Abstract, schmabstract

Conversation heard today in our minivan:

Wesley: Mommy, what does “disease” mean?

Me: Well, it’s when someone gets sick. And it’s hard to get rid of.

Wesley: Do diseases have names?

Me: Yes, most of them have names.

Wesley: If I ever get a disease, I want to name it Sparky. And keep it forever.

It must be nice to be four sometimes.

Last night was New Year’s Eve, in case you just came out of a coma and weren’t aware of that fact. And in my usual party animal fashion, I rang in the New Year while watching taped episodes of Dr. Phil by myself. (Bryan was working and not able to attend the Dr. Phil marathon, which was probably okay with him.)

I didn’t take any time to sit and reflect on 2010 or to ponder what kind of resolutions I need to make for 2011. But here are some of the highlights of 2010 for anyone who cares.

1. Winnie came back home. Since the home daycare ended, there was no danger that our ferocious nine pound shih-tzu would bite someone else’s child while attempting to steal a chicken nugget. My dad brought her back from his house in Arizona and the boys were thrilled – I think the whole first week they took turns ”walking” her around the yard with a lasso around her neck. Winnie was probably in a state of shock after her relaxing time at the retirement park, where my father rubbed her belly constantly and gave her treats for difficult tricks like breathing and having a pulse.
2. Following the advice of a friend, we got a DVR. Her words were, “Laura, you have to get one – it changed my life.” And she wasn’t kidding. My life has changed, too. Now while I am watching Diego for the zillionth time, I don’t have to fume about the fact that I am also missing Survivor because I can record it!!! And then I can watch it whenever I want and never watch a commercial for Progressive again. I still watch the Geico ones though, because they are funny.
3. As I write this, I weigh thirty pounds less than I did one year ago on New Year’s Day. And that is a good feeling. It has been a long year of choosing popcorn over ice cream and spending my free moments at the fitness center but it has been worth it. And at the break-neck pace of losing two and a half pounds a month, I should be ready for bikini season just in time for my 85th birthday party. I can hardly wait.

Happy 2011 to you all!

low prices at a cost

Before you even start reading this, let me apologize for the tone of it – I usually try to stay away from topics that could be considered political but this time I just have to open my big mouth, er… keyboard, and say something.

A new Walmart Supercenter opened in our town. It happened a little over three weeks ago. I haven’t been there yet – and I plan to hold out as long as I can. You see, I am a reader of statistics and I know what a new Super Wal-mart in a small town means – it means that some small family owned businesses will probably close. And statistically, for every Supercenter that opens, two grocery stores will close. I’m not making this stuff up.

I think Wal-mart started out as a well-meaning store. But over time it has become a dirty dealing, no good, yellow-bellied store. It is the retail equivalent of Satan’s little brother. If you don’t believe me, read some of these statistics! http://www.walmartmovie.com/facts.php

These low prices are really available because they aren’t paying most of their workers enough to live without government aid. People, if you think you are really saving money by shopping at Wal-mart, you are being Punk’d! What you save there, you pay back in taxes to support the workers and their families in aid programs. Besides, when did it become so bad to support local businesses?

This situation is complicated by the fact that we have a very, VERY short list of “other places to shop” in our town. I wasn’t opposed to the old Wal-mart – it came with the town as far as I was concerned since it was here before I was. But this new giant monster of a Wal-mart makes me mad.

I remember once when I lived in Boulder, Colorado seeing some hippie women who demonstrated their distaste for the new Borders bookstore in town. These women chained themselves to the front door, which also chained the doors shut. I’m not this extreme (maybe because the doors at Wal-mart are automatic and there aren’t any handles to wrap the chains around…) but I do want to take a stand.

So in the last three weeks, I have found other places to shop. At one point I thought I was going to have to break down and go – I couldn’t find those little metal hooks that hook Christmas ornaments onto the tree. But I used my amazing imagination and made my own from a box of paperclips. I felt like MacGyver!

I will give Wally World one thing – they make it convenient to get everything you could possibly need in one place. NOT shopping there means that I have to make more stops. Like, instead of being able to go into one place to get canned beets, a big screen TV, and fishing bait, I have to go into (gasp) two stores. I know, I know – I am wasting so much time!

You don’t have to jump on my bandwagon. I’m “just sayin….”

there's a long line of cars...

I worry. I am a worrier. I don’t deny it – I worry that people would see right through it if I denied it. I worry that the ceiling fan will come dislodged from the ceiling and fall on my head while I am sleeping. I worry that if I play Frisbee, it will hit me in the mouth and knock out my front teeth. I worry that the world will run out of instant mashed potato buds and that the wheel will come off my car while I am driving and that my husband will have the cable turned off without giving me fair warning. Phew!

So this year Wesley started preschool. And as you can imagine, it gives me a few more things to worry about. But not the kind of stuff I should be worried about - like will my son pick his nose during circle time? I think I know the answer to that one already.

The preschool he goes to is a great one with a genius setup for pick up and drop off time. Parents form a line around the block and one at a time, we drive through the preschool driveway where the director gets the child out/puts the child back in. This eliminates all that pesky crying time that would normally happen at drop off. The line of cars goes halfway around the block– and therein lies the problem for me.

Flashback to Laura’s past: (this works best if you darken the room and turn off all background noise…) I am in high school. I have just taken a month-long trip to Germany. The other high school students and I had a great time but are more than ready to get home, see our families, and sleep off our jetlag. Our trip ends with a school bus ride from Chicago to our hometown, Metamora, IL. After the comfy two hour school bus ride, we all step off the bus to be greeted by our adoring families. And everyone is – except that my adoring family is missing. This is the time of life before everyone has a cell phone so I try the high school’s pay phone to call home.

Getting no answer at home, I stand there with the German teacher who was the trip’s chaperone and wait for anyone I know to drive by. Eventually all the other kids are gone and the teacher asks me if I want him to drive me home. And just as I am about to take him up on this, my mother drives up.

I don’t remember what the reason for her tardiness was but I’m sure there was a very good one – like that she had been hijacked by an albino three-legged clown who forced her to drive in circles around a Wal-mart parking lot and wouldn’t let her leave until he was sure she would be at least half hour late to pick up her sweet daughter. But even with such a good excuse, it was a little embarrassing to be “the kid whose parents forgot”.

The thing is, I don’t know when to pick Wesley up for preschool. I can’t be the first parent in line because that says “I’m a helicopter parent who hovers over my child and has no life of my own.” But if I am the last one in line, it says, “I am a crappy parent” or possibly, “I was hijacked by an albino three-legged clown on my way here.”

So I need to be in the middle somewhere. Right? Because that doesn’t really say anything. But how do I time getting there in the middle of the line? Do I park across the street and wait until some cars have gotten in line and then get in line myself? I don’t know.

All I know is that I never want Wesley to be telling his therapist how his mommy was the last car in the pick up line in preschool.

Lied to him about Santa Claus giving his pacifier to newborn babies? Fine. But last car in the pick up line? Not if I can help it.

customer service associate of the month

Several months ago, Bryan and I decided it was time for the Phillips family to get a new car. Or a slightly used car to be more precise. And being the cool cats that we are, we knew what we wanted was a mini-van. Ow ow ow!!!

It wasn’t so much that we had money burning holes in our pockets, but more that our old car was falling apart. Literally. One morning after I pulled out of the garage, there was a giant disc-shaped thing on the garage floor. I couldn’t figure out where it came from so I just threw it away. Then a rock chip cracked the windshield almost in half. And we were adding a quart of oil each week. I was just waiting for the state-of-the-art cassette player to go on the fritz. And then I wouldn’t be able to listen to my Bob Seger tape anymore. And I wasn’t going to wait around for THAT to happen, yo.

Being in Elk City, there aren’t a whole lot of places to browse when you are looking for a car. And mini-vans are even harder to come by. We had been searching for months and finally found one at a dealer in town. It was nice but Bryan was concerned about a rather large dent in the rear bumper. A few weeks went by and we still hadn’t found anything else so I convinced him to go test drive it – to a body shop to see how much it would cost to repair the dent. He was gone for a long time. He finally called and told me that the van had broken down on the way to the body shop and was being towed back to the dealer.

Strangely enough, we were still interested and waited to hear from the dealer about the van being repaired. We never heard from them. We took it as a sign from God. Like, just in case the van breaking down on the test drive hadn’t clued us in, this did.

So Bryan turned to the internet to browse for vans. I had sort of given up but he was determined to be riding in a rockin’ minivan before summer. He found a van that met most of our requirements in Oklahoma City which meant that we had to drive two hours to test drive it. Or rather he had to drive two hours to see if it was even worth it. This is not the interesting part of the story though, so I will fast forward to this week.

Until last Saturday. I had been having a hard time getting it started. It was like: insert key, turn, nothing – crickets chirping. Usually it would start after a few tries but not this time. This time it was broken down in front of my in-laws’ house. And of course, Bryan had just left town for the week. I was all alone in Elk City with two little boys and no mini-van. (Shudder.)

I had to have it towed the next Monday to the only dealer of its kind in town. (I am withholding the name because this is a very small town and I don’t want anyone to come cryin’ to me, all offended.) So it was towed to the dealer early Monday. Keep in mind this is the same dealer that never called us back after the first van broke down on a test drive. And on Tuesday after lunch, I still hadn’t heard anything from the dealer. So I decided to go ask what the scoop was.

When I walked into the service office, there were three men sitting at the counter. None of them said anything to me. I just stood there for several minutes, waiting for someone to acknowledge that a live, breathing human had walked through the door. Eventually, one of the men asked, “Do you need somethin’?” without even looking up.

“Uh, I’m here to find out about my van. It was towed here yesterday and I haven’t heard anything about what’s wrong or when it might be ready.”

Silence. It was like waiting for an answer from The Wizard of Oz.

After several minutes, he asked “What van?”

“It’s the maroon mini-van,” I told him. And then I waited and waited. And waited. He seemed to have forgotten that I was there. And it’s not like these guys were busy – they were just sitting there. I finally asked, “Do you know what’s wrong with it?”

“Oh. We couldn’t get that to start,” he told me. And that was the end of the conversation, it seemed. He resumed eating his peanut butter crackers. He didn’t say anything else and acted as if I wasn’t there again. He still hadn’t looked me in the eye.

I desperately wanted to say, “Yes, that is why that big thing called a tow truck had to pull it here – because we couldn’t get it to start, either.” But I kept it in my head because these guys had me and I couldn’t risk ticking them off before they fixed my van and gave me a bill. So I explained the problem with it not starting and asked if they knew what might be wrong. One of them told me it was probably the starter and that he would have to order the part. Trying to maintain my nice voice, I inquired as to when that part might be arriving.

“Oh, probably Thursday afternoon at best,” he answered with his slow southern drawl.

Again, the voice in my head shouted out, “What, is it being shipped here by Pony Express?!?” I mean, I could ride my bike to Oklahoma City, get the part, and be back before Friday. But instead I just nodded and left.

Some things just can’t be said out loud. But I am still thankful for the voice in my head – its sarcasm keeps me sane.

big fun in a little town

I keep seeing all these books/magazine articles/television talk shows that are telling us all to “slow down” and spend more time together. It is charming that suddenly everyone cares so much about us that they want us to slow down and enjoy life. The problem is: the Phillips family is not busy. Not even a little bit. It’s like a constant public service announcement telling me to breathe – I AM already!!!

Maybe part of our slow pace is due to the small town we live in. But I remember when I lived in the Denver area, right smack in the middle of exciting things galore – I still never felt too busy. I could usually find time for a little afternoon siesta if needed. In fact, my life as a full time teacher living in a big city didn’t feel too busy at all. It felt like Baby Bear’s porridge – just right.

Nowadays, when I have two errands to run, I do one today and save the other one for tomorrow. Not because I’m procrastinating, but because I may not have anything to do tomorrow if I use up all my errands today. I have time to rearrange the living room and water the flowers and alphabetize the medicine cabinet. And all with my darling children right underfoot.

But sometimes, I get bored. Can you believe it?!?

This week I was having a day which felt a little more like melba toast than focaccia bread. It was the kind of day that seems to go on and on and on. And on.

Until Bryan came up with a thrilling idea. His idea was that we go to a nearby town and borrow his grandpa’s golf cart. And then we drive it around the tiny little town. If you are waiting for the exciting part, that was it – reread the second and third sentences.

Having no other alternative with any more appeal than watching paint dry, we set out. What you need to know about this nearby town is that it is tiny. The size of a house fly’s press-on nail. The sign says the population is 500 although I suspect that might be wishful thinking. So we drove around that town and saw all that it had to offer – would you believe we saw houses, a school, and goats? Well, believe it.

But here is the scandalous part. Aside from the moments when Bryan was taking corners way too fast and I was holding on to the boys for dear life, I had a great time. The song that says, “We’re from the country and we like it that way,” kept running through my head. And for a little while, I did like it.

And I wasn’t bored at all.

waiter, we need more jelly!

Before I even start, I know what you are about to think – I can read minds in advance, among my other talents and skills. I know I have been writing about my own kids a lot lately. Before you throw a toy truck at my head for doing it again, you need to know that Wesley is like a little comedienne, only he isn’t even trying to be funny. I think lots of kids are like that but I hit the jackpot with this guy. He provides a lot of potential writing material.

We were out last night and decided to have dinner at a little café in Elk City. And by café, I don’t mean romantic little restaurant with lots of charm and ambiance – I mean little restaurant with mounted animal heads on the wall and a salad bar chock full of iceberg lettuce. And no background music at all, which means you can hear every little sound in there. But the food is good and there aren’t a whole lot of choices, so…

When we walked in it was pretty empty, only about three other tables had customers at them. We were led to the corner (they always put us in the corner – what is it about a frazzled couple with two young boys that makes them think we should be in the corner?!?). On the way to our table, we went past an older couple and I noticed with fear that the man had an eye patch. Not fear because I have a phobia of eye patches but because of what was going to happen next.

Sure enough, when we got to the table, the chatter started and quickly turned into conversation about eye patches. Or maybe I should type it like it was spoken – EYE PATCHES. Because the volume of my son was more like the volume you would need to carry on a conversation during a Metallica concert. And with no background music at all, we were sort of stuck.

I whispered to my son ,”We don’t talk about other people’s eye patches – it could hurt their feelings.” But it was answered like this: “WHY CAN’T WE TALK ABOUT HIS EYE PATCH? IS HE A PIRATE? CAN I BE A PIRATE FOR HALLOWEEN?” I finally let him eat the little packets of jelly on the table with a knife – it was the only trick I had to offer. The eye patch was quickly forgotten.

Poor eye patch guy.