http://www.amazon.com/Must-Have-Wine-Toast-Motherhood/dp/0615716792/ref=lh_ni_t
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Must. Have.Wine.
At the risk of sounding like a self-promoting ego maniac, I'd like to direct your attention toward this book written by a new friend of mine, Leah Speer and her writing partner Katrina Epp. Great stories about motherhood - some poignant, some funny - all relatable. I was lucky enough to have a story chosen for it and am luckier still to have read the words of other moms who are trying to the best by their kids every day. Following is a link:
http://www.amazon.com/Must-Have-Wine-Toast-Motherhood/dp/0615716792/ref=lh_ni_t
http://www.amazon.com/Must-Have-Wine-Toast-Motherhood/dp/0615716792/ref=lh_ni_t
UGH Boots
This holiday season, I have been having a battle with myself. The good news is that since it is a situation of me versus me, I've won. The bad news is; I've also lost. When I lay out the details for you, it will seem extremely shallow and ridiculous but hopefully you'll come to understand my quandary and why I was at war with myself.
You see, for Christmas, I had decided to get both of my daughters a pair of Ugg boots. Let me give you some background on my experience with Uggs. They are a fantastic shoe. We all know from previous posts that I am no fashion plate. But please believe me when I say that I was one of the first people I know to own a pair of Uggs. I don't point this out in order to brag; I am simply stating a fact. Now, this was in the days before the Ugg boot craze. The shoes I had (my then-boyfriend-now-husband had them too) were not the boots but rather some clog-ish comfy shoes. No one had ever heard of Uggs and there they were, on my feet. Fast forward a few years and everywhere you go, people are wearing them - this time in boot form. Did I start a trend? Well, most likely, yes. It's what I do. That's an obvious joke for those of you who have had the misfortune of peering into my closet. But I say that because I need you to understand that I was not an Ugg bandwagoner (bandwagoner is totally a word).
Fast forward a few more years and now not only is everyone wearing these boots, but now everyone's kids are wearing these boots. And my six year old really, REALLY wants a pair. She has asked me simply for "boots" for Christmas - but I know which ones she means. All of her friends have them. All of her friends' friends have them. They are everywhere. So, I decided that I would get her and her sister a pair. They are very cute boots and go with practically everything. They will both get plenty of wear out them which is important because of the price. Speaking of price, when I looked into it, I was shocked at how much they cost. The ones I had owned over ten years ago were almost $100 so I should have guessed their value would have increased with the years. But I figured buying them in children's sizes would shave some off of the price. Perhaps it does, but not nearly enough.
These shoes are $120 dollars at minimum. I couldn't wrap my mind around spending that kind of money on a pair of shoes that would look new for the 10 seconds it would take to put them on for the very first time. As soon as my kids would have them on their feet they'd be scuffed, muddied, stained, and more or less ruined and I would be kicking myself for spending that much money. My father refers to decisions of that nature as "throwing money up a hog's ass".
So, bearing that in mind, I began to look for other brands. Off-brands. Knock-offs. I had a friend who told me that a local shop had Emu brand (very similar in style and quality to Uggs) on big-time sale. She told me that they were practically giving them away. In a dramatic fashion, she just said "75". Wow! 75% off? Sold! I arrived at the store only find out that the big-time sale price was actually $75.00. Not low enough. So, I pressed on. I decided that I would wait until Black Friday to try and find some decently priced Uggs. Of course, I wouldn't dare to go near any store on Black Friday but I knew these chains would also have good sales online. So, that day, I trolled around several sites and found some Uggs for right around $100. At a few different sites, I got as far as placing them in my cart, but I was just never able to pull the trigger. I decided to wait until Cyber Monday when the really good online deals would save me even more money.
Cyber Monday came and went with the same result - getting far enough to put Uggs in my cart, but never willing to actually make the purchase. Perhaps there would be some kind of Totally Marked Down Tuesday deal or Why Waste All Of Your Money Wednesday in the near future where I could find some brilliant deal that no one else was offering and that the general public was not aware of. In between almost buying all of these pairs of Uggs, I also went to sites that had boots that looked exactly like Uggs but were a fraction of the price. I went through the same routine of very nearly purchasing those, and then backing down. Why? Well, because I wanted my kids to have Uggs. Uggs are what everyone wears. Ugg is the recognizable brand. Uggs are what their friends have. Non-Uggs might get them teased. Emus wouldn't. Or some other acceptable brand that would be priced comparably to Uggs. But non-Uggs - non-expensively labeled shoes - would.
I can remember as a kid when Reebok high-tops were the hot shoe (please don't do the math). I really liked the looks of them and ended up in a shoe store with my mother where she was kind enough to buy a pair for me. What I didn't realize at the time, was that the store we were in was a local store called Kenney's. Kenney's was a shoe store with shoes that looked exactly like name brands but were not. So, we bought my high-tops and I wore them proudly. Unbeknownst to me, they weren't the right ones because they weren't Reeboks. Once that was brought to my attention by a classmate, I didn't like my beloved shoes anymore. The only thing that had changed about them was that I knew that the appropriate label wasn't on them. And I didn't want them anymore. What I had liked about them from the beginning was the style - the high-tops. What I now didn't like about them was the 1/8" label that was missing from them - a label I didn't realize was even supposed to be there in the first place.
Of course I was a kid and that's what kids do. Kids worry if they don't have the right clothes and the right friends and the right "things". Kids don't realize that "labels don't matter". But wait. I'm no longer a kid and apparently they still do. If they didn't, I would have run screaming from the Uggs and just bought the first attractive knock-offs I could find. I decided to search again, for what had to be the 49th time, to find a good pair of these boots that were now becoming my Captain Ahab-like obsession. And lo, I found a pair of Emus that had been marked down. I had also come across an online coupon so I got even more off of the price. I was able to find expensive boots at a really good price. So, I didn't have to compromise my standards by paying too much for a pair of boots that my kids would surely ruin. And I also didn't have to stoop to the depths of buying the "wrong" kind of boot for my kids. Their reputations would remain (in this instance) intact. A Christmas miracle!
A few days passed and then I experienced that sweet, sweet sound of my doorbell ringing after hearing a large truck; a delivery truck; come to a stop in front of my house. My awesome finds had arrived! I happily trotted the package upstairs and carefully opened the box. I needed to be sure the sizes I had chosen online were going to work. When I pulled each pair from the box, the first thing I noticed was a very big, very bright pink and black label on the back of each shoe.
It didn't say Emu.
And because the label was black and pink, it was practically flashing "THESE ARE NOT UGGS OR EMUS BUT SOME WEIRDO BRAND". My heart sank. I had visions of my kids getting the crap beaten out of them by the monkey bars - the other kids having ripped their off-brand shoes off of their feet and using them as weapons. I was going to have to return them and just throw my hands up in defeat and spend $120 on boots for a five and six year old. I even went back online to look at original order. The "Emu" I had spotted when placing the order was not the label but the type of fur used in the lining of the boots. I began searching for information about how to do a return. But I thought about it. I worried about it. I wondered what kind of message it would send to my children if I decided to go this route. Of course, they would have no idea about all of this inner-turmoil. All they would see would be the boots they had asked to receive as a Christmas gift. They wouldn't even notice the label or think anything about what it carried with it.
But I would know.
I would know that I made a decision based on my perception of what others would think if they noticed that my kids had the wrong boots. I would know that I spent what I considered to be an unreasonable amount of money on shoes for my children given how they treat many of their belongings and how rough they are on their shoes. I would know that the "right label" was more important than making a good decision for me. And I would know that I had failed them. How would this translate later on? If they treated someone badly because they weren't popular or cool, would I be okay with that? Absolutely not. Even though this was a situation involving a shoe, the theme of regarding labels or brand names or whatever you want to call it as paramount would most certainly carry over into other aspects of their lives. So, I knew I needed to set a good example for them and choose to get them a perfectly good pair of shoes that was priced within a range I felt was appropriate for them. I kept the shoes I had ordered. My kids will be happy to get them.
Please understand, this post is not an indictment on people who have purchased this particular brand of shoe for their child(ren). What people choose to do is not my concern and I am sure they had better reasons than mine for buying them. They are terrific shoes - excellent quality and very nice looking. Once it became clear to me however, that I was only looking at the Uggs because they were UGGS, I knew it wasn't right for me to get them. If I had purchased them, I think it somehow would perpetuate in my children the belief that the shoes are more important than the quality of the person wearing them. I pride myself on not being that way, so it was a blow to me to realize that it took so much energy and effort to make what should have been a very simple decision.
All of this over a damn pair of boots. What on earth am I going to do when it's time to get a car?!!
You see, for Christmas, I had decided to get both of my daughters a pair of Ugg boots. Let me give you some background on my experience with Uggs. They are a fantastic shoe. We all know from previous posts that I am no fashion plate. But please believe me when I say that I was one of the first people I know to own a pair of Uggs. I don't point this out in order to brag; I am simply stating a fact. Now, this was in the days before the Ugg boot craze. The shoes I had (my then-boyfriend-now-husband had them too) were not the boots but rather some clog-ish comfy shoes. No one had ever heard of Uggs and there they were, on my feet. Fast forward a few years and everywhere you go, people are wearing them - this time in boot form. Did I start a trend? Well, most likely, yes. It's what I do. That's an obvious joke for those of you who have had the misfortune of peering into my closet. But I say that because I need you to understand that I was not an Ugg bandwagoner (bandwagoner is totally a word).
Fast forward a few more years and now not only is everyone wearing these boots, but now everyone's kids are wearing these boots. And my six year old really, REALLY wants a pair. She has asked me simply for "boots" for Christmas - but I know which ones she means. All of her friends have them. All of her friends' friends have them. They are everywhere. So, I decided that I would get her and her sister a pair. They are very cute boots and go with practically everything. They will both get plenty of wear out them which is important because of the price. Speaking of price, when I looked into it, I was shocked at how much they cost. The ones I had owned over ten years ago were almost $100 so I should have guessed their value would have increased with the years. But I figured buying them in children's sizes would shave some off of the price. Perhaps it does, but not nearly enough.
These shoes are $120 dollars at minimum. I couldn't wrap my mind around spending that kind of money on a pair of shoes that would look new for the 10 seconds it would take to put them on for the very first time. As soon as my kids would have them on their feet they'd be scuffed, muddied, stained, and more or less ruined and I would be kicking myself for spending that much money. My father refers to decisions of that nature as "throwing money up a hog's ass".
So, bearing that in mind, I began to look for other brands. Off-brands. Knock-offs. I had a friend who told me that a local shop had Emu brand (very similar in style and quality to Uggs) on big-time sale. She told me that they were practically giving them away. In a dramatic fashion, she just said "75". Wow! 75% off? Sold! I arrived at the store only find out that the big-time sale price was actually $75.00. Not low enough. So, I pressed on. I decided that I would wait until Black Friday to try and find some decently priced Uggs. Of course, I wouldn't dare to go near any store on Black Friday but I knew these chains would also have good sales online. So, that day, I trolled around several sites and found some Uggs for right around $100. At a few different sites, I got as far as placing them in my cart, but I was just never able to pull the trigger. I decided to wait until Cyber Monday when the really good online deals would save me even more money.
Cyber Monday came and went with the same result - getting far enough to put Uggs in my cart, but never willing to actually make the purchase. Perhaps there would be some kind of Totally Marked Down Tuesday deal or Why Waste All Of Your Money Wednesday in the near future where I could find some brilliant deal that no one else was offering and that the general public was not aware of. In between almost buying all of these pairs of Uggs, I also went to sites that had boots that looked exactly like Uggs but were a fraction of the price. I went through the same routine of very nearly purchasing those, and then backing down. Why? Well, because I wanted my kids to have Uggs. Uggs are what everyone wears. Ugg is the recognizable brand. Uggs are what their friends have. Non-Uggs might get them teased. Emus wouldn't. Or some other acceptable brand that would be priced comparably to Uggs. But non-Uggs - non-expensively labeled shoes - would.
I can remember as a kid when Reebok high-tops were the hot shoe (please don't do the math). I really liked the looks of them and ended up in a shoe store with my mother where she was kind enough to buy a pair for me. What I didn't realize at the time, was that the store we were in was a local store called Kenney's. Kenney's was a shoe store with shoes that looked exactly like name brands but were not. So, we bought my high-tops and I wore them proudly. Unbeknownst to me, they weren't the right ones because they weren't Reeboks. Once that was brought to my attention by a classmate, I didn't like my beloved shoes anymore. The only thing that had changed about them was that I knew that the appropriate label wasn't on them. And I didn't want them anymore. What I had liked about them from the beginning was the style - the high-tops. What I now didn't like about them was the 1/8" label that was missing from them - a label I didn't realize was even supposed to be there in the first place.
Of course I was a kid and that's what kids do. Kids worry if they don't have the right clothes and the right friends and the right "things". Kids don't realize that "labels don't matter". But wait. I'm no longer a kid and apparently they still do. If they didn't, I would have run screaming from the Uggs and just bought the first attractive knock-offs I could find. I decided to search again, for what had to be the 49th time, to find a good pair of these boots that were now becoming my Captain Ahab-like obsession. And lo, I found a pair of Emus that had been marked down. I had also come across an online coupon so I got even more off of the price. I was able to find expensive boots at a really good price. So, I didn't have to compromise my standards by paying too much for a pair of boots that my kids would surely ruin. And I also didn't have to stoop to the depths of buying the "wrong" kind of boot for my kids. Their reputations would remain (in this instance) intact. A Christmas miracle!
A few days passed and then I experienced that sweet, sweet sound of my doorbell ringing after hearing a large truck; a delivery truck; come to a stop in front of my house. My awesome finds had arrived! I happily trotted the package upstairs and carefully opened the box. I needed to be sure the sizes I had chosen online were going to work. When I pulled each pair from the box, the first thing I noticed was a very big, very bright pink and black label on the back of each shoe.
It didn't say Emu.
And because the label was black and pink, it was practically flashing "THESE ARE NOT UGGS OR EMUS BUT SOME WEIRDO BRAND". My heart sank. I had visions of my kids getting the crap beaten out of them by the monkey bars - the other kids having ripped their off-brand shoes off of their feet and using them as weapons. I was going to have to return them and just throw my hands up in defeat and spend $120 on boots for a five and six year old. I even went back online to look at original order. The "Emu" I had spotted when placing the order was not the label but the type of fur used in the lining of the boots. I began searching for information about how to do a return. But I thought about it. I worried about it. I wondered what kind of message it would send to my children if I decided to go this route. Of course, they would have no idea about all of this inner-turmoil. All they would see would be the boots they had asked to receive as a Christmas gift. They wouldn't even notice the label or think anything about what it carried with it.
But I would know.
I would know that I made a decision based on my perception of what others would think if they noticed that my kids had the wrong boots. I would know that I spent what I considered to be an unreasonable amount of money on shoes for my children given how they treat many of their belongings and how rough they are on their shoes. I would know that the "right label" was more important than making a good decision for me. And I would know that I had failed them. How would this translate later on? If they treated someone badly because they weren't popular or cool, would I be okay with that? Absolutely not. Even though this was a situation involving a shoe, the theme of regarding labels or brand names or whatever you want to call it as paramount would most certainly carry over into other aspects of their lives. So, I knew I needed to set a good example for them and choose to get them a perfectly good pair of shoes that was priced within a range I felt was appropriate for them. I kept the shoes I had ordered. My kids will be happy to get them.
Please understand, this post is not an indictment on people who have purchased this particular brand of shoe for their child(ren). What people choose to do is not my concern and I am sure they had better reasons than mine for buying them. They are terrific shoes - excellent quality and very nice looking. Once it became clear to me however, that I was only looking at the Uggs because they were UGGS, I knew it wasn't right for me to get them. If I had purchased them, I think it somehow would perpetuate in my children the belief that the shoes are more important than the quality of the person wearing them. I pride myself on not being that way, so it was a blow to me to realize that it took so much energy and effort to make what should have been a very simple decision.
All of this over a damn pair of boots. What on earth am I going to do when it's time to get a car?!!
Friday, December 7, 2012
Christmas Tizzy
Well, it's been a little while since my last post. The main reason is because I'm in my annual how-the-heck-is-it-Christmas-already tizzy. I had intended to write a post about all that I am thankful for during Thanksgiving, but that is now a distant memory. I'm still thankful for all of those things I would have told you about, but I just don't have time to get into all of it. Just know that I am a very thankful and grateful person. K?
We did have a nice Thanksgiving. Mike and I started the day by running in the Turkey Trot here in Chattanooga. I'm not sure why we've never done that before. It was a fabulous idea - it completely erased all guilt I had about gorging myself on turkey and dressing later in the day. Also, it was the first race I had run that was more than a 5k. This was 5 miles. I had never done that before so I was proud that I hit my goal - to complete it inside 48 minutes. My actual time was 48:53 so I did it by the skin of my teeth. Of course, my friend Lara who ran with Mike and me had finished the race and read War And Peace by the time I crossed the finish line. But I was still proud of my accomplishment. Baby steps.
At any rate, I allowed that race to assuage the guilt I would have felt for my Thanksgiving dinner, the chips and dip I had with my turkey sandwich later that evening, the sausage biscuit I had the next morning, the spaghetti I ate Friday night, the steak nachos I inhaled at lunch the next day, the chili I ate with Fritos Scoops during the (gut-wrenching) Iron Bowl and the leftover-chili cheese and onion hot dogs - with more chips and dip! - I had for dinner Sunday. Yep, Thanks goodness I ran Thursday morning. Otherwise I could have been a total cow.
So, Thanksgiving came and went and now we are in the so-called hustle and bustle of Christmastime. It has taken me almost the two weeks that have passed since Thanksgiving to drag all of my Christmas decorations out of storage and put them up so that my house can be properly bedazzled. Poor Mike just shakes his head every time he notices a new wreath or other ornament perched on something that was previously uncovered. It's time once again for him to suffer through my love of Christmas and my Nazi-like approach to decoration and tradition. I spent a lot of time last year describing all of that, so I won't put you through it again. Plus, who has the time?
In my attempts to get the house decorated, I have not been able to find time to do what is perhaps even more important - keeping the house clean. There must be a 1/2 inch layer of dust on every piece of furniture. It's thick enough to be noticeable but unfortunately not thick enough to be assumed to be decorative Christmas snow. It looks awful. And our aging dog keeps peeing and pooping in my dining room; sometimes multiple times a day; so our home fragrance is a mixture of Frasier Fir and feces. A lovely combination to mark this festive season. So, I do get to clean that up everyday, but have not yet managed to dust, vacuum or mop. Which is pretty gross considering there is canine waste where my family eats. (I do clean that up with a vinegar mixture so don't be too disgusted.)
I did find some time yesterday to sweep and vacuum the floors. Kate wanted to help which is so sweet. So sweet but also very inconvenient because I can do it better and faster. But, I have to encourage her to continue to want to help me and I want to reward the fact that she is nice enough to offer, so I let her. Within five minutes of "helping" she managed to knock over my 32 ounce jug of water which had been full at the time. She felt so bad and was so discouraged. I felt so sorry for her. I assured her that it was okay - that it was only water and totally not a big deal - but of course, now I had 32 ounces of water to clean up. Aaah, kids.
In addition to trying to find time to clean my house, yesterday I had agreed to bake 4 dozen cookies for Teacher Appreciation day which is being held Friday. So, I went to the store and got all of my ingredients and came home to begin the process. I could have just gone to a bakery, but I opted to make them myself. One, making them was going to be cheaper than buying them. And two, I really like these cookie bars I make. Selfishly, I wanted to make more than what was required so that we could keep some and enjoy them over the weekend. So, I went about beginning the process only to discover that I had failed to buy a key ingredient at the store. This happens to me ALL THE TIME. My friend Amber will chuckle at this as she is normally the one I call when I am making macaroni and cheese but have forgotten the macaroni or chicken and dumplings but have no chicken. I couldn't call her because each batch calls for one stick of butter and one stick of margarine (they are super healthy). Who has that much butter and margarine lying around? So I got to go to Wal-Mart for the second time yesterday which is the perfect opposite of a Christmas miracle.
I loathe going to Wal-Mart. I was there the other day (of course, since it is a daily or sometimes twice-daily adventure for me) and was reminded of how much I hate it. I was in line in the 20 Items Or Less lane behind an obese woman on a motorized scooter who clearly had more than 20 items, four of which were cans of FDS. I've complained about these products before and about having the visual of people using them so I won't get on that soap (or FDS) box again. But I will say that had she not inconsiderately gotten in the wrong line, I wouldn't have had to witness that and wonder what kind of horror was going on with her nether regions. So, maybe it's not Wal-Mart that I loathe but people.
Anyway, on my return trip to Wal-Mart I passed yet another Salvation Army bell ringer. This guy didn't realize I had been there earlier in the day and dropped my change into the bucket. He also didn't realize that I am there EVERY day and have already contributed quite a lot. Nor is he aware that everywhere I have been in the past two weeks I have been asked to donate a canned good or a dollar or a book or a coat or a toy or a meal - all of which I have done. Now, despite what these blogs and my tone may suggest, I am a caring person and do have a compassionate and charitable heart. But I am constantly giving, giving, giving because what else am I going to do?
"Would you like to donate a holiday meal to a family who can't afford one?"
What am I going to say?
"No, thanks."
"Would you like to give money to go toward the purchase of coats for children who do not have them this winter?"
"Well, it's really not been that cold so far, so no."
Of course I'm going to give those things. And of course I'll do it this time of year because I love Christmas and I can't stand the thought of people not having a Christmas of their own to celebrate. But when you get asked everywhere you go, it begins to add up. And when you've been to Wal-Mart twice in one day and you can sense the judging stare of the bell ringer as you walk by pretending to talk to someone on your cellphone so you'll have a good enough reason to just walk right past him, you begin to feel like not that great a person. On second thought, after re-reading this, I think maybe I'm not that great a person.
So this is what the pre-Christmas tizzy is like for me. Once it is all over I'll be all sad and nostalgic and wonder where it all went. I need to just breathe and not let it get too overwhelming and stressful. Writing this post has been fairly therapeutic for me and I hope that reading it hasn't been too disturbing for you. I can get up now and see about attacking the dust that remains on my furniture. But before that, from what I am hearing in the next room, it sounds like I'll be cleaning dog-vomit off of my bed. 'Tis the season...
We did have a nice Thanksgiving. Mike and I started the day by running in the Turkey Trot here in Chattanooga. I'm not sure why we've never done that before. It was a fabulous idea - it completely erased all guilt I had about gorging myself on turkey and dressing later in the day. Also, it was the first race I had run that was more than a 5k. This was 5 miles. I had never done that before so I was proud that I hit my goal - to complete it inside 48 minutes. My actual time was 48:53 so I did it by the skin of my teeth. Of course, my friend Lara who ran with Mike and me had finished the race and read War And Peace by the time I crossed the finish line. But I was still proud of my accomplishment. Baby steps.
At any rate, I allowed that race to assuage the guilt I would have felt for my Thanksgiving dinner, the chips and dip I had with my turkey sandwich later that evening, the sausage biscuit I had the next morning, the spaghetti I ate Friday night, the steak nachos I inhaled at lunch the next day, the chili I ate with Fritos Scoops during the (gut-wrenching) Iron Bowl and the leftover-chili cheese and onion hot dogs - with more chips and dip! - I had for dinner Sunday. Yep, Thanks goodness I ran Thursday morning. Otherwise I could have been a total cow.
So, Thanksgiving came and went and now we are in the so-called hustle and bustle of Christmastime. It has taken me almost the two weeks that have passed since Thanksgiving to drag all of my Christmas decorations out of storage and put them up so that my house can be properly bedazzled. Poor Mike just shakes his head every time he notices a new wreath or other ornament perched on something that was previously uncovered. It's time once again for him to suffer through my love of Christmas and my Nazi-like approach to decoration and tradition. I spent a lot of time last year describing all of that, so I won't put you through it again. Plus, who has the time?
In my attempts to get the house decorated, I have not been able to find time to do what is perhaps even more important - keeping the house clean. There must be a 1/2 inch layer of dust on every piece of furniture. It's thick enough to be noticeable but unfortunately not thick enough to be assumed to be decorative Christmas snow. It looks awful. And our aging dog keeps peeing and pooping in my dining room; sometimes multiple times a day; so our home fragrance is a mixture of Frasier Fir and feces. A lovely combination to mark this festive season. So, I do get to clean that up everyday, but have not yet managed to dust, vacuum or mop. Which is pretty gross considering there is canine waste where my family eats. (I do clean that up with a vinegar mixture so don't be too disgusted.)
I did find some time yesterday to sweep and vacuum the floors. Kate wanted to help which is so sweet. So sweet but also very inconvenient because I can do it better and faster. But, I have to encourage her to continue to want to help me and I want to reward the fact that she is nice enough to offer, so I let her. Within five minutes of "helping" she managed to knock over my 32 ounce jug of water which had been full at the time. She felt so bad and was so discouraged. I felt so sorry for her. I assured her that it was okay - that it was only water and totally not a big deal - but of course, now I had 32 ounces of water to clean up. Aaah, kids.
In addition to trying to find time to clean my house, yesterday I had agreed to bake 4 dozen cookies for Teacher Appreciation day which is being held Friday. So, I went to the store and got all of my ingredients and came home to begin the process. I could have just gone to a bakery, but I opted to make them myself. One, making them was going to be cheaper than buying them. And two, I really like these cookie bars I make. Selfishly, I wanted to make more than what was required so that we could keep some and enjoy them over the weekend. So, I went about beginning the process only to discover that I had failed to buy a key ingredient at the store. This happens to me ALL THE TIME. My friend Amber will chuckle at this as she is normally the one I call when I am making macaroni and cheese but have forgotten the macaroni or chicken and dumplings but have no chicken. I couldn't call her because each batch calls for one stick of butter and one stick of margarine (they are super healthy). Who has that much butter and margarine lying around? So I got to go to Wal-Mart for the second time yesterday which is the perfect opposite of a Christmas miracle.
I loathe going to Wal-Mart. I was there the other day (of course, since it is a daily or sometimes twice-daily adventure for me) and was reminded of how much I hate it. I was in line in the 20 Items Or Less lane behind an obese woman on a motorized scooter who clearly had more than 20 items, four of which were cans of FDS. I've complained about these products before and about having the visual of people using them so I won't get on that soap (or FDS) box again. But I will say that had she not inconsiderately gotten in the wrong line, I wouldn't have had to witness that and wonder what kind of horror was going on with her nether regions. So, maybe it's not Wal-Mart that I loathe but people.
Anyway, on my return trip to Wal-Mart I passed yet another Salvation Army bell ringer. This guy didn't realize I had been there earlier in the day and dropped my change into the bucket. He also didn't realize that I am there EVERY day and have already contributed quite a lot. Nor is he aware that everywhere I have been in the past two weeks I have been asked to donate a canned good or a dollar or a book or a coat or a toy or a meal - all of which I have done. Now, despite what these blogs and my tone may suggest, I am a caring person and do have a compassionate and charitable heart. But I am constantly giving, giving, giving because what else am I going to do?
"Would you like to donate a holiday meal to a family who can't afford one?"
What am I going to say?
"No, thanks."
"Would you like to give money to go toward the purchase of coats for children who do not have them this winter?"
"Well, it's really not been that cold so far, so no."
Of course I'm going to give those things. And of course I'll do it this time of year because I love Christmas and I can't stand the thought of people not having a Christmas of their own to celebrate. But when you get asked everywhere you go, it begins to add up. And when you've been to Wal-Mart twice in one day and you can sense the judging stare of the bell ringer as you walk by pretending to talk to someone on your cellphone so you'll have a good enough reason to just walk right past him, you begin to feel like not that great a person. On second thought, after re-reading this, I think maybe I'm not that great a person.
So this is what the pre-Christmas tizzy is like for me. Once it is all over I'll be all sad and nostalgic and wonder where it all went. I need to just breathe and not let it get too overwhelming and stressful. Writing this post has been fairly therapeutic for me and I hope that reading it hasn't been too disturbing for you. I can get up now and see about attacking the dust that remains on my furniture. But before that, from what I am hearing in the next room, it sounds like I'll be cleaning dog-vomit off of my bed. 'Tis the season...
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