Cool and Hip, I Am Not

Pack 'er up

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 23 Jan 2013 21:51:00 +0000

It's time, people.

I am packing everything up and moving it over the new place.

See you there.

Wrong Number

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 08 Jan 2013 04:20:00 +0000

Before I regale you with my tale, I feel as if I should preface this with a disclaimer:

I understand that times are hard. I understand it is likely, at one time or another, to run into some tight times - financially speaking - and have to make hard decisions as to what bill gets paid and which has to wait. I've been there, more times than I care to remember. So, before anyone accuses me of being insensitive to economic woes, hear me out.

Back last year, when we purchased the first phone to be used by our youth, Verizon gave us a number, we signed the slip and skipped out the door.

Approximately 3.8 seconds after we walked out the door, the phone rang.

"May I speak to Betty Wilson*?"

I think nothing of this request. "I'm sorry, but you have the wrong number."

Sounds of disdain, "Hmm. Okay, is this 321-555-2558*?"

"Yes, it is. But this isn't Rita's phone. I can assure you. We just bought and activated a cell phone, and this is the number we were given."

The caller gave me a curt, "Thank you," and hung up.

From September until March, that was the routine until I finally snapped. Sure the conversations varied a bit, but the result was all the same. The final straw was when a customer service rep informed me that Betty had just filled out an application online for a car loan and this was number provided.

NOT.

I called Verizon and BEGGED them to do something, anything, because I couldn't take the constant barrage of calls anymore. In less than one hour on that last day, I had fielded over seventeen calls. Give or take.

What I didn't know, probably because I still have the same cell phone number I've always had and the only time I've ever changed land line numbers is when we moved and I can assure you no one is bothering the innocent people that now may have our old numbers, is that you can change your mobile number for free.

Within ten minutes of talking to the sweet Verizon customer service representative, a new number was assigned and the calls stopped. Much to the chagrin to the creditors, I am sure.

Fast forward to present day.

We are standing in Verizon once again, adding a line to our account.

"Would you like the same area code as your others?"

"Yes, please."

Tap-tap-tap. "Okay. There aren't a lot of numbers in your exchange**, but I did grab you this number: 555-2558."

Hold the phone. I looked at my husband. "Wait. Doesn't that sound familiar? Isn't the number we changed back in the spring?"

He looks at me, "I have no idea."

The sales rep says nothing.

"Well, I am pretty sure it is, but surely the bill collectors have given up by now. Either way, I know I can change it if need be."

The sales rep still says nothing.

Lo and behold, we were assigned the same number. Again.

A whole twenty-four hours of silence passed, probably because of the weekend, before the calls and texts came in. All wanting Betty Wilson.

This time I knew what to do.

Thanks to mobile number change with Verizon, within two minutes, we had a new number assigned to the youngest's phone.

Let's just hope this is a brand new number, or if nothing else, someone that had been a tad more fiscally responsible.

*This is a fake name and number, obviously. However, given the sheer number of minutes that have been eaten up trying to get the creditors/debt collectors/distant cousins to quit calling, I'd should post her name and number here. But I don't roll that way.

**I may have rolled my eyes. Really? In all of Middle Tennessee, every possible combination is currently in use?

***To be fair, I did like this sales rep. He was probably sick of me, though.

Photo credit: The awesome Someecards

Cell Phones for Teens: How Not-to Lesson Guide

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sat, 05 Jan 2013 12:00:00 +0000

Back in the fall of 2011, we dropped the boys off to play at their football game and my husband says to me, "I think we should get the boys a cell phone."

At the time, they were in 7th and 6th grades, respectively. The only extracurricular activity either did was the Pep Band*. No issues for lack of a communication device had popped up. Even though I knew they were both getting at the age that most kids had cell phones, I was hesitant.

We looked a number of options and finally decided we would get one phone by simply adding a line to our existing plan. We thought it was the most economical option. No one child would have full possession of said phone. But as soon as our two-year contract was locked in, I knew I had made a mistake.

One of the rare times Darrin was able to procure
the phone to text me. Sometimes it's a
wonder they still talk to me.

As predicted, a year-long fight over who actually owned the phone and its constant whereabouts caused civil unrest, a couple of tornadoes, and grey hairs that can only be covered by a skilled professional.

Lesson #1: Either get cell phone for one child or bite the bullet and get one for each.

Lesson #2 (Bonus!): Have twins. Or triplets! My boys are fourteen months apart. If they both get something at the same time, the younger is excited, but the older feels gypped. If I give only the elder child something, like a cell phone,
the younger will keep a tally to make sure he gets his fair share in a timely matter.

Staring in summer of '12, the younger child started counting down to the day he should acquire his phone: September 12. I thought he was wrong. So much so, I had to get out old statements to see for myself. In my mind, we got the extra line in November. He was right, of course.

Practically to the minute.

Thankfully, the stars aligned, and the oldest child has officially taken possession of the first phone while the younger now has his own.

Looking at the calendar, it looks as though we don't have any major milestones until the elder son turns fifteen and gets his permit. At least then, I have the law to dictate who gets what when.

*Pep Band is the middle school version of marching band. A select number of students play at the home football and basketball games. They love it.

Autocorrect can't fix this

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sat, 05 Jan 2013 03:13:00 +0000

Time has been tick, tick, ticking along. You might have heard it.

Since September, my youngest son has been counting down the days since he was "supposed" to get his own cell phone. And by "supposed", I mean..well, it's a long story.

So, we had to wait until November until Big Daddy was eligible for an upgrade, and then a whole lot of other things happened, and the next thing I knew it was January. Big Daddy came home from work and laid his busted phone in my lap.

FYI, if you drop a canned good on the pocket containing your phone, it will crack the screen.

Long story short, the youngest child has been now been gifted with his first phone. After I had it activated, I immediately added his number to my contacts because my ability to remember a number diminishes by the minute. I could just see him calling me one day. I'd be all, "Hmm. I don't know that number; I'm not going to answer."

Mom, FAIL.

To add to his excitement, I quickly sent him a text so that I would be his first. My side of the conversation is blue:

By the time I got the message, "My mother is right beside me...," I was cracking up. My son WAS sitting just across from me. I was all, "Darrin! I am texting you. What is your deal?"

Darrin, putting down his iPod Touch: "Huh? What? I didn't text you."

Me: "What? Yes you did. Look..."

Then the realization hit. I checked my contacts.

Ooops.

Of course, you already knew what I did before I made it this far, right?

I know I am not alone; there are entire websites built on text message boo-boos. What is the funniest thing that has happened to you? Come on, laugh WITH me.

So long 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 01 Jan 2013 00:00:00 +0000

I'd been debating for a few days whether or not I was going to post anything, sending 2012 into oblivion.

I had considered compiling a list of the best books I read or perhaps a look back over the year.

(Yawn.)

Last year, I welcomed 2012 with open arms.

She apparently didn't like my welcome mat, or maybe the guest towels were scratchy, because three weeks into the new year, my husband got the call he was losing his job.

And for the entirety of the year, that has been on the forefront of my mind. Every thing that has happened, both good and bad, is attributed to that day. Up until a couple of days ago, I was ready to give the last year another finger gesture, a few choice words, and slam the door in her face. Then I saw a post on Facebook, and it changed my perception:

"Waking up 365 days....no one should say 2012 was a bad year."

I am cautiously optimistic as to what 2013 will bring. This year some major milestones are happening:

My eldest child will leave her teen years and dip her toes into her 20s.
My middle child will graduate from middle school.
My youngest child will become a teenager.

To commemorate the upcoming year, I am starting a new tradition, another found on Facebook:

Idea was posted by Mommy Has A Potty Mouth

Let's get ready, 2013. Fresh year. Fresh start.

Happy New Year, friends.

Be Careful What You Ask For: Christmas Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 12 Dec 2012 03:22:00 +0000

I am the worst Christmas shopper.

Part of the problem lies is I don't like shopping. Add-in overly heated stores, extraordinarily loud music, and throngs of snotty, disobedient children (and a few adults, too) and it's a wonder I ever leave the house from Thanksgiving to New Years.

I've been racking my brain for the better part of three months on what to get my husband for Christmas. We haven't bought anything for each other for years, but I was sick of that plan or the idea, rather. He always found a loophole and seemed to come up with something or two for me. The selfish part of me was sick to death of feeling like a cheapskate for "following the rules." I scrimped and saved and took odd jobs* this year in order to have extra to get him a few things.

Except I had no idea what to get him. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not that I've been a gem in previous years, as I could not name five things I've bought since 1997.

1. Toolbox (2002-ish)
2. Clothes (1998 - 2006)
3. ?
4. ?
5. ?

And for the record, I asked him if he could remember anything over the last fifteen-ish Christmases.

He's still thinking.

I better charge my phone tonight. It's sure to be ringing off the hook tomorrow with people needing help with their holiday shopping. Clearly, I am all about making memories at my house.

I finally caved and asked him to make me a list of his desires for this year. And much to my surprise, he did. Let me translate the chicken scratches for you:

watch (leather band)
larger tool chest
emergency Radio
Ford F150 Extended Cab
flat screen for bedroom
wallet
money for wallet
surround sound system
brown hat
blanket replacement
books, anything Templars
board game (getting tired of winning on the games we have)

I don't know how much work he thought I've done this year, but apparently he subscribes to the same wish-list methods as my children. Although, I will say I wish I could get him the F150.

Oh wait! I did!

Actually, it's a F350 but figured it was 2.34 times better than what he asked for, right?

The most fun I had was picking out the truck (heh) and the game. Because I picked out 5 Second Rule.

I will always win.

Hey, what do you know? Maybe I like Christmas shopping after all.

(Nah.)

Disclosure: No Christmas was ruined in the making of this post. Big Daddy doesn't know the title of my blog, let alone how to find it.

*I am for hire! Will work for money, gift cards, accolades, product, etc. But mostly money. Accolades don't pay for the electric. And I need to start thinking about Christmas 2013. Just in case the Mayans were wrong.

NaNoWriMo: The End?

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sat, 01 Dec 2012 05:06:00 +0000

No surprise; I didn't finish 50,000 words in 30 days. In the eyes of the contest, I didn't succeed, however, I chose to say I won.

I DID write more than 15,000 words on a single piece. Which means I have a foundation for a story, a good start on the first draft. There is a family, living in a small southern town, dealing with their new found celebrity status. I can't just leave them hanging.
I started another project I am super excited about, a piece that will be a collaborate effort. Which means I was still writing.
I learned that even with things are going rough in my life, putting fingers to keyboard (and sometimes pencil to paper) is therapy.

I am part of a local writers' group, and the best support group a writer could look for. Last night we had our quarterly Night of Learning. Our assignment was to bring our current WIP, and on a whim, I printed out in it's entirety. In flipping through it, I thought, "Hmmm. This has potential."

It was a good feeling.

How was your project?

Check On It, Repeatedly

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Thu, 29 Nov 2012 13:00:00 +0000

While I don't talk about it openly, it's not a secret that I struggle with my weight. But I think some mothers do have hard time losing those last twenty or thirty pounds after having a baby.

What I didn't know was that nineteen years would pass, and I'd still be carrying it.

After years of fanning myself with the bathroom scale, I hit my all time non-pregnant high a couple of years ago and stayed mostly steady. Since I wasn't working outside the house, I didn't try hard enough to get healthy. ~~Yoga~~ stretch pants and loose shirts became my standard uniform. I lost all confidence because everything I put on looked horrible.

About the time I decided to get serious, using the MyFitnessPal app, I dropped a couple of pounds and gained a new job. A job that required business attire. And hose. And dress shoes.

Being plus and petite does not make for a good time at the mall. Add in a modest budget that doesn't allow for off-the-rack purchasing, and you'll understand my pain. I managed to put together a halfway decent wardrobe, but I still didn't feel confident in my appearance.

Photo Credit: Google Images

Thankfully, I've dropped just over twenty pounds, and while I feel better physically, clothes are fitting nicer. I feel myself becoming more confident and not wanting to hide beneath draping, unattractive layers.

My current favorite pants are a charcoal grey, cotton, and have a neat but slight sheen to them. They just feel good on. I bought them months prior, even though they didn't fit well, as a goal for myself. Plus they were marked down 75 percent, making them less than ten bucks. I even hemmed them. Myself.

I wore them a couple of weeks ago then I washed them. I agonized whether I should dry them. They are 98 percent cotton (and oh-so-soft). On the other hand, cotton clothes are a pain-in-the----- to iron out the hung-dry wrinkles.

Convenience won over practicality.

Knowing I was taking a chance on shrinkage, and we are six-days post Thanksgiving, I worried they wouldn't fit today.

They did. With extra room to spare.

(Thank you MyFitnessPal and lack of snacks.)

I was oh-so-sassy today with my fancy charcoal pants, black cowl-neck sweater, black heels. Hair, despite having been freshly washed, laid perfectly. Cute grey and black dangle earrings completed the ensemble.

I stopped in Target before heading to work. Walked all the way to the back of the store - electronics - then over to peruse the books before leaving. I sashayed my way to the front, feeling slim(mer) and confident. About twenty, maybe forty feet before a checkout lane I noticed a woman just staring at me. I smiled. She continued to stare, not returning the gesture.

At the end of the main aisle, just before I turned, she finally quit looking my direction, and continued on with her business.

Inside the car, I grabbed the seat belt, and that's when I felt it.

My pants were unzipped.

I suddenly imaged her having a conversation with her friend over coffee:

" You are going to love this. You know that dark-haired chick at the bank? The short one? I don't think she's been there long. Well, I saw her today at Target. Girl was all 'click,click,click' in her noisy little shoes like she owned the place. The whole time her pants are gaping open at the zipper with each step. 'Help me, help me.' I was cracking up. Honestly, how does one forget to zip her pants?"

My mortification over my discovery lasted about as long as it took for me to post a status on Facebook and get a Diet Coke at Sonic. Within ten minutes, I was at work, sassy and confident.

But the security department probably had a good time watching our cameras today since I probably checked my zipper once or thirty times.

Just in case.

The Most Expensive Room in the House

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 13:00:00 +0000

It all started out innocently.

Six Months Ago

I enter the downstairs half bath and notice a musty smell. Don't think much about it, it had been raining after all and the dryer is running.

Later notice something odd inside the cabinet, and upon taking out bucket holding cleaning supplies, notice the damp boards and mold.

Attempt to convince Husband that black mold has invaded entire house and ask him to investigate further.

He makes a hole the size of pencil eraser and combined with his xray vision, deems nothing is wrong, just some child foul-play at work.

Commence with Operation Bleach-It-All.

Two months

Enter downstairs half bath and notice a musty smell. Become overwhelmed with Déjà vu. Open cabinet to discover mold covering everything.

Beg, plead, and make promises to husband to actually find out what is causing the dampness.

Leave for work.

Come home to this:

The verdict? A cracked pipe (heh. no pun intended) had been leaking. For a long time. Possibly longer than three months.

To be continued....

The Christmas Mystery

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 27 Nov 2012 05:18:00 +0000

For reasons unbeknownst to me, I could NOT wait to get the Christmas tree up this year. I'd told Big Daddy to get ready, because the Saturday after Thanksgiving, as soon as I got home from work, we were going to get our tinsel on.

Saturday afternoon, my mom texted saying she needed a look-shopping partner, so Operation Twinkle Lights was postponed. Which in hindsight turned out to be a good thing because apparently our pre-lit tree and the 87 stands of lights we have previously used went on strike and refused to work. He texted his request for me to purchase more lights just as we pulled out of Old Time Pottery.

(Not to be confused with Pottery Barn.)

Last year's tree, before the lights went up in arms demanding
union representation and better insurance.

Last year, I may have had a nervous breakdown and subsequently gave Goodwill nearly 1/3 of my Christmas collection. So imagine my surprise when I started opening totes to start decorating and didn't recognize things and how they were organized. I'm not sure what happened, but one thing is certain: I didn't pack up last year's festivities. But that's neither here or there. Whatever went down must have been traumatic and I've blocked it from my memory. Anywho, let's just say, I may have overreacted with the simplifying and streamlining. There wasn't much to spread around.

However, for years, I have wanted candles for the windows, and last year I found these awesome ones at Dollar General of all places. They have a built-in timer and a soft light bulb.

I'll admit to being a bit skeptical at first -- they were only $2 apiece -- but they were everything I'd hoped for.

Scooby-Doo back to this year, and of the 12 I remember buying, I only had 2 packed away. I racked my brain, trying to remember what could have happened, what box must be missing, tucked away behind Easter or something.

Nothing. Big D assured me I must have given them away.

Since we had to go out for lights anyway, we popped in our local Dollar General where I scored the last three. We zipped across town to the other store, but they were out. In the back of my mind, I knew that I had the ones from last year, I just needed to think.

Oddly enough and slightly related, the tree skirt also came up missing. I ALWAYS pack it on top of the ornaments, but it was no where to be found, either. Big D thought somehow it had been packed with the Goodwill stuff. I was still doubtful.

After popping into another Dollar General, and coming up empty, I vaguely remember putting some Christmas stuff in the wash stand that is in our bedroom shorty after everything was packed away. Because, you know, I'll so remember a year from now.

Lo and behold, in the wash stand I found three ornaments (I hadn't even missed--oops), three candles, the tree skirt, and a box of cards I got somewhere for fifty-cents (that's a value!).

It was then I remembered I only bought six candles last year, hence remembering the number 12.

(Six candles times $2 = $12. Get it?)

However, that means I am still missing one. I think.

Please tell me that I am not the only one having this sort of issue. EVERY year, regardless of how carefully I pack, well save last year, obviously, there's ALWAYS a piece or five that doesn't make it to a tote. Seriously? Is it just me? And if I can't pack up a few holiday items, what kind of things have been left behind when we moved?

I have to wonder if my subconscious was at work, telling me I needed to decorate as soon as possible. Because at this rate, I'll be lucky to find everything holiday-related by Christmas Day.

Thanksgiving 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sat, 24 Nov 2012 02:54:00 +0000

You may not be aware, but there is a little known holiday, nestled between Halloween and Christmas/Hanakkah called Thanksgiving. It's basically like Christmas; usually family members get together and share a large meal minus gifts and expectations. It is the lack of expectation that makes Thanksgiving my favored holiday.

This year wasn't too bad, and I was actually looking forward to it all. Well, I had a couple of things I dreaded, but....let's just say all turned out in the end.

1. DIY (sorta) Tablecloth

My mom found this neat tablecloth at Target. Tic-tac-toe, turkeys to color, word search, list makers: it was big fun for kids of all ages. Pictured above is the not-to-be-mentioned youngest child who was excited to color, but not have his picture taken. He said, "Don't put this on Instagram!"

I didn't.

He'll eventually tie up the loopholes.

Anyway, after we ate, the kids, my mom and I all colored around the spilled gravy and bread crumbs. Except I forgot to get a picture before it was tossed out.

I have another tablecloth for next year.

2. Oh. Em. Gee. I love pie.

My husband loves pumpkin pie. And by love, I mean if he was forced to choose between me and pumpkin pie, he'd need time to make a pros and cons list.

After I made his pies (emphasis on the plural), I realized I would miss not being able to have any.* After an interesting search, I found a perfect egg-less pumpkin pie on one site, and a to-die-for crust on another. I married the two and a new tradition has been born.

Kids, this crust is a-may-zing. And I generally hate pie crust. But this? Even my gluten-loving husband thought is was worth it.

I didn't follow the recipe exactly although she recommends it. Also, the next time, I'd like to run the oats first, because they were a little chewy. Still, I give it two thumbs up and will probably have to arm wrestle Big Daddy for the last piece despite he had two pies to my one.

3. Gettin' out the fine china

I have two sets of china. One set was handed down to me from my mom's wedding set, and the other I have no idea where it came from, but it's pretty. The sets don't even match each other. Yet, I go all Monica from "Friends" when BD mentions using either one.

This year, I was adamant that we had to use it. Late Wednesday night, I'm in the kitchen and it dawns on me that we don't have enough of our good glasses to go around to each adult. Not sure what caused their demise, but I am confident it is related to when the dishwasher died and everything was washed by hand for more months than I can or care to remember.

Suddenly, I think, "Hey! I have a sleeve of store-brand red solo cups. I can write our names on each. And how fun will it be against my fine china? This is awesome!"

My husband must have thought I was being sarcastic, because the next day, when he made the traditional last-minute trip to the store, he bought a "fancy" disposable cup.

"I thought you'd feel funny using the cheap cups with your china."

You've got to give him a point for trying. Although if he'd thought about it, the irony in my plan was hilarious. I even used the term juxtaposition to make my point. "Our tablecloth looks like a page out of a coloring book, for heaven's sake!"

Anyway, it was all moot point. Had I used my china more than once in the last fifteen years, I'd remembered each only contains six place settings. And we were expecting thirteen people for dinner. Even if I mingled the sets, someone would have been left out.

4. Lessons learned

Read the directions on the pie dough before trying to rip it open. Or buy the pre-made shells as per the usual.
Furiously snap pictures throughout the day to avoid having only four sadly lit pictures to carry the burden of documentation of Thanksgiving 2012. Maybe throw in a person or two into the frame.
Find extra pieces of the china.
Buy more red Solo cups.

What was your favorite part of your Thanksgiving?

*After an unfortunate week after Easter, we found out I am allergic to eggs. I'll spare you all the details, but let's just say eggs and I keep to ourselves. To add insult to injury, nuts also give me a terrible time, so we're thinking of breaking up as well. Almonds are the worst, and I've already sent them packing. Needless to say, pecan pie is never again in my future. ::sniff-sniff::

NaNoWriMo: Making Stuff Up as I Go

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 13 Nov 2012 04:37:00 +0000

Son-One has known he had a book report due since the beginning of the nine weeks. I was gently reminding him that he needed to not wait until the last minute to A) Finish the biggest YA book I'd ever seen him attempt, and B) actually write the report.

Of course, it's the eleventh hour and he is trying to finish the report, except I see him doing everything but write.

"Son, you need to get focused and get back to writing," I say for the umpteenth time.

"I am. Look; just since I've been sitting here, I've written from here to here," he says, pointing between ten lines of notebook paper.

"Wow. That's impressive. I've written more than that and haven't even touched the computer in the last two hours."

"Well, you're making stuff up as you go. I have to remember facts, names, and things that are true. It's harder."

Hmm. Procrastinator and smart-mouthed. Must be a recessive gene on his father's side.

But honestly, I've been less focused than he is as of late. According to my chart at NaNoWriMo, at my current pace, I should finish by December 9th. You know, after the November 30th deadline.

You'd think the "making stuff up as I go" would be easy, but as I close in on the halfway point, every word is a struggle. My focus is fuzzy. My will to finish is being challenged. And then there is my incessant need to check Facebook and my email, ahem, regularly.

I'm half-tempted to log in and then have my husband change the password to something I don't know.

Half-tempted. Let's not get crazy. Yet.

One side of my brain wants to finish. The other side of my brain tells me to quit wasting time. My unconscious mind must be troubled. I woke up one morning thinking about a dream I was having about reflexive verbs*. In the dream, I was re-reading something I'd written, a piece a plethora of people had read. It was complete drivel and rife with errors. I later found out that scores of people, all of whom have a better grasp on English grammar than myself, had been laughing at me for a long time.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon that I had remembered the dream. I posted about it in Facebook, curious as to what people had to say about it.

One friend said:

"You sometimes feel other people find your love of grammar use irritating and fear that you might no be the expert you think you are; a mild insecurity that reveals itself in a dream."

Hit the nail on the head, she did.

Another wrote:

"I think it is less about your use of grammar (which you're excellent at) but possibly you feel like you are on the wrong path -- not doing the right thing and what people think about that."

Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner!

I don't understand what is going on right now as far as this project goes. On top of other issues the husband and I are currently dealing with, I've been on a roller coaster of emotions when it comes to completing this project by the end of the month. Today, I nearly deleted all the whole file and simply walked away.

And by walk away, I mean to attend to all the little chores I've merely brushed over in the last twelve days. Because writing? It's a full-time job. I should have been fired a long time ago.

Something deep in the recess of my brain tells me to soldier on. To "finish this shit I started" as Chuck Wendig says. I will make stuff up as I go, and it is doubtful that this novel will ever be available to the public. The story line is weak, at best. The climax was sort of, "Eh. Sounded good in my head," and I am sick to death of the protagonist's name**.

We'll see what the end brings.

*I went to find a link for those that may be curious, but all I could find were foreign language examples for ELL students. Anyway, the short story is this: a reflexive verb simply means the subject and object to which the action will be happening are the same.
Example: I wash myself. (I is the subject; myself is the object. Clear is mud, right?)

**As of this writing, I've typed her name 219 times. That's not including the times I had typed it, deleted, and replaced it with a pronoun. No wonder.

The B List

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sat, 10 Nov 2012 21:56:00 +0000

When I was in school, I had friends, or maybe acquaintances is a better word. I wasn't part of any one particular clique, although it wasn't for wanting. But for the most part most everyone was nice to me. At school only.

I didn't date much in high school and the phone wasn't ringing off the hook asking me to go here or there.

As an adult-like person, I still don't fit into any one particular group. There are special people in my life I consider my good friends, the ones I know I could call should the need arise. There are people that are nice to my face only, and some that go out of there way to ignore me.

I'm mostly okay with all of it. For me. But, I don't want my kids to go through the same emotions I did, of not fitting in, not having that close group, or a myriad of other issues a therapist would love to charge me to work out.

I've always worried about my boys. One is simply quiet while the other is painfully shy. Aside from their BFFs next-door, they rarely are invited over to another friend's house.

In the early years, when I was substitute teaching, I thought my constant presence at school could possibly have a negative impact. The kids that didn't like me (as if that ever happened) would go home and complain to their parents. Or that no one wants to see his teacher on a Saturday. It's been three years since I quit teaching, and still, the social calendar hasn't picked up. For a while, I equated it to boy behavior, thinking that middle school aged boys don't spend the night at each others' house.

Except I was wrong. Apparently they do. Who knew?

Friday night I get home from work, and Son wants to spend the night at Friend's house Saturday night. Friend is having a birthday party.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Photo credit: jonnyberg

"Why is Friend just now asking? Or did you forget ask me earlier in the week? Where's the invitation?" I ask, my momsenses picking up something peculiar.

"Oh, well, he'd asked me and a bunch of other people a couple of weeks ago. But then his parents said he could only have a certain amount, and I wasn't invited anymore. But today, Soandso said he couldn't come, so Friend asked if I would." Son smiles sweetly.

"Wait. You are on the B-list?!"

Son hands me the invitation, a piece of notebook paper folded in half. Its holes are torn. The address is scratched in pencil, the obvious writing of a fourteen-year-old.

I can't seem to shake this feeling. I feel as if I were the one left out, not good enough to be included in the final cut, the intimate gathering. But when one player is down, I'm called out of the minors, needed to fill the holes.

He doesn't seem to be bothered by it, and I haven't said anything else since, so maybe it's all in my head. Asking him about it is a catch-22.

Why doesn't anyone tell you how hard this part is?

In other news...I haz a J.O.B.

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 00:54:00 +0000

Of the four people that read this blog, you could possibly already know this news. But there is a point, and I'll be getting there soon.

Since Big Daddy lost his job in February, we've had some struggles, both emotionally and financially, on how to get back on course. Even though I loved watching my friend's baby, and my freelance work had been hit or miss, it was time to find a steady job, even if it meant I had to wear make-up and what my husband refers to as "real clothes."

I had rules for finding a job I would deem acceptable:

No restaurants
No establishments that would require me to monitor cranky shoppers hell-bent on a good deal in the wee-hours of Black Friday
No factories
No cleaning up after people

Not that I am picky or anything.

I had a lead on a job through one of my friends. She and I would be working together, little to no talking to outside people, and a lot of computer work. In other words, PERFECT.

As per her instruction, I pulled out the magic to apply. Took my resume to the appropriate location. Did poorly on a three-part computer test. And waited for the company to post the job.

This was in May. Said company has yet to post this job. Instead my friend is having to do the work of two people.

Good thing we aren't in a recession or anything.

Then at the end of June, after a series of odd events, the planets aligned, and I applied for and was offered a job at a bank. It's a part-time position, with a livable salary, and a family-first attitude. In other words, MORE PERFECT.

And hello? It's a bank. It's the only job where in the last (almost) four months, I've been off and paid for (almost) four holidays.

However, with all the money (heh) comes a little pain. Little secret: A bank is a business. A bank is still retail. And sometimes people play the-customer-is-always-right-card.

Since I need and want to keep this job, I'll leave it at that.

Also? Money, in large quantities? SMELLS HORRIBLE. Just an FYI for you.

--------

I started this post on Tuesday. I'm sure I had a point of announcing to the world I had a job. I can't remember what that reason was now. But, if for some reason I come home and post a very vague account of some disgruntled customer, at least you won't be all, "What? When did she get a job? I thought she was a writer."

Update on NaNoWriMo: Days 6-8

Behind. Oh so behind.

NaNoWriMo: Days 2-5

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 06 Nov 2012 16:51:00 +0000

Apparently I have poor follow-through. I actually thought I was only behind on days 3-5.

Oops. My bad.

If you'll notice in the sidebar, I did figure out how to use that widget to keep up with the word count. As of this writing, I have 8,501 words written. According to the math, I'm up 166 words over the minimum daily goal.

Sunday I hit a wall. My inner editor was back with a vengeance. She's a mouthy broad, a real sight to behold. She was all, "You know you can't finish this. 50,000 words? You just hit 11, 000 on that other drivel you call a book. And that took you, what? Six months? Trust me, honey, you'll be better off hitting delete. Now turn on Netflix and queue up "Breaking Bad." Or maybe "Toddlers and Tiaras."

I finally shut her up with some Diet Coke and Halloween candy. She's easily bribed at times.

Sunday night, a few friends and I got together via Skype and did writing sprints. Best. Idea. Ever. The goal is to set a block of time, like thirty or forty-five minutes and just tear up the keyboard. At the end of the time, you report back with the words written. As one of my friends said later on why it works, "Because you don't want to be the loser of the group who is like '75 words and 5 Facebook statuses.'"

Accountability is a beautiful thing.

Yesterday, AKA Day 5, I had planned on writing the bulk of the day since I was off work. Those plans were thwarted, however, when Big Daddy said the words, "I thought we had some running around to do*?"

What was supposed to be a quick trip to Home Depot and Target, both stores that are located within five miles of our home, turned into an all-day adventure, not sitting down at home, for good, until 7:30 p.m. As weary as I felt, I somehow churned out some words,which ending up becoming my favorite chapter thus far.

I can do this.

Pressing on....

*He was right. We did have some things to take care of. And he is.~~probably~~ without a doubt my biggest supporter when it comes to writing, so he wasn't trying to be mean or get me off track. Also, after fifteen years together, I should know that a simple trip to Home Depot doesn't exist.

NaNoWriMo: Day 1

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Fri, 02 Nov 2012 01:38:00 +0000

Day one of NaNoWriMo has been a success. And as soon as I figure out how to update the widget, you'll see my tiny crawl towards the finish line.

My goal was to write a minimum of 1, 667 words. When I started writing around 8-ish this a.m, I thought I'd never make it.

As of this writing, nearly twelve hours later, I currently sit at 2,026 words. However, the pessimistic side of me knows that had I focused, I'd be at least 1,000 further along.

Here's the hindsight to Day 1:

Things that I did right:

Committing to going on this journey and announcing it to anyone that was willing to listen
Choosing to stay home and embrace a quiet and empty house when the husband needed to go to town for plumbing supplies (more on that in a later post)
Writing even when I hit a snag and my inner editor started nagging at me to give up before I made a fool out of myself
Hitting my minimum goal before the mens came home from school

Things I did wrong:

Checking Facebook and email for new notifications, obsessively
Watching an episode of "Breaking Bad" as a break
Watching "The Chew" during my lunch hour
Spending three hours searching/brainstorming for a name for a fictional grocery store

My secondary goal with this journey is to post here daily. Sort of a behind-the-scenes look at a novel in progress. I know I love that sort of stuff; reading the notes an author made before I actually reading the book. Surely I can't be the only one.

(And don't call me Shirley. Heh.)

At the end of day 1, I'd like to give a shout-out and what-what to one of my besties, the unfaltering Mamikaze, who was the inspiration for this current work in progress. Her faith and support in my dream is not something I will ever forget. She is a beautiful person, and I cherish her friendship.

Suddenly, I feel the need to run -- okay, it's been a long day -- limp out of the room singing, "We Are the Champions."

But it's been no bed of roses

No pleasure cruise -

I consider it a challenge before the whole human race -

And I ain't gonna lose -

Maybe that'll keep me from sitting in a corner two weeks (or less), crying into my Diet Coke singing, "Another One Bites the Dust."

Am I right?

More ch-ch-changes

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Thu, 01 Nov 2012 11:00:00 +0000

So.

Last you read, I was packing up and moving to Wordpress.

That's still true, but apparently I have what my husband lovingly refers to as ,"Shiny Object Syndrome." He seems to think I can't focus on one thing for any length of time.

I have no idea to what he is referring. I think it's just the creative wheels of motion.

ANYwho...

There's been a lot of things that have happened since {Oh, my land} JULY 5. But I'll get to all that soon. Because for the next month, I am going to be busy ~~attempting~~ participating in National Novel Writing Month, AKA NaNoWriMo.

I need all the cheerleaders I can get. In the sidebar, there is a progress bar. I have no idea how to work it yet, but keep an eye out. Also, I'll be posting progress on my writing page on Facebook and Twitter.

Thank you in advance for all of your support.

Tell me, how are you?

Ch-ch-changes

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 22:45:00 +0000

I've been thinking lately what I want to do with my blog. For awhile, I thought of shuttin' her down, but the truth is, I don't think I can.

I moved to this location when the now-defunct AOL journals shut its doors. Having no idea of where to go or what to do, I set up housekeeping here, where I've been pretty comfortable for the last four years. But it would seem as if it is time to move on to my forever home.

I'll be pretty quiet until I get my new place redecorated and the boxes put away. In the meantime, stay cool.

Dad's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sun, 17 Jun 2012 13:22:00 +0000

Saturday fishing.

Father's Day is a bitter sweet day for me.

Regardless, no matter what things I may be aggravated about, I am happy to set those aside and celebrate the day my husband so deserves.

We may not always see eye-to-eye, but he is a hero to my (not-so) little guys.

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there.

Don't post that!

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 06 Jun 2012 22:49:00 +0000

Hmm. What other dirt can I get on her?

Without fail, at least once a day, one or both of my boys utter the words, "Don't post that!"

The posting could be in reference to Facebook, Twitter, or even this blog. In that respective order. The denial of my ability to relay the - albeit rare - hilarity that is my progeny has put a serious cramp on my writing. Why else did I have kids other than to have someone carry on the fine family tradition of dish washing and lawn mowing?

I could write about serious stuff, but it's too, serious.

The day has come that I am not to utter so much as their accomplishments without prior acknowledgement, complete editoral rights, and a signed release form or compensation. A general mention occasionally is okay as long as any possibility of recognition is stripped away.

No one will know who I am....

I thought I was slick recently and posted on Facebook that I wasn't allowed to post a particularly hilarious incident. Using the comment section as my cover, I did in fact give the gist of the story, much the amusement of those that read.

Then I was busted by the other child, as he read the whole thing on HIS news feed, and used that knowledge as a bargaining tool.

It's been a hard transition, as they were the basis of a lot of my brand of comedy.

Or were they? Only time will tell.

To be continued.....

Food for All

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Thu, 31 May 2012 04:41:00 +0000

It could happen to you. Or the family next door. Or the stranger in the store. The staggering reality is this problem is closer to home than you think.

Hunger. Food Insecurity. Lack of affordable and healthy food choices.

Photo credit: Mayr

Millions of families are dependent on supplimental programs such as SNAP (also known as food stamps) and free and reduced programs through their child(ren)'s school. Even with these options available, approximately millions of children are still going to bed hungry and/or malnourished.

This year, as Congress reassesses the Farm Bill, one of the major cuts is going to be to the SNAP program and its education.

THIS IS SIMPLY UNACCEPTABLE.

Here is a brief overview of the Farm Bill and SNAP from Strength.org:

This spring and summer, members of Congress will be working on the re-authorization of the Farm Bill, legislation that provides funding for the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), formally known as food stamps, and the largest nutrition program in the Farm Bill.
SNAP helps struggling families buy more food and fresh vegetables to feed their kids.
SNAP faces potentially devastating cuts in the Farm Bill. These cuts could reduce or even eliminate, millions of Americans' access to SNAP benefits, forcing families across the country to go hungry.
SNAP also provides important economic benefits to communities across the country.
For every SNAP dollar spent, $1.79 is returned to the economy. As our economy slowly begins to recover, now is not the time to cut programs that help local businesses and families.
A family of 4 making less than $23, 000 net income qualifies for SNAP.

Still, in all of this, there is good news: YOU CAN HELP. Everyone is affected by these changes.

Please, visit Share the Strength, a non-for-profit group dedicated to eradicating hunger of children in this country.

It takes just a click and a few minutes to send a letter to Congress, share your story, donate, or even all three.

Every little bit helps. Together, we can make a difference.

Disclosure: I was not compensated for this post. This is something I feel passionate about. My hope is to help spread the word so that we can make the necessary changes. This isn't about the stories we've all heard about fraudulent claims to the government. Statistically, the number of fraud cases is a drop in the ocean compared to the hunger and food insecurity going on in this country. Education and taking action are the keys.

How much of a movie is computer generated?

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 16 May 2012 16:48:00 +0000

My good friend, Karen, sent me an email and I just had to share with you.

Computer Graphics

When you are enjoying a film, how much of it do you think is real? After watching this, you'll probably think only about 50%!

Sure, I think we have all heard that there is extensive use of computer graphics in sci-fi movies, but I had no idea how virtually any film, TV, or Internet video might be either cleverly manipulated or totally fabricated.

This is a video showing scenes from the TV show “Boardwalk Empire.” It's incredible to see how much of each scene is created by computer graphics.

Clearly, computer animations and graphics in movies have some a long way in the last twenty years.

Enjoy!

Happy Mother's Day

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Sun, 13 May 2012 15:04:00 +0000

10 Signs of Facebook Addiction

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Wed, 09 May 2012 19:36:00 +0000

Much to the satisfaction of Mark Zuckerberg and other appropriately interested parties, I spend a good portion of my days with a Facebook tab open.

While it would appear my time spent there is for pleasure, I do a variety of things on a number of pages, therefore my presence is usually required. Regardless, I love Facebook and would spend a good amount of time there anyway.

I'd probably just play more Farmville or Sims Social.

In a conversation with a great friend today, on Facebook no less, it occurred to me that there could be addiction factor to Facebook. She messaged me and said, "I just tried to 'like' that last comment."

I have done the same thing. In emails. On Twitter. On text messages.

Knowing I'm not alone, here is your checklist: You might be addicted to Facebook if...

your 8-year-old wants an account so he can keep in touch with you.
you dream of the dislike button that Facebook won't add.
it's the last thing you check before heading to bed, and the first thing you check in the morning - before getting out of bed.
your child does something cute and first thing you think to do is update your Facebook status so you don't forget.
your child immediately says, "DON'T POST THIS ON FACEBOOK" when you laugh at his joke.
you run a monologue of Facebook status updates just to have people talk to you.
your place of work has Facebook blocked, so you get a smartphone and update during the day.
you take pictures specifically because they will look good as a timeline cover photo.
you receive messages rather than emails because the other party knows you'll definitely see it.
you crowd-source a list of addicting Facebook behaviors, in group, on Facebook.

If you found yourself nodding along and mentally ticking off an item or ten, you are in good company.

If you don't understand what's all that great about Facebook, well, I don't know what to tell you.

I would like to thank my friends with help in compiling this list of Facebook-related behaviors.

Of course, none of us would claim we are addicted. We would rather call it, "Specializing in Social Media."

Amanda: High Impact Mom

Stephanie: The Daily Blarg
Jacqui: Single Parent Retreat
Jessica: Found the Marbles
Tania: Pure Natural Diva

Lisa : A Daily Pinch
Lolli: Better in Bulk

Digging for Treasure

noreply@blogger.com (Heather) — Tue, 08 May 2012 12:00:00 +0000

As you may or may not recall, during the week I watch a sweet boy. Every so often, I also get to keep his four-year-old brother, Lucas*.

We had had big fun, playing approximately 1, 376 games of Piranha Attack, two games of Connect 4 Launchers, and multiple requests for juice boxes** all before the baby woke up from his morning nap.

Even after some fun outside blowing bubbles, hitting a baseball, drawing with chalk, chasing lizards, followed by an awesome lunch, the most amazing, mind-boggling moment for Lucas came just after his nap.

He had slept for just over an hour, and since he'd been fighting a runny nose all morning, there was some nose cleaning he and I were not exactly going to see eye-to-eye on. Upon sitting up, he promptly stuck his finger in his nose.

"Lucas, please don't do that. Let me get you a tissue, and then I'll wash your face."

Lucas removed his finger, looked at me as if he were weighing out the situation. As I rose to grab said tissue and wash cloth, his finger found his nose again like a magnet to metal.

"Hey, buddy. Let's not do that." I proceed to help him clean up.

Just as we settle in to watch PBSKids while waiting for the baby to wake up, he disappears around the corner.

"Lucas? Whatcha doin'?"

He slinks back into the room, looking guilty, but trying to pull off innocence. "Nothin'."

"I asked you not to pick your nose."

His eyes get wide. His mouth opens slightly.

"Isn't that what you were doing?"

He nods softly.

"Okay. I mean it."

"How did you know what I was doin'?"

"I'm a mom. Moms always know."

For the rest of the day, he never tried to sneak to do anything else. And when he relayed the events of the day to his mom, I doubt he told her everything.