Leonard was an elderly man who lives across the street with his wife. He had the nicest lawn on the block.
I was an industrious child, and I liked to be creative in the kitchen. This usually involved a recipe from a cookbook that I would tweak to "make it better". This resulted in foodstuff that the dog wouldn't even eat.
I had a plastic wagon that I would cart around the neighborhood filled with my Flourless Cookies and my Beer Muffins. I would go door-to-door selling my treats for .50 cents a pop.
Leonard always bought one. I hope he never ever actually ate them, but what a good sport!
Friday, May 30, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
6x365 Mr. Robathan
Mr. R was my math teacher in my sophmore year of high school. I wasn't a great student, but I was cute and charming. My friend Kristi and I would sit in the back of the class and make fun of the day's lessons, write notes back and forth, and decorate our binders with stickers.
We could tell that we exasperated the crap out of him, but we kept his class interesting, and he never really did get angry.
We could tell that we exasperated the crap out of him, but we kept his class interesting, and he never really did get angry.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
5x365 Mrs. Hyatt
Mrs. Hyatt was a the Speech Therapist at my elemetary school. I had a lisp, and in third grade I was told to go every Tuesday to a small trailer at the back of the school. In this trailer I would sit with Mrs. Hyatt and practice my 's' and 'z' sounds until I could thay, I mean say them properly. I got star stickers on each level of sounds that I made.
I still lisp sometimes, but only when I'm excited or angry.
I still lisp sometimes, but only when I'm excited or angry.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
4x365 Mrs. SF
Mrs. SF lived a few houses down from us. She had a daughter named Amy who was in college. When Mrs. SF would go out of town, she would ask me to care for her dog, Sassy. Sassy was a Dalmatian, and had a tail that, when whipped across my legs, hurt like a bitch.
Caring for Sassy including walking her, putting out food and water, and picking up her poop in the backyard. For this I was paid $5 a day. Pretty good wage for a 12 year old.
One day while caring for Sassy, I was bored. I starting snooping around in their house. It felt wicked then, but looking back on it now it wasn't very bad...wrong, yes. I watched 'Pretty Woman' on the VCR and then it wouldn't eject! I picked through Amy's clothes and found a bikini top that I actually borrowed for a few days and then returned. I didn't actually have the boobs for said top, but I was hoping for some encouragement from the top.
I think that Mrs. SF figured out what had happened, because she never asked me to care for Sassy again.
Caring for Sassy including walking her, putting out food and water, and picking up her poop in the backyard. For this I was paid $5 a day. Pretty good wage for a 12 year old.
One day while caring for Sassy, I was bored. I starting snooping around in their house. It felt wicked then, but looking back on it now it wasn't very bad...wrong, yes. I watched 'Pretty Woman' on the VCR and then it wouldn't eject! I picked through Amy's clothes and found a bikini top that I actually borrowed for a few days and then returned. I didn't actually have the boobs for said top, but I was hoping for some encouragement from the top.
I think that Mrs. SF figured out what had happened, because she never asked me to care for Sassy again.
Monday, May 26, 2008
3x365 Lisa Tripp
I was in third grade, she was in second. Lisa lived across the street in an ugly house with a kick-ass cement pond in front, where we would collect frogs eggs and tadpoles. We would play Barbies together.
As a third grader, I was very proud of my Barbie collection. I had lots of them, clothes, jewelry, etc. One Barbie even came with her own little makeup case/purse, which had real eyeshadow in it!
One day while we were at her house playing Barbies, I had to go home for something, so I left my Barbies there with Lisa. I was going to pick them up the next day. Lo and behold, when I came to get my suitcase of Barbies, things were missing. Earrings, fancy dresses, a turquoise fur wrap...a turquoise fur wrap, people!
I asked her for my things, and she claimed she had no idea what I was talking about. She wouldn't budge from her story. I never got my Barbie items returned. And we were never really friends after that either. Huh.
As a third grader, I was very proud of my Barbie collection. I had lots of them, clothes, jewelry, etc. One Barbie even came with her own little makeup case/purse, which had real eyeshadow in it!
One day while we were at her house playing Barbies, I had to go home for something, so I left my Barbies there with Lisa. I was going to pick them up the next day. Lo and behold, when I came to get my suitcase of Barbies, things were missing. Earrings, fancy dresses, a turquoise fur wrap...a turquoise fur wrap, people!
I asked her for my things, and she claimed she had no idea what I was talking about. She wouldn't budge from her story. I never got my Barbie items returned. And we were never really friends after that either. Huh.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
2x365 Mrs. Gregory
Mrs. Gregory was my third grade teacher. I don't remember much about her teaching style, other than learning to love to read. I still love to read, any book, any time, and I credit Mrs. Gregory for forging this bond with books.
She would read to us during class, after lunch. She would read books like A Light In The Attic by Shel Silverstein and The New Kid On the Block by Jack Prelutsky. I remember her reading aloud The BFG by Roald Dahl. When I see these books I think of her.
I wish I had taken the time years ago to find her (she's retired) and let her know how much she influenced my life. I'm afraid that she's dead, honestly. I remember her as old, and that was over 20 years ago.
She would read to us during class, after lunch. She would read books like A Light In The Attic by Shel Silverstein and The New Kid On the Block by Jack Prelutsky. I remember her reading aloud The BFG by Roald Dahl. When I see these books I think of her.
I wish I had taken the time years ago to find her (she's retired) and let her know how much she influenced my life. I'm afraid that she's dead, honestly. I remember her as old, and that was over 20 years ago.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
1x365 Courtney Owens
Courtney was in my fifth grade class. She had a blonde pageboy haircut and a snub nose. She was mean mean mean to me. She would insult me, taunt me, get the other girls and boys to get in on it and laugh at me together. I hadn't considered myself to be any less popular or any less pretty or any less smart than anyone else ever until she came along.
The fifth graders took a week-long trip to Environmental Camp every year. Before we left, we were asked to write down on a piece of paper the five people we would want to share a cabin with. I wrote down my friend's names and was so excited. The teachers put me in a cabin with Courtney and her chummy group, all who had a great week making me miserable.
I would cry after school when I got home. My mother would tell me that Courtney was jealous of me and that's why she was so utterly mean.
I didn't believe her then and I don't believe her now.
Sometimes I wish we would meet accidently. Would I have the nerve to ask her why she was so hateful to me? Would she remember? Would she even have a reason?
The fifth graders took a week-long trip to Environmental Camp every year. Before we left, we were asked to write down on a piece of paper the five people we would want to share a cabin with. I wrote down my friend's names and was so excited. The teachers put me in a cabin with Courtney and her chummy group, all who had a great week making me miserable.
I would cry after school when I got home. My mother would tell me that Courtney was jealous of me and that's why she was so utterly mean.
I didn't believe her then and I don't believe her now.
Sometimes I wish we would meet accidently. Would I have the nerve to ask her why she was so hateful to me? Would she remember? Would she even have a reason?
Friday, May 23, 2008
My House In The Middle Of My Street
Don't you wish you had a washer and dryer like these? No, you don't! Because if you did, you'd have a backache from all of the bending it requires to load and unload the damn things. Water saver, pish!
What's that under the foil in my fridge? I'm certainly not going to peek and find out....
What's that under the foil in my fridge? I'm certainly not going to peek and find out....
Don't you wish that while on maternity leave I had gone and organized the garage like I said I would? Fersher.
A Day In The Life of J3
Mmmmm....milk. Milk milk milk, I love milk. (burp)
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Milk! mmmmm (burp)
Oh no naked aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Hey, milk! I love milk, milk milk. (burp)
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Hey! Hey! I'm awake now! Where's my milk?! Gimme my milk!! No Daddy, don't eat my toes, I want milk!
No, I don't wanna be naked again!! Dammit, where's my milk?!!!
Mmmm, milk! (burp)
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Milk! mmmmm (burp)
Oh no naked aaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Hey, milk! I love milk, milk milk. (burp)
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Hey! Hey! I'm awake now! Where's my milk?! Gimme my milk!! No Daddy, don't eat my toes, I want milk!
No, I don't wanna be naked again!! Dammit, where's my milk?!!!
Mmmm, milk! (burp)
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
My son, my third-born, my last child, my "baby" for always, is the cutest freakin darn baby, I tell you what. Let's brag about him finally!
Ahem.
He has the softest baby hair, brown in color. His eyes are sooo dark, I have to call them "maybe brown" because they're definently not blue, but is it me just wanting him to have his daddy's eyes? Who knows! We'll wait and see.
When he is hungry, he cries this cry that sounds like, "Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh" like he's agreeing with you. This comes in handy when you ask him a question, any question! Example:
"J, do you want one of those 'baths' that you absolutely hate? You do? Great!"
or
"J, do you want to go to the Titty Bar? You do? Great!"
I have been peed on more now than ever before methinks. It's like a little sprinkler, just watering away! Oh look, pee I mean there it goes again oh dammit pee everywhere! And I hate it because then I have to change his clothes and he cries (which is the only time other than bath time when he does cry because we hold him all the time!) but I always laugh because how can you not laugh at that? I can't lie down and pee all over my neck, now can I?
It's strange to me the circumcision talks we've encountered, on a side note. We elected to not have J circumcised. (okay, I just agreed with what Husband said because I left that decision for him. I don't have have a penis, not my decision to make.) When the nurse at the hospital mentioned it, then the pediatrician, then the Appointment Giver Lady at the pediatrician's office, fine whatever not a problem. But they almost seemed like they were trying to push me into it. They kept talking about it even after I replied to their, "Are you having him circumcised?" with a polite "No, thankyou!" They kept on about the procedure and how much they were and under 10lbs blah blah blah. I already said no! Leave his penis alone fercryinoutloud!
Anyhow. He is just so so sweet. I just sit nursing him and stare into his eyes sometimes. He has a dimple in one of his cheeks, not the same side cheek as the dimple on his Daddy,however. And he has to squinch up his cheeks just right for me to see it...but it's there and I get excited every time I see it, because in my visions of Future Unborn he always had that dimple! His nose is kinda big, but I think his face will grow into it. He can put his thumb in his mouth and his middle finger up his nose at the same time!
He's too small for most of his clothes still, so I like to grab his empty footie jammies at the end and say, "My feet, where are my feet?" And I laugh and know that he is laughing too, but on the inside.
Ahem.
He has the softest baby hair, brown in color. His eyes are sooo dark, I have to call them "maybe brown" because they're definently not blue, but is it me just wanting him to have his daddy's eyes? Who knows! We'll wait and see.
When he is hungry, he cries this cry that sounds like, "Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh" like he's agreeing with you. This comes in handy when you ask him a question, any question! Example:
"J, do you want one of those 'baths' that you absolutely hate? You do? Great!"
or
"J, do you want to go to the Titty Bar? You do? Great!"
I have been peed on more now than ever before methinks. It's like a little sprinkler, just watering away! Oh look, pee I mean there it goes again oh dammit pee everywhere! And I hate it because then I have to change his clothes and he cries (which is the only time other than bath time when he does cry because we hold him all the time!) but I always laugh because how can you not laugh at that? I can't lie down and pee all over my neck, now can I?
It's strange to me the circumcision talks we've encountered, on a side note. We elected to not have J circumcised. (okay, I just agreed with what Husband said because I left that decision for him. I don't have have a penis, not my decision to make.) When the nurse at the hospital mentioned it, then the pediatrician, then the Appointment Giver Lady at the pediatrician's office, fine whatever not a problem. But they almost seemed like they were trying to push me into it. They kept talking about it even after I replied to their, "Are you having him circumcised?" with a polite "No, thankyou!" They kept on about the procedure and how much they were and under 10lbs blah blah blah. I already said no! Leave his penis alone fercryinoutloud!
Anyhow. He is just so so sweet. I just sit nursing him and stare into his eyes sometimes. He has a dimple in one of his cheeks, not the same side cheek as the dimple on his Daddy,however. And he has to squinch up his cheeks just right for me to see it...but it's there and I get excited every time I see it, because in my visions of Future Unborn he always had that dimple! His nose is kinda big, but I think his face will grow into it. He can put his thumb in his mouth and his middle finger up his nose at the same time!
He's too small for most of his clothes still, so I like to grab his empty footie jammies at the end and say, "My feet, where are my feet?" And I laugh and know that he is laughing too, but on the inside.
Loathing the Loafs
You've seen it, I know you have. Don't deny it.
"Dad, I want a Go Phone!" says unattractive Loaf Jr.
"Lemme sleep on it!" sings older-than-old Mr. Loaf.
Mrs. Loaf comes in carrying...what is that, meat? Mrs. Loaf chucks a leg of lamb or whatever into the freezer singing about no surprise bills to pay.
Loaf Jr. wrinkles up his face in a way that utterly annoyes the shit out of me, and he and Papa Loaf sing about the joys of getting the Go Phone.
GO away, Loaf Family commercial, I cannot take much more!
"Dad, I want a Go Phone!" says unattractive Loaf Jr.
"Lemme sleep on it!" sings older-than-old Mr. Loaf.
Mrs. Loaf comes in carrying...what is that, meat? Mrs. Loaf chucks a leg of lamb or whatever into the freezer singing about no surprise bills to pay.
Loaf Jr. wrinkles up his face in a way that utterly annoyes the shit out of me, and he and Papa Loaf sing about the joys of getting the Go Phone.
GO away, Loaf Family commercial, I cannot take much more!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Waiting Game
I had forgotten about this...the waiting for a new person to enter your life.
Knowing that this little person will change everything, will disrupt routines and throw everything into uproar. Knowing that everything will change, my life, my daughter's lives will forever be touched by this moving entity in my womb, whom I cannot see or hear, but I instinctively know. I know he doesn't like me to "push him around", because when I try to poke a foot or baby butt, he moves away from my touch. A little personality all his own, and not even born yet...
This little miracle, as every child is, who forever ties two families into one.
A little boy who will hold my heart in the palm of his hand, my forever youngest child. So much change, but I am in limbo, waiting....knowing he will arrive soon, but when?
The last few weeks are the hardest.
Knowing that this little person will change everything, will disrupt routines and throw everything into uproar. Knowing that everything will change, my life, my daughter's lives will forever be touched by this moving entity in my womb, whom I cannot see or hear, but I instinctively know. I know he doesn't like me to "push him around", because when I try to poke a foot or baby butt, he moves away from my touch. A little personality all his own, and not even born yet...
This little miracle, as every child is, who forever ties two families into one.
A little boy who will hold my heart in the palm of his hand, my forever youngest child. So much change, but I am in limbo, waiting....knowing he will arrive soon, but when?
The last few weeks are the hardest.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
Δεν το συμπαθώ
I am not finding this pregnancy to be to my liking. That's a nice way of saying that I really don't love it. Heck, I'll be honest. I don't even really like it.
My other pregnancies were different, I really enjoyed them. So what if I was 17 with my first? And had a cheating drunken husband the other? Is that why it's different? I'm older? More out-of-shape? Testosterone floating in this unborn Boy Child, whereas my two Girl Children and I were blissfully floating the estrogen sea?
I dunno'. But, for lack of a better term, it sucks. Here, let me tell you all about it, since it seems I've been suffering some creative block lately.
First Trimester: I'm nauseous all the freakin' time and I never throw up. I nibble on crackers all day long, and as a result of this carb overload, I gain a singnificant portion of my total weight gain. My breasts are huge and painful in an omg gethtefuckawayfromthemori'llkillyou kinda' way. I cannot handle the least bit of sugar. I've never been a really big sugar eater, but I sure notice when I eat "too much", and that is just about everything. A soda. A piece of candy. I feel my glucose levels soaring and dipping with each meal or snack I eat. I am uber-emotional and I cry and I cry over everything. I am exhausted. I am not tired, but just plain worn out. Walking across a parking lot is more than I can handle some days, to do something that requires more, like grocery shopping? Nuh-uh. The bouts of "holy shit what am I doing having another baby at this point in my life" talks to myself are broken by sonograms of an...alien thing. Yes, it is a baby, but....not yet. I am pushy and demanding and I don't take any shit from anyone. I yell at strangers at the gas station who piss me off. I am brisk with coworkers and clients at work. Strangely enough, they chalk it up to pregnancy hormones. I go through two bottles of Tums.
Second Trimester: By god, first day into it I feel better. Day two into this trimester and I am still feeling good. My energy? It's back. I am able to walk around with friends and The J's and trick-or-treat on Halloween. Sugar levels are balancing and don't seem so noticable. At about day five I stop marvelling at how damn good I feel, I just go with it. I feel normal again. My breasts are still huge and sore, but tolerable most days. My ass has almost doubled. My feet swell and look like puffy bread rolls. Sonogram picture shows a penis, which is what we want, what we long for to complete our blended family. I don't have cravings, except for ice to crunch, which has been with every pregnancy. The cold crunchy ice satisfies me like nothing else. I drive my coworkers nuts with the crunching. I have to pee all the time, which the ice does not alleviate. I buy my Tums at Costco.
Third Trimester: This is now. I am feeling tired again, I want to come home and take naps. I am grumpy and emotional and I cry. I am constipated and my legs cramp and I get heartburn from absolutely nothing. I feel heavy and turning over in bed is a chore, as is getting up five times a night to pee and dealing with my cat who will get up on the roof and then forgets how to fucking get down. This baby is twisting and turning and kicking and wiggling and it annoys me sometimes...but when Husband puts his hand on my belly and talks to Boy Child, my annoyance melts away. Three more months of getting bigger and peeing more and then the thought, the reality of actually giving birth again...I am considering tubal ligation, because I never want to do this again. My family will be complete.
My other pregnancies were different, I really enjoyed them. So what if I was 17 with my first? And had a cheating drunken husband the other? Is that why it's different? I'm older? More out-of-shape? Testosterone floating in this unborn Boy Child, whereas my two Girl Children and I were blissfully floating the estrogen sea?
I dunno'. But, for lack of a better term, it sucks. Here, let me tell you all about it, since it seems I've been suffering some creative block lately.
First Trimester: I'm nauseous all the freakin' time and I never throw up. I nibble on crackers all day long, and as a result of this carb overload, I gain a singnificant portion of my total weight gain. My breasts are huge and painful in an omg gethtefuckawayfromthemori'llkillyou kinda' way. I cannot handle the least bit of sugar. I've never been a really big sugar eater, but I sure notice when I eat "too much", and that is just about everything. A soda. A piece of candy. I feel my glucose levels soaring and dipping with each meal or snack I eat. I am uber-emotional and I cry and I cry over everything. I am exhausted. I am not tired, but just plain worn out. Walking across a parking lot is more than I can handle some days, to do something that requires more, like grocery shopping? Nuh-uh. The bouts of "holy shit what am I doing having another baby at this point in my life" talks to myself are broken by sonograms of an...alien thing. Yes, it is a baby, but....not yet. I am pushy and demanding and I don't take any shit from anyone. I yell at strangers at the gas station who piss me off. I am brisk with coworkers and clients at work. Strangely enough, they chalk it up to pregnancy hormones. I go through two bottles of Tums.
Second Trimester: By god, first day into it I feel better. Day two into this trimester and I am still feeling good. My energy? It's back. I am able to walk around with friends and The J's and trick-or-treat on Halloween. Sugar levels are balancing and don't seem so noticable. At about day five I stop marvelling at how damn good I feel, I just go with it. I feel normal again. My breasts are still huge and sore, but tolerable most days. My ass has almost doubled. My feet swell and look like puffy bread rolls. Sonogram picture shows a penis, which is what we want, what we long for to complete our blended family. I don't have cravings, except for ice to crunch, which has been with every pregnancy. The cold crunchy ice satisfies me like nothing else. I drive my coworkers nuts with the crunching. I have to pee all the time, which the ice does not alleviate. I buy my Tums at Costco.
Third Trimester: This is now. I am feeling tired again, I want to come home and take naps. I am grumpy and emotional and I cry. I am constipated and my legs cramp and I get heartburn from absolutely nothing. I feel heavy and turning over in bed is a chore, as is getting up five times a night to pee and dealing with my cat who will get up on the roof and then forgets how to fucking get down. This baby is twisting and turning and kicking and wiggling and it annoys me sometimes...but when Husband puts his hand on my belly and talks to Boy Child, my annoyance melts away. Three more months of getting bigger and peeing more and then the thought, the reality of actually giving birth again...I am considering tubal ligation, because I never want to do this again. My family will be complete.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Healing
The man I love is a complicated man...but who isn't "complicated" in some way, right?
He cares for animals. He likes babies. Animals and babies seem to...gravitate to him, it's weird and I'm jealous. Old people like him, men and women both. I could go on and on of the things I love about him, but I won't. Who wants to hear that? (Rhetorical question)
There has, however, alwyas been something about him that worried me. He was always a little angry. Always a little unhappy with his cards in life...always walking and testing and missing something. Always just not calm enough. Rarely enough to really seem scary....but I say "rarely". And "rarely" happened. And it was. But this something was never enough to really point out what was the main problem...never enough to demand a change, a more equal give-and-take reather than just 'take'.
The man standing in my living room is a very different man. Same good qualities, same delicious smell and his kiss that takes my breath away...but he's melted somehow. (Are visions of The Wicked Witch going through your head now?) It's as if he's just softened, mushed up around the hard edges. I could use analogies. Like a big weight has lifted. An empty glass partly filled up. But I won't. (But I just did!)
And again, the melting (melting!) is not enough to pinpoint, nothing to comment on yet. The sense of haste, of urgency in everything this man did, everything he had in life, has gone. Poof. Poof! It's only been two days, and I can see it. I'll be cautious. But I'm relaxing myself, and I can see where I can do a little less "take" also. I'm giving just a little more, listening and discussing and just enjoying what we have, not enough to pinpoint. But enough.
As a mother, my heart and my children are the same. When they get stiitches, so does a little part of my heart. My heart tears up when one of them cries, with every retelling of schoolyard snubs, it bruises.The same heart, it sings along with my daughters at every bedtime song, and dances in each ballet recital. I had never thought about how a Dad would feel without his children. But now that I wonder...well, it seems stupid to even wonder.
I won't dare to hope that my life and relationship will be perfect from now on, I'm not expecting rainbows and sunshine and faeries all the fucking time, fersher.
But I can hope for the healing that happens when a Dad hugs his children for the first time in over five years, when he and his son watch a ppv UFC fight on a Saturday night. The healing that happens to every parent's heart when they put their child to bed at night and they know that tomorrow will bring more.
He cares for animals. He likes babies. Animals and babies seem to...gravitate to him, it's weird and I'm jealous. Old people like him, men and women both. I could go on and on of the things I love about him, but I won't. Who wants to hear that? (Rhetorical question)
There has, however, alwyas been something about him that worried me. He was always a little angry. Always a little unhappy with his cards in life...always walking and testing and missing something. Always just not calm enough. Rarely enough to really seem scary....but I say "rarely". And "rarely" happened. And it was. But this something was never enough to really point out what was the main problem...never enough to demand a change, a more equal give-and-take reather than just 'take'.
The man standing in my living room is a very different man. Same good qualities, same delicious smell and his kiss that takes my breath away...but he's melted somehow. (Are visions of The Wicked Witch going through your head now?) It's as if he's just softened, mushed up around the hard edges. I could use analogies. Like a big weight has lifted. An empty glass partly filled up. But I won't. (But I just did!)
And again, the melting (melting!) is not enough to pinpoint, nothing to comment on yet. The sense of haste, of urgency in everything this man did, everything he had in life, has gone. Poof. Poof! It's only been two days, and I can see it. I'll be cautious. But I'm relaxing myself, and I can see where I can do a little less "take" also. I'm giving just a little more, listening and discussing and just enjoying what we have, not enough to pinpoint. But enough.
As a mother, my heart and my children are the same. When they get stiitches, so does a little part of my heart. My heart tears up when one of them cries, with every retelling of schoolyard snubs, it bruises.The same heart, it sings along with my daughters at every bedtime song, and dances in each ballet recital. I had never thought about how a Dad would feel without his children. But now that I wonder...well, it seems stupid to even wonder.
I won't dare to hope that my life and relationship will be perfect from now on, I'm not expecting rainbows and sunshine and faeries all the fucking time, fersher.
But I can hope for the healing that happens when a Dad hugs his children for the first time in over five years, when he and his son watch a ppv UFC fight on a Saturday night. The healing that happens to every parent's heart when they put their child to bed at night and they know that tomorrow will bring more.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
"Pretend" Story Number Two
A woman came in to apply for food stamps. This woman looked awfully familiar...hmmm...where had I seen her before? Ah ha! She looked exactly like a woman who had worked here a few weeks ago, but with a different hairstyle.
Let's backtrack a little bit. I was in a training class with a few new people. One of the women, we'll call her Threnody, did not seem the type to be working here. She was very verbally abrasive and bias and opinionated. Don't get me wrong, I love opinionated people, even if their views are different from mine. It's just that in this job, one has to be unbias towards clients. And Threnody was not. Threnody worked there for a month or two and then quit, stating she was "headed for greener pastures".
Okay, so as I was saying, this women looked like Threnody's twin sister in a bad wig. She had a different name and a social-security number to go with that name. She had a story of woe. Well, guess what a person needs to get food stamps? A story of woe, and a picture ID. Yep, you guessed it. The worker who was interviewing her gave her food stamps.
When the interview was over, we clued Worker in on who we thought it was. All was not lost, part of the interviewing process in being fingerprinted. Guess who's also in the fingerprint database? County workers. We all waited with bated breath.
Lo and behold, this woman and Threnody had matching fingerprints! Amazing! The Welfare Police were called down. After Threnody was questioned (and claimed not to know how she got there) and her husband was called from work to come down (who she refused to recognize), Mental Health was also called over.
We're not sure what happened after that. Confidentiality and all that. We workers have our theories though...was she crazy? Having a bad day? Or something else?
Let's backtrack a little bit. I was in a training class with a few new people. One of the women, we'll call her Threnody, did not seem the type to be working here. She was very verbally abrasive and bias and opinionated. Don't get me wrong, I love opinionated people, even if their views are different from mine. It's just that in this job, one has to be unbias towards clients. And Threnody was not. Threnody worked there for a month or two and then quit, stating she was "headed for greener pastures".
Okay, so as I was saying, this women looked like Threnody's twin sister in a bad wig. She had a different name and a social-security number to go with that name. She had a story of woe. Well, guess what a person needs to get food stamps? A story of woe, and a picture ID. Yep, you guessed it. The worker who was interviewing her gave her food stamps.
When the interview was over, we clued Worker in on who we thought it was. All was not lost, part of the interviewing process in being fingerprinted. Guess who's also in the fingerprint database? County workers. We all waited with bated breath.
Lo and behold, this woman and Threnody had matching fingerprints! Amazing! The Welfare Police were called down. After Threnody was questioned (and claimed not to know how she got there) and her husband was called from work to come down (who she refused to recognize), Mental Health was also called over.
We're not sure what happened after that. Confidentiality and all that. We workers have our theories though...was she crazy? Having a bad day? Or something else?
"Pretend" Story Number One
An older lady walked into the Welfare Office. She looked to be about in her late fifties maybe? Anyhow, she had a belly on her. (I'm not making fun of older fat people here, gimme a sec.)
The lady announced to everyone that she was...pregnant! She was very proud of this news, kept boasting and talking about, how, "even though I'm old, I'm keeping this baby!"
She seemed a little strange, but it might have been the fact that she looked like a grandma and she was pregnant. Huh.
Before the woman could continue with her application interview though, she left. Where did she go? Why, she went to the bus-stop right outside to catch her bus. What did she do before she got on the bus, you ask? She bent down and gave birth to a pink pillow "baby" before she got on the bus.
The lady announced to everyone that she was...pregnant! She was very proud of this news, kept boasting and talking about, how, "even though I'm old, I'm keeping this baby!"
She seemed a little strange, but it might have been the fact that she looked like a grandma and she was pregnant. Huh.
Before the woman could continue with her application interview though, she left. Where did she go? Why, she went to the bus-stop right outside to catch her bus. What did she do before she got on the bus, you ask? She bent down and gave birth to a pink pillow "baby" before she got on the bus.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Something Nice
After reading a comment posted from my last entry, I got to thinking...I never do post anything nice about work. I never talk about the good stuff that happens, or the parts of my job that I actually enjoy. So, here goes:
1. I like sitting at a desk in an air/heat controlled room.
2. I like asking nosy questions.
3. I like weekends off, and working a set 8 hours a day.
4. My typing skills have improved considerably since I started working there.
5. I enjoy how many different types of people I meet. I meet old people, young people, ones with families and ones without. I see people who have lost, and people who have found. I am an observer of different events in people's lives, be it deaths or births, new jobs or new opportunities. Everybody has a different story, no two are the same. I have learned tolerance and to be patient.
There are more reasons, but I'm not going to list them yet. I'll save those for when I'm haivng a bad day, just to take a little look on the brighter side of things.
1. I like sitting at a desk in an air/heat controlled room.
2. I like asking nosy questions.
3. I like weekends off, and working a set 8 hours a day.
4. My typing skills have improved considerably since I started working there.
5. I enjoy how many different types of people I meet. I meet old people, young people, ones with families and ones without. I see people who have lost, and people who have found. I am an observer of different events in people's lives, be it deaths or births, new jobs or new opportunities. Everybody has a different story, no two are the same. I have learned tolerance and to be patient.
There are more reasons, but I'm not going to list them yet. I'll save those for when I'm haivng a bad day, just to take a little look on the brighter side of things.
Monday, October 08, 2007
The Stupidest Conversation I Had Today
Scenario: Welfare Worker (me) at desk answering phone and talking to Clients
Ring! Ring!
WW: "Government Land, this is Welfare Worker!"
Client: "Hi, this is WhinyMom. How come my cash isn't what it was last time?"
WW: "Well, rules change over time, as do budgeting methods blah blah just because."
Client: "Yeah, but how come it's not what it was last time?"
WW: "Income was used in your case, and that amount is averaged over blabble blabble and so you got eleventyten dollars."
Client: "But how come it isn't how much it was last time?"
WW: "You.have.income. You.have.a.job. The whole point of welfare is to get.a.job. so your cash aid goes down, and then you are what we call being self-sufficient. You've done what you're supposed to do!"
*click* WhinyMom hung up on me.
Ring! Ring!
WW: "Government Land, this is Welfare Worker!"
Client: "Hi, this is WhinyMom. How come my cash isn't what it was last time?"
WW: "Well, rules change over time, as do budgeting methods blah blah just because."
Client: "Yeah, but how come it's not what it was last time?"
WW: "Income was used in your case, and that amount is averaged over blabble blabble and so you got eleventyten dollars."
Client: "But how come it isn't how much it was last time?"
WW: "You.have.income. You.have.a.job. The whole point of welfare is to get.a.job. so your cash aid goes down, and then you are what we call being self-sufficient. You've done what you're supposed to do!"
*click* WhinyMom hung up on me.
What Your Food Stamps Won't Buy You
Your food stamps will not buy you a Vanilla Bean whatever with whip at Starbucks. You can try, but your card will not work. You can slide your card again, but it won't work the second time either.
They will not buy you a hot sandwich at the deli. If you order a hot sandwich, and then are told you cannot use food stamps to pay for it, you either pay for the sandwich or you have to forfeit the sandwich. The cashier will not ring it up as a cold sandwich "so's you can use them stamps".
Can't buy beer. Or cigarettes. Asking the guy in front of you in line if you can pay for his stuff if he'll "buy you some cigs in trade" is called welfare fraud. If I knew your name I would report you.
Take-n-bake pizza? Sure thing. As long as you take it and bake it. At home. If you have them bake it for you, you forfeit the pizza. Take it...and bake it.
Food stamps are for food items, people. Food. Not diapers. Not aluminum foil. Not birthday candles! Yes, I know they're to put in the cake, but a candle is not a food item!
Following these simple rules, guidelines even, will save us all some time in the checkout line.
They will not buy you a hot sandwich at the deli. If you order a hot sandwich, and then are told you cannot use food stamps to pay for it, you either pay for the sandwich or you have to forfeit the sandwich. The cashier will not ring it up as a cold sandwich "so's you can use them stamps".
Can't buy beer. Or cigarettes. Asking the guy in front of you in line if you can pay for his stuff if he'll "buy you some cigs in trade" is called welfare fraud. If I knew your name I would report you.
Take-n-bake pizza? Sure thing. As long as you take it and bake it. At home. If you have them bake it for you, you forfeit the pizza. Take it...and bake it.
Food stamps are for food items, people. Food. Not diapers. Not aluminum foil. Not birthday candles! Yes, I know they're to put in the cake, but a candle is not a food item!
Following these simple rules, guidelines even, will save us all some time in the checkout line.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
