Naomi: How come you sometimes treat me like I'm a baby?
Me: Well, I forget what a big kid you are. I used to have to do most things for you and I forget how much you can do on your own now.
Naomi: Yeh.
Me: Like crossing streets on the way to school....
Naomi: ...and calling friends on the phone....
Me: ...packing your lunch...
Naomi: ...letting me walk around the block...
Me: Yeh. Its hard for me to learn how to treat you like a big kid.
Naomi: You should practice, mom. Its the best way you learn new things.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Good Egg
My cousin, Jake, came home to Nebraska this past week. Its the first we've seen Jake in some time. He serves active duty as part of our armed services in Iraq.
There aren't words to describe what its like have him come home, joke around, play basketball in his mom's driveway and then pack up and return to his army post.
Next time you're with your own family joking around, or enjoying this amazing fall weather -- regardless of your politics -- I would appreciate it if you could send a good thought Jake's direction. Like many of his fellow soldiers Jake is a good egg. Our hope is to have him state-side by Christmas.
There aren't words to describe what its like have him come home, joke around, play basketball in his mom's driveway and then pack up and return to his army post.
Next time you're with your own family joking around, or enjoying this amazing fall weather -- regardless of your politics -- I would appreciate it if you could send a good thought Jake's direction. Like many of his fellow soldiers Jake is a good egg. Our hope is to have him state-side by Christmas.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Late Night Googling Receipe
Step 1. Go to the Google homepage.
Step 2. Type my husband is a pirate into the search engine block.
Step 3. Select the "I'm feeling lucky" search option.
Step 4. Read the detailed account of a woman's dream sequence where her husband skirmishes with and is ultimately stabbed by a pirate.
Step 5. Notice that no one, not even the internet psychics, has offered a response.
Step 6. Laugh-laugh-laugh.
Step 2. Type my husband is a pirate into the search engine block.
Step 3. Select the "I'm feeling lucky" search option.
Step 4. Read the detailed account of a woman's dream sequence where her husband skirmishes with and is ultimately stabbed by a pirate.
Step 5. Notice that no one, not even the internet psychics, has offered a response.
Step 6. Laugh-laugh-laugh.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Long And Winding Road
I had a front tire go out on me this year. If you knew the level of abuse my vehicles have historically been subjected to...this would come as no surprise.
Let's just say that my retired vehicles have a support group somewhere...probably in the same bar as my ex-boyfriends...and they sit around comparing war-wounds. But I had a belt in my tire snap this year. I took the car to a dealership thinking I had more massive damage, found out the culprit was the belt in my tire, and got a new tire.
The weird, out of body moment happened as I observed myself chasing down the manufacturer warranty on my defective tire. The fact that the word warranty came to mind, let alone that I bothered to state my claim was out of character to say the least. I became a warranty chaser. It was one of those revelations where I had to broaden my definition of myself. Embracing the curmudgeon within I drove out of the service station with a new tire free of charge. Balanced. Rotated. Squared. And free. Not in the liberated sense but in the monetary sense. Free.
I thought it was a blip. A one time occurrence. I drove away, examining the wrinkles and stern frown on my face in the rear view mirror. I told myself this was not a habit forming event. I etch-n-sketched the moment with a shake of the head and tried to erase the memory entirely from my mental hard drive.
It worked okay until Barnes and Noble jilted my daughter this summer. Now, now I never blew my stack. None of the customer service agents reeled with pain in the wake of our exchange. I asserted what I thought was fair and made sure my daughter got it.
The kicker was a sleepless night McKibbin and I spent in a hotel due to a party across the hallway. Who hasn't had this happen? You check-in. You soak in the hot tub. You climb into bed. And the party-goers get going. Any hotel is filled with scads of people, each having different agendas for the evening. Some intend to sleep, some intend to party. After several courteous, but unmistakably clear exchanges both our hotel neighbors and the front desk that McKibbin and I had the sleeping agenda; we checked out of the hotel at 2 a.m. to find a night's rest elsewhere. Before we left, however, I had secured a full refund of any room charges.
It's come to this. I'm the kill-joy. The image conjures a dark road ahead as that nit-picky-penny-pincher who gets out a calculator to divy up the check, the one who never tips well, who shames retail clerks into silence with antiquated phrases like "the customer is always right."
It might be a dark road ahead filled with an unending series stern conversations with various managers, my friends might begin to cringe whenever I get tepid coffee for fear I'll make a scene...it might be a long, dark, road I'm on here but, I can say, as I'm traveling this direction... my tires work just fine.
Let's just say that my retired vehicles have a support group somewhere...probably in the same bar as my ex-boyfriends...and they sit around comparing war-wounds. But I had a belt in my tire snap this year. I took the car to a dealership thinking I had more massive damage, found out the culprit was the belt in my tire, and got a new tire.
The weird, out of body moment happened as I observed myself chasing down the manufacturer warranty on my defective tire. The fact that the word warranty came to mind, let alone that I bothered to state my claim was out of character to say the least. I became a warranty chaser. It was one of those revelations where I had to broaden my definition of myself. Embracing the curmudgeon within I drove out of the service station with a new tire free of charge. Balanced. Rotated. Squared. And free. Not in the liberated sense but in the monetary sense. Free.
I thought it was a blip. A one time occurrence. I drove away, examining the wrinkles and stern frown on my face in the rear view mirror. I told myself this was not a habit forming event. I etch-n-sketched the moment with a shake of the head and tried to erase the memory entirely from my mental hard drive.
It worked okay until Barnes and Noble jilted my daughter this summer. Now, now I never blew my stack. None of the customer service agents reeled with pain in the wake of our exchange. I asserted what I thought was fair and made sure my daughter got it.
The kicker was a sleepless night McKibbin and I spent in a hotel due to a party across the hallway. Who hasn't had this happen? You check-in. You soak in the hot tub. You climb into bed. And the party-goers get going. Any hotel is filled with scads of people, each having different agendas for the evening. Some intend to sleep, some intend to party. After several courteous, but unmistakably clear exchanges both our hotel neighbors and the front desk that McKibbin and I had the sleeping agenda; we checked out of the hotel at 2 a.m. to find a night's rest elsewhere. Before we left, however, I had secured a full refund of any room charges.
It's come to this. I'm the kill-joy. The image conjures a dark road ahead as that nit-picky-penny-pincher who gets out a calculator to divy up the check, the one who never tips well, who shames retail clerks into silence with antiquated phrases like "the customer is always right."
It might be a dark road ahead filled with an unending series stern conversations with various managers, my friends might begin to cringe whenever I get tepid coffee for fear I'll make a scene...it might be a long, dark, road I'm on here but, I can say, as I'm traveling this direction... my tires work just fine.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Auto-Racing Wishes for My Girl
I've been thinking about my friends a lot recently. One just welcomed a baby girl. Several showed up to help raise the high-beam of our cabin roof. One leaves on Friday for a two year stint in the Peace Corps. One with her kiddo in a Denver hospital this week. More found on my cell phone speed dial.Anne Lamott calls that core group of friends your pit crew. Its made up of those people who put you back together, inflate your tires, and check under the hood before they turn you around to face the road ahead.
With the beginning of each school year I watch as my daughter makes and moves away from her friends. I can only hope she has the good fortune to collect a pit crew as amazing as my own.
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