Housekeeping, and Other Health Hazards

Ever have one of those days where you're just doing a random chore at home, and one thing goes wrong, which leads to another, and then suddenly you're contemplating the meaning of life and wondering if your will is up to date?

Here's how today went, over here... Via text convo with our oldest at some point this afternoon:

Am I the only one who can start with sweeping and end up with a freshly scrubbed kitchen, a bandaged hand, and shopping online for a new olive oil dispenser?  That glass was SO sharp, and it definitely seemed like a bad time to... not have secure footing.  

Suddenly I was hearing that old Blondie song in my head ONE DAY. OR THE OTHER.  I'M GONNA GET YA.  I'M GONNA GETCHA GETCHA GETCHA GETCHA, ONE DAY - 

(Also huge wail about the fact that I've had that beautiful oil bottle for like 20 YEARS). 

*facepalm*

No Freestyling. Or, Something Like That...

Omg you guys.

I am literally the queen of saying awkward things today...

I won't go into too much detail, but I spent this last weekend out of town, so I have spent all day today answering the zillion emails and voicemails for our business, scheduling people, rescheduling people, etc.

I returned a call to a new customer a little while ago, and set him up with an order.  He decided that instead of having firewood delivered (by us), he would come pick it up himself.  I'm always very professional on the phone, but of course, I'm also pretty casual in general, so you never know what I might say.  Apparently.

Here's how it went down:

Him:  Can I just come pick up the firewood myself?

Me:  Sure! You also save $15.00 per load when you pick up, but bear in mind that you are loading it yourself, so it's up to you...save money and do more work, or spend more and save some time.

Him:  Sounds good.  I'm all about saving money.  I'll pick it up.

Me:  And, you can use the $15.00 to buy some gloves (for all the wood-stacking).  I should have stopped HERE.

Him:  Ok.  Wait...do I have to buy gloves, or can I just... (he's kidding)

Me:  (here's where it gets awkward)  Nope.  You can totally freeball it if you want.

*claps hand over mouth*

Him:  *bursts out laughing*

Me:  Oh. my. god.  I did NOT just say that out loud.  Pretend I didn't just say that.

Him:  *choking on laughter*

Me:  I'm hanging up now seeyouonmondaythe17thforthatpickupthanksbyeee


*facepalm*  I MEANT TO SAY "FREE STYLE.  You can totally freeSTYLE if you want..."

I'm such a dork.

What's your latest faux pas?  Ever say the exactly most awkward thing possible in a conversation with a stranger, or worse, a customer?

Or WORSE...the reason this guy's name rang a bell when I added him to our customer list is (wait for it), because he was Shane's BOSS about 25 years ago.  Oh. my. lord. 

Our Newest Get-Rich Quick Idea

Shane loves candle light and lanterns, so last night he lit our little propane Coleman camp lamp, because we just got a new base for it, so it won't tip over and burn down the ...tent...when we're camping, or possibly start a forest fire and/or leave broken glass everywhere for me to clean up, because that is SO not relaxing.

Anyway--he turned on the lamp and was trying to put it next to my chair.

Our conversation went like this:

Me:  Turn that off, it's too noisy, and it reminds me of my childhood.  All we HAD was a stupid gas light in the whole downstairs.  Turn it off.

Him:  No, it's awesome.  Turn out the other lights, and we can sit around it...

Me:  No.  I'm trying to cross stitch and I can't see, plus the noise is driving me crazy.  Take it somewhere else.

Him:  Come on...  See?  *turns on Crosby, Stills and Nash from my 70's Spotify playlist and sits by the glow of the Coleman lamp*  We ARE hippies now.

Me:  Ummm.

Him:  Well, or we're...working hippies.  Because we work.  A lot.

Me:  Uh, yeah, that wouldn't fly.  We're like...workaholic hippies.

both laughing our heads off

Him:  Yeah.  We should write a book.  Everyone would buy it because they'd be like what is THIS? I need to read it.

Me:  The Workaholic Hippie.  That could totally be a book.  We're gonna be so rich.


That's how our evenings usually go.

And, I suppose if we write it and get rich, we'll have defeated the purpose, because aren't hippies supposed to be ...not rich?

Food for thought, anyway.  Peace out, man.

Panhandling in the Panhandle

The other day, I was driving with our youngest, and there was this guy standing on one of the corners by our mall, holding one of those cardboard signs that said something along the lines of  I don't have any money.  Can I have some of yours?

I won't bore you with a monologue on how I *feel* about panhandling versus busting your ass working for a living 6+ days a week, because then you might disagree and be like wow, you're really judgey, and I'd have to be all, well, don't read my blog, then, and then there'd be all this angst and we'd both think the other was being a jerk.

ANYWAY, there was this guy, for whatever reason, and it caused the following funny conversation in our car, after we went by.


Me:  Dude, seriously?  I thought panhandling was illegal in Idaho.

Teenager:  Isn't that why it's called The Panhandle State?

Me:  *laughing*  No.  We live in the Panhandle OF Idaho.

Teenager:  Oh.  Why is it called the Panhandle, then? I thought it was because of panhandlers.

Me:  Because Idaho is kind of shaped like a pan, and this is like the pan handle.

Teenager:  Idaho is the least pannish thing I've ever seen.  It totally does not look like a pan.

Come to think of it...she's right

More Customer Service Nightmares

As I may have mentioned before, we have a lot of awesome customers, except for the Chosen Few who feel that it is their job to occasionally call me and behave like a total (insert favorite adjective *here*).

Or, as Aussa at Aussa Lorens so succinctly put it..."throw some shade".

I had another of these lovelies call me the day before last, at 7:30 a.m.  I should have known.  Because my FIRST rule of phone etiquette is to never answer my business phone before 9 a.m.  Never.  NOT. EVER.

I have also learned that ANY call that comes through on my phone caller I.D. as "Restricted"...also do not answer those EVER.  Because anyone who PAYS to have their phone number hidden is hiding something.  Like the fact that they're an ass.

But I was caught off guard the other morning, namely because I thought it might be the Sheriff's office calling.  Not that that's a normal thing around here, but our daughter had her smartphone stolen the night before (insert lots of cursing about thieves *here*), and I had talked a couple of times with an officer by phone.  So I was thinking it was the nice sheriff guy calling at 7:30 a.m. the next morning to tell me Hey, we found your phone, because we're awesome, and here's a winning lottery ticket, too.

No.  UNfortunately, it wasn't the cops.  It was a customer, whose name may or may not be RICHARD.  I didn't answer the phone as a business, BECAUSE IT'S AN HOUR AND A HALF TOO EARLY FOR THAT.  I just said "Hello", because it's 7:30 a.m. and I'm thinking it's the cops, so I may as well just answer as myself.

This guy doesn't even pause.  He jumps right in, ignoring the fact that IT IS 7:30 A.M., which is a time of day that my brain only has certain sectors functioning--namely the Take Out The Dog sector and the Is There Coffee Made Yet sector.   So my ears heard this:  "I ordered from you last year, and my delivered product was too short.  I ordered 16" and I had stuff that was 12-13" long in there."

Me:  *blank stare at my phone because no coffee yet*

Him:  And I have some other questions too.  I just sent an order online just now and I haven't had a response yet.  Did you get my order?  Did it not go through?  Because I have some concerns about last year's order.

Me:  *blank stare at my phone because no coffee yet*

Him:  Hello?

Me:  Yes.  Hi.  I'm not at my desk for another hour and a half, so I haven't had time to check my e-mail yet, but I will call you back after I get in, OK?

Of course my office is about 20 feet from the couch, but if I don't set some boundaries, I will have people calling me at 10 p.m. to talk about their orders, so I'm very strict about my office hours.

We hung up.

I called him back at 9 a.m., STILL thinking at this point that this is a normal customer.  As in, someone who just needs to place an order, and who is also probably an early riser.

hahahaHAHAAAHAA.  Oh, no, my dears.  That would be too easy.

I'd try to make this shorter but...I can't.  You're here, so you know that already.

He morphed into a total condescending, snide, pompous, JERK.  The third (or fourth, I lost count) time that I spoke with him, Shane was actually sitting here, so he is my witness.  I never lost my cool, and I was never rude to this guy, but he was one of those people who just kept pushing and pushing.

I double-checked his original order, and he had in fact ordered 14" wood, so the 12 and 13" pieces would make sense. I told him this.  He disagreed, even though I have the 14" noted in three places on his account from last year.

moving on

He then also "needed to ask" me about the type of wood he got (a year ago).  He's pretty sure it wasn't all the right variety.  I cheerfully said I couldn't possibly know what was on that truckload, because it was a year ago, but I'll make a note to MAKE SURE that we get the species right this year.  Because Shane, who can tell what kind of tree it is, by the sawdust it leaves, couldn't possibly know wood species as well as a realtor.

NEXT, he needed to to point out that our delivery fees also "aren't fair".  Because he checked, and we charge $40 to come to him (he's across a state line) and yet we "deliver for free to towns in our state that are, in fact, further away" than him.  I said, yes, that's right.  We charge $40.00 any time we cross the state line even if you live one inch over the state line.  We had to draw a line somewhere, dude.

He wouldn't let it go.  He was like "So...you charge more, even though I'm closer.  I understand, then, from what you're saying, that you treat your Idaho customers better than you treat your Washington customers.  I see."

Me:  No.  We just charge a delivery fee to your state.  For anyone  in   that   state.

Him:  I'd like to know why you have that policy.

He actually argued this point AT SOME LENGTH, stating repeatedly that it's unfair, because he's closer than some of the places we go for free and he doesn't "understand our policy".

He just wouldn't let it go.

Me:  *wth?*  We've had our delivery fees in place for twelve years, so I couldn't probably tell you why they were put in place, but I could probably have Shane call you.

Him:  Yes.  I'd like someone to call me and explain to me why you unfairly charge a delivery fee, when I'm not actually that far away.

Me:  *gritting teeth*  I will make a note of that, but the fees will still apply. *brilliant idea* You may be able to find someone closer to your location there, who could deliver for free, if you check around.

Him:  Oh, I see.  So, just to be clear, so I understand you, you're saying I should find someone else to buy from?  Let me tell you something--

Me:  No, I'm trying to help you.  You could definitely save money if you look around and find someone who can deliver for free.  OR you can come pick it up in Idaho and save the $40 that way (YOU TIGHTWAD).

Him:  I see.  Let me tell you something.  When I call a business for a service, I expect to get that service.  I do not expect to be told by that business to go shop somewhere else.  Because that is what you're saying.  Just so we're clear and I heard you right, I'm calling you to order a service, and you're telling me to find another company to do business with?    

Me:  (YES OH GOD PLEASE YES)

Him:  And when I call for a service, I also don't expect to be told that "Shawn" will call me back.

Me:  Shane.

Him:  So yes, I would like "Shawn" to call me back, because--

Me:  Shane.

Him:  I'm hearing sarcasm now.  I do not expect to hear sarcasm from a business.  I want him to call me back and explain your delivery fee policies to me.

Me:  His name is Shane. (you idiot, if you're going be insulting, at least get the name right). I will pass all of this info along to Shane, and he can help you from there.  Good bye.

*click*

WHO does this?  Seriously??? Does he think we're going to call and explain to him our decision-making process from twelve damn years ago and possibly field arguments as to why it's unfair?  I could scream.

Neither of us ever raised our voice, but he was just...so calmly nasty and condescending and, I don't know...(word, word, what's the word?)...when someone keeps trying to cause a fight? Confrontational? Antagonistic.  That's what it felt like.  Like he was trying to upset me.

I hung up, screamed and waved my arms around at Shane for a bit, wiped my tears (because I always cry when I'm really mad, which kinds of sucks), and poured a really strong drink.  Two, actually...

I haven't heard back from him.  Possibly because I blocked his email, because I also know from experience with jerks like this, that they LOVE to have the last word.  After a nasty phone call, they ALways sit down and compose an even nastier email, saying how unhappy they are with our service, or our company, and how they can't believe how rude I was, and how much they hate me and that I am possibly also responsible for world hunger and the Fall of Man.

If he does call back, I'm ready to explain to him, so there's no mistake, that, we aren't suggesting you shop around--we're telling you:  We won't sell to you, ever.

unfortunately, I work BOTH desks...

Yesterday I spent almost all day outside in the garden with my animals, listening to the breeze and the chickens, weeding and picking berries for currant-raspberry jam.  Today I have been out there again all morning, shaping the roses and enjoying the sun.  And I'm going back out there now.

At least with plants and animals, you know where you stand.

hold my calls, I'm hanging with Bindi today

PS-  thanks for listening.  again

More Stuff Our Kids Say

More fun from around the house lately, since nothing else is coming to mind...


Our youngest, after trying to eat an unsugared, raw grapefruit.   "Gah.  This tastes like being punched in the mouth by satan."

Same child, eating Top Ramen after coming home from school starving.  "I love Ramen so much that I could write a song about it."

More Stuff Overheard Around Here

I'm in full garden/summer/outside mode, which means that the story-teller part of my brain is off, and I can't find the "on" switch, but I still find funny things to jot down now and then.

- - - -

The other night I was in the living room, our oldest was in the kitchen, and Shane was in the dining room, searching through Spotify for a music channel that we could all agree to listen to. 

 (so basically:  nothing)

A country song started up, and it was one of those songs that must have been the "it" song one year recently, because I heard our oldest call from the kitchen.  

"Ahh! Dad!  I've heard that song SO OFTEN that I could literally play it right now, on a banjo, by ear."

Yep.  That's all for now.
I know.

So, I'm an Onion. Or an Artichoke

I always love the random text conversations we have around here.  This was from last night, when my husband and our youngest were out birthday shopping for me.
---------

Her:  home in 15 minutes.  what time were you born?

Me:  12:20 a.m.

Her:  Dad says that's not the right time.  lol

Me.  I'm like an onion

Her:  Because you make everybody cry?

Me:  That.  And you just keep finding layers of stuff you DON'T KNOW

Her:  Hahaha this is true

Me:  Mostly the crying tho.

Me:  If I had a nickel for every time I made someone cry, we'd all be so rich...

Her:  Dad says you're more like an artichoke because that's nicer and people like those.

I love that man.

I May Have Missed My Calling

Do you ever find yourself suddenly blurting out songs and/or movie lines but randomly change some of the lyrics to suit whatever moment you're in?

I do this all the time sometimes, but yesterday, it happened twice in one day with our youngest.  I think she's pretty sure I may need therapy.

We walked in from the car, and I can't remember what she did, but an old Mary Catherine Gallagher skit from SNL popped into my head, where the guest was Gabriel Byrne (or Rosie O'Donnell?) playing a Catholic school headmaster auditioning students for the spring musical or something.
Me:  Yes, that's not too..nice...Mary Catherine.

Remember her?  (Molly Shannon's best.SNL.skit.ever)

Oldest:  What?

Me:   It's a reference from an old Saturday Night Live thing.

Her:  Who's Mary Catherine?

Me:  It's from...before you were born.  But it was hilarious.

Her:  ...

Me:  Nevermind.

Later the same night.  We're all sitting in the living room, and we were looking at a little braided ankle bracelet that our oldest made for her out of strings with her new school colors. I couldn't help it...I just heard Cyndi Lauper's 1986 raspy voice in my head, and I started singing:

I SEE YOUR SCHOOL COLORS SHINING THROUGH.  I SEE YOUR SCHOOL COLORS! AND THAT'S WHY I LOOOOVE YOU!

Her:  Wow.

Me:  Ok, I'm done now.

I may have missed my calling.  I wonder if they're still auditioning for American Idol...


Am I the only one who mystifies my children with my randomly "awesome" musical ability? Ever embarrass your kids with some hidden talent that should possibly remain hidden?


P.S.  I found the link to the whole Gabriel Byrne skit, which doesn't have my lines in it, but still.  Here you go

Ah, I found it!   Here's the skit with Rosie (and the incomparable Whitney Houston).

You're welcome.

No Computer for a WEEK = *UNHAPPY FACE*

Guys.

What the actual heck? I feel like I just got back from the stone age.  Or time traveled back to a time where businesses were run with a pencil and note pad.  Maybe even carbon copies.  Because oh.my.gosh, our computer died.

died 

I can't--even-- just, whaaaat.

Well.  It was like 10,000 years old.  I'm pretty sure the Windows 7 screen was in hieroglyphs.

So.  I just spent a WEEK without access to our bank account, except through my phone screen (thank God for Android!!).  A week with no access to our over 4,000 customer names and histories and info, except to sit and stare at the zip drive which I SO WISELY zipped off our dying old computer before it completely gave up the ghost.

Noooooo

I have been hand-writing schedule stuff on a printed-out schedule, with an actual pencil.  I have a notebook full of notes, schedule changes, reminders, order changes, payment info, and customer requests.  I think I actually have a pencil behind my ear right now.  I have a stack of receipts and a hand-written "check register" that I tried to reconstruct using only my phone/bank/account online and my razor-sharp memory.  (Which means, I have no idea how much money we have/don't have.)

Nothing worked beyond this screen

My biggest dilemma was that I use a program for customer scheduling and data that integrates with Quickbooks, and Intuit kindly stopped making it and didn't replace it with a newer, better program.  It just...doesn't exist any more.  And the old version we use...doesn't work with Windows 8.  It can be saved as a spreadsheet-type file and probably reloaded into some new database (read:  SUPER PAIN IN THE BUTT CHORE OF A LIFETIME), but the bad news is: there is no way to transfer all the history/notes off that program and into any other program, except to manually go into 4,000+ names and click on each history note and copy/paste it somewhere to transfer to a new program.  Thanks Intuit.  I owe you one.

And we have 12 years' worth of notes.  For over 4,000 customers...multiplied by the speed of light and the centrifugal force of x/pi + a divided by one really frustrated business owner, equals....

aaiiiieeeeeeeee   *faints*

So naturally I have been moderately to severely freaking out for the past 6 months, while our old laptop limped along and randomly sometimes just refused to start (at ALL).

Knowing this was coming, I (see above) WISELY zipped everysinglefile off the old computer during its last attempt to live, onto a new zipdrive, so we didn't lose anything.  So, other than completely (and I mean really) freaking out that we might be losing our notes as described above, we were safe.

Being relatively sure that 12 years of my carefully recorded notes were lost to us forever, but not our actual customer list, I dragged my bereft self into Best Buy last week to the sound of a mournful dirge, and asked the Best Buy Geek what to do.

He looked at me like, DUH, and said, "Just buy another Windows 7 computer."

* O__O *

Me:  What?

Him:  Yeah.  Just go online and order another computer with Windows 7.

Me:  You can DO that??

Him:  Uh...yeah...

Me:  *nothing*

Actually, I may have hugged him, or at least high-fived him.  And added him to my Christmas card list for the rest of his life.  

Long story short(er), I ordered a Windows 7 computer, all my programs loaded, all our backup files restored, and I am not ashamed to say I actually cried a little with joy when I saw all of them again last night.  Kind of like stepping out of a time machine and realizing you're actually home.  Land!!

Huge cleansing sigh.

So, the good news is:  I bought us a couple more years before we have to revert back to the above paragraph where I get to freak out about losing our customer info AGAIN.  Only then it will be like 15 years' worth of data...*starts to hyperventilate*

Focus, please.

In the meantime, I missed reading blogs and commenting on them, because typing comments or blog posts on an Android screen is like a special kind of punishment, so, YAY I'M BACK.

I can't even TELL you how glad I am to see my familiar old work screens again.  I'm thinking I should buy about 4 more of these computers to cover me until I retire...



P.S. Anyone looking for a really boring job building a whole new database and then transferring about 5 billion history notes into it, one by one, in about 3 years, please raise your hand.

My new favorite picture IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD EVER

More Stuff Overheard Around Here Lately

We laugh a lot at our house, and sometimes I will jot down what made me laugh.  Plus, it gives me something to share when I have no news, (other than I finished knitting one sweater and started another one.  Yay, me).  Because I'm a giver, you guys.  YOU'RE WELCOME.

Here are a few (more) things overheard at my house recently:

1.  My brother-in-law describing a gold dredge, after an unsuccessful weekend spent turning over rocks in an icy creek in the mountains: "It's not a dredge.  It's called The Trough of Disappointment."

2.  My college daughter's roommate, describing the in-house food at the university: "This soup...it tastes like my nightmares."

3.  Our youngest, when describing some really loud coyotes one night that woke us both up because they sounded odd.  "I heard them, but I was dreaming and thought they were special-needs coyotes."

4.  Youngest to oldest, while watching a close-up shot of Russell Crowe in a movie:  "AYY YO GONNA RECYCLE THOSE BAGS UNDER YA EYES?"  (no offense, Russell).

5.  Annnnddd...a text from my youngest to my oldest when they were upstairs one night:

Awww.  Now give each other a hug.

Chopsticks and "Laughings Fits" with my Brother

I love that my brother and I share an odd sense of humor, (and possibly a brain)...even though we've lived opposite ends of the country for most of our lives.

I was thinking of him today, because our mom's birthday was this week, and he's taking her to dinner tonight at a restaurant where we had one of our silliest laughing fits, a long time ago.  It's a Polynesian restaurant in south Florida, where it's dinner and a show:  fire-eaters, dancers, loud drums, drinks in mugs that look like totem poles, the whole thing.  There's even a big tropical garden to walk around in after dinner.

But, for some reason, you can order chopsticks to eat with, when you eat there.  Which he did, last time we went.

Possibly exactly these

Maybe it was the drinks in the totem pole thing, but we got to looking at the Chinese lettering on his chopsticks while watching the island dancers and fire eaters stomping around.  It started with him wondering, "Do you ever wonder what this writing actually says?"

Suddenly, we both had lots of ideas for loose translations.  Here are a few I remember:

Use other end.

Good luck finishing dinner.

You ordered rice, didn't you?

Do not use around eye area.

We know you can't read this.

Hope you didn't order soup.

Haven't you ever heard of a spoon?

We don't even use these in China any more.  These are so 1800's.

We only make these to send to American restaurants.  Because FORKS.

****

It kind of spiraled into this uncontrollable fit of giggling that we couldn't stop, and my mom had to pretend like she wasn't with us, or even related to us...which made it even funnier.  You know the kind.  Like when you spill Skittles on the hard-wood floor in the middle of a church service...but somehow it's the funniest thing that ever happened, and you can't stop trying not to giggle?  (well, maybe not that funny, but still).          not that that's ever happened to me...

It also morphed into a conversation about his various tattoos, most of which are cool-looking groups of Asian script.  He swears that the one down the back of his calf is the word for "courage", but I like to tell him, come on, it probably just says "broom" or something.  Because, who would know?  And if they did, who's going to say anything?  Like, sir, excuse me, but why do you have the word 'frying pan' on your leg? And do you know it says "kick me" on your shoulder?

I always warn him that, maybe the tattoo guy has no idea, or those were just the prettiest script letters that day, and he was like, oooh, I want to do that one!  Next guy that comes in...I'm doing that.  I don't care if it means "shovel"--it looks AWEsome.

His next tattoo is going to be a totem pole, though, so maybe there's some weird connection there that I'm not getting.

Ahh, good times.  I miss him.    *sniff*




Ever find yourself in those situations where you're laughing at something at an inappropriate time, when you know you shouldn't, and it just gets worse?  

And...We're Back, with Things I Overhear Around the House

My teenagers share my odd sense of humor, plus a whole different one of their own, so, a lot of times they'll be laughing their heads off and I don't get it.  But still.

Here are a few things I have randomly heard around here lately, in no particular order.

Youngest:  If I licked a penny, I could tell you what state it's from.

Oldest:  I just sprayed myself with Febreze so I'd smell better.  I think I've hit a new low.

Youngest (to Oldest):  If you were a spice...you'd be onion powder.

Oldest:  Dude.  It's weird to think about things you don't normally...think about.

Oldest to Youngest (who is staring into the fridge):  Whatcha lookin' for?     Youngest:  Love.

Youngest (about extreme close-up of a famous actor on a movie):  Ayy, yo gonna recycle those bags under ya eyes?

Or one of my favorites--this text conversation:

Ok, So I May Need Coffee

I was telling my kids this morning that I probably wasn't going to make coffee because:

1.  I don't really like the taste.  Unless it has so much cream and sugar in it that it becomes something else.

2.  I tend to gain weight when I drink coffee (see #1).

3.  Coffee doesn't really make me feel more alert, anyway.

I decided what the heck, I'll make some coffee.  So I measured some whole beans and dumped them in the filter and added water.  That was my first clue.  My kids were like, "Ummm, yeah..."

THEN while waiting to have my coffee, I was talking to my oldest about shipping guitars internationally, because she's selling one on ebay, and I said, "It's totally do-able.  Your uncle sent his Stradivarius to...." then I forgot the word for a minute, so I came up with...  "English."

She just stared at me, "Mom. Stratocaster. England.  Just stop talking."

Then they were like, "Omg, what is she going to be like when she's really old?"

Meanwhile she totally drew a cartoon me to illustrate, and put it on her comic blog.

 In the meantime, I said about three more totally wrong things, then I had to do some other stuff, and now my coffee's cold, so if there are wrong words here, too, I apologize.  Maybe I'll start over and have an iced coffee...

Nice to know I'm not a special snowflake, and I probably need coffee as much as the next person, but seriously??  Wrong words??

More Awkward Encounters--My Earliest Awkward Memory

If you've read much here, you may know I have a dorky tendency to always blurt out the wrong thing either in the wrong way or to the wrong person, so it got me thinking...when did this start?

I immediately knew.

I will try to make it brief.  (I said try.  Not promise).

When I was about 8, there were a boy and girl (siblings) who I equally adored (her) and loathed (him).  She had saved my life once, for real, when I managed to slip and fall down in the fastest current of our local river swimming hole, and found myself suddenly sputtering and tumbling along in a part of the river that was strong enough to CARRY ME ALL THE WAY DOWN THE WHOLE RIVER AND POSSIBLY THROUGH THE DAM WHERE I WOULD SURELY DIE.  aieeeeeeeee

She saved me by simply stepping into the water and grabbing my scrawny self, and saying, "Put your feet down".  It was like 6" deep.  But I was reallyreallyreally sure I almost died, right there; and Diane saved me, for real, so I adored her.

Her brother, Dale...I loathed.  I don't even remember *why*.  I just remember despising him.  I remember that he was bigger than us, and he was hateful and greasy and mean, and us younger kids all hated him, especially me.  I hated him with the fire of a thousand suns, with all the hate an 8-year-old could muster.

Still waters, guys.

One day, Dale was teasing someone--my brother, me, or one of the other kids, and it must have been just the last straw with this boy, because I remember I just--snapped.  He was giggling and tormenting one of us over who knows what, and I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth and glared at him.  I summoned up the worst thing I could think of, feeling like I wished I could rip him apart with my bare teeth and he would exist no longer (I still remember how angry I was).  And I screamed at him:

"You're BACON!    AND I LOVE BACON!!!!"

Wait.  What?

I meant that to sound like..."You are the one thing I want to rip with my teeth and just...destroy."  Instead, there was this shocked silence from the other kids.  Then:

Them:  AaaaahhhhhahahahahahahaHAHAHAHA.  You LOVE DALE!!  She loves Daaa-aaale!

Me:  NO!! Aughh!  I hate him! I want to BITE him.  (I actually had a bit of a reputation for literally biting people at that age, but that's a different story)

Them:  Stef and DAy-le, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!!!

They would not be dissuaded.  Hysterical childish laughter still echoes in my head.

*shrivel*  *hiss*

I've been saying dumb stuff like that, pretty much ever since.



What's your earliest awkward foot-in-mouth memory?  Didn't we all have that one kid we wished would just disappear?

Queen of Awkward Ice Breakers-- More Awkward Encounters

Recently I stopped at a grocery store, (which fortunately wasn't one I normally shop at), where I was UNpleasantly surprised to find that the parking lot was hosting what appeared to be a good-sized loud, public argument.  It looked like a Jerry Springer/white trash convention of screaming, crying, arm-waving, jumping-up-and-down random adults and small children, all of whom appeared to be attacking each other VERY LOUDLY.  And apparently it's always a good thing to include the small children if you're going to have a complete screaming cursing meltdown in a public parking lot.  Start young, is their motto. This whole thing was happening one car away from where I parked, because of course I'm not a savvy driver enough to notice a small gang war going on in a parking lot, so I accidentally parked right next to this giant drama.

I actually hurried to get inside, while trying not to listen for possible gun shots behind me, because, yes, it was that dramatic.  One lady was actually jumping up and down.

Like this, only with way more tattooed people.  And babies.

I got up to the check-out, and the cashier was this nice 20-something girl with a lovely foreign accent.  She asked for my I.D. for some wine, then she very flatteringly did a double-take at my age and then looked back at me, and back at my driver's license, and was like, "What?  Seriously?  No way you're that old."  I smiled and said, "Aww, thanks!" because there is no better compliment on the face of this earth.  

She went back to checking items through, then stopped and actually came back to study my face closely, then:  "Seriously.  Just...wow.  You look GREAT."  Again, "Thank you.  That's so sweet."  She did it a third time.  Not even kidding.  By now the kid who's bagging the groceries is sort of staring at me, so I looked at him and said, "It's OK...I'm actually 120 years old.  Don't tell anyone."

She was so sweet about it, and she kept going on about it in this lovely foreign accent, and it was very flattering.  Of course I wanted to say something witty and grateful in return, so I said, "Could you just come home with me?"

I MEANT it to sound like "Could I just adopt you, and you could live with my kids and teach them to always tell me I look young and beautiful every day, forever? Even when I wake up all cranky and snarling at everyone?"  But the shortened version of that thought...didn't come out sounding right.  Instead, it sounded kind of ...weird.

She kind of laughed and was like, "Oh.  Uh...no, I can't."  *pause*   "Not that it's not a nice offer..."

Oh.  Oh, my Lord...   No.  Wait.

I didn't even have the sense to be like, "Oh, no. I meant it like 'can I just adopt you?'" ...so I just ignored the whole part where THIS JUST GOT WEIRD and decided to babble on about the frackas in the parking lot.  "Did you guys have to send someone out to settle that big fight in your parking lot a little while ago?"  They were like, "What fight?"  So I described it, and she let us know, in her cool European accent, "Yeah, that's an AMERICAN thing," so apparently Europeans keep their big noisy fights at home or in back alleys or something.

Then the bagging kid decided that he should probably walk me out to my car, because by now it was getting dark, and remember...I'm possibly 120 years old, and no one wants to see an old lady get knocked down in a gang brawl.

He followed me most of the way to my car and apologized for the fight, like it was his fault--"I'm so sorry you had to see that."  Still, I could tell he was probably wondering if I was going to ask HIM to come home with me, too, judging from the careful distance he kept behind my cart.

*sigh*

I'm just glad it wasn't my regular grocery store.

School Lists and Little Cheese Dudes. My years of 'No Television' are Showing.

Back when my oldest was going into first grade, I remember taking her school-supply shopping with The List.  You remember The List, right?  That full-page of #10 font, single-spaced, 3-columns of SUPER IMPORTANT STUFF like this:
 "One full 987-piece pack of erasable color Sharpie brand fine-point nontoxic washable markers including neon and white (please make SURE they're washable. Mrs. K's classroom has just been painted again)"

Yeah.  She just graduated, but I SO do not miss those Lists. Of course, next month she starts college, and there's still a list, only now it has *just* two things on it.
1.  $700.00 worth of text books.
 2.  New Apple Laptop of $900 value or better.

*sigh*

moving on

I still remember that first-grade shopping trip, though.  We'd picked out a cute little-girl backpack and cute little-girl pencils and lunchbox and clothes and socks and shoes and the 987-pieces of erasable whatever, a pink ruler, highlighters in 10 colors, a pencil box, a container of 500 erasers, and a pallet of Kleenex, then we turned down the...notebook aisle.  She had to have several notebooks, of course, because learning to write takes LOTS OF PAPER.

Bear in mind that I have spent most of my life, and hers, without any TV, and especially without cable.  Or Nickelodeon.  So I had no earthly idea what I was looking at, on some of the folders.  I recognized Hello Kitty, because...hello...that cat has been around since I was in 2nd grade.  But the rest?  I didn't recognize any of them. What even ARE Bratz?!  You guys!!  They look like Angelina in size 14 shoes from some weird disco/roller derby nightmare.  Scary.

We stopped in front of the folders, and to this day we still laugh about the conversation:

Me:  Ok--Folders.  They have rainbows, Hello Kitty, puppies...some little cheese dude...?

Her:  Mom.  That's SpongeBob. He's not cheese.

Me:  Who's "SpongeBob"? He looks like Swiss cheese. Why are his eyes bloodshot?

Her:  He lives in the ocean. Can I get that one?

Me:  I guess so.  But not the one with the bloodshot eyes.  That's just weird.

After that, we actually started watching SpongeBob now and then, and once you get past the close-ups of the bloodshot eyes or the semi-gross jokes in some of them...he's pretty cute.  I get it now.

Little cheese dude... 

Sorry kids.

So, Mom--What DO You Do All Day?

A few weeks ago I was talking with my youngest, who prefers to be on the go A LOT and can be reduced to catatonic staring at a wall in boredom if she has to stay home for like, a whole day during the summer.

We had this conversation, while talking about the fact that I have spent the last 18 months with no car, except the one I share with our oldest, who works full-time now, so basically I'm home a lot, ALL THE TIME EVERY DAY FOREVER (which is where I love to be the most--they don't understand why my perfect day is a day when I don't have to drive anyone anywhere):

Her:  I can't for the LIFE OF ME figure out what it is you DO all day...

Me:  Well.  Basically I just hang around, painting my nails, reading, taking naps, studying French, fooling around on the internet, and WHATEVER ELSE I FEEL LIKE.  All day.  While you're at school.

Her:  *nothing*

In all fairness...between manicures I also manage to run our business, do all the books, scheduling, customer service, and taxes; take care of 2 acres of landscaping, an acre of grass, a 5,000 sq ft vegetable garden, laundry for four, keep 19 chickens, an orchard, 100 rose bushes, keep the house up, preserve all our own food for the year, make sure that there's always food in the fridge, the cats are fed (yes, every day), beds have clean linens, bathrooms are clean, and everything gets done on time and everyone gets where they need to go, and dinner is always delicious.

I also sometimes write blog posts, knit sweaters, and work on a cookbook that will hopefully be published in my lifetime.

Nothing much.

So--Here's to working, stay-at-home moms everywhere.  Because we ROCK, even if no one can see it.

Sorry--Can't help you.  I have wet nails.

Of Hot Coffee, Camp, and Navigation with Kids

So, today, I had to drive my youngest to camp at the crack of 9 o'clock, first thing this morning.  ALL THE WAY TO THE ACTUAL CAMP YOU GUYS.  Usually, we just meet at the church (10 minutes away), throw a bunch of teenagers and their gear at some grownups and a bus, and leave.  Then we come back next week and do the whole thing in reverse.  Everyone wins.

Apparently things have changed in the camp insurance world, though, due to probably the last two decades of grownups suing other grownups over every-little-ridiculous-thing, until now...no one can drive anyone anywhere ever NEVER EVER, but I didn't know this until about 12 hours ago.

We just got back from camping last night ourselves, unloaded OUR stuff from the camper, threw HER stuff in the laundry and BACK into another bag and into the trunk.  Then I happened to check the email for the info on her camp, for this morning.  I stopped at the part where it said "Hi guys! We're meeting at the camp this year."

*...*  It's an hour away.

What?  Ok, it wasn't actually that big of a deal.  I'm off, I have the time.  I even have a car, which is a rental, so woo hoo, because FREE MILEAGE.  Except for that thing I hate above all else:  I had to set an actual alarm clock.  I hate mine like you can't even believe, so I made coffee for the road.  As we turned out of our road, I handed it to my daughter and said, "Here. See if this helps."  Because hello, it was 9 a.m., and I'm pretty sure no one should be driving at that hour without coffee, plus don't forget we just got back from a long hard weekend of nothing, and we were both kind of groggy.

I forgot that she is completely unlike me, in the sense that she likes her food and drinks...lukewarm, whereas I like them to be still actually sizzling on the plate.  So she takes a sip through that dangerous little siphon-top on my travel mug, and I hear:

Her:  WOMAN!!!

Me:  What?

Her:  HOT!!!!!!!!  

Me:  Oh.  Sorry.  Yeah...it's hot coffee.  You weren't supposed to guzzle it.  But...sorry.

Her:  GAHHH.  THAT'S LIKE MORDOR IN A CUP.

What was really cool was that she set my phone somehow to navigate the trip for us, with that voice that tells you when to turn, and if it hadn't been "on", I'd have taken an actual wrong turn at the last minute and probably ended up in Albuquerque.  So the navigation voice was like the coolest thing ever.  I didn't even have to look at the phone, or zoom in on a map to see where we were, or pull over and look up directions.  I feel so modern.  Then she was like, "Mom.  Seriously?  You've never used navigation?"

I haven't.  Trust me to find out how cool something is, right about the time it's almost obsolete.  Yeah...I'm crazy techie like that.  (and, yes, I know they can steer you wrong...I'm not that old).

Anyway.  I'm back.  And oh!--I have a cool post to write coming up that I was invited to do by a fellow blogger who thinks I'm way more talented than I am, but I'll let that be a surprise.  Or like a surprise that you know is coming.  Or you can just act surprised later.

So, keep an eye out for that, but first I have to sort out four days' worth of business voicemail, glance at some random bills that probably needed my attention a week ago, unpack the camper, and do  ALL THE LAUNDRY from camping, which somehow multiplies between the camper and the laundry room, until it seems like we must have had about 100 people with us, judging from the heap of bedding and shorts and beach towels.

*sigh*

You mean, we have to UNpack it, too???

I May Have Exaggerated A LITTLE

If you have people in your life who are known for accidentally (really?) ending up with your stuff (clothes, books, camping gear, coffee mugs, etc.) after visiting your house, you will understand this.

My oldest daughter is a huge fan of hot coffee and tea, and a huge fan of vintage stuff.  Our family lurks around antique stores a lot on our beach/camping weekends, because we're cool like that, and on one of these rambles, she found a vintage, ceramic Starbuck's coffee mug in perfect condition.  Of course she grabbed it because OH YES IT WAS THAT AWESOME.

It's like the holy grail of cups at our house.  No one touches it but her.  When I wash it, I put it caaaarefully to dry and then caaaarefully find a spot in the cabinet for it, because there is probably not another one anywhere on the planet and why is this even IN the cabinet when it should be in the antique-dishes-glass-fronted cabinet-thingee where no one can touch it?

Like...this.

Anyhoo--Recently we had company, and one of them was walking out the door to go home in the morning, and he was actually carrying her Starbuck's mug as he headed for the door, like, "Well--See ya."  I wasn't awake, because I try not to be out of bed before 9 in the summer (it's sort of a rule), but my husband is much more alert to that kind of stuff, so he stopped him and made him dump the coffee out, and Put. The. Cup. Down.

My younger daughter and I shared a laugh over it afterwards, because this kind of stuff happens a lot in our family.  But for some reason, when I explained how the conversation went, I made it sound like this:

"...So then Dad said, 'Do NOT leave here with that cup.  If you take that cup and break it, my daughter will hunt you down and kill you, and she will glue the broken pieces of that cup back together with the molecules of your soul.' "

Ahh...family.  *wipes a tear*  What good are we, if we can't embroider a story now and then?