Mean girls

People can be so mean. Myself included. We are so quick to judge the people around us. Like being different is wrong somehow. In most cases I like people who are different. That have within them some quality that I admire but don't find in many others.
On the other hand I have little patience for rigidity. I am quick to condemn those who are closed minded, set in their ways or too resistant to change. In that I am judgmental. Don't we need all types of people in the world. If I really was as accepting as I think I am wouldn't I accept these people who drive me to distraction with the quirks they carry with them? (I also judge people for wearing the wrong shoe/ sock combination. Shame on me. )
I find myself quite frustrated today, having dealt with conflict after conflict mostly instigated by the inability to accept each others differences.
Today I am tired.

My job (top secret as it is) has me dealing with constant confrontation. Most of the clients we deal with are in a state of crisis or have mental health issues that leave them unable to see or accept the system they are dependent on. This leads to a lot of confrontation. I accept this, what I find hard to accept is when the conflict turns inward. When the people I work with (or my children) turn on each other. Life is hard out there and we should be able to depend on each other for understanding and acceptance. Sadly this is not the case.

I understand it. I know why it happens but my acceptance of this "turning on each other" has not come to be.

That old commercial had it right.

I'd like to give the world a Coke.

Shoes, beautiful shoes.

I love shoes. All shoes. I love boots and sandals and keds and stilettos and boots with stiletto heels. I just love them. I am too poor to buy high end shoes so I get them where I can. You will often find me lurking outside shoe stores in the early morning before a sale hoping I will have first pick. I love payless, which have the most uncomfortable shoes know to woman, it's not about the comfort or practicality it's about the beauty.
I have shoe rules and must admit I get quite agitated when others don't follow them.

I can not understand why someone would pair black socks with sandals. Ever. Let alone make them a part of their summer ensemble. Shoes can make or break an outfit and when doing black socks with sandals you are very defiantly going for the break.

Please if you are going to wear socks with your sandals make them white or wool and for heavens sake DO NOT pull them up to your knees.

One should NEVER wear socks with pumps. That went out with the eighties and didn't really look that good then.

Never wear stilettos with a very short mini unless you are trying to seduce your partner in the privacy of your own home. Let me warn you if you go out in public like that people will think you are trying to sell something, you may be arrested. That look may work for the girls on Sex in the City but it doesn't work for us regular types.

Dark stockings and light shoes DO NOT match.

I wish the general public knew this especially in the town where I live. Perhaps it's the drug use that causes there to be several shoe blunders seen in a day, every day. Over dilation of the pupils has made it impossible for them to see themselves in the mirror.
See kids drug use can lead to very bad things.

There are days I wish I could pull a Karen from Will and Grace.
I would point my finger and move it about, encompassing their entirety and ask, "Honey what's up with this? What's going on here?"
I am not yet that brave.

The new millionaires

Girls take my advice and marry an appliance repair man. They will be , if they're not already, millionaires.

Last week I called the repair man to come fix my washer.
"He'll be there Friday." The girl on the phone told me.
"Do you know what time?" I ask. Thinking it a reasonable question.
"Late morning-early afternoon." She replies.
"What the hell does that mean? Late morning -early afternoon. I decide this must mean between ten and two. So my day is shot.
Repair men are very much like the cable and phone company, time is of no consequence.

I live in a small town with few choices. The only industry here is the illegal cultivation of marijuana so people tend to move quite slowly. I should have kept that in mind when I took the day off work to deal with this repair issue. Had I been thinking I would have known the man would not be here within the time lines.
He arrived at close to three.
It took two minutes for him to look at the machine.
Another minute to tell me it wasn't worth fixing and twenty seconds to take my fifty- five dollar check.

Fifty-five dollars for three minutes work.

My oldest son arrived home as I was on my way out to purchase a new washer. I informed him that he would be attending trade school instead of university.
"Why?" he asked( remember this is his favorite word)
"Because," I replied running out the door, "I want you to be a millionaire."

Tell me do repair men cost this much in other parts of the world?

Sunday brunch buffet

There are two types of people in this world, People who order off the menu and people who love a buffet.
My son David loves a buffet.
I don’t know what he loves about it. He gets the same things every time.
Breakfast buffet is bacon and a plethora of deserts. Dinner is chow mien and a plethora of deserts.
It could be the abundance of beautifully presented food, colors and smells wafting together with the promise of an over stuffed belly.
It’s usually me complaining that I’ve eaten too much and that I’ll never eat again to avoid the pain of stomach stretching. He on the other hand, complains little more than an hour later of being hungry.
What ever the reason he loves a buffet to the point of my advantage becoming very clear.
“David,” I say bracing myself for the fight. “If you take out the garbage we can go to Sunday brunch buffet.”
“ O.k Mom” and off he goes to take out the garbage,
None of the usual whining or stall tactics. He just up and takes out the garbage.
Hmmm, I think to my self, curious.
A few weeks later.
“ David, I need your room cleaned up before we can go out and have some fun today.”
“Can we go to Sunday brunch buffet Mom?”
“Sure .”
“Yes!” He says in the way little boys do. Delight in his eyes a bent arm is brought down to his side in an exaggerated act of celebration and scampers off to clean his room.
I must tell you that this is not a normal persons room. It is, in fact, it’s own eco system complete with tornado’s , hurricanes, and what appears to be it’s very own rain forest growing in a multitude of left over lunch containers placed in various strategic locations through out 'David’s world'.
This was no small task I had given him.
I sit down with my book and cup of coffee in anticipation for the hours of relaxation the task promises me.
Half an hour later David comes bouncing out of his room.
“I’m done!” He announces triumphantly.
I am skeptical, “What do you mean you're done?”
“My room’s clean, can we go?”
“Did you clean under your bed?”
“Yup”
“What about under your dresser?”
“Done”
“You’d better not have thrown everything in the closet.”
“Nope”
“ Do you want to go and check be fore I come in ? Cause if I find a mess I’m not going to be happy.”
As you can see we've done this routine before.

“Come check Mom.” He says to me as he pulls me down the hall to his room.
I admit I am a little afraid of what I will find. Entering 'David’s world' is an enter at your own risk kind of activity.
As I get to the door I realize that it is very quiet, no birds or monkeys, earth quake rumblings or even the sound of a lost pet crying to get back out of 'the world'.
Fearfully I step towards the door. Sweat, I notice, has broken out on my forehead. I strain to hear …anything... as I turn the knob.
My young son bouncing beside me begs for my entrance to happen quickly so we can get to the buffet before all the deserts are gone.
Cautiously I open the door only to be greeted with a wonderful surprise. The room is clean! Sparkling clean, no smell. No rain forest. No monkeys.
“David this looks great,” I say shock clearly outlined on my face. “but what did you do? Where are the monkeys, and the birds? And the rainforest?”
“What are you talking about Mom, There’s no monkeys.”
“There used to be monkeys.”
“um…no there didn’t” He says to me in a tone that clearly indicates his assessment of my sanity.
Just then I feel a warm fury being rub up against my leg. Monkey fear begins to creep through my body.
Forcing myself beyond my comfort zone I look down.

“You found the cat! ”
“He wasn’t lost Mom.”

Having not see the cat for several months I assumed him to be lost. My mistake.

I love a Sunday brunch buffet.

The voices in my head continued

Having never been a fan of tuna casserole I was quick to point out that I had already eaten my dinner. He thought on that for a while before he got off his big person chair and toddled over to the garbage can. Bowl in hand.
“Put it in there.”
“Dustin,” I admonished, “you can’t throw out your dinner.”
“Why?” At the time his favorite word, which in actuality, is still his favorite word twelve years later.
“Dustin you can’t waste food with all the children starving in Ethiopia”
And there she was.
I turned quickly as if to catch her in the act of putting words into my mouth. I looked frantically around the kitchen. Behind the refrigerator, in the pantry. She had to be there somewhere.
“Mommy, whatcha lookin’ for?”
“I’m looking for Nana.” I said from inside a cupboard.
My wonderful son, of course, thought I was teasing.
“Nana’s not here silly”
And she wasn’t.
That was the first day my mother popped out of my mouth but it wouldn’t be the last.
I should have given her that eviction notice right then and there before she invited Dad to join her.
Instead I walked with my son to the garbage can and dumped the tuna casserole..

The voices in my head

Growing up I recall several times saying that when I had children I would NEVER do or say the things my parents had done or said. I was quite adamant about this, quite sure they were inept, unreasonable and out right mean.
Of course they were none of those things- but I didn’t figure that out until I was much older.

Now I find they have permeated my being, popping out at me with out warning. This phenomena causes me to look over my shoulder sure one of them is lurking just behind me.
They are never there causing me to admit-reluctantly- that in fact the words have slipped through my very own lips.

They invaded my being with admirable stealth and patience. A ‘cause I said so’ here a little
‘I’ll explain when you’re older’ there until I finally had to admit that they had taken up residence in my mind, and like defiant squatters, refuse to move out.

It was my mother who snuck up on me with her invisible presence when Dustin small.

“Dustin,” I said, “ you need to eat your dinner.”
Granted he had only been eating the same plate of tuna casserole for an hour. Perhaps I was a little to quick to prod.

“I’m full.” He said with a certainty only a four year old can afford.

“How could you possibly be full you’ve only had two bites.” I said poking his belly for emphasis. “You have lots of room still.”

“ No. I’m full.”

“ What will we do with your dinner if you don’t eat it?

“ You eat it.”