restaurant, as it's breakfast buffet was highly recommended as well. This would be the last meal my mother and would be able to share until after the pageant. After a satisfying breakfast, we struck out in search of a Sally's Beauty Supply to obtain a tube of Tanwise Exfoilating Self Tan Remover, and to fulfill my daily Wal-mart visit. I pride myself in knowing the location of a Wal-mart in every city I visit. This knowlege has proven quite valuable over the years, as I have survived many an emergency because of it.
I knew exactly where Wal-mart was and we completed the visit without a hitch. Sally's, however was another matter. We were told that it was in a Wal-mart complex, but not the one from which we had started. Despite obtaining several versions of directions and two telephone calls to the shop, we could not locate the store. We were about to give up hope, when we spotted the oft-mentioned Wal-Mart shopping complex.
With 2 hours to go before orientation, we rushed back to the hotel where I began trying to remove the tanner from my palms. I only succeeded in removing the solution on the back of my hands, up to my wrists. Lovely.
Orientation was great as I became aquainted with many wonderful ladies and was able to finally meet some ladies whom, up until then, I'd only met online. Next we prepared for dinner. Friday nights we are encouraged to "dress like a rock star" for our dinner in the private dining room at the Hard Rock cafe. I always struggle with that instruction as the rock stars I followed either wore spandex or their underwear as outerwear. I settled on a black, zera print dress, and cage shoes with 3 inch stiletto heels. After posing for photos in the lobby, the delegates piled into the Hummer limo and we were off. I enjoyed an excellent veggie burger and the good conversation with new friends. Then we returned to the hotel for a question and answer session with the out-going queens.
I fell into bed, exhausted.
Friday morning I glammed up (because at a pageant, one is NEVER observed outside of their room any less than red-carpet ready) and dashed downstairs for some breakfast. Unfortunately, by the time I reached our breakfast, all that remained was a piece of banana nut bread and coffee. It was gloomy and raining and I was glad that everything was in the same hotel. I couldn't imagine trying to stay clean in my white suit, if traveling while raining. Because I couldn't face interviews without a little protien, I ordered room service and was greeted by the largest omelet I think I've ever had. I painted my nails with 90 second nail polish while my mother ironed the pants of my white Calvin Klein nterview suit. I put the finishing touches on my make up and prepared to get dressed. I am not certain at what point I cut my knuckle open, but I discovered it was bleeding, profusely, as I fastened the waistband of my white pants. Luckily, only 1 drop of blood made it's way onto my pants and it was easily covered by my purple blouse. I donned my purple heels and headed for interview.
After nearly hyperventilating in last years interview, I was relieved to hear peals of laughter as I approaced the interview area. Paula snapped a few quick pics and in no time, it was my turn. It's funny how long five minutes is when you are in the interview chair. My first question began with the statement, "I see you are a baton twirler" and was followed by if I had seen "Miss Congeniality" and if so, what did I consider my favorite scene. I have to admit, the double fire-baton routine IS a favorite, though Sandra Bullock strutting to "Mustang Sally," only to trip over her feet runs a close secong. The next question involved my desire to meet the Duggars, and the answer came easy. My grandmother was one of sixteen children, and the opportunity to see what that might have been like has always intrigued me. The question about how I came to be featured in a nationally published women's magazine caught me off guard, because for a split second, I didn't know what she was talking about, but then I realized that is was my recipe in First ( http://justjoyamoodymom.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-here-its-here.html ). I'm certain the look on my face gave me away, and subsequently cost me points. I was asked what I felt were good characteristics for a good customer service rep, to which I answered "patience and empathy." I don't recall how I came to explain how the process worked, but my apology for the hotel NOT being a client brought the desired chuckle from the judges panel. In fact, the panel laughed easily and often and I exited feeling better about interview then I ever had.
Later, I was told the panel laughed more in my interview, than any other.
Lunch was a yummy box number containing a turkey sandwich, pasta salad, pickle, and cookie.
After a few hours of learning and rehearsing the opening number and stage layout, it was time to head for dinner at Planet Hollywood. The housekeeper had not been around yet, and my tray from breakfast was still on the desk. My mother picked it up and went to deposit it in the hall as instructed. In my purple ombre Ann Taylor Loft dress and bare feet, I leaned out the door to ask a question, only to misjudge where my foot was and the door to slam shut behind me. Stranded in the hall with no key, i.d. or cell phone, we began knocking on doors to call the lobby. It seemed like an eternity before another contestant returned to her room so that we could call the lobby, who seemed disinterested in our plight, and half-heartedly agreed to send Security. Luckily, soon Security came to answer a complaint from another guest (not about us) and after some convincing and cajoling, reluctantly let us into our room, where we had to immediatly produce our i.d's and keys. I only had a few minutes to grab my bag and shoes and dash downstairs.
The sun was finally out, in blazing glory, as we reached Planet Hollywood and the earlier rains made it muggy and unbearable. Being in the first limo-load meant waiting for the remainder of the ladies and then taking a group photo in front of the restaurant. With no shade and no breeze, I was melting by the minute and by the time we were arranged for the group photo, I could tell I was developing a sunburn. Dinner was great, as was the conversaton with my dinner mates. So many interesting and accomplished women!
After dinner, we enjoyed a little down time and I gave a guided tour of the local Wal-mart to a few of my new friends. My mother was still awake when I got back, so I sought her advise on what accessories to wear with my on-stage competition wear. It was then that I discovered that my new navy gown, that had been altered to fit me perfectly would not fit. The zipper lacked an agonizing 5 inches from closing! The wave of panic that swept over me was indescribable.
I quickly set out to seek advice from others in our group. Several ladies offered to loan me their back up gown, including an amazing hot pink goddess gown, but a roll of Saran wrap turned out to be my ultimate life saver. Coupled with a "nervous tummy," by breakfast (which for me was just coffee), I was able to zip my gown.
Saturday was the group rehearsal with the addition of two, slick, ramps from the upper stage to the main stage. My biggest fear was realized as me and many other ladies slipped and fell while rehearsing. Lunch was torture, as I watched those around me enjoy chicken and steak fajitas, a favorite dish. I nibbled on almonds and washed them down with water. I completed my interview for Pageantcast, posed for pictures, then went to prepare for the evening.
The pageant went well and I felt confident and beautiful. My mother enjoyed the show and was impressed with the quality of the production. I fell into bed and slept soundly.
Breakfast and final farewells and we headed for Alabama under a lovely sunny sky.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Adventures at Wally-world
Well, today was quite a day. After not doing anything, and enjoying a relatively lazy day at home yesterday, it was time to venture out for groceries.
It had been 24 hours since my last coffee and even that had not matched my usual java intake. I had a splitting headache and I was very cranky.
I typically park within 10 spaces of the same spot by the grocery side door. No kiding. You can pretty much stand in that first spot closest the side door and count 10 parking spaces in any direction from there....my car will be within that square.Creature of habit? Pretty much...okay... I admit, I'm OCD. Easily forgets where I park? Definately.
So when I noticed a car backing out of a spot in front of the store, I thought, why not grab it? Yeah, it's not where I usually park, but I would still be able to find my way back without much trouble. I should have known better.
As I waited (at a safe distance) for the ancient Cadillac to back out, I paid little attention to the SUV pulling into the empty spot on the other side. Just as the Caddy cleared the spot enough for me to pull in, the SUV pulls all the way through from the other side! WHAT!? SERIOUSLY?!
I just sat there, grill to grill, mouth agape in disbelief.
I begrudingly made my way to my usual spot and parked within my square.
I was seething, wanting to berate the jerk that vacated a perfectly good parking spot to steal mine! As luck would have it, we all reached the buggies at the same time. Despite the overwhelming desire to be nasty, I thought better of it. Instead, I selected one and loooking back, smiled sweetly and said " Wow, great parking space you got there! I guess you didn't see me waiting for it behind the Cadillac, huh?" The slack-jawed fellow shot a look at his wife as I walked into the store, feeling somewhat vindicated.
I managed to shop without running into any former classmates, church members or friends, either mine or those of my children. I counted that as good luck, given my somewhat less than red-carpet-worthy appearance.
I get to the check out and procedeed to check out roughly $130 worth of groceries. When I reach into my wallet, I discover that my bank card is not in it's usual spot. May I remind you, I'm a creature of habit. The fact that my bank card was not where it was supposed to be, for me, was huge. I pawed through my enormous handbag. No luck.
The cashier turns the light off her check stand and begins directing customers elsewhere. She summons the CSR. I offer to check my car, but know that it's not there. I am mortified.
Mentally, I go through the last places I know I've used it. Hard to do as panic is setting in.
On Friday I bought gas and chips and salsa from Chili's ... both in Birmingham. A quick call to the automated telephone banking confirms my last transaction is Chili's.
I call Chili's, and thankfully discover, they have my bank card! Another quick call to the bank confirms that nothing else has been charged on my card.
I make the mad dash to Birmingham to retreive my bank card, squalling all the way.
Enroute back to Walmart, I stop and purchase the largest. strongest coffee I can find. 20 ounces and 20 minutes later, I arrive back at Walmart. retrieve my groceries from the service desk,(Didn't they realize I had dairy products?) and head for home.
I guess the little push of adrenaline and 20oz of coffee was enough to beat back my splitting headache.
So tomorrow, I begin the arduous task of obtaining a new bank card. Yippee!
It had been 24 hours since my last coffee and even that had not matched my usual java intake. I had a splitting headache and I was very cranky.
I typically park within 10 spaces of the same spot by the grocery side door. No kiding. You can pretty much stand in that first spot closest the side door and count 10 parking spaces in any direction from there....my car will be within that square.Creature of habit? Pretty much...okay... I admit, I'm OCD. Easily forgets where I park? Definately.
So when I noticed a car backing out of a spot in front of the store, I thought, why not grab it? Yeah, it's not where I usually park, but I would still be able to find my way back without much trouble. I should have known better.
As I waited (at a safe distance) for the ancient Cadillac to back out, I paid little attention to the SUV pulling into the empty spot on the other side. Just as the Caddy cleared the spot enough for me to pull in, the SUV pulls all the way through from the other side! WHAT!? SERIOUSLY?!
I just sat there, grill to grill, mouth agape in disbelief.
I begrudingly made my way to my usual spot and parked within my square.
I was seething, wanting to berate the jerk that vacated a perfectly good parking spot to steal mine! As luck would have it, we all reached the buggies at the same time. Despite the overwhelming desire to be nasty, I thought better of it. Instead, I selected one and loooking back, smiled sweetly and said " Wow, great parking space you got there! I guess you didn't see me waiting for it behind the Cadillac, huh?" The slack-jawed fellow shot a look at his wife as I walked into the store, feeling somewhat vindicated.
I managed to shop without running into any former classmates, church members or friends, either mine or those of my children. I counted that as good luck, given my somewhat less than red-carpet-worthy appearance.
I get to the check out and procedeed to check out roughly $130 worth of groceries. When I reach into my wallet, I discover that my bank card is not in it's usual spot. May I remind you, I'm a creature of habit. The fact that my bank card was not where it was supposed to be, for me, was huge. I pawed through my enormous handbag. No luck.
The cashier turns the light off her check stand and begins directing customers elsewhere. She summons the CSR. I offer to check my car, but know that it's not there. I am mortified.
Mentally, I go through the last places I know I've used it. Hard to do as panic is setting in.
On Friday I bought gas and chips and salsa from Chili's ... both in Birmingham. A quick call to the automated telephone banking confirms my last transaction is Chili's.
I call Chili's, and thankfully discover, they have my bank card! Another quick call to the bank confirms that nothing else has been charged on my card.
I make the mad dash to Birmingham to retreive my bank card, squalling all the way.
Enroute back to Walmart, I stop and purchase the largest. strongest coffee I can find. 20 ounces and 20 minutes later, I arrive back at Walmart. retrieve my groceries from the service desk,(Didn't they realize I had dairy products?) and head for home.
I guess the little push of adrenaline and 20oz of coffee was enough to beat back my splitting headache.
So tomorrow, I begin the arduous task of obtaining a new bank card. Yippee!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Questions and Answers
Sorry, I like to keep my blog lighthearted but now that I'm older, I find myself being serious over more and more things.
Thanks to a discussion by local radio personalities Rick and Bubba I've finally heard an explanation of the national debt and our government's current level of spending that I actually understand.
Welcome to the "National Debt Road Trip"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5yxFtTwDcc
With an explanation like this, I'm sure even Scooter would be able to understand it! The question is, why doesn't everyone else?
The next segment on Rick and Bubba was about czars.
The word "czar" has frightful connotations alone. I, of course, was familiar with the traditional use of the word as the fomer ruling entity of Russia.
But my love for language got the better of me and I had to pull out my trusty dictionary (Webster's II New College Dictionary) and see what else it may mean. I found 3 meanings. The first being the Russian emperor, the second was "autocrat" ( meaning "1.a ruler having absolute or unlimited power 2. person with unrestricted power or authority." !!) and the third, listed as Informal "one in authority:leader"
Apparently, our president has appointed 32 people as "czars" over certain things. (this lists only 28).
http://sayanythingblog.com/readers/entry/a_list_of_obamas_czars
Why the president would need these 32 "czars"(persons with absolute, unrestricted power)? I guess a cabinet is not enough. Of course these people will not be able to do it alone, they will need offices and paid staff members and phone bills and lights.
Guess this is what the president meant when he said he'd create jobs.
Thanks to a discussion by local radio personalities Rick and Bubba I've finally heard an explanation of the national debt and our government's current level of spending that I actually understand.
Welcome to the "National Debt Road Trip"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5yxFtTwDcc
With an explanation like this, I'm sure even Scooter would be able to understand it! The question is, why doesn't everyone else?
The next segment on Rick and Bubba was about czars.
The word "czar" has frightful connotations alone. I, of course, was familiar with the traditional use of the word as the fomer ruling entity of Russia.
But my love for language got the better of me and I had to pull out my trusty dictionary (Webster's II New College Dictionary) and see what else it may mean. I found 3 meanings. The first being the Russian emperor, the second was "autocrat" ( meaning "1.a ruler having absolute or unlimited power 2. person with unrestricted power or authority." !!) and the third, listed as Informal "one in authority:leader"
Apparently, our president has appointed 32 people as "czars" over certain things. (this lists only 28).
http://sayanythingblog.com/readers/entry/a_list_of_obamas_czars
Why the president would need these 32 "czars"(persons with absolute, unrestricted power)? I guess a cabinet is not enough. Of course these people will not be able to do it alone, they will need offices and paid staff members and phone bills and lights.
Guess this is what the president meant when he said he'd create jobs.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Happy Birthday To Me...Happy Birthday To Me..
Well, news coverage of the 13th anniversary of my 29th Birthday has been overshadowed by bigger, more tragic news. One thing is certain, this birthday is going to be quite memorable. The loss of two icons from my childhood...Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson.
Back in the 70's I had loved Farrah Fawcett, not because she was beautiful, but because she was married to Lee Majors, The Six Million Dollar Man. I loved Lee Majors and everything about Lee Majors.
(Coincidentally, my husband got his name because his biological mother loved Lee Majors too. I know what you are thinking....his name is Heath, not Lee. Lee Majors played Heath Barkley on "Big Valley." So she named my husband Heath. It was the 70's, I think she may have had a little more than twighlight sleep when she had him..but I digress.)
I had been a "Charlie's Angel's" fan, but not because of Farrah, but because of Kate Jackson, who grew up in Birmingham. Seeing Kate every week on tv reminded me that anyone who worked hard enough could escape from Alabama. (Funny, I consider Alabama a refuge now)
Through these connections, I had begun to admire and be swept up in the phenomenon that was Farrah.
I had begun working on my feathered hair
but I did not perfect it until I was much older.....
Back in the 70's I had loved Farrah Fawcett, not because she was beautiful, but because she was married to Lee Majors, The Six Million Dollar Man. I loved Lee Majors and everything about Lee Majors.
(Coincidentally, my husband got his name because his biological mother loved Lee Majors too. I know what you are thinking....his name is Heath, not Lee. Lee Majors played Heath Barkley on "Big Valley." So she named my husband Heath. It was the 70's, I think she may have had a little more than twighlight sleep when she had him..but I digress.)
I had been a "Charlie's Angel's" fan, but not because of Farrah, but because of Kate Jackson, who grew up in Birmingham. Seeing Kate every week on tv reminded me that anyone who worked hard enough could escape from Alabama. (Funny, I consider Alabama a refuge now)
Through these connections, I had begun to admire and be swept up in the phenomenon that was Farrah.
I had begun working on my feathered hair
but I did not perfect it until I was much older.....
I had loved that she was from Texas and had a Southern drawl just like I did. At the time I'd never given any serious thought to her acting ability (or lack of it at the time) and it was not until "Burning Bed" that I saw she was not just another pretty face.
I had watched, with rapt attention, the documentary of her three year battle with cancer. Her talk of strength and faith left little doubt that you can't bring a good girl, (an Angel no less) down.
Yesteday Farrah earned her real angel wings.
Unfortunately, darling Farrah was later upstaged by the quintessential showman, Micheal Jackson.
I had been a fan of Michael Jackson since I was small. During their hey-day, The Jackson Five was my favorite group. I am told that one morning at breakfast, I announced that I would be marrying Michael Jackson when I grew up. My startled mother went about telling me why I couldn't...with things like "he doesn't live here" and "he's older than you."
Little did we know...I may not have been his type.
The soundtrack of my life contains many a Micheal Jackson song. "ABC" was one of my favorite songs, as well as "Ben" that I didn't realize was about a rat until I was older. I bought "Thriller" with my Christmas money in 1982.
One of the first pep rally routines I choreographed was to "Wanna Be Startin' Somthing," followed by one to "Beat It," and one to "Thriller" that I had cut well short of it's full six minutes and spliced in Victor Price's ominous laugh as an ending.
On my birthday in 1984(another memorable one), the Gloved One came to Birmingham to rehearse for the upcoming Victory Tour. The road crew needed a place to practice set up and tear down, along with the special effects and the BJCC filled the bill. It was supposed to be a secret, but as with any juicy gossip, word got out. The Sheraton Civic Center was mobbed with adoring fans. I remember watching on tv as MJ step out on a balcony to wave a hanky at the crowd below. My mother would not let me drive to Birmingham, so I could not join the group.
That was also the same weekend, my mother's best friend reported being visited at her mother's Trussville home, by an odd little old man, escorted by 4 other men, wanting to speak to her about Jehovah. Hmmm...
And now, both of these people will finally get to see the face of Jehovah.
I can only hope their hearts were in the right place, so that they will be too.
As for me and my birthday, I can only remind myself, that "any day above ground is a good day" and another opportunity to witness to those around me.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Exciting news!!
Hall of Famer Talks about Miracle League on Hanity!!
http://hannity.blogs.foxnews.com/2009/06/15/harmon-killebrew/
I was excited to find an email about MLB Hall of Famer Harmon Killebrew speaking on Sean Hannity's about a Miracle League event!! (Unfortunately, I didn't check my MML mail box until today, so I missed it)
This is the national exposure we need!!
Yippee!
http://hannity.blogs.foxnews.com/2009/06/15/harmon-killebrew/
I was excited to find an email about MLB Hall of Famer Harmon Killebrew speaking on Sean Hannity's about a Miracle League event!! (Unfortunately, I didn't check my MML mail box until today, so I missed it)
This is the national exposure we need!!
Yippee!
Saturday, June 13, 2009
It's Just Little League....Not the World Series
I spent Thursday evening doing something I haven't done in nearly 5 years. Something I vowed I would never do again. I went to my youngest nephew's very first All-Star game.
Now don't get me wrong, I love my nephew. It's the atmosphere of the average, American, Little League baseball park that I abhor.
I know what you are thinking..."Joy, you volunteer at a ball park." The Miracle League park is much different. Everyone is loving, supportive and there to have fun. It was after an ugly incident as a ball park mom when my husband was our son's coach that made me watch my first Miracle League game. I remember watching and thinking, " THIS is what baseball should be."
But I digress....
"Scooter is 6 and is playing for the very first time in the coach-pitch division of his hometown park league
For his first time to ever play a sport, he is surprisingly good. He has played a variety of positions with efficiency, and was chosen from his regular team to play on the All Star team, even over players that had been playing since cap ball. We were all very excited.
I rode with my mother and her husband, about an hour from our hometown to the park, out in the middle of no where. It was everything I remember from my days as a ball park mom....heat, bugs, dirt, crappy bleachers. Even the smell, a mixture of Off, sweat, Alabama red clay, and over-cooked hot dogs, was the same.
The park was your standard "clover" design, four ball fields extending out from a central concession building, that carried your standard ball park fare: Hot Dogs, hamburgers, fries, and nachos.
I will have to say my park has much better nachos. I am not even certain what we received could be defined as "nachos," bland, round, tortilla chips with congealing, canned cheese poured over them. And they were expensive! Nachos at my park (the good kind) are a full dollar cheaper. For what we paid for a plate of nachos, we could have brought them in from Chili's. I thought, "I'm blowing my diet over this?!"
The boys were very excited to be playing in new uniforms and they posed for a team photo before they warmed up. We took our seats at the top of the wooden bleachers, rubbed on (ineffective) bug repellant, and prepared for the game. That is when I identified them....the overly aggressive ball park parent.
People who do not have children, or people who do not have children that play organized team sports will have no concept of what I am about to discuss, so bear with me as best you can.
On the other hand, those who do have children, involved in some sort of team sport, will not only know exactly what I am talking about, they will also quickly identify the parent in their own organization that I will be describing. Baseball, football, soccer, hockey, tennis, volleyball...doesn't matter. Trust me, there are versions of the same people in every youth league sport across the country.
These people make up about 2% of ball park parents. They are extremely serious and extremely focused on the performance of their child and or the others on the team. They are loud, boorish, and can be violent. They have less than complimentary things to say to the officials, coaches, visitors and even their children. You have, no doubt, seen them on CNN, as they are being led away in handcuffs from their child's sporting event.
More often than not, they also have more than one child and are usually unable to keep up with whomever is not on the field. In this case, it was a little girl, about 2 or 3, who I will call "Sally."
Sally's brother was on Scooter's team and his parents set up on the front row of bleachers, by the fence between third and home. Super Mom was dressed in "daisy dukes," a halter top that showed her belly button ring, and wedge sandals. It would have been a cute outfit on a smaller girl, but the muffin top rolling over the top of her shorts made it less than appealing. I will give her credit for moving behind the bleachers to smoke, which both her and her husband seemed to do in shifts. We sat in a never ending cloud of smoke. It did little to deter the mosquitos.
The "chatter" started almost immediately, loud, boardering on unruly. Sally, drew in the dirt with her fingers, unnoticed, and it was not long before she was covered in red clay from head to toe. She had a tiny yellow cast on her left arm, the tiniest one I've ever seen. Most likely an injury sustained as she played, unsupervised, during the regular season.
Sally ran to and fro, in the open space between our field and the next. She picked up things on the ground, and sampled the nachos abandonned by her parents on the end of the bleachers. She ran back and forth, cheese covered chip in each grubby hand. I soon heard the unmistakable sound of a little mouth with too much food to swallow and turned around just in time to see her vomit all over the front of her shirt. She ran, wailing, to her mother, who only looked up from the game long enough to strip the shirt from her body. She ran around shirtless. I watched her nervously. Someone needed to. Anyone could have picked that child up and walked away with her.
A scant 10 minutes later, Sally was at her mother's side again, swaying from side to side, singing "MAH-MEE, I have to TEE TEE." The official made a rather controversial call, and Sally's mom was on her feet, shouting angrily onto the field. Sally swayed from side to side. Everyone in our section knew she had to go, right up until she did. Everyone except her mother, oblivious to puddle on the ground next to her. Obviously embarrased, Sally attempted to climb up into her mother's lap, and only then did Super Mom realize she had wet her pants.
She spanked her all the way to the car.
I looked at my mother. Her eyes told me that we were thinking the same thing.
When Sally and her mother returned, she was running, pulling Sally along by her good arm. "Whad-I miss?! whad-I miss?!" She dropped Sally's hand, and returned to her seat.
There were several bad calls, and the rules seemed to change each time our team was winning.
I watched with amazement as parents around me came unglued. Red faces and throbing neck veins were all around me. All I could think was, 'geez people, these boys are 6. It's not the World Series.' Super Mom became so beligerant, our team was "warned" that further disorderly conduct would result in an automatic out. Sally continued to play in the dirt and eventually curled up in the folding chair her father had vacated, where she fell asleep.
Unfortunately we lost, but Scooter was excited to have all his family come out to cheer him on.
As we left the park, Super Mom was carrying Sally's limp, sleeping body against her shoulder, hissing angrily about filing a complaint with the league and giving someone a piece of her mind.
On the long ride home, my mother said she could tell I wanted to intervene in the Sally situation. She asked what stopped me from saying something. I told her that I'd rather not wind up in the news....you know, "Moody Woman Killed By Crazed Little League Fan."
Now don't get me wrong, I love my nephew. It's the atmosphere of the average, American, Little League baseball park that I abhor.
I know what you are thinking..."Joy, you volunteer at a ball park." The Miracle League park is much different. Everyone is loving, supportive and there to have fun. It was after an ugly incident as a ball park mom when my husband was our son's coach that made me watch my first Miracle League game. I remember watching and thinking, " THIS is what baseball should be."
But I digress....
"Scooter is 6 and is playing for the very first time in the coach-pitch division of his hometown park league
For his first time to ever play a sport, he is surprisingly good. He has played a variety of positions with efficiency, and was chosen from his regular team to play on the All Star team, even over players that had been playing since cap ball. We were all very excited.
I rode with my mother and her husband, about an hour from our hometown to the park, out in the middle of no where. It was everything I remember from my days as a ball park mom....heat, bugs, dirt, crappy bleachers. Even the smell, a mixture of Off, sweat, Alabama red clay, and over-cooked hot dogs, was the same.
The park was your standard "clover" design, four ball fields extending out from a central concession building, that carried your standard ball park fare: Hot Dogs, hamburgers, fries, and nachos.
I will have to say my park has much better nachos. I am not even certain what we received could be defined as "nachos," bland, round, tortilla chips with congealing, canned cheese poured over them. And they were expensive! Nachos at my park (the good kind) are a full dollar cheaper. For what we paid for a plate of nachos, we could have brought them in from Chili's. I thought, "I'm blowing my diet over this?!"
The boys were very excited to be playing in new uniforms and they posed for a team photo before they warmed up. We took our seats at the top of the wooden bleachers, rubbed on (ineffective) bug repellant, and prepared for the game. That is when I identified them....the overly aggressive ball park parent.
People who do not have children, or people who do not have children that play organized team sports will have no concept of what I am about to discuss, so bear with me as best you can.
On the other hand, those who do have children, involved in some sort of team sport, will not only know exactly what I am talking about, they will also quickly identify the parent in their own organization that I will be describing. Baseball, football, soccer, hockey, tennis, volleyball...doesn't matter. Trust me, there are versions of the same people in every youth league sport across the country.
These people make up about 2% of ball park parents. They are extremely serious and extremely focused on the performance of their child and or the others on the team. They are loud, boorish, and can be violent. They have less than complimentary things to say to the officials, coaches, visitors and even their children. You have, no doubt, seen them on CNN, as they are being led away in handcuffs from their child's sporting event.
More often than not, they also have more than one child and are usually unable to keep up with whomever is not on the field. In this case, it was a little girl, about 2 or 3, who I will call "Sally."
Sally's brother was on Scooter's team and his parents set up on the front row of bleachers, by the fence between third and home. Super Mom was dressed in "daisy dukes," a halter top that showed her belly button ring, and wedge sandals. It would have been a cute outfit on a smaller girl, but the muffin top rolling over the top of her shorts made it less than appealing. I will give her credit for moving behind the bleachers to smoke, which both her and her husband seemed to do in shifts. We sat in a never ending cloud of smoke. It did little to deter the mosquitos.
The "chatter" started almost immediately, loud, boardering on unruly. Sally, drew in the dirt with her fingers, unnoticed, and it was not long before she was covered in red clay from head to toe. She had a tiny yellow cast on her left arm, the tiniest one I've ever seen. Most likely an injury sustained as she played, unsupervised, during the regular season.
Sally ran to and fro, in the open space between our field and the next. She picked up things on the ground, and sampled the nachos abandonned by her parents on the end of the bleachers. She ran back and forth, cheese covered chip in each grubby hand. I soon heard the unmistakable sound of a little mouth with too much food to swallow and turned around just in time to see her vomit all over the front of her shirt. She ran, wailing, to her mother, who only looked up from the game long enough to strip the shirt from her body. She ran around shirtless. I watched her nervously. Someone needed to. Anyone could have picked that child up and walked away with her.
A scant 10 minutes later, Sally was at her mother's side again, swaying from side to side, singing "MAH-MEE, I have to TEE TEE." The official made a rather controversial call, and Sally's mom was on her feet, shouting angrily onto the field. Sally swayed from side to side. Everyone in our section knew she had to go, right up until she did. Everyone except her mother, oblivious to puddle on the ground next to her. Obviously embarrased, Sally attempted to climb up into her mother's lap, and only then did Super Mom realize she had wet her pants.
She spanked her all the way to the car.
I looked at my mother. Her eyes told me that we were thinking the same thing.
When Sally and her mother returned, she was running, pulling Sally along by her good arm. "Whad-I miss?! whad-I miss?!" She dropped Sally's hand, and returned to her seat.
There were several bad calls, and the rules seemed to change each time our team was winning.
I watched with amazement as parents around me came unglued. Red faces and throbing neck veins were all around me. All I could think was, 'geez people, these boys are 6. It's not the World Series.' Super Mom became so beligerant, our team was "warned" that further disorderly conduct would result in an automatic out. Sally continued to play in the dirt and eventually curled up in the folding chair her father had vacated, where she fell asleep.
Unfortunately we lost, but Scooter was excited to have all his family come out to cheer him on.
As we left the park, Super Mom was carrying Sally's limp, sleeping body against her shoulder, hissing angrily about filing a complaint with the league and giving someone a piece of her mind.
On the long ride home, my mother said she could tell I wanted to intervene in the Sally situation. She asked what stopped me from saying something. I told her that I'd rather not wind up in the news....you know, "Moody Woman Killed By Crazed Little League Fan."
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