Time Flies When You're ...

hmmm...  Having fun?  I guess you could say that.  I've had my dad here visiting this week, and that combined with the normal chaos of life around these parts means that I've had nary a moment to brush my teeth, much less write a little bit.  I actually have this post that I've been meaning and wanting to write for a while now, about time management, but I seriously have not had time to write it!  But when I do, I know you're going to agree with me.  

My dad is 70, and he's had Parkinson's Disease for about 30 years.  He gets around really well, considering that, but he can't be by himself at home, so when my mom goes somewhere, he usually comes here.  The only place my mom ever goes without him, actually, is to take her sister - who is mentally disabled - on a trip every summer.  This year they are in Charleston, SC, so they dropped my dad off on the way.  Having my dad around is a bit like having an extra child around, except I find him to be less predictable than the children I live with all the time.  Maybe it's that, despite his advanced Parkinson's related problems, he is still very smart and can be cagey when he wants to do something he knows I won't like.  He has actually behaved very well on this trip, and Ruby has taken a real shine to him, so that's been fun for both of them.  He has also been giddy with delight at the fact that our giant, giant fig tree is covered in figs, so he's been spending a good part of each day out there picking figs.  My dad is totally compulsive about fruit in general, but figs in particular, and he cannot stand to see the birds get them, so he stays out there working despite extreme heat or bodily injury.  Today he had fallen into some figs that were mashed on the ground, and they were all over his legs, but he didn't see the need to come in and clean up at that point.  He didn't come in until he started feeling something stinging him, and realized that it was wasps eating the fruit right off of him and then going on to his legs for dessert.  We canned them this afternoon and, I have to admit, they are really good. 

Anyway, we have been having fun, and then he'll go back tomorrow, so maybe sometime soon I can sit down and explain my theory of how everything can function perfectly no matter how many children you have if you just use my simple system.  If only.

Me, venting hot air

So, this whole summer thing is sort of wearing me out.  I think it's a combination of the heat, the fact that my kids have been out of school for so long that they have reverted back to their native, savage ways, and just generally too much of everything.  I feel weary, and my back hurts, and I about this time every summer I start to think ahead to the following summer and how I'll do things differently to create a more relaxing outcome.

Perhaps part of it is that this summer I am running around after a toddler who is hellbent on entropy.  Some days I decide that it will be best to watch her at all times so that she doesn't wreak havoc in the house, but entertaining her all day is so exhausting.  So then the next day I decide to just let her have her way with the house because I can't deal with keeping up with her, but cleaning up the messes she leaves in her wake is so exhausting too.  And it's not just messes that you could overlook if you (like me) were comfortable with a messy house.  It's pushing a stool over to the trash can so she can dig things out of it.  It's finding all of the laundry I've been folding and throwing it all on the floor (why?).  It's pushing a chair into the bathroom, turning on the faucet to fill plastic tubs of water and then dumping said tubs on the floor.  So, you know, stuff I actually do have to face at some point.  I remember that Finn did all of these types of things at this age (Gus not so much), and my solution was to just get him out of the house.  We would go to the zoo, the park, the store, the mall - anywhere that he could just be himself without driving me crazy and we were great.  But now it's not so easy, since I have three children rather than one to lug around, and often being out of the house, while beneficial from the mess point of view, leads to angry outbursts (me) and tears (the boys) because it's just hard to keep everybody in line out in the world.  It makes me hoarse just thinking about it.

Plus, I believe I mentioned the heat.  I mean, I expect this type of thing in Texas, but I feel a little cheated that we're here in the hills of North Carolina and the weatherman is doing the whole "92 degrees, but it will feel like 99" bit.  Buddy, that kind of language is not welcome here.  It is welcome in Texas, because it's so damn hot there that it's a source of pride to folks, so if it's going to be 100 degrees, they'd like to be able to let you know that it actually feels like 110, whatever that means.  But not here, where the air conditioning is not all is could be, you can't get from place to place via underground, air conditioned tunnels.

Anyway, this blog is no fun, so sorry about that.  I will feel better tomorrow, after Gus' birthday party is over.  Inexplicably, I agreed to host it here at the house, just like he wanted.  We normally do Finn's party here in April and I go all out with creative activities and such.  From the couch the following day, I declare that we are never having another child's birthday party at our house, and I make calls around to find a place that will accept birthday bookings for a July party even though it's only April.  Do I feel guilty dialing it in like that for the second child?  Not really.  I mostly feel that I should not have spoiled the first one by going to so much trouble for him.  He is destined to be disappointed by life, whereas Gus will find the world to be a pleasant place, filled with people who do things for him that he didn't expect them to do.  As proof, I give you the fact that Finn cried for over an hour a few nights ago because he was worried that he was not going to get an acting part in the little play they were doing at his camp.  Not that he had already not gotten a part, just the horror of the possibility was enough to lead him to the valley of tears and misery.  He actually said that it was the worst thing that could ever happen to him.  And it hadn't even happened yet.  Nor did it happen, and he came home all smiles the next day.  That's a kid who has yet to taste the bitter pill of true disappointment.

But anyway, I did have a weak moment and agreed to let Gus have his party here, and now I'm remembering why I usually don't do this.  I'm hoping that by October, for Ruby's birthday, I will have recovered, because I will make a huge deal out of her second birthday - her first here with us (further creating a middle-child complex for Gus).  For now though, I must go to bed, because in the morning I have to blow up a million inflatable light sabers, so I should stop writing and save my proverbial breath.

ouchie!

This is one of Ruby's favorite words now, but far from her only one.  She says "kitty cat," and "baby" and can sing a pretty convincing version of Happy Birthday.  At 21 months, she's come a long way in terms of language, to the point where I think she understands most of what we tell her.  If I ask her to do something, she usually will do it (unless I'm asking her to spit out some little treat she's managed to shove in her mouth, a silly band or a handful of coins, for instance).  And she sort of "gets" things - like if she spills her water (all the time), she knows it's an uh-oh and will get a towel to clean it up (shocking to me, since the boys still have no conception of cleaning up messes they have made), or this last weekend we were visiting Matt's brother and family at the beach and she would rush over with a pacifier anytime the baby whimpered.  She's such a little mama, taking care of real babies and doll babies alike.  She even worries about the boys when they are crying and is quick to give a gentle pat to help them feel better.  So that's her sweet little self.

Ruby's other self, however, is all terrible two, even though we're not even there yet.  As I said, she's come a long way in language, but she's still pretty far behind for her age.  She really can't communicate as well as the boys could at this age, for obvious reasons, and I know that's so frustrating for her, so she unleashes it in torrents of rageful shrieking.  Perhaps she wants to put her shoe back on after taking it off, perhaps she wants to finish the pizza crust she pulled out of the trash can, perhaps she is angry that she can't have the knife out of the dishwasher that I'm trying to load.  Whatever the cause, the dramatic hysteria that she throws down is almost enough to make me give in, regardless of the inherent danger or disgusting nature of whatever it is she wants to do.  Luckily, like a summer shower, her mood passes quickly and she can be cajoled back to sweetness with a hug or a toy or a cracker.

Below are some recent pics.  We had a great time at the ocean this last weekend.  It was Ruby's first time, so it was fun to see her reaction to the sand and waves.  Every time I would say, "here comes a big wave," she would wave her little hand at the water with a confused and doubtful look on her face.  I think she kept waiting for the person I was making her wave at to come bobbing up out of the surf.  We also celebrated Gus' 5th birthday there, so he was excited to have a big deal made over him.  Of course, he's having a Star Wars party this coming weekend ("just like Finn's"), so we're gearing up for that.  I mentioned that this week at home with just Gus and Ruby would be very different from last week when I had Finn and Ruby while Gus was at camp.  Indeed, it is much quieter, but it's hard in its own way since Gus can't figure out anything to do with himself in the absence of Finn's dictatorship brotherly guidance.  Right now he and Ruby are lying on the floor in his room eating bananas and looking at the ceiling.  Fun times!

Ruby and Cousin Johnny (at 9 months, he's pretty much the same size as Ruby!)

Gus & his crazy birthday hat, and Ruby with Cousin Ashley!

"Hey!  Where's my cupcake?"

Finn became a Parrothead at Margaritaville!

Matt, his brother Jon and nephew Johnny, the little one, looking suspiciously at Matt.

The whole gang.

Brain Drain

This week has been really unusual for me, since Gus has been in a little camp at the school he will go to next year, and Finn and Ruby have been home with me.  It's so rare that I spend time with Finn when Gus is gone, and I'd forgotten how it can be.  It can be great, on the one hand, because when he's not working on antagonizing his brother he sometime tries really hard to be helpful and sort of Eddie Haskell-ish.  He helps me with Ruby, or he reads, and going on errands is much, much easier with just one of the two boys (for some reason, when we all go on an errand together, the boys end up wrestling on the floor of wherever we are).  Plus, Finn is really interested in almost everything, so he is a good companion in a way, because he will listen and ask appropriate follow-up questions.  So that's all great, and he really enjoys having some time without Gus in the picture, which is partly why I staggered their camps in the first place.

However.  You knew that's where this was leading, right?  I find that the child's mind is a little like a vortex that I seem to be caught in as we go through our days.  Every single thing that happens requires so much input on my part that by the end of the day, I'm in a vegetative mental state, yet Finn is still going strong.  It's like he's sucking the mental life out of me.  Example, "Mom, quiz me."  Me, while trying to find an address in an unfamiliar neighborhood, "Uhh, what?"  "Give me a money quiz.  Three ways to get to a dollar."  Me, "okay, name three ways to add up to a dollar."  Finn, ready with his answer, of course, since he was thinking about it before I even asked, "one hundred pennies, two half dollars, a silver dollar."  WTF?  Those are not normal ways to make up a dollar, but whatever.  So I appropriately admire his prowess and return to scanning for the street that I can't find.  "Mom, ask me more."  So I toss off a few more quizzes, and he aces them, and then I totally run out of ideas.  After about three rounds, I can barely think of my own name, much less come up with a denomination of money to quiz him with.  Hard to believe?  I know, but you try it when you're also using many of your other senses at the same time.

So I have to shut down that little fun, and Finn is dejected for a while.  But only for a little while.  Once he can sense that I have relaxed (having found the address we were looking for, transacted our business, and gotten back in the car), he strikes again.  "Mom, how much blood would you say the average ten year old has?"  Me, "I have no idea."  Finn, "well, does a baby have less blood than a grown up?"  Me, "Yes."  "How does it grow?"  Now, here's where I should have bowed out with my customary response, "hmm, your father knows so much more about stuff like that, we'll ask him when he gets home," but I didn't.  I was distracted and started down a lame explanation of red blood cells and how they live and die in our bodies.  "But where do they go when they die?"  "Mmmm, just back into your body, sort of, I think."  "Where?"  And that's when I realize that I really have no idea how that all works, although I did at some point in my life (8th grade science, maybe?), but I have become a person who cannot answer the questions of a 7 year old.  "You know what, Finn, let's find out all about that from dad later today."  Finn, "okay.  Mom, wouldn't it be funny if you could fold up a car when you don't need it?"  "Mom, what are they talking about on the radio when they were talking about bombs in Uganda?"  "Mom, who were you talking to on the phone?"  "Mom, have you ever been to Japan?"  "Mom, do you think we can buy the next book in my series today?"  Me, finally, "Finn, Mommy's head hurts, so we need to take a break from talking for a while and just look out the window."  "Okay.  Mom, did you see that car over there?  It had a really funny-looking thing on top.  Remember when we went to the art car museum in Houston?  Do you think we could ever decorate our car like that?  I think it would be cool to do it like a shark, and then there could be like a person's feet coming out where the mouth is.  Wouldn't that be cool?"  Me, drive car off the road into a tree.

So, next week Finn heads off to camp and Gus will be home with me, which is a much different phenomenon entirely.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Big Day!

Friends, if you're local you may already know, but if you're not, I'll tell you my fun new thing.  Finally, after years and years of thinking of ideas for starting a business, I have finally actually done it.  I usually think of some idea, but then (as I explained before) someone else has already done it and it's way too late, or I don't want to invest the time/money to get it going, or I just realize that I'm not interested in doing the actual thing that I've come up with (like I have this idea that you could be a personal assistant for a bunch of different people for just a few hours a week each, because I need that kind of help, but I couldn't actually run that type of business).  Anyway, my new biz is called "dinners on the porch," and basically I just make dinner and then take it to whomever wants one.  You can check it out at www.dinnersontheporch.blogspot.com, right next door, blog-ishly speaking.  (The name is supposed to convey that your dinner is actually waiting for you on the porch, but also the rare treat of a relaxing dinner outdoors, maybe with cocktails.  What do you think?)  Anyway, today was the first delivery, and it was so fun!  I kept waiting for some nightmarish scenario to unfold - guacamole all over the inside of the car, or Ruby somehow getting into the enchiladas and eating them/smearing them all over the house, but none of that happened.  It went, basically, according to plan.  Shocking.
Anyway, as Matt suggested, I could be making more money crafting coffee drinks at Starbucks, but it wouldn't be so much fun and, plus, the uniform.  I've done my time in jobs requiring uniforms (frozen yogurt server, waitress, camp counselor, etc), and I think I'm done with that.
At the moment, I'm drinking a very strong gin & tonic and trying to ignore that the rest of the house is total chaos (since I let the kids run wild while I made all these enchilada dinners!).  It's working ...

Routine things

Note to the reader:  it's almost midnight, I really, really need to be in bed as I have many things that must be accomplished tomorrow, and yet, here I am, lying on the floor of our bedroom in the dark, trying to be quiet (Matt has been asleep for several hours and he would certainly grumble at me if I wake him up with typing noises), struck by the need to update the blog to let everyone know that I really don't like routines.  I just thought about it while I was in the shower, so instead of going to bed, sensibly, here I am, wide awake.  But that's just the thing:  I hate to have a bedtime.  I hate to feel like I "need" to go to bed because I "have" to get up at a certain time every day.  Instead, I suspend the knowledge that my children will wake up, as they do every day, at 7 am, wanting me to do things (get breakfast, change a diaper, mediate arguments, be readily available) right away.  Maybe, I tell myself so convincingly, they'll all sleep in tomorrow and we'll wake up at a more reasonable hour, like 8:30, and Matt will have started the coffee before he left for work, so I won't even have to get through that terrible half hour before the coffee can be made when I am doing the aforementioned odious tasks (odious because they are being done pre-coffee, not because I hate doing things for my children, mostly).  But that won't really happen, and that gets me down, the routine-ness of that part of the day.

There are only a very few routines that I really enjoy, like my weekly routine of getting a mani/pedi every Friday.  What?  Did I really say that?  No, that's not on my schedule, but I guess I meant that I would like that kind of a routine.  I would probably like a routine where we always spend Spring Break in Hawaii, too, but unfortunately that, also, is not yet on the annual rotation.  And I really can't make myself stick to routines, even if I would like to for the betterment of myself or my family.  I can't tell you how many times I have wished and then actually decided that I am going to absolutely begin a strict regimen of getting up at 6 am every day and going jogging in order to ensure that I will get to exercise every day.  And I might even do it for one or two days, but then I fall back to my slack ways, snooze the alarm, and just admit that I am not cut out for early morning activity.  Or I wish that I had a laundry "day" like they used to whenever Laura Ingalls Wilder was a girl.  They were so disciplined then; they had to be for survival.  Pa couldn't just be bringing up water from the river any old time, since he had a routine of hunting and smoking meat for the winter that he had to stick to.  I would not have survived in those grisly times.  Unlike the cheerful and efficient Ma Ingalls, who washed, hung, pressed (with an iron heated over an open fire), and put away all of the laundry every Monday, I just let laundry pile up at some point in the process, until (as has happened tonight) I am forced to wear uncomfortable underwear because none of the good ones are in the drawer.

Okay, Matt did just wake up, grunt at me and then fall back to sleep, so I think that should serve as a warning.  I must go to bed, or maybe read for just a few minutes ...

goodnight!

Love Little Ethiopians (and their families)

Last night we had the best afternoon/evening with a bunch of little people racing all over our house and having a madcap time together!  We have a great group of about 30 families or so that live in the "Triad" of North Carolina (that's Winston-Salem, High Point, Greensboro and everything in between to those of you who may be confusing it with the slightly more well known triangular geographic area of the state known as the "Triangle").  We have big get-togethers every few months, but this time we just had a little late afternoon moms & margaritas playdate.  I think maybe the acoustics in our house are sort of funny, but it was really loud in here for about 4 hours.  Between 7 moms, I think we had about 20 kids between 2 and 7, so it was chaos - but awesome.  Ruby loves the crowd - she's little shy with a new person when it's one-on-one, but with a bunch of kids, she's so happy to run around pretending like she's one of the big kids.  This morning, it's all quiet and empty again.  Actually, that's not true, since the children are racing around fighting with light sabers, but it's a little quieter!

Is it just me,

or is it really annoying when you tell someone a story where your kids are total monsters, and they sort of string you along, nodding, sympathizing, and then when you finish, they tell a story where their kids were acting in a similar manner, but because of what great parents they are, or how awesome their kids are, it all worked out great?  That's irritating, right?  

This afternoon, following a morning of taking my kids to the science center and then to Five Guys for lunch - basically, a day filled with happiness and treats, the boys came home and were complete jerks.  I had put Ruby down for a nap and then I lay down for a minute to overcome the headache that came on sometime during the third hour of our visit to the museum.  I sent the boys down to the basement to clean up Legos (knowing that they would not do that, but at least I thought they would not bother Ruby down there).  Plus, I told them not to wake Ruby up or else they would have a "really bad punishment" - that's my fallback when I don't have a carrot left to dangle.  Fifteen minutes later, they were both in my room, lying on my bed, complaining they were bored.  So I told them they could just play instead of cleaning, so long as they were quiet.  So they were really quiet and sweet and went back downstairs and cleaned up the whole basement.  Just kidding, but that's what I would say if I were trying to annoy you after you told me something really awful about your kids.  What they actually did was go downstairs and start fighting right outside of Ruby's room until she woke up.  So then I told them that they would have to go to their rooms and that we would not be going to the bookstore later (see what I nice mom I was planning to be?), and then all hell broke loose.  They both started bawling and thrashing around like I had thrown acid at them, saying that today was "the worst day ever" and wondering if it could be possible to have a worse "pennishment" - that's how Finn says punishment, and it kind of cracks me up when he is so upset but saying words wrong, so I never correct him.  But then a great thing happened:  Ruby fell back asleep and the boys both apologized and said that they would accept the punishment because they knew they should not have been fighting loudly outside of Ruby's door and told me how much they love me and went downstairs and really cleaned up that basement - they even cleaned the cats' litter box for me!  Just kidding again, but see how if that was what had happened, then the whole story would have actually been a way to brag about my kids and would make you want to throw up?  No, what really happened is that they cried and carried on for a long time while I went to get Ruby up and then I finally lost it when Finn shouted that he "hated this house," and I told them that if I heard another sound out of either of their mouths they would really hate this house because it would become their prison for a few days.  (My mom thought that was sort of mean, but she wasn't here, so I can't really accept her judgment on the matter.)  

Both of the boys fell asleep after about five minutes in their beds, and now I've been playing with Ruby (who is very cranky from lack of sleep) and cleaning up after her constant mess-making rather than accomplishing the million things I had planned to do this afternoon (okay, writing a blog is not really that productive, and while I am doing this, I can hear Ruby working on her favorite project, which is going through the recycling and drinking the last few drops out of all of the soda cans, but I'm trying to block that out.)  

So I'm still sort of mad at all three of them, and also vaguely mad at Matt, even though he wasn't any part of the problem, but he's not here, so he's not part of the solution, either.  And it really doesn't make me feel better to hear that someone else (who shall remain nameless, or course) would have turned the whole situation into something less than traumatic for all involved.  Something really awesome, as a matter of fact.  I know I've done that myself to other people (and on this blog I'm sure), sometimes in a genuine effort to give constructive advice, but sometimes just to make myself feel better.  It's really annoying and self-serving and, basically, pointless, because it doesn't make the other person think you're a better mom or that your kids are better than theirs, it just makes them think you are a jerk.  But sometimes I guess that's the only thing parents have in the way of a pat on the back:  self-promotion to other parents who don't want to hear it anyway.  If parenting were more like a real job, you might have someone paying attention to your better moments and telling you "nice job on that!"  Like, you might have a little plaque on your wall or buried under a stack of mail that said that you got your kids to school on time 90% of the time.  Or it might say that you had never let your kids get a peeling sunburn (I would not receive that award), because we all know that takes a lot of effort.  Maybe even one that said that you were "most improved in the area of patience when trying to get the kids in and out of the car."  You get the idea.  I could think of a million categories, but the point is that at least someone would have noticed.  Then you wouldn't occasionally slip into conversation that you potty-trained your kids "well before three," or that you were worried because your 4 year old has "stopped liking kale, no matter how many times I have presented it to him.  Now his favorite food seems to be grilled asparagus."  That just makes me start desperately trying to think of something terrible about your kid so that I won't feel like such a crummy mother.  I realize that's shallow, immature and petty, but when I've just had a parenting failure, that's how I feel.  Now, on the other hand, I would be more than happy to attend a black tie party where they are handing out awards to all my friends for being awesome moms and dads, because in my heart I know they are, even if I don't always want to hear it from them!  

It's all in the details ...

Ruby's first 4th of July as an American (although technically still Ethiopian, but who's counting?).  I didn't really think about that until my mom pointed it out, but it is sort of momentous.  The kids actually did not make it for the fireworks (and, therefore, neither did we), because after a day of playing with friends and swimming at the pool, they were crashing hard around 7:30.  Plus, Matt is on call and had to go in to sew up somebody's eye, so here I sit, celebrating the 4th by folding laundry (perpetual state of affairs), and catching up on emails, blog, etc.  But it's all good and we've had a fun weekend, so I'm pretty content to be home just hanging out.

So, last week I got a new cell phone.  The reason I ended up getting it is a little embarrassing, and the incident made me think that maybe other people don't see me the same way I see myself.  Maybe I'm not as nice as I think I am.  And then that made me think about other things that I think about myself, and I realized that I persist in thinking of myself as the person I may have been at one time, but am no longer.  For example, I would think to myself that I am the kind of person who likes to go out and have fun.  Kind of a "fun" person.  And, in fact, I did used to be such a person.  Now, however, I am actually the kind of person who enjoys a good night of sleep and has recently been extremely hung over from over-indulging in white wine.  Not too cool.  Also, I tend to think of myself as a person who feeds her kids healthy meals.  And I do remember that I used to make the boys eat their vegetables before they got the rest of their food.  Lately, however, I'm definitely counting spaghetti sauce as a veggie and hot dogs as a healthy dinner meat.  Similarly, I previously was "the kind of person" who would write nice thank you notes promptly upon receiving a gift.  Or "the kind of person" who would insist that her children wear clean and neat clothing when leaving the house.  However, when I reflect on reality, I see that most of the boys' clothes are stained, so that they appear dirty even when they are actually clean, and I really don't care.  It would seem that the evidence is pointing towards my being a boring, lazy, dirty unappreciative person.  Ouch!

A friend was recently telling me how annoyed she was that a friend of hers sent a really nice thank you note to her.  I could totally relate.  The fact that other people are still doing the things that you used to do when you were a more with it person can really be a buzz kill.  Isn't that petty?  Also, realizing that you maybe are no longer one kind of person and maybe have not been for a while leads you to wonder what kind of a person you really are.  Am I now the kind of person who wishes they wrote thank you notes right away because I really do appreciate when people do nice things for me, or the kind of person who thinks feeding my kids healthy meals is a good idea, even if I don't usually do so?  The worst part is realizing that I used to think those things about myself were really part of my fundamental make-up.  There were all of these absolutes - things I knew I would never do - let my 4 year old child watch Star Wars, for instance, and things I could always be counted on to do - read the book club selection before attending the meeting.  And now, as you may have been able to guess, Star Wars is our favorite movie around here, and I can't remember the last time I made it to book club and had read the book (either I've read it but can't go to the meeting, or I go but haven't read).

I realize that those are little things, but I really felt like those kinds of things made me who I was.  I guess it's because the big facts about most people, myself included, are so generic and overwhelming.  Yes, I am a married, stay-at-home mother.  So are a lot of people.  I have three kids, I went to Middlebury, I am from Texas, etc, etc.  But all of that stuff wouldn't tell a person who I really am in the same way that one little detail sometimes can.  You know when you have a good friend, and you're trying to describe something or someone to her, and you can just say one little thing to convey the whole picture.  Like you might say, "let's just say that my brother's new girlfriend is the kind of person who would send food back in a restaurant if she didn't like it."  And your friend would totally understand that this girl is not a keeper.  So, I'm guessing that people did not used to sit around saying, "Claire is the kind of person who really stays on top of her book club reading material," but I will admit (nerdishly) that it was something I thought was cool because I love to read.  And mostly, we can fool other people by revealing select details of our lives or telling only the stories that leave the impression we want others to have of us.  But then there's this big disconnect where I'm not quite sure what details would give people the full story about me.  And maybe I am secretly afraid that a few details would make a person think I'm a hypocrite, or a bore, or self-important, or flaky.  Well, actually, I am sometimes those things some of the time, but hopefully not all of the time.

So here's the cell phone store, and even though it points towards me being spoiled and indulgent I'll just tell it anyway.  I lost the charger for my cell phone last week on our trip (predictably, I left it sitting in the motel where we spent the night on the way home from Texas), so I stopped by the Sprint store on the way to the grocery store to pick up a new one.  If you've had dealings with the delightful people at Sprint, you know the drill.  One guy takes your name and problem, types it into his computer, and then you see your name up on a screen behind the 50 or so other people who arrived before you.  But I'm in a hurry, plus I have all three kids with me, and, really, all I need is a cord.  So when I realize that the guy is going to toss me onto the computer list, just to buy a cord, I freak.  At first I tried to make him see reason.  "All I need is a cord, I don't really need to see one of your "experts," you could just get the cord for me and I could give you my money."  Have you ever read the book Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus?  I was the pigeon.  As with the pigeon, my tactics failed.  Didn't I see all of the other people waiting?  Did I think it would be fair for me to go ahead of all of them?  I didn't yell, but I wasn't very nice either, as I informed the guy that I thought it was ridiculous that they would make me wait to buy a cord and I was going to cancel my Sprint contract and never do business there again.  I stormed out and hustled the kids back to the car.  Once back in the car, Finn said, "Mom, you weren't very nice to that man."  My very mature response:  "that guy was an idiot."  And off we went to AT&T.