This won't hurt a bit

Exhibit A: During our 8-year old's last doctor visit, we, as many parents did, decided it was worth it to get vaccinated for H1N1. After a previously sour experience with a nasal spray, we opted for a simple little shot. As she's poking the needle in the leg, the nurse says "this won't hurt a bit." Ummm, what? Needless to say, all sorts of craziness ensued ending with a screaming 8-year old and and a lifetime of shot-paranoia.

Enter in, Exhibit B: One month later, we take our daughter in for a routine teeth cleaning. She needs a cavity filled and the dentist pulls out the needle and says "I'm going to give you a little sleepy medicine for your mouth. It won't hurt a bit." Only a video clip would do this justice. Standing in the middle of an open exam area with patient chairs separated only by small dividers is our daughter with tears streaming from her eyes screeching "No, you're going to hurt me! You are crazy! I hate dentists!" Um, yeah, that's our daughter. Well, after two more follow-up visits (aka. attempts to sway her with bribes, motherly "words of encouragement," and even a little happy gas), she was referred to a specialist. Who, as I waited patiently in the waiting area, grabbed her face and said, "you will behave," as she screamed at the top of her lungs. The girl is scared of needles...this is not a behavior issue. But, that is a totally different topic.

Trying to make the bad news a little easier can be found many places...a teacher telling a student that a standardized test will be a breeze; a bitter medicine ground up and masked with grape jelly or mixed in fruit juice; a wife telling a husband that her leaving the marriage for another man will "set him free to find true love; a parent telling a teenager she is going miss the "best party ever" because of a family reunion; a pastor telling a family to feel better knowing the loss of their child is a gain for heaven. At some point in our lives, we have all been the givers and receivers of words such as these. We have all tried to help it "go down easier" with a little smoke and mirrors.


So, I am left wondering...Why the dishonesty? Who benefits? Why do we tell someone it will be alright or that it won't hurt when we all know it will? Are we trying to help the person we're hurting or are we trying to make ourselves feel better about causing the pain? Would we have felt these events differently had there been some honesty? Shots hurt. Sometimes life hurts. At what point in our growing up should someone just be honest and tell us "this is going to be totally painful and you are going to hate me for it, but it has to be done." Is 8 years old too early?

Are we a big ol' group of judgers?

I started my new job this week and I'm slowly meeting all of my new colleagues. It's an interesting process of little assessments and once overs. Everything you say, how you say it, your body language...all of it...go into my initial feelings and ideas about who you are as a person. You might say this is judgmental and I would say you are right. Isn't that what meeting people is all about? I'd love to say I have forever and a day to engage in endless conversation that delves into the very meat and potatoes of your soul. But, I don't. And, if I do say so myself, I am a fairly good judge of humanity. Sometimes that's due to my savvy people skills. Sometimes it's because you lay it out on the table.

At my first meeting today, one of my colleagues said she doesn't like people. Now, this is an interesting statement to make considering 1) I am a person and you are saying this to me; and 2) the very nature of our work demands that you have interactions with a multitude of people all day long with little respite. This gives me pause. Of course, there were clarifying remarks that followed ensuring that I was not to take this personally and that her dislike of people did not include me. Um, are you sure? You just met me and believe you-me, I can be as crappy and irritating a human being as the next guy (or gal). Maybe I give off some kind of "nice person vibe" or maybe I'm short and less frightening than most. The one caveat was that just as I was making my judgments about her character (I really like her, by the way) she was judging me in return.

I guess that leads me to the question...is judging a bad thing? Or is a little judgment just our way of figuring each other out? I think the answer is yes...to both questions. At least it can be both. It is human nature to try to understand each other and sometimes that takes a little "determining" about the person in front of you. But, sometimes that 'judging" becomes tainted with mean-ness. If my wondering about my new colleague means I'm making comparisons or thinking I'm better than that person, that's when judgment goes wrong.

So, the next time you meet someone new, decide if you are "determining" or if you are "comparing." You just might learn something about yourself.

Why would you like to work for us? Um, let me think...

Question: If you were a tree, what tree would it be and why? Answer: An oak - strong and long-living.
Question: What would you bring to our team? Answer: Flexibility, work-ethic, communication skills.
Question: What was your favorite movie and why? Answer: Mama Mia - music, drama, silliness all in one.
Question: Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Answer: I'm not sure...in your job?

Oh, those pesky interview questions. I know, I know...I look young (wink-wink), but I'm really no spring chicken. In fact, I've had so many jobs and been through so many interviews, you'd think I'd have the process locked in. Ummm, that would be a big negatory. In fact, I think the older I get and the more experiences I have, the more muddy my brain gets. Question: Can you give us one example of a time you learned from listening? Umm, what? I've been working for 24 years (since I was 13 - you do the math) and you want me to pick just one time out of all of those jobs to tell you about? My answer: um, um, um, um. I'm serious, that was my response. My first two jobs I was hand-chosen for "Hey, why don't we ask Sara to watch our kids?" Then..."to work at the bridal shop?" Then, my first interviews for K-B Toys and Wendy's had questions like "Will you show up on time?" "Do you have transportation?" Those questions seemed so dicey back then.

But, after years of figuring out just what I want to do with my life it all comes down to three 30-minute interviews and forty-eight serious, squeeze your brain questions that could decide my fate. I know...a little dramatic, but I'm being pretty serious...if I screw these up we might as well just move because there will be no jobs for me now or anytime in the future. So, the minute after I get the call for the interview, my brain goes through these series of thoughts...

Hooray, I got an interview!
Oh, crap, I got an interview!
What will I say? It's summer and my mind has gone to mush. I don't remember anything.
What will I wear? Black suit too serious? Skirt and blouse too young?
What if I screw up? So many people helped me get to this point - I don't want to disappoint them.
If I screw up, we're going to have to move.
We're going to have to replace the basement carpet before we put it the house on the market.
Who could we get to be our realtor?
Will the kids like their new schools?
I wonder what our new neighbors would be like?

I'm serious, my brain is that screwed up. But, I digress. I decided on the black suit - classic, right? With a teal youthful shirt to show them I'm not as old as I seem. I spend four days pouring over everything I've ever done in the past 10 years including schooling, volunteering, and job experiences and I pray. Okay, okay, my praying sounds something like this..."Dear God, if I get this job I'll never ask you for another thing ever." "Dear God, if I get this job I'll be nice to everyone, even my irritating neighbor." "Dear God, if I get this job I will be a better parent to my kids." "Dear God, if I get this job I'll call my mother more." You get the picture.

So, lesson one during this process...don't let my mind get ahead of itself. Lesson two...work on better prayers that are more realistic. "Dear God, if I get this job I'll be nice once to my kids today." :-) Well, this is a start, right?

Well, the interviews are over. They were rigorous...a.k.a. "gruelling." I did my fair share of "um's" and "can you repeat that question?" After a full afternoon I'd like to say I walked out unscathed, but my brain ached, my throat was scratchy, and somehow I rubbed the skin on my elbows raw. Yes, that's right...my body dealt with the anxiety of the interviews by grounding my elbows into the table. Half way through my last interview I touched my elbow and had blood on my hands [quick wipe on the black suit pants].

It's been five days since the interviews and I've finally come around to "it's okay either way." My elbows have finally scabbed over and I'm just glad they never asked me where I want to be in five years...is superintendant too lofty? In the meanwhile, I'm practicing my praying skills and looking at houses in Alaska (I hear they're hiring). To be continued...

Muggles for Harry!

Sporting HP 3D glasses

A fact about me...I pride myself on my personal library. I love the classics, literary award winners, those professional and intellectual challenges that make my brain hurt. I have belonged to book groups filled with intellects and love any opportunity to analyze the meaning and literary devices used in a book. Now you know -- I am a book snob.

But, can I tell you a secret? (Just between us friends, right?) In the margins of my vast snobby book list you'll also find a little heart around the name Harry and my new title Mrs. Jacob Werewolf written in bubble letters. Okay, I admit it, I love Harry Potter and Twilight. Between my bouts of shame I can be found cheering on Harry and his friends and their unendless acts of bravery or gasping at the thought of Jacob and his six-pack. And, yes, I know Jacob is underage...so, arrest me...in jail I'll have more time to read.

It has taken me years to become a Harry-loving muggle. In my own defense, I did try on a little Harry way back when and I couldn't get through the first book. Ugh! It was so frustrating -- Harry was constantly getting himself into trouble and NEVER asked for help from an adult. Dumbledore is the best...if I was Harry I'd be in his office daily. He can solve all of your problems and provide a little magical pick-me-up to get you through the day. And, yes, I get that the trouble is the whole point. But, good-gravy, he's only 10 and he's defying death!

As for Twilight, it took me a long time to jump into this series and then longer still to admit I read it. Then, even longer still to admit that I was envisioning myself as the wife of a werewolf and wondering what our children would look like. And, then to admit that I actually gasped seeing Jacob on-screen with his wolfy man-body. Okay, okay...too much info.

So, now I've come clean on all counts. Well, at least I've been honest about my literary laundry list of licentiousness. Oh, I love that word (and, double points for the alliteration). Yes, I'm a nerd.

And, now I'm wondering...what do you have to come clean about? Maybe you match your socks and underwear? You crave time with re-runs of Bevis and Butt-head? Come on, let it out...we won't tell.

Shame, shame...I know your name...

Do you remember this from our childhood? "Shame, shame...I know your name?" While I say this I am repeatedly sliding the index finger of my right hand down the length of my left hand. This little hand gesture adds insult to injury showing just how shameful you (I've) been. Today, a sweet friend sent me a message asking about my lack of blog posts which immediately brought to mind..."shame, shame...I know your name." I could even envision the hand gesture. So, I've been a little slack-a-days-ickle. I am a slacker...I admit it.

For those of you who don't know, I spent the past three years in college, again, this time getting a degree in elementary education. Since we (my friend and I) graduated in early May, she was thinking that I should have plenty of time to post. And, I would have to agree....I "should" have time. But, where has it all gone?

So, in an effort to catch you up on the past four months and maybe eek a tiny bit of sympathy from you, here goes...

The best part of going through graduation "again" was the invention of the cell phone. I'm sure someone had a cell phone when I first graduated in 1995, but poor college students didn't have them. I admit to texting during the less than interesting and downright confusing (maybe I'm not that smart?) speeches. While I appreciate the time, energy, and guts it took to stand up and speak...complaining about them was more fun than actually listening.

I had a month off between graduation and the time the kids got out of school that was purely mine...at least that's how it should have been. Somehow, I filled in my schedule quite quickly and that whole pesky find-a-job thing kept getting in the way, too. If I could have a re-do, I would say no to 75% of the things I let take up that month. I do admit, however, to a few afternoons of reading and napping...but, don't let it get out.

So, the job hunt thing...ugh! I applied to every job I didn't want because there are no jobs (yet) that I do. And, I let it take up a ton of time and energy...it takes time and creativity to put cute little stickers on the beautiful linen envelope that would carry my resume, letter, transcript, references, blood sample, lock of hair, and first born...all sent knowing that the jobs that were listed weren't really jobs because they were already spoken for before they were even posted...double ugh! Meanwhile, I'm waiting...and SCREAMING FROM THE MOUNTAIN TOPS THAT I WANT A JOB!!!! Okay, now that that's out of my system...I'll keep waiting.

In addition to that pesky job thing are my pesky kids. Okay, just kidding...they rock. However, they can be pesky at times...they learned it from me. We spent quite a bit of time at the dentist with our 8-yr old daughter who, on the second to last visit to take care of some pesky (I love that word) cavities, could be heard screaming from the top of her lungs "I hate the dentist! You people are crazy!" Um, yeah...she really doesn't like the dentist. We were summarily sent to a "specialist" to handle her "difficult behavior."

Speaking of teeth, after two more slacker tooth fairy incidents...that tooth fairy is the worst! "Maybe the tooth fairy couldn't find your tooth" says the slacker parent in the morning when her son finds his tooth and no money. The role of tooth fairy is one of the tenants of our responsibilities as parents and we have failed miserably. One time we gave him money but couldn't find the tooth. In the morning, our son came out with the tooth and the money and felt like he'd pulled one over on the tooth fairy (ie. "us" since he knows there is no tooth fairy). More on our tooth fairy fiascos can be found here.

We have been vacation maniacs. Don't let a little thing like being broke get in the way of a good vacation...it's amazing what you can pull out of thin air. And, it helps to have 60,000 credit card points banked that help pay for hotel rooms. Many lunchmeat sandwiches and 2,500 miles later we drove through 8 states and visited our nation's capital. This was a test of the family and we all managed to survive. We never saw the president, but we did get to see the official White House beekeepers which was the next best thing! Our daughter's favorite memory will be the super power hand dryers in all the bathrooms which make your skin wrinkly. I will admit to putting my face under one which then scarred our daughter for life. Our son who wanted this trip more than any of us--will remember how our daughter incessantly chews with her mouth open. And, then you get home and everyone goes back to their separate rooms and separate TVs and all is well with the world...or, is it?

And, filling up the rest of my time...laundry, arguing with children, sweeping, telling my children to stop arguing, reading, arguing with my children, swimming, arguing some more, mowing, telling my children I'm done arguing, feeding pets, arguing some more...Is summer over, yet?

I would totally marry George Jetson...if I could have a robot maid

When I was a kid The Jetsons were a staple of our TV viewing. Maybe it's my lazy alter-ego, but there was just something incredible about having a robot maid do your work for you, robotic arms bursting through the wall to do anything you didn't feel like doing [just can't reach that itchy spot on my back--why, thank you robot arm!]. Or, the air tube that zoomed you from one place to the next and the chair that carried you anywhere you didn't care to walk yourself. Aaagh, a girl can dream, right?

I'm sitting here thinking I should go to bed. But, my body is resisting. In my head, I understand the consequences of staying up late. When I wake up groggy and irritable in the morning, I'll berate myself for my irresponsibility. But, I just can't will my body to get up and do all the "stuff" that getting ready for bed entails. If it were only as simple as getting into bed and falling asleep. Before I go to bed I still have to...switch loads of laundry, fold the dry load, turn on the dishwasher, turn off all the lights, lock the doors, tidy up along the way, brush my teeth, put on pjs, write a teacher note for one kid, write a check for sports and prepare to mail, search the house for scattered library items to return tomorrow, and on, and on, and on. From the comfort of the couch, these things seem monumental. Sitting here is so relaxing. I have an endless supply of programming available on cable. I've got a drink, a warm blanket, the world at my fingertips on the computer, and my phone...I'd say I'm good...for, oh, the next week or more.

So, what puts us over the edge toward movement? What gives us the momentum we need to change direction or move forward? Maybe it's the reward--a warm and cozy bed, well deserved rest? I'm thinking that's what will do it for me. I'm going to admit something to you...just between you and me...I actually make an audible moan of pleasure getting into bed. Sounds creepy, right? I know. But, oh, the feeling that you are done for the day; that, even though there may be dirty dishes in the sink, laundry sitting wet in the washer, and a myriad of other tasks still on the list, it's over and I can finally let go. It's truly the most selfish thing I do every day...setting everything aside to do something for myself--sleep.

So, what's holding me back? If I love my bed and sleep so much why can't I just get moving? It's calling me..can you hear it? "Come to bed...get some rest." Instead, here I sit...can't will myself to move. Maybe if I roll there? Anyone out there willing to come and carry me? Now that I think of it, this couch is looking inviting. If I just fall over on my side I'll be in a perfect position to sleep. A blanket, pillow, couch...even an alarm on my phone...no need to even get up!

Okay, feet planted on the floor...quadriceps tightened...forward momentum with my upper body...and, I did it! I'm up! Now, if only that mechanical chair and robotic maid were here to take care of the rest.

Let the lovin' commence!

That ooey-gooey day of love has reared it's hot-blooded head again. And, as with all major holidays, it's a good time to reflect on Valentine's past, present, and future...think A Christmas Carol for cupid.

The many-years-ago past: My 6th grade boyfriend (I know, I know...I was an early bloomer and I use the word "boyfriend" loosely) gave me the art project we were supposed to give to our parents. It was layers of red construction paper hearts glued together about an inch high and 2.5 inches around, and shellacked to a shiny finish. He had written "I love you" on it. It was so sweet and I still have it to this day. Let's keep this our secret...wouldn't want my husband to be jealous of my 25 year old "relationship."

Forward a few years: Receiving 6 red carnations through my high school's Valentine fundraiser was a shocker. (I, apparently, had dated enough in middle school as I didn't date in high school.) They were signed "A Secret Friend" whom I later found to be one of my great guy friends. Notice, I don't say boyfriend. We never ended up dating after that...not sure why. So sweet and this year he's enjoying his first Valentine's as a "spouse" with the woman of his dreams...so happy for him.

Early College: My dear friend (and roommate) and I were consummate downers regarding Valentine's. We claimed it as our very own Black [insert day of the week] regardless of the day it landed on. No, not the day you go shopping...broke college students don't go shopping! We wore black and ate ALL day. It was all about the food. Because, food IS love, right?? And, it just happened that my yearly doctor visit happened around Valentine's Day. I can still recall the same nurse every year making the same bad joke--"Happy V-D day." Yes, it was that kind of doctor visit.

Late College: I had finally snagged the man of my dreams. Apparently, I went to college for my MRS. degree [insert pathetic laugh here]. My honey proposed to me on Valentine's Day at the edge of Lake Michigan in the freezing cold. We couldn't see the lake because of the fog, but it was still very sweet. I skipped all my classes that day and watched all the proposals and surprise weddings on Oprah [insert tears here]. Quite a change from the Black Friday of a few year's earlier.And, just the beginning of a series of romantic dinners, gifts, jewelry, flowers, cards. I know...disgustingly sweet.

Now: After 13 years of marriage, our V-Day has been relegated to..."Honey Dear Love of My Life, are we doing gifts this year?" [crossing fingers for a "no"] and, then..."Sorry, Sweety-Pie Highlight of My Life, I didn't get you anything." [uncross fingers, sigh of relief--dodged another one]. Okay, sans the gooey names...it really has come to this! Instead of a romantic dinner at a posh restaurant, we're meeting friends for a movie (with all of our kids) and then getting pizza afterward. It will not be the romantic evenings of our younger marriage, but great fun, nonetheless.

The Future: Who knows? Guessing the gift situation will remain giftless as we begin repaying student loans soon and my spouse begins racking up his own student loans as he starts schooling of his own. But, like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, we've learned through the past and present that it's not about what you receive, it's about what you are able to give. And, we both have lots of love to give...no, potty-mind, not that kind of love.

My challenge to you on this ooey-gooey day of loving is to love the person closest to you with all you have to offer. Whether it's your child, your spouse, your parent, your neighbor, or, most importantly, yourself. Celebrate this day as it should be...full of love, admiration, respect, caring, and faith in the world and each other.

Where have all my "friends" gone?

So, tonight I was procrastinating--again [insert eye-roll here]. I know...I think someone put a curse on me to always be a procrastinator. Anyway - I clicked over to Facebook [again with the eye-roll]. As I scanned down my list of friend updates, I felt like I was seeing the same people again and again. Yes, there were the regular posters and an equal amount that never post anything. But, beyond those...where were the rest of my 150 friends? (I know--you can't believe I have 150 friends--me either).

Then, I remembered...and, I felt a small pang of guilt...I had "hidden" them. You know---hiding is when you decide you can't do the mature thing and unfriend someone that offends or irritates you so you just hide them. They don't know and the "friend"ship continues unscathed. Well, once I searched around a bit, I found a list of all the "friends" I had hidden...32 to be exact. That's [insert your own math here] percent of my 150 total. I know...shame on me. (If there was a distinction between "good" and "bad" friends on FB, I would definitely be questionable.) But, then I couldn't remember why I had hidden them in the first place. So, I unhid them all.

[fast forward two hours]

While working diligently, I took a "peak" over to Facebook (peaking is not really procrastinating, right?)...And, my FB wall is packed with "______ was just tagged [insert picture of cleavage]" or "I can't believe ______. She is such a ________." and some things I can't even say out loud. Good grief, Charlie Brown. NOW I remember why I hid them. Ugh! You may say that I am being judgmental and elitest...you'd be correct. My time and wall space are valuable and your drama need not clog the system.

On the other hand, Facebook is a wonderful kind of craziness...it's a free for all and that's why I love it. I love hearing about your beer-brewing antics, your standing in line at grocery store, the funny thing your kid just said. I love that you share music, videos, and links to some wild stuff. And, I love to cheer you on as you lose weight, support your favorite team, or need to rant about the weather. But, if I want to look at cleaveage, I have my own and I know that ________ is a total ________. Needless to say, I have re-started the process of hiding "friends."

Now...this may leave you pondering two questions:

1) Why don't I just unfriend them? I am way too immature for that. And, I wouldn't want them to think I'm unfriendly and don't want to be their friend (even though we aren't really friends at all).

and

2) Have I hidden you? Hmmmm....shown any cleavage lately?

I'm way too old to be embarrassed...or, am I?

As the kids would say...I totally biffed it yesterday on the driveway. For us older folks, this translates to "I slipped on the ice and fell flat on my back." I know, all you ice-mavens are asking why I wasn't doing the penguin shuffle? For those of you with little to no experience walking on ice this is that goofy-looking walk that really should be categorized as a slide rather than a walk since you barely lift your feet (think 95 year old nursing home resident shuffling down the hallway). I'll admit I was in an infantile huff over something (what was that about, anyway?) and neglected everything I've learned from my lifetime of winter experience. Despite knowing that a slick patch of ice was lurking under the snow by the front steps, I was doing more stomping than walking, stepped right on that ice and landed on my back catching my ribs on the corner of the bottom step...[insert your sympathy here]. Ugh!

As I lay on the driveway in full view of all God's creation for a few minutes gathering myself together and assessing the damage to my aching body (I was only bruised, thank heavens), my thoughts gave rise to the embarrassment factor. Since I spent most of my younger years embarrassed by everything, I had thought I was over this. But, I couldn't decide if I wanted someone to come upon me and offer their assistance or if the situation was just too embarrassing. The aches, wet, and cold are quickly multiplying and all I can do is argue with myself over why, if at all, I should be embarrassed. I am an adult and falls happen to everyone. There really should be no embarrassment at all. But, there I lay...contemplating the need for help versus having someone see me in such a predicament. Will I never grow up? Why is it that we get embarrassed over something we have no control over? Or, did I? Maybe I was more embarrassed that I wouldn't have fallen at all were I not being immature and sulking.

So, my lesson for this week is...okay, my lessons (plural) for the week are: 1) think twice about throwing a tantrum--they never get you anywhere, and may just get you bruised up; 2) if you fall, either get yourself up or call for help--laying on the cold snowy driveway arguing with yourself is futile and only makes you more miserable; 3) the pain from a fall is far worse on day two; and 4) you are never to old to be embarrassed, but pick and choose when to allow it--walking around with your skirt tucked up into your pantyhose, thereby showing your bum to your coworkers is embarrassing - falling on a patch of ice isn't.

And, yes, I have experienced number 4...it was embarrassing and reason number #459 why no one should wear pantyhose anymore...they are an embarrassment opportunity just waiting to happen.

Shhhh, don't tell...

I'm all alone, sitting on the couch, watching Jane Austen's Emma on my husband's ridiculously (and deliciously) big screen TV. I've just eaten the biggest bowl of cheerios for dinner (very Seinfeld) and it's so pleasantly perfect. My family is off gallivanting around the state enjoying their wonderful day...all to my great pleasure. Now, don't get me wrong...I love, love, love my husband and children. But, I'll let you in on a little secret...I love being home alone. Tonight I am pretending to not have anything else to do so I can just sit and enjoy my solitude. Aaaaghh, the quiet is intoxicating. I encourage all of busy people out there who are never alone in your own home to make haste...time's a wasting. Schedule some fun for your loved ones...make up an excuse to stay home (let me know if you need help coming up with one)...and enjoy whatever amount of time you have (in your own home) doing whatever makes you happy. Here are a few activity (or sans activity) ideas to get you started...

1. spend 15 minutes napping on each bed in your home...this prepares you for number 2
2. take a wonderfully long, rejuvenating nap in the most comfy bed in the house
3. place every pillow from the house on the floor -- create your own oasis of leisure, comfy blankets only add to the effect
4. store up your favorite shows and movies on DVD or DVR to ensure viewing pleasure the second the front door closes on your family
5. play all those video games your kids (and spouse) play and you never take the time to -- they are fun...plus, you'll seem really cool when you can talk about their favorite games
6. do a puzzle (without "help" from the family)
7. order in even if it's not time to eat -- it's "kind of" like having someone else cook for you and you get to pick what you want with no giving in to anyone else
8. read a book or get a book on audiotape and let the book read to you

Okay, start planning now...because between you and me...I am in alone-time heaven. So, finagle some time and come up with your most luxuriously lazy alone-time non-activity.

Sorry, gotta run...got some me-time on the agenda. And, remember, it's just between you and me.