Last week, after Christmas, the teenagers and I traveled down to see the Grandparents of No at their homestead. Upon arrival, I discovered that the Son of Never Stops Eating had left his deodorant at home.
Mom, he said, exasperated, I don't need deodorant! I'm on vacation!
That is life with teenagers, right there: teenagers are often odiferous attitude-filled buckets of sass and stress added to a substantial amount of idealism mixed in with the idea that everything worth knowing, they know and anyone over the age of 30 has forgotten. The whole mess is spiced up with a dash of believing that the generations before them have completely and irrevocably messed the place up and it's up to them to fix it as best they can (this generation of teenagers might actually be right about that; sorry, guys.)
On social media sites, it's often popular to bash teenagers as a group whenever something in the community goes awry- or even just for fun. Car doing doughnuts in the school parking lot? Must be teenagers. Danged teenagers have no respect; it's not like when we were growing up when even the thought of wrongdoing would earn us a whipping from our father and a public flogging in the town square. Vandalism? Teenagers. Rude, entitled behavior? Snowflake teenagers. Lazy with no work ethic whatsoever? Entitled teenagers. Crime of any kind? Definitely teenagers, with too much time on their hands. One teenager messes up, they're all to blame. Teenagers are viewed as the Borg Collective of humankind.
I'm sure that since the dawn of time, old geezers have been complaining about the young whippersnappers up to no good with their weird haircuts and odd fashion sense and their lack of work ethic and their strange ideas about almost any issue affecting humanity and, last but not least, their ability to sleep soundly until 2 PM and eat everything in sight that isn't frozen solid.
Adults are guilty of a lot of the same sins as teenagers, but we've lived longer and we should definitely know better- and no one blames adults as a group for the sins of one grownup. One entitled, rude adult is one entitled, rude adult; one entitled, rude teenager is to condemn every teenager walking the planet at this point in time.
Honestly, you couldn't pay me to be a teenager again for anything. If you're a teenaged girl, you can't dress correctly no matter what you wear. College tuition is a runaway freight train headed your way, your adults are probably nagging you about what you're going to do after high school, you're beginning to learn about stressful adult stuff like driving and working, everyone over the age of 30 automatically assumes you're up to no good any time you go anywhere in a group (or even by yourselves) and there's all kinds of pressure to do or not do. Being a teenager in the 1980's wasn't anywhere near as complicated as being a teenager in the late 2010's seems to be.
Yes, I know there are plenty of teenagers who manage to get themselves into big trouble. Adults manage to do that, too, but without the collective blame that teenager wrongdoing seems to create. I also know that there are plenty of teenagers getting up at the crack of dawn to go to band or athletic practice, spending their weekends working a part-time job, spending part of their summers doing good deeds, taking college-level classes, helping with the care of older and/or disabled family members, and basically trying to get to adulthood without running their personal lives off the road too many times before that all-important 18th birthday.
So, for my teenagers-yes, I like to pester you about college and community service hours and saving your money and wearing deodorant and cleaning your rooms and driving (at least I don't have to nag about data usage anymore; thank you unlimited data plan!), but I also respect the serious amount of work that you're putting into your life. Being a teenager is serious, stressful stuff and I do respect it even if you think I don't. Now, go work on those scholarship applications.
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Saturday, December 30, 2017
The Marsh Project Week #5
It's cold out there. Really cold out there. I forgot gloves, so I had to stick my hands in my pockets when I wasn't trying to photograph critters and fungi. The temperature is supposed to drop even more tonight, and a few armadillos were out rustling around, probably preparing.
Birds were out, mostly in flight; they weren't hearing my pleas to be still so that I could get great photos. I don't have the kind of camera that takes great shots of birds in flight, and my hands were cold, so I had to mostly settle for standing in the blind and observing. An osprey flew overhead several times, as did a raptor I'm fairly certain was a red-tailed hawk although it wouldn't slow down enough for me to get a positive ID.
I did get to see my first common goldeneyes of the winter.
Since the critters weren't posing nicely, I kept an eye out for stationary lifeforms and was rewarded with this lovely fungus. I didn't want to stick my hands near the water to see if it had gills or pores on the other side, but my guess- having seen similar fungi before on this log- is going to be gills. I used the vibrant function of the camera to get this shot.
Then, back on the trail headed to the car and warmth, this beautiful ruby-crowned kinglet actually sat still for me long enough to get a photo. These birds are so cute but they almost are never still long enough for my neophyte nature photography skills, so this could be the best photo I've ever gotten of one. I kept thinking I was hearing woodpeckers but either they were hiding really well or it was really just branches moving around in the wind.
Seen on the trail today: Osprey, eastern phoebe, greater yellowlegs, mallards, gadwall, common goldeneyes, great blue herons, great egrets, a few small brown birds, unidentified raptor (probably red-tailed hawk but not sure), northern cardinals, armadillos, ruby crowned kinglets, and one brave turtle swimming near the surface of the water.
Birds were out, mostly in flight; they weren't hearing my pleas to be still so that I could get great photos. I don't have the kind of camera that takes great shots of birds in flight, and my hands were cold, so I had to mostly settle for standing in the blind and observing. An osprey flew overhead several times, as did a raptor I'm fairly certain was a red-tailed hawk although it wouldn't slow down enough for me to get a positive ID.
I did get to see my first common goldeneyes of the winter.
Since the critters weren't posing nicely, I kept an eye out for stationary lifeforms and was rewarded with this lovely fungus. I didn't want to stick my hands near the water to see if it had gills or pores on the other side, but my guess- having seen similar fungi before on this log- is going to be gills. I used the vibrant function of the camera to get this shot.
Then, back on the trail headed to the car and warmth, this beautiful ruby-crowned kinglet actually sat still for me long enough to get a photo. These birds are so cute but they almost are never still long enough for my neophyte nature photography skills, so this could be the best photo I've ever gotten of one. I kept thinking I was hearing woodpeckers but either they were hiding really well or it was really just branches moving around in the wind.
Seen on the trail today: Osprey, eastern phoebe, greater yellowlegs, mallards, gadwall, common goldeneyes, great blue herons, great egrets, a few small brown birds, unidentified raptor (probably red-tailed hawk but not sure), northern cardinals, armadillos, ruby crowned kinglets, and one brave turtle swimming near the surface of the water.
Sunday, December 24, 2017
The Marsh Project Week #4
The calm before the chaos.
It was a freezing morning to be outside. Even though I had on thick wool hiking socks my toes were still cold. Even the critters, for the most part, seemed to have holed up somewhere warmer, with a few notable exceptions- I saw a few deer as I drove to the trailhead parking lot, and even they stood at the edge of the road placidly staring at my car. A nutria/coypu swam across the marsh; a large flock of unidentified birds flew high in the sky on some undisclosed mission. The mallards, of course, were out in force.
This is Christmas Eve morning, and today there will be church (twice!) and last minute baking and errands and cleaning (Do we need more eggs? Did I get all the stocking stuffers? Who tracked in mud on the kitchen floor ? Oops, that was me!) until the sun sets, the stores close and the day is done; whatever stage the preparations are in, they will have to be sufficient.
But for now, in the early morning light, there is a quiet stillness as the day begins.
It was a freezing morning to be outside. Even though I had on thick wool hiking socks my toes were still cold. Even the critters, for the most part, seemed to have holed up somewhere warmer, with a few notable exceptions- I saw a few deer as I drove to the trailhead parking lot, and even they stood at the edge of the road placidly staring at my car. A nutria/coypu swam across the marsh; a large flock of unidentified birds flew high in the sky on some undisclosed mission. The mallards, of course, were out in force.
This is Christmas Eve morning, and today there will be church (twice!) and last minute baking and errands and cleaning (Do we need more eggs? Did I get all the stocking stuffers? Who tracked in mud on the kitchen floor ? Oops, that was me!) until the sun sets, the stores close and the day is done; whatever stage the preparations are in, they will have to be sufficient.
But for now, in the early morning light, there is a quiet stillness as the day begins.
Friday, December 22, 2017
Living the Middle Class Life
Many years ago, the Teenager got her first experience with taxes. She had saved up some money for a desired toy, and when we got to the store and found her heart's desire on the shelf I had to break the news to her that she actually didn't have enough money because she'd also have to pay sales tax and she only had enough money for the toy itself. She attempted to take out a loan from the Bank of Mom (the loan request was denied, on the basis of insufficient income and lack of credit history), and the entire episode ended in the classic "It's NOT FAIR! Kids shouldn't have to pay TAX!".
This past week, in between finalizing Christmas shopping, spending some time with friends, finishing up work for the week, watching the hilariousness of "Christmas Vacation" with the Son of Never Stops Eating, and going to the dentist, I've been trying to figure out what this new tax bill means for me. It's not the easiest thing in the world because I can't seem to find any information that gives just the facts; everything is either "DOOM! You are DOOMED! Run for the hills!" or "This is the greatest gift to the Middle Class of America since the invention of the TV remote control and the drive-thru restaurant!".
One article I read said that this bill means an extra $900 a year for the middle class. OK, I can use an extra $900. If that's actually true, because another article said that basically I'd be sending it all in, except maybe a small allowance for bread and water, and gas money to get to work. Apparently there's an increase in the child tax credit, but that isn't really helpful when your children are 17 and 15. I suspect I am not the only person who really isn't sure what happened to me here.
If this bill was meant to alleviate the angst of the middle class, or at least my angst, it fails. First, I don't mind paying taxes that much- sure, I like money, but I also like things like free public K-12 education, roads (except toll roads; those suck), parks, clean water coming out of my tap, knowing that if I call 911 someone will show up to help, and a functioning system of law and order. I don't mind handing over some of my money so that other people can have a safe place to live or that schoolchildren can have a hot lunch. I definitely don't agree with everything my tax dollars go to, but I don't see my tax burden as my biggest problem.
I looked at my pay stub for my final pay period of 2017, and realized that I've paid as much in health insurance premiums as I have in federal tax. Once you factor in all those co-pays, and deductibles, and "you pay 15% of the plan allowance if you use a preferred provider for a medical emergency", some years I probably pay a lot more. One year I had my gallbladder out as emergency surgery, and the anesthesiologist wasn't a "preferred provider". You should have checked, I was told. Sure, as I'm being wheeled to the OR. Oh, you're not a provider on my insurance? I don't need anesthesia. How about you just give me a bottle of whiskey and knock me out with a hammer instead? That was a big bill. If you really want to do a girl a favor, address the cost of medical care.
Or, this year I did my first FAFSA for The Teenager. The end result of that was basically "This is how much you make? Send it in!". College tuition is a fast moving train headed in my direction. Evidently for the next four years I'm allowed to pay my mortgage, my utilities, and buy food, and supposedly everything else is available for tuition. Then I have to figure out how to provide for the Son of Never Stops Eating; having a special needs child adds a whole new dimension to your financial planning. Last week I went to a transition fair and heard a presentation from a swanky new "Autism adult community". Price tag: $5000. Per month. For years. We can scratch that one off the list. Believe me, I lay awake at night worried about this; I can't say that I've ever had tax-induced insomnia.
The Grandpa of No is looking at assisted living facilities for my mom. He's reported back that the costs are somewhere in the $5000 per month range (what is it with the $5000 per month?). Add that to the list of things to save for: old age. Somewhere in between paying for medical care, college tuition, the Son of Never Stop's Eating's financial planning, my homeowner's and auto insurance that goes up every year, and all the other expenses involved in the middle class experience, I probably need to come up with a several hundred thousand smackers or at least the premiums for two long-term care policies so the Teenager doesn't go bankrupt paying for our assisted living care.
I could save that $900 per year I'm supposedly getting back; at that rate, it would only take 66 years to save up for almost one year in Memory Acres or Loving Arms Long Term Care or wherever I end up.
So, forgive me if I'm personally not feeling like I was handed a huge Christmas gift by Congress Claus; It feels more like one of those candy canes that you put on your Christmas tree as a decoration but no one actually eats, so you end up either breaking it up in pieces and putting it in brownies or tossing it in the garbage can in early February.
Anyway, a Merry Christmas from the Household of No. I'm going to spend the next week eating fudge, watching Christmas Vacation, nagging teenagers, and hopefully getting some birding in. 2018 promises to be a year of excitement, challenges, and change.
This past week, in between finalizing Christmas shopping, spending some time with friends, finishing up work for the week, watching the hilariousness of "Christmas Vacation" with the Son of Never Stops Eating, and going to the dentist, I've been trying to figure out what this new tax bill means for me. It's not the easiest thing in the world because I can't seem to find any information that gives just the facts; everything is either "DOOM! You are DOOMED! Run for the hills!" or "This is the greatest gift to the Middle Class of America since the invention of the TV remote control and the drive-thru restaurant!".
One article I read said that this bill means an extra $900 a year for the middle class. OK, I can use an extra $900. If that's actually true, because another article said that basically I'd be sending it all in, except maybe a small allowance for bread and water, and gas money to get to work. Apparently there's an increase in the child tax credit, but that isn't really helpful when your children are 17 and 15. I suspect I am not the only person who really isn't sure what happened to me here.
If this bill was meant to alleviate the angst of the middle class, or at least my angst, it fails. First, I don't mind paying taxes that much- sure, I like money, but I also like things like free public K-12 education, roads (except toll roads; those suck), parks, clean water coming out of my tap, knowing that if I call 911 someone will show up to help, and a functioning system of law and order. I don't mind handing over some of my money so that other people can have a safe place to live or that schoolchildren can have a hot lunch. I definitely don't agree with everything my tax dollars go to, but I don't see my tax burden as my biggest problem.
I looked at my pay stub for my final pay period of 2017, and realized that I've paid as much in health insurance premiums as I have in federal tax. Once you factor in all those co-pays, and deductibles, and "you pay 15% of the plan allowance if you use a preferred provider for a medical emergency", some years I probably pay a lot more. One year I had my gallbladder out as emergency surgery, and the anesthesiologist wasn't a "preferred provider". You should have checked, I was told. Sure, as I'm being wheeled to the OR. Oh, you're not a provider on my insurance? I don't need anesthesia. How about you just give me a bottle of whiskey and knock me out with a hammer instead? That was a big bill. If you really want to do a girl a favor, address the cost of medical care.
Or, this year I did my first FAFSA for The Teenager. The end result of that was basically "This is how much you make? Send it in!". College tuition is a fast moving train headed in my direction. Evidently for the next four years I'm allowed to pay my mortgage, my utilities, and buy food, and supposedly everything else is available for tuition. Then I have to figure out how to provide for the Son of Never Stops Eating; having a special needs child adds a whole new dimension to your financial planning. Last week I went to a transition fair and heard a presentation from a swanky new "Autism adult community". Price tag: $5000. Per month. For years. We can scratch that one off the list. Believe me, I lay awake at night worried about this; I can't say that I've ever had tax-induced insomnia.
The Grandpa of No is looking at assisted living facilities for my mom. He's reported back that the costs are somewhere in the $5000 per month range (what is it with the $5000 per month?). Add that to the list of things to save for: old age. Somewhere in between paying for medical care, college tuition, the Son of Never Stop's Eating's financial planning, my homeowner's and auto insurance that goes up every year, and all the other expenses involved in the middle class experience, I probably need to come up with a several hundred thousand smackers or at least the premiums for two long-term care policies so the Teenager doesn't go bankrupt paying for our assisted living care.
I could save that $900 per year I'm supposedly getting back; at that rate, it would only take 66 years to save up for almost one year in Memory Acres or Loving Arms Long Term Care or wherever I end up.
So, forgive me if I'm personally not feeling like I was handed a huge Christmas gift by Congress Claus; It feels more like one of those candy canes that you put on your Christmas tree as a decoration but no one actually eats, so you end up either breaking it up in pieces and putting it in brownies or tossing it in the garbage can in early February.
Anyway, a Merry Christmas from the Household of No. I'm going to spend the next week eating fudge, watching Christmas Vacation, nagging teenagers, and hopefully getting some birding in. 2018 promises to be a year of excitement, challenges, and change.
Friday, December 15, 2017
The Marsh Project Week #3
This week, it was a quick hike between finishing up Christmas preparations and dinner out with friends. Everything was brown, and it was a chilly day, although the sun was shining. The birds were chirping but mostly invisible.
I had spent the morning running around getting stocking stuffers, a haircut, and visiting the public library to pay some overdue fines. It felt wonderful to be outside, even if it would be a short hike, just to take a break from the seemingly endless list of chores that make up the weeks before Christmas.
The wildlife wasn't moving around during my walk, but there was clearly evidence that something had been out and about at some point:
And of course I scared the waterfowl.
Finally, it was time to walk back to the car. I will admit, as I started back I was a bit disappointed that I hadn't seen anything really spectacular, but you never know what nature will send your way. I looked up and saw two yellow-bellied sapsuckers flying from tree to tree, and was able to get one photo before they flew away.
Critters observed: Lots of little brown birds, cardinals, woodpeckers (downy woodpeckers, red-bellied woodpeckers, and the yellow-bellied sapsuckers), several great blue herons, several ruby-crowned kinglets, mallards, a kingfisher, and an osprey with a fish.
The wildlife wasn't moving around during my walk, but there was clearly evidence that something had been out and about at some point:
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| No, I don't know what animal this is from. |
And of course I scared the waterfowl.
Critters observed: Lots of little brown birds, cardinals, woodpeckers (downy woodpeckers, red-bellied woodpeckers, and the yellow-bellied sapsuckers), several great blue herons, several ruby-crowned kinglets, mallards, a kingfisher, and an osprey with a fish.
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
Grownup Stuff
The Son of Never Stops Eating turned 15 last week. To celebrate, we went to the "all you can eat place", aka the local Chinese buffet, and he got a Lego kit he'd been eyeballing at Target. He also got a meeting with his Mom, his teacher, and one of the school district's transition planners to talk about what he wanted to do after high school. The festivities and merriment never end at the Household of No.
A surprise for Mom: The Son of Never Stops Eating was all about getting a driver's license. Not to worry, neighbors; if that day comes, I have "Student Driver" magnets for our vehicles.
Much of the meeting centered around working- what kind of work he would like and do well at, whether he would be working full time or part time, where he might want to work (Target and Petco were mentioned), how he was going to get there (that's how the driver's license issue came up), and how he would manage his money. Eventually, the conversation came around to maintaining his eligibility for Medicaid through SSI.
Here's the thing about special needs planning: It is extremely complicated. Half the time, I'm not even sure I'm getting it right. People, the Mom of No included, pay other people specifically for assistance in navigating through the maze of state and federal programs. You almost have to; a single mistake could destroy even the most carefully calibrated plan. Because I don't know if the Son of Never Stops Eating will be able to hold a job that pays well enough to include health insurance benefits, maintaining eligibility for Medicaid is the center of the web that we are carefully weaving, strand by strand, in the hopes that it will be strong enough to support him for his entire life.
What struck me at this meeting, although I didn't really realize it until later, was that his future working life won't be based so much on his abilities or his desires to work (he wants a job really badly, to pay for all those Legos his mean mother won't buy him), or even on any opportunities that may present themselves. The decisions will be based on maintaining his eligibility for health insurance. That is, as the teenagers would say, messed up.
The assumption of competence is, in planning for a special needs child's adult life, an extremely risky proposition.
The second I begin assuming competence- the ability to make life choices, to get married, to hold down a full time job, to navigate daily life as an adult without your mom nagging you to do boring stuff like brushing your teeth or doing your laundry, is the moment I assume a risk that the already fragile safety net will tear into so many fragments. As a parent, I don't want to assume incompetence. I want my soon-to-be adult child to make as many choices as he can for himself, to find fulfilling work, to live independently, but planning for competence within the constraints of what the system allows is like walking on a tightrope over a pit full of very hungry piranha.
It doesn't help that the conversations that our society really needs to be having- the ones that would make a huge difference, especially the one about the issue that dare not speak its name (that would be health care) are just not possible at this time. Conversations I've had with people about my son's future often go like this: Oh, your son is great, kids with autism are precious, God is watching out for them, what a wonderful mother you are. These days the contrasting unspoken message is getting louder and louder: Wow, that sucks for you, but it's not really my problem. Let's not commit any actual resources or demand that our politicians change anything.
Good luck, you're mostly on your own.
I left the meeting feeling optimistic and frustrated all at the same time. Later, after he got home from school, the Son of Never Stops Eating was hanging out on the sofa, watching The Simpsons and working on his latest Lego project. When I walked into the living room, I asked him what he'd thought of the meeting.
Mom, he told me, being a grownup is going to be hard work. He didn't sound dismayed or nervous; he seemed more in awe of the entire proceeding.
Yes, kid, being a grownup is definitely going to be hard work. I'm not sure either of us really know what we're in for yet.
A surprise for Mom: The Son of Never Stops Eating was all about getting a driver's license. Not to worry, neighbors; if that day comes, I have "Student Driver" magnets for our vehicles.
Much of the meeting centered around working- what kind of work he would like and do well at, whether he would be working full time or part time, where he might want to work (Target and Petco were mentioned), how he was going to get there (that's how the driver's license issue came up), and how he would manage his money. Eventually, the conversation came around to maintaining his eligibility for Medicaid through SSI.
Here's the thing about special needs planning: It is extremely complicated. Half the time, I'm not even sure I'm getting it right. People, the Mom of No included, pay other people specifically for assistance in navigating through the maze of state and federal programs. You almost have to; a single mistake could destroy even the most carefully calibrated plan. Because I don't know if the Son of Never Stops Eating will be able to hold a job that pays well enough to include health insurance benefits, maintaining eligibility for Medicaid is the center of the web that we are carefully weaving, strand by strand, in the hopes that it will be strong enough to support him for his entire life.
What struck me at this meeting, although I didn't really realize it until later, was that his future working life won't be based so much on his abilities or his desires to work (he wants a job really badly, to pay for all those Legos his mean mother won't buy him), or even on any opportunities that may present themselves. The decisions will be based on maintaining his eligibility for health insurance. That is, as the teenagers would say, messed up.
The assumption of competence is, in planning for a special needs child's adult life, an extremely risky proposition.
The second I begin assuming competence- the ability to make life choices, to get married, to hold down a full time job, to navigate daily life as an adult without your mom nagging you to do boring stuff like brushing your teeth or doing your laundry, is the moment I assume a risk that the already fragile safety net will tear into so many fragments. As a parent, I don't want to assume incompetence. I want my soon-to-be adult child to make as many choices as he can for himself, to find fulfilling work, to live independently, but planning for competence within the constraints of what the system allows is like walking on a tightrope over a pit full of very hungry piranha.
It doesn't help that the conversations that our society really needs to be having- the ones that would make a huge difference, especially the one about the issue that dare not speak its name (that would be health care) are just not possible at this time. Conversations I've had with people about my son's future often go like this: Oh, your son is great, kids with autism are precious, God is watching out for them, what a wonderful mother you are. These days the contrasting unspoken message is getting louder and louder: Wow, that sucks for you, but it's not really my problem. Let's not commit any actual resources or demand that our politicians change anything.
Good luck, you're mostly on your own.
I left the meeting feeling optimistic and frustrated all at the same time. Later, after he got home from school, the Son of Never Stops Eating was hanging out on the sofa, watching The Simpsons and working on his latest Lego project. When I walked into the living room, I asked him what he'd thought of the meeting.
Mom, he told me, being a grownup is going to be hard work. He didn't sound dismayed or nervous; he seemed more in awe of the entire proceeding.
Yes, kid, being a grownup is definitely going to be hard work. I'm not sure either of us really know what we're in for yet.
Friday, December 8, 2017
The Marsh Project Week #2
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| The marsh on a cold December day. |
This week, I acknowledge my inadequacy as a birder.
Summer seems to be the domain of the bright birds - the blue herons, the scissortail flycatchers, the painted buntings. Winter is the domain of the "LBB"- the "little brown birds".
The little brown birds enjoy rustling around in the cattails and the dead vegetation, making themselves sound like something bigger. Before I got wise to their tricks, I would stand still waiting for something like a bobcat or a raccoon to emerge, but eventually I realized all that rustling was either an LBB, an armadillo, or the wind. When the LBB's finally deign to show themselves, it is only for a fleeting moment. They are mostly unwilling to perch on branches for more than a few seconds at a time. They blend in to the winter landscape. On occasion, I manage something better than a blur. When that happens, it's definitely luck- not skill. Birders who actually know what they are doing can identify these little birds on sight; I require assistance.
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Red Fox Sparrow
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Even woodpeckers seem to sense when the camera is focused on them, and they fly off to some other tree, leaving me with only a blur as evidence that they were seen. They are slightly easier to see, however, once the leaves have fallen off the trees- especially the red-bellied woodpeckers, with their bright red heads. Downy woodpeckers are more of a challenge; they are loud but smaller.
Winter is also prime waterfowl time. I find waterfowl easier to identify, but they have the ability to sense my approach before I sense their presence, and off they fly. A substantial number of my waterfowl photos are of ducks in the distance surrounded by a lot of water. At least great blue herons are willing to stand still while I document their presence. I have a lot of great blue heron photos.
However, all is not lost. The marsh is a popular spot for one of my favorite birds, the northern flicker. I love the patterns on the feathers, and the northern flickers are often more willing to hang around for a few minutes while I attempt to get a photo that doesn't have a branch or a few dead leaves blocking a complete view of the bird. I often fail at this, but I don't fret too much; the process is just as much fun as viewing the results back at home.
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| Northern Flicker (with branches in the way) |
Today's visit was a quiet one, other than the rustling LBB's, dueling red bellied woodpeckers arguing over a tree (I tried to get a photo, only to find out that my battery had died), a northern flicker, a bunch of cardinals, and a great blue heron. It was cold, and any critter with any sense was probably holed up somewhere.
Tuesday, December 5, 2017
It's a Very Slacker Christmas
December is here, so that means that Christmas preparations are in full swing. Cookies are being baked; trees are being decorated; presents are being bought; cards are being sent; festivities are being planned and executed; carols are being sung; Santa is reading petitions from hopeful children; lights are being installed on houses all over the neighborhoods, along with all sorts of festive yard décor.
The Dad of No put up the exterior lights. I've made three pans of pumpkin spice fudge (yes, that is a real thing, don't judge, it's delicious). The Son of Never Stops Eating and I saw a Christmas parade. I spent an hour with my friend Amazon.com, shopping. That's my entire list of holiday-related accomplishments to this point.
The older the Mom of No gets, the more of a Christmas slacker I become. It's been years since I've sent out Christmas cards- almost everyone I'd send a Christmas card to is on Facebook and our lives just aren't exciting enough to merit writing a Christmas letter. If I did, it would probably be like this:
"Dear friends and relatives: we're still here. Same house, same cars, same job, one graduates from high school this year, the other swims and eats. We went to the beach last summer. The big thrill in our lives was that we had new duct work installed in our attic before the summer heat hit. Have a merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year!"
It's not that I don't like Christmas or that I'm anti-festivities; please don't send me any hate mail about the "War on Christmas". I'm just not very motivated when it comes to decorating, or gift wrapping with homemade wrapping paper, or baking cookies from recipes that are four pages long, or decorating my house with a different Christmas theme every year. I feel accomplished once the tree is up and all the ornaments are on it. In terms of Christmas decorating, my bar is set pretty darn low.
One of the great things about having teenagers as opposed to small kids is that teenagers generally do not want their pictures taken with Santa Claus, which is good because it means I don't have to go seek out a Santa Claus at the mall and then wait in line for hours just to find out that the kid has a heart's desire Christmas wish that I knew nothing about. I learned the Santa Claus at the Mall lesson a long time ago with the Teenager, who as a toddler insisted on seeing Santa then chickened out when it was her turn, so we left without actually talking to the Big Guy, then when we got to the car said "Mommy, I think I want to see Santa now". I was extremely pregnant at the time, and the occupant of my uterus was being the Son of Let's Kick Mommy's Bladder For Fun! so there was no way I was getting back into that line. I was the Mom of Extremely Annoyed. Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!
Actually, one of my Christmas goals is to not go to the mall at all, under any circumstances. I know that's part of the holiday experience with the festive décor and the music, but thanks to the internet, I can get the gifts purchased while sitting in the quiet of my own home, and I don't have to fight to get a parking space within walking distance of the mall or wait in line behind people who have complicated transactions. Another great thing about teenagers: both of mine wanted cash and gift cards, which are readily attainable. No more chasing down the must-have but hard to find Santa Claus gift.
I see photos of other peoples' festive crafts and décor and baking and wrapping, and I admire their work, but given a choice between spending Sunday afternoon lounging around on the sofa reading a book and decorating a gingerbread house with tiny little candies or handcrafting Christmas gift tags, I'd pick the book every time. I refuse to feel any guilt about this. I bought a bag of gingerbread cookies -decorated, even! and if anyone wants any gingerbread, they can have one of those cookies.
Christmas is high-pressure time, especially if you're female, and it's doubly high-pressure time if you're a mom. All that stuff people expect, that's all woman stuff (except hanging up the lights outside the house; it's acceptable to delegate that to male members of the household). All that decorating and gift buying and baking and organizing people to go places and do things takes a lot of energy, and it is all very time-sensitive. If you enjoy doing those activities, then you should do them, and you should post photos of the results on Facebook. You have my full support and admiration for your efforts.
If you're like me, and you'd rather spend the evening watching "Christmas Vacation" for the fiftieth time while eating pumpkin spice fudge and thinking that it's probably time to take the Thanksgiving decorations down and put the manger scene up on the fireplace mantel (once you locate the box it's in, that is), then you should feel absolutely no guilt about those choices. Let me know if you want the fudge recipe. It's good stuff and easy enough that even a Christmas slacker can make it.
The Dad of No put up the exterior lights. I've made three pans of pumpkin spice fudge (yes, that is a real thing, don't judge, it's delicious). The Son of Never Stops Eating and I saw a Christmas parade. I spent an hour with my friend Amazon.com, shopping. That's my entire list of holiday-related accomplishments to this point.
The older the Mom of No gets, the more of a Christmas slacker I become. It's been years since I've sent out Christmas cards- almost everyone I'd send a Christmas card to is on Facebook and our lives just aren't exciting enough to merit writing a Christmas letter. If I did, it would probably be like this:
"Dear friends and relatives: we're still here. Same house, same cars, same job, one graduates from high school this year, the other swims and eats. We went to the beach last summer. The big thrill in our lives was that we had new duct work installed in our attic before the summer heat hit. Have a merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year!"
It's not that I don't like Christmas or that I'm anti-festivities; please don't send me any hate mail about the "War on Christmas". I'm just not very motivated when it comes to decorating, or gift wrapping with homemade wrapping paper, or baking cookies from recipes that are four pages long, or decorating my house with a different Christmas theme every year. I feel accomplished once the tree is up and all the ornaments are on it. In terms of Christmas decorating, my bar is set pretty darn low.
One of the great things about having teenagers as opposed to small kids is that teenagers generally do not want their pictures taken with Santa Claus, which is good because it means I don't have to go seek out a Santa Claus at the mall and then wait in line for hours just to find out that the kid has a heart's desire Christmas wish that I knew nothing about. I learned the Santa Claus at the Mall lesson a long time ago with the Teenager, who as a toddler insisted on seeing Santa then chickened out when it was her turn, so we left without actually talking to the Big Guy, then when we got to the car said "Mommy, I think I want to see Santa now". I was extremely pregnant at the time, and the occupant of my uterus was being the Son of Let's Kick Mommy's Bladder For Fun! so there was no way I was getting back into that line. I was the Mom of Extremely Annoyed. Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!
Actually, one of my Christmas goals is to not go to the mall at all, under any circumstances. I know that's part of the holiday experience with the festive décor and the music, but thanks to the internet, I can get the gifts purchased while sitting in the quiet of my own home, and I don't have to fight to get a parking space within walking distance of the mall or wait in line behind people who have complicated transactions. Another great thing about teenagers: both of mine wanted cash and gift cards, which are readily attainable. No more chasing down the must-have but hard to find Santa Claus gift.
I see photos of other peoples' festive crafts and décor and baking and wrapping, and I admire their work, but given a choice between spending Sunday afternoon lounging around on the sofa reading a book and decorating a gingerbread house with tiny little candies or handcrafting Christmas gift tags, I'd pick the book every time. I refuse to feel any guilt about this. I bought a bag of gingerbread cookies -decorated, even! and if anyone wants any gingerbread, they can have one of those cookies.
Christmas is high-pressure time, especially if you're female, and it's doubly high-pressure time if you're a mom. All that stuff people expect, that's all woman stuff (except hanging up the lights outside the house; it's acceptable to delegate that to male members of the household). All that decorating and gift buying and baking and organizing people to go places and do things takes a lot of energy, and it is all very time-sensitive. If you enjoy doing those activities, then you should do them, and you should post photos of the results on Facebook. You have my full support and admiration for your efforts.
If you're like me, and you'd rather spend the evening watching "Christmas Vacation" for the fiftieth time while eating pumpkin spice fudge and thinking that it's probably time to take the Thanksgiving decorations down and put the manger scene up on the fireplace mantel (once you locate the box it's in, that is), then you should feel absolutely no guilt about those choices. Let me know if you want the fudge recipe. It's good stuff and easy enough that even a Christmas slacker can make it.
Saturday, December 2, 2017
The Marsh Project Week #1
I've seen this marsh iced over with great blue herons walking on it, and I've seen this marsh in the height of summer. Several years ago, I recall seeing yellow-crowned night herons everywhere, and then they disappeared when the marsh temporarily dried up. Last summer, I saw at least three anhinga here. Now the ducks are back for the winter, but they seem to sense my presence and they take off before I have a chance to see what they are up to.
For 2018, my plan is to attempt at least a once a week photo and documentation of what I see. I think it will be interesting at the end of 2018 to go back and review the changes and observations; even in one year I've lost track of what I've seen and how the marsh looked at different times of the year. I know this is actually December of 2017, so consider this a trial run. I haven't set any rules for this project; if I miss a week, no guilt; life happens- and 2018 promises to be a crazy year, especially with the Teenager graduating high school.
I was there today, in the afternoon. As I approached the blind from the trail, a large group of people were going the other way. I was prepared to be disappointed. The dragonflies and butterflies are gone for the winter, apparently- not a one was to be found, not even the late fall variegated meadowhawks and common buckeyes. I was hoping, but not optimistic, for a snake sighting. I could hear birds -sparrows and cardinals, likely- rustling around in the reeds, but they move too fast for me to see very well. My photography skills are still at the point where I need the birds to sit still for me to get a decent photo. Herons cooperate; sparrows, not so much.
On my way back to the trail, however, my eyes caught sight of a green tree frog on a reed, and I decided to spend a few minutes playing around with the settings on my camera and photographing the frog, who was probably completely unaware of my interest. While I was doing that, I heard something moving around in the cattails on the other side of the boardwalk. I looked over, and after a few minutes saw two raccoons running out from the cattails into the woods at the edge of the marsh.
It was time to go; the preserve would be closing soon, and the sun was on its way down anyway.
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Not much was moving around - but I happened to see this green tree frog on a reed.
For fun, I used the vivid colors setting on the camera.
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Thursday, November 23, 2017
Memorandum re: Christmas Wish Lists
MEMORANDUM
TO: OFFSPRING
FROM: YOUR MOTHER (Management)
SUBJECT: Christmas Wish Lists and Purchasing of Christmas Presents
1. Christmas wish lists are due to your mother on or before December 2, 2017 by close of business (4:30 PM). Failure to deliver lists by this time could possibly result in the following items being selected as your Christmas gifts: Socks, underwear, dictionaries, VHS tapes of Barney the Purple Dinosaur, and/or anything Disney Princess, or cookbooks and DVD's purchased at the local grocery store bargain table.
2. The following items cannot be funded at this time: Trips to Europe, new laptops, new cars and the Simpsons Lego Set. Management is willing to discuss a partial funding match on technology, especially technology that may be required for college academic work, although expenditure will likely not occur until after the start of calendar year 2018.
3. Requestor should insure that gift items are readily attainable, either online (preferred source is Amazon) or at a local store (Barnes and Noble, Kohl's, JC Penney, Best Buy, or locally owned shops and restaurants). Anything requiring travel beyond a 15 mile radius of the family residence will likely not be funded unless the household purchasing agent is traveling in that direction on other household business. It is acceptable to request gift cards and/or cash in lieu of items. Keep in mind that shopping is not a preferred Management activity, so anything requiring extreme shopping has a lower chance of being funded in this calendar year holiday giving cycle.
4. Management reserves the right to prioritize funding on a need over want basis. For example, a request for new pajamas may receive funding priority over a request for a new video game. Requests for books will receive strong consideration. Requests for items that require ongoing operation and maintenance (O&M) household funding will receive lower consideration (examples: toys requiring batteries, anything requiring new parts or supplies on an ongoing basis) unless requestor notes in gift request that they are willing to fund ongoing O&M themselves. Management is willing to guarantee that requestors will receive at least one wish, as long as request is reasonable and fits within budgetary constraints. Requestors may receive cash contributions toward a desired item if management deems that specified item is beyond management's current funding capabilities.
5. In addition to requesting gifts, you will also be expected to provide gifts for the other three human members of the household. The dog and the hamster are optional. When writing your own lists, be cognizant of the funding limitations of your sibling, and provide acceptable options that your sibling can consider within his or her budgetary constraints. In previous years, management has been willing to wrap these gifts for you. This year, management regrets that they will be unable to provide this service unless they receive a request for assistance at least a week before December 25, 2017.
6. Acceptable formats for Christmas wish lists include handwritten, e-mail, and typed lists printed on actual paper. If handwritten, be sure that writing is legible to management. Photos or detailed descriptions of obscure items that management may be unfamiliar with are appreciated and may facilitate purchasing of gifts. It is not necessary to address these lists to Santa Claus; we all know who Santa Claus really is.
7. As always, your cooperation is appreciated. Management looks forward to reviewing funding requests for Christmas 2017. Remember that your deadline is December 2, 2017 at 4:30 PM. Management is looking forward to a festive and enjoyable Christmas holiday season.
-signed-
Management
TO: OFFSPRING
FROM: YOUR MOTHER (Management)
SUBJECT: Christmas Wish Lists and Purchasing of Christmas Presents
1. Christmas wish lists are due to your mother on or before December 2, 2017 by close of business (4:30 PM). Failure to deliver lists by this time could possibly result in the following items being selected as your Christmas gifts: Socks, underwear, dictionaries, VHS tapes of Barney the Purple Dinosaur, and/or anything Disney Princess, or cookbooks and DVD's purchased at the local grocery store bargain table.
2. The following items cannot be funded at this time: Trips to Europe, new laptops, new cars and the Simpsons Lego Set. Management is willing to discuss a partial funding match on technology, especially technology that may be required for college academic work, although expenditure will likely not occur until after the start of calendar year 2018.
3. Requestor should insure that gift items are readily attainable, either online (preferred source is Amazon) or at a local store (Barnes and Noble, Kohl's, JC Penney, Best Buy, or locally owned shops and restaurants). Anything requiring travel beyond a 15 mile radius of the family residence will likely not be funded unless the household purchasing agent is traveling in that direction on other household business. It is acceptable to request gift cards and/or cash in lieu of items. Keep in mind that shopping is not a preferred Management activity, so anything requiring extreme shopping has a lower chance of being funded in this calendar year holiday giving cycle.
4. Management reserves the right to prioritize funding on a need over want basis. For example, a request for new pajamas may receive funding priority over a request for a new video game. Requests for books will receive strong consideration. Requests for items that require ongoing operation and maintenance (O&M) household funding will receive lower consideration (examples: toys requiring batteries, anything requiring new parts or supplies on an ongoing basis) unless requestor notes in gift request that they are willing to fund ongoing O&M themselves. Management is willing to guarantee that requestors will receive at least one wish, as long as request is reasonable and fits within budgetary constraints. Requestors may receive cash contributions toward a desired item if management deems that specified item is beyond management's current funding capabilities.
5. In addition to requesting gifts, you will also be expected to provide gifts for the other three human members of the household. The dog and the hamster are optional. When writing your own lists, be cognizant of the funding limitations of your sibling, and provide acceptable options that your sibling can consider within his or her budgetary constraints. In previous years, management has been willing to wrap these gifts for you. This year, management regrets that they will be unable to provide this service unless they receive a request for assistance at least a week before December 25, 2017.
6. Acceptable formats for Christmas wish lists include handwritten, e-mail, and typed lists printed on actual paper. If handwritten, be sure that writing is legible to management. Photos or detailed descriptions of obscure items that management may be unfamiliar with are appreciated and may facilitate purchasing of gifts. It is not necessary to address these lists to Santa Claus; we all know who Santa Claus really is.
7. As always, your cooperation is appreciated. Management looks forward to reviewing funding requests for Christmas 2017. Remember that your deadline is December 2, 2017 at 4:30 PM. Management is looking forward to a festive and enjoyable Christmas holiday season.
-signed-
Management
Monday, November 20, 2017
Band Mom Gratitude
This is the week of Thanksgiving, and it is traditional during this time of year to ponder over and share thoughts on thankfulness and gratitude. At the same time, marching band is over- and for the Mom of No, it is really over because the Teenager has finished her high school marching band career. She's moving into concert season, and while I still apparently have some pies to sell and some concerts to attend, my Band Mom career is winding down.
So what's the connection between Thanksgiving and marching band?
First, I have to say that marching band is, honestly, a pain in the butt, especially if you are a marching band parent and you have to get up at o'dark thirty because to be early is to be on time and to be on time is to be late. When band practice starts in August, your car starts smelling like a gym on wheels. You're always getting hit up to volunteer for things, pay for things, show up to things- hard when you're an introvert who really just wants to sit and read a book-and go purchase items at the last minute. August is off limits for that family summer vacation. You sit through football games you're not really interested in when the wind is blowing or the brutal heat is giving you a ferocious headache or the drizzling rain is falling not so gently from the sky because, hey, your kid is in the marching band and it's a darn good show, so pay attention, people! Go buy your nachos when the third quarter of the game starts!
But I am really thankful that my kid decided to become a band kid.
While our school's marching band season ended with football season, other bands in the area advanced to finals in marching contests. Those bands received kudos on Facebook and elsewhere, and I felt a twinge of Mom angst for the band kids in our high school's marching band, who had a great show and worked hard but didn't make it as far. For what it's worth, kids, I know you worked hard, and (not that I am any kind of expert on marching band shows) your show was fantastic.
I am really thankful that The Teenager found a niche in high school, a place where she felt that she belonged, a group that she could contribute to and, as she became a seasoned band veteran, practice some leadership skills. She took it seriously; marching band was not to be trifled with. Sometimes I felt parental annoyance at the long hours spent at a football game or contest when it meant that she'd be coming home to more homework completed in the early morning hours. Somehow, she made it work, although from a parent's point of view the expectations sometimes seemed unrealistic. It's a life lesson: the situation might not always be ideal, but if this is what you want, you will have to find a way to make it work. It's a parent lesson too: as the kids get older, it gets harder to determine when and when not to intervene in their lives. They're not the only ones going through a life transition.
As a not-marching band person, I always watch with interest mixed up with amusement and a dash of pride when The Teenager meets other marching band people, regardless of age. Especially if they also played clarinet, there's always that immediate recognition of a bond shared through experience- the late nights, the early mornings, the long bus rides, the hours of practice, the brutal August heat. What instrument do you play? I play clarinet. I DID, TOO! I once had to cancel a doctor's appointment for her because of a band conflict. When I told the scheduler the reason, her tone of voice changed from annoyed to complete understanding. Oh, my daughter was in band, too, she said. I completely get it. Don't worry about it. Let's see how we can work her in the schedule.
So even though I did my share (and probably more) of complaining about early morning drop-offs and late night pickups, having to get band pies delivered before they defrosted, and summers cut short by that August 1 band practice start date, I'm starting to feel a little sad about it all ending. I'm glad The Teenager was part of it, the triumphs, the challenges, the disappointments, the long days and the later nights, the muscle aches and the sweat, the frustration, the thrills, the camaraderie, the friendships. Even more than being glad, however, I'm thankful that she had the experience. I suspect she's going to miss it; I suspect that I will, too.
So what's the connection between Thanksgiving and marching band?
First, I have to say that marching band is, honestly, a pain in the butt, especially if you are a marching band parent and you have to get up at o'dark thirty because to be early is to be on time and to be on time is to be late. When band practice starts in August, your car starts smelling like a gym on wheels. You're always getting hit up to volunteer for things, pay for things, show up to things- hard when you're an introvert who really just wants to sit and read a book-and go purchase items at the last minute. August is off limits for that family summer vacation. You sit through football games you're not really interested in when the wind is blowing or the brutal heat is giving you a ferocious headache or the drizzling rain is falling not so gently from the sky because, hey, your kid is in the marching band and it's a darn good show, so pay attention, people! Go buy your nachos when the third quarter of the game starts!
But I am really thankful that my kid decided to become a band kid.
While our school's marching band season ended with football season, other bands in the area advanced to finals in marching contests. Those bands received kudos on Facebook and elsewhere, and I felt a twinge of Mom angst for the band kids in our high school's marching band, who had a great show and worked hard but didn't make it as far. For what it's worth, kids, I know you worked hard, and (not that I am any kind of expert on marching band shows) your show was fantastic.
I am really thankful that The Teenager found a niche in high school, a place where she felt that she belonged, a group that she could contribute to and, as she became a seasoned band veteran, practice some leadership skills. She took it seriously; marching band was not to be trifled with. Sometimes I felt parental annoyance at the long hours spent at a football game or contest when it meant that she'd be coming home to more homework completed in the early morning hours. Somehow, she made it work, although from a parent's point of view the expectations sometimes seemed unrealistic. It's a life lesson: the situation might not always be ideal, but if this is what you want, you will have to find a way to make it work. It's a parent lesson too: as the kids get older, it gets harder to determine when and when not to intervene in their lives. They're not the only ones going through a life transition.
As a not-marching band person, I always watch with interest mixed up with amusement and a dash of pride when The Teenager meets other marching band people, regardless of age. Especially if they also played clarinet, there's always that immediate recognition of a bond shared through experience- the late nights, the early mornings, the long bus rides, the hours of practice, the brutal August heat. What instrument do you play? I play clarinet. I DID, TOO! I once had to cancel a doctor's appointment for her because of a band conflict. When I told the scheduler the reason, her tone of voice changed from annoyed to complete understanding. Oh, my daughter was in band, too, she said. I completely get it. Don't worry about it. Let's see how we can work her in the schedule.
So even though I did my share (and probably more) of complaining about early morning drop-offs and late night pickups, having to get band pies delivered before they defrosted, and summers cut short by that August 1 band practice start date, I'm starting to feel a little sad about it all ending. I'm glad The Teenager was part of it, the triumphs, the challenges, the disappointments, the long days and the later nights, the muscle aches and the sweat, the frustration, the thrills, the camaraderie, the friendships. Even more than being glad, however, I'm thankful that she had the experience. I suspect she's going to miss it; I suspect that I will, too.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Change is Hard
Last week, the Mom of No's mobile device died.
It had been a lingering disaster in the making, as the battery life got shorter and shorter until finally the Smartphone of No was spending more time on the charger than off of it, and then finally it just decided that it was really just done with charging entirely. It was clear: the time had come to suck it up and get a new phone. Enforced change was coming.
Back in the ancient days Before Internet, one of the first things I had to do as a newly minted college graduate and contributor to society was set up phone and electricity accounts for my first grown-up apartment. This process involved making two phone calls and writing out two deposit checks. The big decision was whether or not I wanted call waiting. I probably could have gotten cable TV but since it was my own money being spent and I was feeling newly frugal, I decided I could probably live with the five free channels on offer.
Then cell phones and the Internet happened and "do you want call waiting?" turned into "iPhone or Android? Cable or satellite dish or some kind of internet related method that everyone (but you) seems to understand? How much data do you use per month? Do you stream videos? Do you want a hotspot for your house? How many devices do you have?".
Not only was I on some grandfathered data plan with my cell phone carrier, but I'd gotten an URGENT e-mail from our TV and internet provider informing me that our agreement with them was expiring and we needed to call IMMEDIATELY to find out what FANTASTIC deals we could get! Before the Dad of No and I could do that, we had to answer the bigger question, did we even want to stay with our current provider? The internet service had been OK, but the TV service, not so much. So what did we want to do? Cable? Satellite? Something about a "stick"? I made a sad attempt at research and gave up when I realized I was completely confused. I did what any self-respecting change-hater would do: I delegated the decision to the Dad of No under the premise that he watches more TV than I do, so he had more interest in the outcome.
Then all of a sudden I had this dying mobile phone, and I had to rapidly come to terms with the undisputable fact that more change was coming. I really just wanted the iPhone fairy to come to my house and slide a functioning phone under my pillow as I slept, kind of like the tooth fairy but for grownups, but that doesn't happen in real life, at least not to me.
The last time I'd gotten a new phone, the service provider had tried to talk me into a program in which you kept the phone for six months, and then you could get a new phone, but you didn't actually own the phone, so there was a "payment plan" added to the bill, but you could only get certain data plans if you signed up for this plan, and if you wanted to buy the phone then you had other data plans and they weren't as good as the first data plan, and after about five minutes I was really confused because no one actually would answer the most important question of all, which was, "How much is this actually going to cost? or the second most important question of all, which was "What happens when something happens to the not-paid for phone?".
But you can get an upgrade every SIX MONTHS! The representative kept telling me. Twice a year, you can have a NEW PHONE! I finally had to tell the enthusiastic young salesman that it takes me a year to figure out how to use the darn thing. The minute the words left my mouth I realized that was exactly something the Grandpa of No would say, which made me feel even older, because I really just wanted a phone that worked with a data plan I could understand and a price that made sense, and none of those things seemed to be happening for me. I know choice is supposed to be good but this was too much choice; I just wanted a phone!
So, feeling a sense of angst-ridden deja-vu, I ventured once again to the store of the mobile devices. As it turned out the process had been revised somewhat in the last five years so once we went through the whole thing of "Wow, this phone is a relic! I can't believe it was still working for you!" the whippersnapper saleslady was able to find me a plan with unlimited data and a discount on a TV plan that included the channel that has The Simpsons, all at a price I could live with, so I even managed to do the near impossible, which was to make everyone in the household happy at the same time.
Plus, now I have a phone that doesn't require a charge every five minutes, which I intend to keep for the next five years, because that is probably how long it will take me to figure out how it works.
It had been a lingering disaster in the making, as the battery life got shorter and shorter until finally the Smartphone of No was spending more time on the charger than off of it, and then finally it just decided that it was really just done with charging entirely. It was clear: the time had come to suck it up and get a new phone. Enforced change was coming.
Back in the ancient days Before Internet, one of the first things I had to do as a newly minted college graduate and contributor to society was set up phone and electricity accounts for my first grown-up apartment. This process involved making two phone calls and writing out two deposit checks. The big decision was whether or not I wanted call waiting. I probably could have gotten cable TV but since it was my own money being spent and I was feeling newly frugal, I decided I could probably live with the five free channels on offer.
Then cell phones and the Internet happened and "do you want call waiting?" turned into "iPhone or Android? Cable or satellite dish or some kind of internet related method that everyone (but you) seems to understand? How much data do you use per month? Do you stream videos? Do you want a hotspot for your house? How many devices do you have?".
Not only was I on some grandfathered data plan with my cell phone carrier, but I'd gotten an URGENT e-mail from our TV and internet provider informing me that our agreement with them was expiring and we needed to call IMMEDIATELY to find out what FANTASTIC deals we could get! Before the Dad of No and I could do that, we had to answer the bigger question, did we even want to stay with our current provider? The internet service had been OK, but the TV service, not so much. So what did we want to do? Cable? Satellite? Something about a "stick"? I made a sad attempt at research and gave up when I realized I was completely confused. I did what any self-respecting change-hater would do: I delegated the decision to the Dad of No under the premise that he watches more TV than I do, so he had more interest in the outcome.
Then all of a sudden I had this dying mobile phone, and I had to rapidly come to terms with the undisputable fact that more change was coming. I really just wanted the iPhone fairy to come to my house and slide a functioning phone under my pillow as I slept, kind of like the tooth fairy but for grownups, but that doesn't happen in real life, at least not to me.
The last time I'd gotten a new phone, the service provider had tried to talk me into a program in which you kept the phone for six months, and then you could get a new phone, but you didn't actually own the phone, so there was a "payment plan" added to the bill, but you could only get certain data plans if you signed up for this plan, and if you wanted to buy the phone then you had other data plans and they weren't as good as the first data plan, and after about five minutes I was really confused because no one actually would answer the most important question of all, which was, "How much is this actually going to cost? or the second most important question of all, which was "What happens when something happens to the not-paid for phone?".
But you can get an upgrade every SIX MONTHS! The representative kept telling me. Twice a year, you can have a NEW PHONE! I finally had to tell the enthusiastic young salesman that it takes me a year to figure out how to use the darn thing. The minute the words left my mouth I realized that was exactly something the Grandpa of No would say, which made me feel even older, because I really just wanted a phone that worked with a data plan I could understand and a price that made sense, and none of those things seemed to be happening for me. I know choice is supposed to be good but this was too much choice; I just wanted a phone!
So, feeling a sense of angst-ridden deja-vu, I ventured once again to the store of the mobile devices. As it turned out the process had been revised somewhat in the last five years so once we went through the whole thing of "Wow, this phone is a relic! I can't believe it was still working for you!" the whippersnapper saleslady was able to find me a plan with unlimited data and a discount on a TV plan that included the channel that has The Simpsons, all at a price I could live with, so I even managed to do the near impossible, which was to make everyone in the household happy at the same time.
Plus, now I have a phone that doesn't require a charge every five minutes, which I intend to keep for the next five years, because that is probably how long it will take me to figure out how it works.
Monday, October 23, 2017
Face to Face
Lately, I've been pondering my relationship with Facebook.
At first, Facebook seems like an introvert's dream. I can keep up with my friends without having to talk to them on the phone. Facebook and smartphones were made for people like me.
Sometimes, however, it seems like Facebook causes more problems than it's worth.
People have different expectations of Facebook interactions. Some people use it to promote their small business; others use it to share photos of their adorable offspring or of their teenagers rolling their eyes on the first day of school. Sometimes people sign up for Facebook with an expectation that it will be a great way to discuss deep philosophical issues with a wider audience, or that it will be like meeting up with friends at the local coffee shop for lively discussion without actually having to put on socially appropriate garments and leaving the house. Some people sign up for an account to spy on their teenagers and then find out that teenagers don't really seem to use Facebook, so they never log in. Some people use it as a platform to express their political views. Many people probably use it for some combination of most of the above.
The Mom of No uses Facebook to post great nature photos taken at her local nature preserve, the occasional snarky commentary on current political issues, and as a resource to remember things like where the local breakfast club is meeting. I feel like I should warn people when they send me a friend request: I post a lot of snake photos (and other weird nature stuff), and I have a really weird sense of humor. Proceed at your own risk.
Often, Facebook seems like one big giant 21st century etiquette minefield. What is the appropriate rule for friending certain people, like your new boss or your child's teacher? If someone starts annoying you on a regular basis, should you unfollow them or unfriend them? If you unfollow them, what should you say when, several weeks later, they ask if you saw something they posted on their page? How should you act when someone unfriends you and then you see them a week later? If someone takes a screen shot of a conversation you've had with them on Messenger and posts it for public consumption, what is the best way to handle that? Facebook etiquette goes way beyond the "Say please and thank you and write thank you notes" that I learned as a kid.
And the potential for misunderstandings- that's bigger than the Son of Never Stops Eating's appetite right after an hour-long swim practice.
I like using Facebook. I'm definitely not considering giving it up entirely. Lately, however, I've started to feel like the care and feeding of my Facebook life is taking over my real life, and I'm not quite sure how to proceed. Facebook seems to be so embedded in 21st century American life that, although I know there are people who survive (probably quite well) without any social media accounts, I don't think I could do it. I like seeing people post about books they've read, or their cool nature finds, or videos of the marching band show. I am good friends with people I might not have met if I had not been on Facebook.
Sometimes, however, it's hard to walk away from something on Facebook that would probably be better off left alone. I have spent hours mulling over a controversial or pot-stirring post, mentally composing a great response in my head (and those responses always sounds better in my head than it reads when typed out). In the last few months, I've started getting a strong feeling that this is probably time that would be better spent doing other things. Perhaps it's because I'm about to have a birthday and, as happens every year, I'm in somewhat of a funk about what I'm doing with my life and wondering if I've somehow missed accomplishing some big thing because of all the time I've spent on Facebook.
So, I've decided to make a conscious effort to spend less time online and more time doing other things, like reading more books, or trying to learn how to use the camera I got a year ago instead of just using the auto function for everything, or actually talking to people. Yesterday, I spent some time trying out a ginger cookie recipe I saw in a magazine. That is a whole other story for another day, but I will say that when I looked at the cookie photo, I thought I was going to be getting a big cookie and what I got was the size of a quarter. Instead of eating one cookie (okay, two) I have to eat five (okay, ten).
I'll still be on Facebook, however, just not as much. Someone has to post great photographs of snakes found during nature hikes. You never know, there might be a cookie review or two to share at some point. I am the Mom of Cookies Should be Bigger Than A Quarter.
At first, Facebook seems like an introvert's dream. I can keep up with my friends without having to talk to them on the phone. Facebook and smartphones were made for people like me.
Sometimes, however, it seems like Facebook causes more problems than it's worth.
People have different expectations of Facebook interactions. Some people use it to promote their small business; others use it to share photos of their adorable offspring or of their teenagers rolling their eyes on the first day of school. Sometimes people sign up for Facebook with an expectation that it will be a great way to discuss deep philosophical issues with a wider audience, or that it will be like meeting up with friends at the local coffee shop for lively discussion without actually having to put on socially appropriate garments and leaving the house. Some people sign up for an account to spy on their teenagers and then find out that teenagers don't really seem to use Facebook, so they never log in. Some people use it as a platform to express their political views. Many people probably use it for some combination of most of the above.
The Mom of No uses Facebook to post great nature photos taken at her local nature preserve, the occasional snarky commentary on current political issues, and as a resource to remember things like where the local breakfast club is meeting. I feel like I should warn people when they send me a friend request: I post a lot of snake photos (and other weird nature stuff), and I have a really weird sense of humor. Proceed at your own risk.
Often, Facebook seems like one big giant 21st century etiquette minefield. What is the appropriate rule for friending certain people, like your new boss or your child's teacher? If someone starts annoying you on a regular basis, should you unfollow them or unfriend them? If you unfollow them, what should you say when, several weeks later, they ask if you saw something they posted on their page? How should you act when someone unfriends you and then you see them a week later? If someone takes a screen shot of a conversation you've had with them on Messenger and posts it for public consumption, what is the best way to handle that? Facebook etiquette goes way beyond the "Say please and thank you and write thank you notes" that I learned as a kid.
And the potential for misunderstandings- that's bigger than the Son of Never Stops Eating's appetite right after an hour-long swim practice.
I like using Facebook. I'm definitely not considering giving it up entirely. Lately, however, I've started to feel like the care and feeding of my Facebook life is taking over my real life, and I'm not quite sure how to proceed. Facebook seems to be so embedded in 21st century American life that, although I know there are people who survive (probably quite well) without any social media accounts, I don't think I could do it. I like seeing people post about books they've read, or their cool nature finds, or videos of the marching band show. I am good friends with people I might not have met if I had not been on Facebook.
Sometimes, however, it's hard to walk away from something on Facebook that would probably be better off left alone. I have spent hours mulling over a controversial or pot-stirring post, mentally composing a great response in my head (and those responses always sounds better in my head than it reads when typed out). In the last few months, I've started getting a strong feeling that this is probably time that would be better spent doing other things. Perhaps it's because I'm about to have a birthday and, as happens every year, I'm in somewhat of a funk about what I'm doing with my life and wondering if I've somehow missed accomplishing some big thing because of all the time I've spent on Facebook.
So, I've decided to make a conscious effort to spend less time online and more time doing other things, like reading more books, or trying to learn how to use the camera I got a year ago instead of just using the auto function for everything, or actually talking to people. Yesterday, I spent some time trying out a ginger cookie recipe I saw in a magazine. That is a whole other story for another day, but I will say that when I looked at the cookie photo, I thought I was going to be getting a big cookie and what I got was the size of a quarter. Instead of eating one cookie (okay, two) I have to eat five (okay, ten).
I'll still be on Facebook, however, just not as much. Someone has to post great photographs of snakes found during nature hikes. You never know, there might be a cookie review or two to share at some point. I am the Mom of Cookies Should be Bigger Than A Quarter.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
Home Alone
This past weekend, I was faced with a situation I have rarely encountered since becoming a mom seventeen years ago. The Son of Never Stops Eating and the Dad of No were going to the state Special Olympics swim meet, and the Teenager was going to a band competition that was being held several hours away.
I was going to be home by myself.
This hardly ever happens to me. Several years ago, the Dad of No decided to take the kids to visit his parents, who lived in another state at the time, and I was going to be home alone for three entire days. The morning after they left, I ended up in the ER with abdominal pain which required the removal of my gallbladder to resolve. Instead of being home by myself for three days of introvert heaven, I ended up in the hospital. That was not what I had planned at all.
Also, it turned out the anesthesiologist didn't accept my insurance. That's a whole other story.
This time, I told myself, no hospital. I was going to enjoy the quiet solitude. No one would be complaining about how there wasn't any chocolate milk in the refrigerator, or asking me if I wanted to watch Simpsons videos on the iPad. I could read a book, work on my iNaturalist observations, and eat what I wanted when I wanted. I could go to the grocery store without ravenous teenagers lobbying for snacks with no actual nutritional value. I was going to get a small taste of what being an empty nester is going to be like. It was going to be awesome.
My first home alone project was to declutter the teenagers' rooms. This project required me to confront the reality that both of my kids have hoarder tendencies. One has enough Legos to stock a large toy store, and the other has enough books to open up her own library. This creates an interesting parental dilemma- it seems wrong to say that your kid has too many books. You can never have too many books, except perhaps when you have a small house with minimal shelving space.
I have no idea what she plans to do with these books when she goes off to college, but, after years of encouraging good reading habits, I just don't think I can utter the words "Stop buying books!". Yes, I know, an e-reader would be the perfect solution, but there's just something wonderful about hard-copy books that a digital reader can't duplicate. I think I'm just going to have to accept that there are going to be piles of books in that room for awhile.
I also realized that I wasn't the only one in the house that was used to having other people around. The dog started giving me baleful looks, and then I realized that she wanted her walks. That's usually the Son of Never Stops Eating's job, but he wasn't there. Every time I looked at that mutt, she'd look back at me with that expression that says "I am NOT getting enough attention here! Step it up!".
That dog sulked the entire weekend. Clearly, even though she was getting her walks, I was not providing the high level of service that she is used to. Every now and then she'd look over at the garage door, expecting her real attention-giver to walk through the door at any minute to rectify the horrible situation she found herself in. I was, evidently, a poor substitute.
At least the hamster seemed okay with the situation.
It was really quiet. It was too quiet. I started to miss my family.
Actually, that's not entirely true. I was really enjoying the quiet. I was getting periodic updates from the Dad of No on the Son of Never Stops Eating's swimming successes. I was following the band on Facebook and e-mail updates. I felt like I was still in the loop while reaping all the benefits of solitude. But the house was making weird sounds, and the dog was being judgmental about my dog-walking skills, and the dishwasher wasn't emptying itself. Finally, the Teenager came home from her band trip, and I was no longer alone.
I'm not sure I'm ready for empty-nesting just yet; the family mutt clearly isn't. But I did the grocery shopping three days ago and we still have food, so the weekend did have some benefits.
I was going to be home by myself.
This hardly ever happens to me. Several years ago, the Dad of No decided to take the kids to visit his parents, who lived in another state at the time, and I was going to be home alone for three entire days. The morning after they left, I ended up in the ER with abdominal pain which required the removal of my gallbladder to resolve. Instead of being home by myself for three days of introvert heaven, I ended up in the hospital. That was not what I had planned at all.
Also, it turned out the anesthesiologist didn't accept my insurance. That's a whole other story.
This time, I told myself, no hospital. I was going to enjoy the quiet solitude. No one would be complaining about how there wasn't any chocolate milk in the refrigerator, or asking me if I wanted to watch Simpsons videos on the iPad. I could read a book, work on my iNaturalist observations, and eat what I wanted when I wanted. I could go to the grocery store without ravenous teenagers lobbying for snacks with no actual nutritional value. I was going to get a small taste of what being an empty nester is going to be like. It was going to be awesome.
My first home alone project was to declutter the teenagers' rooms. This project required me to confront the reality that both of my kids have hoarder tendencies. One has enough Legos to stock a large toy store, and the other has enough books to open up her own library. This creates an interesting parental dilemma- it seems wrong to say that your kid has too many books. You can never have too many books, except perhaps when you have a small house with minimal shelving space.
I have no idea what she plans to do with these books when she goes off to college, but, after years of encouraging good reading habits, I just don't think I can utter the words "Stop buying books!". Yes, I know, an e-reader would be the perfect solution, but there's just something wonderful about hard-copy books that a digital reader can't duplicate. I think I'm just going to have to accept that there are going to be piles of books in that room for awhile.
I also realized that I wasn't the only one in the house that was used to having other people around. The dog started giving me baleful looks, and then I realized that she wanted her walks. That's usually the Son of Never Stops Eating's job, but he wasn't there. Every time I looked at that mutt, she'd look back at me with that expression that says "I am NOT getting enough attention here! Step it up!".
That dog sulked the entire weekend. Clearly, even though she was getting her walks, I was not providing the high level of service that she is used to. Every now and then she'd look over at the garage door, expecting her real attention-giver to walk through the door at any minute to rectify the horrible situation she found herself in. I was, evidently, a poor substitute.
At least the hamster seemed okay with the situation.
It was really quiet. It was too quiet. I started to miss my family.
Actually, that's not entirely true. I was really enjoying the quiet. I was getting periodic updates from the Dad of No on the Son of Never Stops Eating's swimming successes. I was following the band on Facebook and e-mail updates. I felt like I was still in the loop while reaping all the benefits of solitude. But the house was making weird sounds, and the dog was being judgmental about my dog-walking skills, and the dishwasher wasn't emptying itself. Finally, the Teenager came home from her band trip, and I was no longer alone.
I'm not sure I'm ready for empty-nesting just yet; the family mutt clearly isn't. But I did the grocery shopping three days ago and we still have food, so the weekend did have some benefits.
Sunday, October 8, 2017
Speaking Up
A few weeks ago, the Son of Never Stops Eating started complaining about the sidewalks around our house. He'd tripped on the pavement while walking the family mutt. He came home and pointed out his skinned knee and indignantly informed the Dad of No and I that someone needed to fix the sidewalks because it was hard to ride his scooter and walk the dog.
Don't complain to me, I told him. I'm your mother, not the sidewalk repair fairy. You need to complain to the city. They're the ones responsible for repairing sidewalks.
How do I do that? he asked me. I suppose I could have done it for him via e-mail, but at that moment I realized that I was being presented with a valuable Mom Teaching Opportunity.
It's interesting to ask people what personal skills or qualities they think are most important for children to learn. Often, people will say kindness, resilience, independence, inclusion, how to stand up to bullying, or how to handle adversity. All of these are good and important. As a parent of a young man with a developmental disability, I think one of the most essential skills I need to teach him is self-advocacy. It's important for all kids to learn this, but it's especially important for my son to learn how to speak up for himself, especially as he approaches adulthood. One day his mother won't be around to watch out for him, and he'll need to make his needs and wants known in a world that isn't always willing to listen.
I suggested to him that he go to the next City Council meeting and tell them about the sidewalks. Public speaking is something that makes a lot of people nervous, so I expected him to turn my suggestion down flat. But he surprised me by expressing a desire to do exactly that.
OK, I told him. You'll need to work on a speech. You only have a few minutes so you have to get to the point. You can't ramble or talk about Legos or The Simpsons, and you have to make sure you wear a clean shirt.
I know what to do, Mom! You don't have to tell me everything! he told me, in his best exasperated adolescent voice. I even got an eye roll.
I thought he'd probably forget about my suggestion, but when I reminded him a few weeks later that the council meeting was coming up, it turned out that he'd been practicing at school and that he had a speech all prepared, which he recited for me. He was really serious about his sidewalk cause.
Do you think there will be a lot of people there? he asked me. I told him I didn't know, and asked him if a crowd would make him not want to speak. No, he told me. I still want to do it. Even if there are a lot of people.
We went to the meeting, filled out a speaker card, and he waited patiently for his turn as we watched our city government at work. When his name was called, he went up to the podium, said what he'd come to say, and sat back down. A city employee came over and talked to us about the area of concern. I asked the Son of Never Stops Eating how he felt now that his speech was finished, and he told me he felt like he'd done a good job and that he was happy it was over.
I was full of Mom Pride. I recalled to myself that when he was a toddler, he barely spoke. It wasn't until after he started public preschool and began getting speech therapy that he began to talk. Now here he was, several years later, voluntarily speaking in public to a room full of people about something he was concerned about. He was learning that he has the right to speak up for himself, and to have his concerns heard. It was a very important learning experience for him.
I actually suspect he might have enjoyed it just a bit. I wouldn't be completely surprised if he decides to take up another cause dear to his heart: more Legos for the library, a 24 hour Simpsons cartoon watching marathon in the town plaza, or a later start to the school day so that he can sleep in. Watch out, world- here he comes.
Don't complain to me, I told him. I'm your mother, not the sidewalk repair fairy. You need to complain to the city. They're the ones responsible for repairing sidewalks.
How do I do that? he asked me. I suppose I could have done it for him via e-mail, but at that moment I realized that I was being presented with a valuable Mom Teaching Opportunity.
It's interesting to ask people what personal skills or qualities they think are most important for children to learn. Often, people will say kindness, resilience, independence, inclusion, how to stand up to bullying, or how to handle adversity. All of these are good and important. As a parent of a young man with a developmental disability, I think one of the most essential skills I need to teach him is self-advocacy. It's important for all kids to learn this, but it's especially important for my son to learn how to speak up for himself, especially as he approaches adulthood. One day his mother won't be around to watch out for him, and he'll need to make his needs and wants known in a world that isn't always willing to listen.
I suggested to him that he go to the next City Council meeting and tell them about the sidewalks. Public speaking is something that makes a lot of people nervous, so I expected him to turn my suggestion down flat. But he surprised me by expressing a desire to do exactly that.
OK, I told him. You'll need to work on a speech. You only have a few minutes so you have to get to the point. You can't ramble or talk about Legos or The Simpsons, and you have to make sure you wear a clean shirt.
I know what to do, Mom! You don't have to tell me everything! he told me, in his best exasperated adolescent voice. I even got an eye roll.
I thought he'd probably forget about my suggestion, but when I reminded him a few weeks later that the council meeting was coming up, it turned out that he'd been practicing at school and that he had a speech all prepared, which he recited for me. He was really serious about his sidewalk cause.
Do you think there will be a lot of people there? he asked me. I told him I didn't know, and asked him if a crowd would make him not want to speak. No, he told me. I still want to do it. Even if there are a lot of people.
We went to the meeting, filled out a speaker card, and he waited patiently for his turn as we watched our city government at work. When his name was called, he went up to the podium, said what he'd come to say, and sat back down. A city employee came over and talked to us about the area of concern. I asked the Son of Never Stops Eating how he felt now that his speech was finished, and he told me he felt like he'd done a good job and that he was happy it was over.
I was full of Mom Pride. I recalled to myself that when he was a toddler, he barely spoke. It wasn't until after he started public preschool and began getting speech therapy that he began to talk. Now here he was, several years later, voluntarily speaking in public to a room full of people about something he was concerned about. He was learning that he has the right to speak up for himself, and to have his concerns heard. It was a very important learning experience for him.
I actually suspect he might have enjoyed it just a bit. I wouldn't be completely surprised if he decides to take up another cause dear to his heart: more Legos for the library, a 24 hour Simpsons cartoon watching marathon in the town plaza, or a later start to the school day so that he can sleep in. Watch out, world- here he comes.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Looking Younger Every Day
Last week was not the best week for the Mom of No- it could have been worse, of course, but it was not a sparkling diamond in the crown of 2017. For the first four days of the week, I was home sick with some nasty respiratory crud which resulted in a horrible cough that could probably be heard for miles around my abode. Finally, last Thursday, I felt well enough to venture from home and go to work.
As I sat at the kitchen table, eating my usual toasted raisin and cinnamon English muffin for breakfast, I felt something crunchy moving around in my mouth. That's odd, I thought; these muffins are usually rather soft. Maybe part of the crust was a little extra-toasted. My brain still wasn't functioning at its optimal speed, so it took a few seconds for the message to get from my tongue to my brain: that crunchy bit wasn't English muffin. That was part of a lower front tooth.
Awww, crap, I thought. Just what I need.
I was informed by the dentist's office that they had an available appointment at 3 PM, which I gladly took. My brain was working rapidly on producing extreme dental scenarios in which the rest of the tooth broke off at some point before dental rescue could take place, initiating much uncomfortable and expensive dental work. As far as I was concerned-and I am no fan of going to the dentist- 3 PM couldn't come fast enough.
Finally, after a day of obsessing over the hole in my tooth, I was in the dental chair being prepped by the assistant. While we were talking, a young man walked in, greeted me, said he'd be back in a minute, and walked out.
Who's that? I asked the dental assistant, thinking to myself that whoever that young man is, he looks like he's in high school.
That's the new dentist, she said. He's going to come back in a minute and look at your tooth.
I was taught as a kid that it is rude to ask about how old people are, but I really had to know, and the Grandma of No wasn't around to give me a Mom Look. I turned around and looked at the assistant and asked her. I think he's 28, she said. He really does look young.
Yes. I am old enough to be my dentist's mother. Even more than having a daughter about to graduate from high school or a son who is six inches taller than I am, that makes me feel like I am getting old. The entire time he was working on my poor busted front tooth, my brain abandoned the "worst case dental scenario" thought process and started working on "This guy is a dentist and he is young enough to be your son and that is really giving me some angst".
I probably need to start getting used to it, because sometimes the new employees at work look really young to me, and then I find out that they were born two years after I graduated from college and I'll think, hey, young whippersnapper, I've been working longer than you've been alive. Or I'll say something about the Soviet Union, or that a certain 80's song was the theme of my high school class, or that I had to type college papers on a typewriter, and I start suspecting that the other person, who was probably born after I got my first e-mail address, is thinking, wow, this woman is practically ancient history.
The Son of Never Stops Eating, who is currently obsessed with The Simpsons, asked me several months ago if I had ever seen The Simpsons. Sure, I told him. I used to watch that show when I was in college.
Wow, Mom, he said, sounding impressed and awed. You're older than Homer Simpson!
Yes. I'm older than Homer Simpson, I remember life before the Internet, and I'm old enough to be my dentist's mother, but hopefully I still got a lot of good years left in me.
As I sat at the kitchen table, eating my usual toasted raisin and cinnamon English muffin for breakfast, I felt something crunchy moving around in my mouth. That's odd, I thought; these muffins are usually rather soft. Maybe part of the crust was a little extra-toasted. My brain still wasn't functioning at its optimal speed, so it took a few seconds for the message to get from my tongue to my brain: that crunchy bit wasn't English muffin. That was part of a lower front tooth.
Awww, crap, I thought. Just what I need.
I was informed by the dentist's office that they had an available appointment at 3 PM, which I gladly took. My brain was working rapidly on producing extreme dental scenarios in which the rest of the tooth broke off at some point before dental rescue could take place, initiating much uncomfortable and expensive dental work. As far as I was concerned-and I am no fan of going to the dentist- 3 PM couldn't come fast enough.
Finally, after a day of obsessing over the hole in my tooth, I was in the dental chair being prepped by the assistant. While we were talking, a young man walked in, greeted me, said he'd be back in a minute, and walked out.
Who's that? I asked the dental assistant, thinking to myself that whoever that young man is, he looks like he's in high school.
That's the new dentist, she said. He's going to come back in a minute and look at your tooth.
I was taught as a kid that it is rude to ask about how old people are, but I really had to know, and the Grandma of No wasn't around to give me a Mom Look. I turned around and looked at the assistant and asked her. I think he's 28, she said. He really does look young.
Yes. I am old enough to be my dentist's mother. Even more than having a daughter about to graduate from high school or a son who is six inches taller than I am, that makes me feel like I am getting old. The entire time he was working on my poor busted front tooth, my brain abandoned the "worst case dental scenario" thought process and started working on "This guy is a dentist and he is young enough to be your son and that is really giving me some angst".
I probably need to start getting used to it, because sometimes the new employees at work look really young to me, and then I find out that they were born two years after I graduated from college and I'll think, hey, young whippersnapper, I've been working longer than you've been alive. Or I'll say something about the Soviet Union, or that a certain 80's song was the theme of my high school class, or that I had to type college papers on a typewriter, and I start suspecting that the other person, who was probably born after I got my first e-mail address, is thinking, wow, this woman is practically ancient history.
The Son of Never Stops Eating, who is currently obsessed with The Simpsons, asked me several months ago if I had ever seen The Simpsons. Sure, I told him. I used to watch that show when I was in college.
Wow, Mom, he said, sounding impressed and awed. You're older than Homer Simpson!
Yes. I'm older than Homer Simpson, I remember life before the Internet, and I'm old enough to be my dentist's mother, but hopefully I still got a lot of good years left in me.
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Welcome to Adulting
The other day I was in the car with one of the offspring, and I was asked, Mom, what did you do at work all day?
Paperwork. I did paperwork.
Apparently I use this answer a lot as a response to inquiries about how my day went, because the questioner (I'm pretty sure it was the Son of Never Stops Eating, so we'll go with that) responded with, Mom! That's all adults do! Paperwork!
Yes, I am the Mom of Ceaselessly Filling Out Paperwork.
Actually, that's not entirely accurate. Adults do other things, too: We stand in lines to submit paperwork. We sit on hold to ask questions about paperwork. We go online to figure out how to fill out paperwork. We search through old documents to find birth certificates and old social security cards to provide supplemental evidence for paperwork. We gasp in horror when we attempt to fill in paperwork on the internet and the computer gives us the blue screen of death just before we press the "submit" button. We sit in meetings that generate lots of paperwork. Other people send us paperwork that stacks up on kitchen counters, unread, until we really need to know what our homeowner's insurance policy really says.
I have filing cabinets full of paperwork that may or may not be important but that I'm afraid to get rid of because you never know, right? Special education moms are paperwork magnets.
The Teenager is in the midst of the 21st century version of paperwork right now, filling out online college applications and applying for scholarships. The other day I applied for my very own FAFSA ID number so I could participate in filling out the very important FAFSA paperwork in October. I suspect that all this paperwork, and the prospect of still more paperwork to come, is causing the Teenager some stress.
Welcome to adulthood, kid. I feel your suffering.
Sometimes when we're in overly stressful situations it's tempting to think that once you have lived through the challenging situation you find yourself in, life will become easier- once you finish high school and know what's next, whether it's college or the military or vocational school or a job, then life will be less stressful. Then you start college, get married, buy a house, have a baby, get a new job that throws you some learning curves, or encounter any number of adulthood challenges and you start thinking, OK, I only have to get past this and everything will be great!
When I was the exhausted mother of young children, sometimes I'd look at families with older kids and think, "once my kids get to be that old, life will be so much easier!". Then I became the mom with the older kids, and I realized that older kids come with their own challenges, so it wasn't really any easier; it was just different.
So, in the last few remaining months that I have to impart my Mom wisdom to the Teenager before she becomes the Young Adult and moves out and away from my constant influence and nagging, one lesson I can offer is this: learning healthy ways to manage stress is one of the best things that you can do for yourself. Parents can stress you out. School work can stress you out. Thinking about the future can stress you out. Financial stuff can stress you out. Relationships can stress you out. However, you are the one responsible for how you respond to that stress, because there will always be something or someone that is giving you stress.
Managing stress is not an easy skill to master; I still let stress get the best of me at times and I'm practically eligible for AARP membership. I find that taking lots of hikes in the woods and nature photography helps me manage stress; other people take yoga or martial arts or sing in bands or take painting classes or run; different methods work for different people. The important thing is to find something that works for you and to make that thing a priority.
It won't get any easier from here; sometimes life will go smoothly and sometimes it won't, but there will almost always be something giving you stress, unless you are extraordinarily lucky or you're one of those few people who are immune to stress. You'll find out if you are one of those people sometime next spring, when you get to fill out your first income tax return.
If that thought is already stressing you out, then welcome to adulthood. If it makes you feel any better, the rest of us are right there with you.
Paperwork. I did paperwork.
Apparently I use this answer a lot as a response to inquiries about how my day went, because the questioner (I'm pretty sure it was the Son of Never Stops Eating, so we'll go with that) responded with, Mom! That's all adults do! Paperwork!
Yes, I am the Mom of Ceaselessly Filling Out Paperwork.
Actually, that's not entirely accurate. Adults do other things, too: We stand in lines to submit paperwork. We sit on hold to ask questions about paperwork. We go online to figure out how to fill out paperwork. We search through old documents to find birth certificates and old social security cards to provide supplemental evidence for paperwork. We gasp in horror when we attempt to fill in paperwork on the internet and the computer gives us the blue screen of death just before we press the "submit" button. We sit in meetings that generate lots of paperwork. Other people send us paperwork that stacks up on kitchen counters, unread, until we really need to know what our homeowner's insurance policy really says.
I have filing cabinets full of paperwork that may or may not be important but that I'm afraid to get rid of because you never know, right? Special education moms are paperwork magnets.
The Teenager is in the midst of the 21st century version of paperwork right now, filling out online college applications and applying for scholarships. The other day I applied for my very own FAFSA ID number so I could participate in filling out the very important FAFSA paperwork in October. I suspect that all this paperwork, and the prospect of still more paperwork to come, is causing the Teenager some stress.
Welcome to adulthood, kid. I feel your suffering.
Sometimes when we're in overly stressful situations it's tempting to think that once you have lived through the challenging situation you find yourself in, life will become easier- once you finish high school and know what's next, whether it's college or the military or vocational school or a job, then life will be less stressful. Then you start college, get married, buy a house, have a baby, get a new job that throws you some learning curves, or encounter any number of adulthood challenges and you start thinking, OK, I only have to get past this and everything will be great!
When I was the exhausted mother of young children, sometimes I'd look at families with older kids and think, "once my kids get to be that old, life will be so much easier!". Then I became the mom with the older kids, and I realized that older kids come with their own challenges, so it wasn't really any easier; it was just different.
So, in the last few remaining months that I have to impart my Mom wisdom to the Teenager before she becomes the Young Adult and moves out and away from my constant influence and nagging, one lesson I can offer is this: learning healthy ways to manage stress is one of the best things that you can do for yourself. Parents can stress you out. School work can stress you out. Thinking about the future can stress you out. Financial stuff can stress you out. Relationships can stress you out. However, you are the one responsible for how you respond to that stress, because there will always be something or someone that is giving you stress.
Managing stress is not an easy skill to master; I still let stress get the best of me at times and I'm practically eligible for AARP membership. I find that taking lots of hikes in the woods and nature photography helps me manage stress; other people take yoga or martial arts or sing in bands or take painting classes or run; different methods work for different people. The important thing is to find something that works for you and to make that thing a priority.
It won't get any easier from here; sometimes life will go smoothly and sometimes it won't, but there will almost always be something giving you stress, unless you are extraordinarily lucky or you're one of those few people who are immune to stress. You'll find out if you are one of those people sometime next spring, when you get to fill out your first income tax return.
If that thought is already stressing you out, then welcome to adulthood. If it makes you feel any better, the rest of us are right there with you.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
The Frugal Package
A few days ago, I was sitting at the kitchen table sorting through a week's worth of household paperwork. The Teenager walked into the kitchen and dropped a thick envelope on the table.
We had an assembly about ordering our caps and gowns this week, she told me. Here's the information.
Ordering a cap and gown for a high school graduation seems like it should be a straightforward procedure. You don't have to select colors, or styles; just fill out a form and send money. I had a brief weepy Mom moment during which I mentally reminisced about the first baby outfit I bought the Teenager, when she was still in utero. It was an adorable little Winnie-the-Pooh onesie with a matching hat. Now, here I was buying her graduation cap and gown.
I opened the envelope. That the outside of the envelope informed me that payment plans were available should have been a warning. If you have been through this process before and you tried to enlighten me to what lay ahead, I'm sorry; I didn't pay close enough attention. If you have yet to go through this experience, I'm telling you now. Nothing related to high school graduation is easy. It's almost like planning a wedding except you don't have to have awkward dinners with the prospective in-laws. Instead of Bridezilla, however, the star of the show is a teenager stressed out about college applications and schoolwork.
Inside the envelope. I found several glossy brochures and sheets of paper. I had many, many choices. I could order announcements, class jewelry, T-shirts, photo cards, hoodies, key chains, plaques. To make my life easier, I was given the option of ordering the "school mascot package", which included everything that would make your graduating adolescent's dreams come true (except a new car) and came with a price tag to match. I sorted through the paperwork, looking for what I needed to complete this process. I was looking for the "Frugal Package"; the one that included the required cap and gown and the minimum number of official graduation announcements.
Such a thing did not seem to exist.
One of my pet peeves is going to buy something and then finding out that I can't just buy the item I want and leave; I have to deal with the sales pitches for the "extra stuff"- the insurance, the maintenance packages, the added features. When I tell the salesperson I don't want to add anything to my purchase, the more skilled among them have this amazing ability to make me feel like if I don't buy the extra stuff, I am making a colossal error in judgment that I will regret as soon as I walk out the door.
The last time I flew on an airplane, I used the self-check in, and the computer tried to upsell me on an aisle seat instead of the middle seat, for an additional $25. No, really, I told the computer, I just want to get on the plane. When I bought my car, the salesman waited until I practically had the keys in my hands and then said "You will want to buy one of our extended warranty packages for your new car!". No, really, I just want to drive that car off the lot. When I bought a new washing machine, the cashier's final question was "Shall I add the extended service package?" No! I just want to go home!
This graduation year is one long process of being asked to buy a lot of extra stuff. I'm trying to be zen about it but I'll admit that my attitude about it might not be the most chipper on occasion.
So here I was, looking through the glossy brochures for class jewelry, and fancy photo announcements, and Class of 2018 key chains and personalized address labels (I definitely don't need that; I have a ton of those from every charity I've ever donated to) seeking the information I needed: how to order one cap and gown set. I might have been vocalizing my frustration a bit; the other human members of the household seemed to have disappeared, the dog had sought refuge under the coffee table, and the hamster was hiding under her wheel.
Finally, after I put my reading glasses on and flipped the order form to the back, my persistence paid off! I found the cap and gown line item in small print on the bottom of the order form. Success! I had found the Frugal Package, for the low price of $29.99. After a brief internal debate, I added 25 graduation announcements to the order. The Dad of No and I come from small families, so I don't actually need 25 announcements; I'll probably just randomly send out the extras to my friends. If you are selected to receive an announcement, there's no obligation to send anything. I just suspect it will be easier for you to throw it out than it will be for me to do it.
I had been hoping that in three years, I would be able to use the same cap and gown for the Son of Never Stops Eating, but I don't think that is going to work; not only is he much taller than his older sister but I'm informed that the dye lots change so you have to order a new set of graduation regalia for every child. At least now I know, however, where to find what I'm looking for on the cap and gown ordering form.
We had an assembly about ordering our caps and gowns this week, she told me. Here's the information.
Ordering a cap and gown for a high school graduation seems like it should be a straightforward procedure. You don't have to select colors, or styles; just fill out a form and send money. I had a brief weepy Mom moment during which I mentally reminisced about the first baby outfit I bought the Teenager, when she was still in utero. It was an adorable little Winnie-the-Pooh onesie with a matching hat. Now, here I was buying her graduation cap and gown.
I opened the envelope. That the outside of the envelope informed me that payment plans were available should have been a warning. If you have been through this process before and you tried to enlighten me to what lay ahead, I'm sorry; I didn't pay close enough attention. If you have yet to go through this experience, I'm telling you now. Nothing related to high school graduation is easy. It's almost like planning a wedding except you don't have to have awkward dinners with the prospective in-laws. Instead of Bridezilla, however, the star of the show is a teenager stressed out about college applications and schoolwork.
Inside the envelope. I found several glossy brochures and sheets of paper. I had many, many choices. I could order announcements, class jewelry, T-shirts, photo cards, hoodies, key chains, plaques. To make my life easier, I was given the option of ordering the "school mascot package", which included everything that would make your graduating adolescent's dreams come true (except a new car) and came with a price tag to match. I sorted through the paperwork, looking for what I needed to complete this process. I was looking for the "Frugal Package"; the one that included the required cap and gown and the minimum number of official graduation announcements.
Such a thing did not seem to exist.
One of my pet peeves is going to buy something and then finding out that I can't just buy the item I want and leave; I have to deal with the sales pitches for the "extra stuff"- the insurance, the maintenance packages, the added features. When I tell the salesperson I don't want to add anything to my purchase, the more skilled among them have this amazing ability to make me feel like if I don't buy the extra stuff, I am making a colossal error in judgment that I will regret as soon as I walk out the door.
The last time I flew on an airplane, I used the self-check in, and the computer tried to upsell me on an aisle seat instead of the middle seat, for an additional $25. No, really, I told the computer, I just want to get on the plane. When I bought my car, the salesman waited until I practically had the keys in my hands and then said "You will want to buy one of our extended warranty packages for your new car!". No, really, I just want to drive that car off the lot. When I bought a new washing machine, the cashier's final question was "Shall I add the extended service package?" No! I just want to go home!
This graduation year is one long process of being asked to buy a lot of extra stuff. I'm trying to be zen about it but I'll admit that my attitude about it might not be the most chipper on occasion.
So here I was, looking through the glossy brochures for class jewelry, and fancy photo announcements, and Class of 2018 key chains and personalized address labels (I definitely don't need that; I have a ton of those from every charity I've ever donated to) seeking the information I needed: how to order one cap and gown set. I might have been vocalizing my frustration a bit; the other human members of the household seemed to have disappeared, the dog had sought refuge under the coffee table, and the hamster was hiding under her wheel.
Finally, after I put my reading glasses on and flipped the order form to the back, my persistence paid off! I found the cap and gown line item in small print on the bottom of the order form. Success! I had found the Frugal Package, for the low price of $29.99. After a brief internal debate, I added 25 graduation announcements to the order. The Dad of No and I come from small families, so I don't actually need 25 announcements; I'll probably just randomly send out the extras to my friends. If you are selected to receive an announcement, there's no obligation to send anything. I just suspect it will be easier for you to throw it out than it will be for me to do it.
I had been hoping that in three years, I would be able to use the same cap and gown for the Son of Never Stops Eating, but I don't think that is going to work; not only is he much taller than his older sister but I'm informed that the dye lots change so you have to order a new set of graduation regalia for every child. At least now I know, however, where to find what I'm looking for on the cap and gown ordering form.
Thursday, September 14, 2017
Tattered Wings
Lately, as I take my nature walks, I've become fascinated by the imperfect, the worn out, the torn, the tattered. It's tempting, when trying to photograph nature, to look for the bold, the perfect, the stunning, the bright and brand new- but those tattered wings are telling a story. What that story might be is up to the observer's imagination; I often envision close encounters with a bird's beak.
As I get older, sometimes I feel a little tattered and I definitely have my imperfections- so perhaps it's that I can relate to these once-bright creatures, now faded and with tattered wings.
I can assure you, however, that each of these creatures was still able to fly just fine.
As I get older, sometimes I feel a little tattered and I definitely have my imperfections- so perhaps it's that I can relate to these once-bright creatures, now faded and with tattered wings.
I can assure you, however, that each of these creatures was still able to fly just fine.
 |
| Red Admiral |
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| Hackberry Emperor |
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| Widow Skimmer |
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| Eastern Tiger Swallowtail |
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| Queen butterfly |
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| Painted Lady |
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Good Advice?
Late last week, the news broke regarding the Equifax data breach. According to their website, mine was one of the identities compromised, but then later I read that they might just be randomly telling you that to lure you into signing up for their ID monitoring services, which start off free but then after a year require a fee to continue. So maybe my data was compromised, or maybe it wasn't, but at this point I'm not sure how much it matters, since my identity has already been stolen to file a fraudulent income tax return, among other things. At this point, who knows what my identity has been up to.
Also, there could be some really old college textbooks out there floating around that have my social security number written in them. When I was in college, students were advised to write their SSN's in their books. I think the reasoning was that in the event the books were stolen, it would make them easier to trace. This was probably bad advice, but I'm sure I did it anyway because I was a gullible freshman. I had just parted with $200 for a green hardcover copy of "The Poetry of John Donne"*, and I was going to guard that bad boy with my life. If you can find that copy of John Donne's master works, you too could steal my identity.
After all the data breaches my data has been part of, I could probably paint my social security number on my roof in red paint and it wouldn't make any difference.
To all you young whippersnappers out there who just cannot wait to become adults and get away from your annoying parents with their stupid rules and their nagging and their insatiable curiosity about what you are doing at school and who your friends are and why you spend so much money at Starbucks, here is one of the not-enjoyable aspects of adulting: figuring out what is good advice and what is bad advice.
For example, what to do about this Equifax data breach? Do you sign up for the monitoring service, or do you not? It depends on who you ask. Some advice-givers tell you to sign up, and some say, run for the hills; whatever you do, do not sign up for that monitoring service- why would you want the people who mismanaged your personal data in the first place in charge of monitoring if other people were trying to steal it? I have no idea what to do. This is outside the Mom of No's area of expertise.
For a brief moment, I mentally explored the concept of cancelling all the credit cards, going off the grid, and hiding all my cash in a coffee can buried in a secret spot that I would divulge to no one. However, I don't think my employer will actually pay me in cash and for the next four years I have to fill out something called a FAFSA, which requires income tax information, so going financially rogue isn't really going to work well for me logistically at this time.
Before the onset of Hurricane Irma, there was a meme going around Facebook advising people to store their most precious memories in their dishwasher. A dishwasher, after all, seems to be watertight, so in theory this idea sounds great. However, other people were saying that this was a bad idea and it didn't actually work- dishwashers aren't really watertight and if your house did flood, you could come home to a dishwasher full of wet paper pulp that used to be your prized photographs and your important documents.
No matter what problem you are trying to solve, or what stage of your life you are in, bad and conflicting advice abounds. Because I am approaching the early stages of geezerhood, I remember when the sources of information were limited to your family and friends, the 7 PM news on TV, newspapers, and books. Now you can log on to Facebook, post any request for information, and watch the conflicting information roll in. It's probably a good thing social media was not yet a thing when I had infants and toddlers; Mommy boards were bad enough. Facebook would have sent me over the edge in terms of attempting to make informed parenting decisions.
So, if you are wondering what to do about the data breach, or trying to decide where to store essential documents and important irreplaceable photographs, I'm actually not sure what to tell you. I'm still trying to figure it all out myself. In a few weeks I have to fill out my first FAFSA; I'm sure it will take weeks to recover from reading all the Internet advice about that.
*John Donne, English Poet, 1572-1631, famous for the phrase "No Man is an Island". I had to write a paper on it. He's actually not that bad as poets go, although I'm more of a science and historical fiction reader.
Also, there could be some really old college textbooks out there floating around that have my social security number written in them. When I was in college, students were advised to write their SSN's in their books. I think the reasoning was that in the event the books were stolen, it would make them easier to trace. This was probably bad advice, but I'm sure I did it anyway because I was a gullible freshman. I had just parted with $200 for a green hardcover copy of "The Poetry of John Donne"*, and I was going to guard that bad boy with my life. If you can find that copy of John Donne's master works, you too could steal my identity.
After all the data breaches my data has been part of, I could probably paint my social security number on my roof in red paint and it wouldn't make any difference.
To all you young whippersnappers out there who just cannot wait to become adults and get away from your annoying parents with their stupid rules and their nagging and their insatiable curiosity about what you are doing at school and who your friends are and why you spend so much money at Starbucks, here is one of the not-enjoyable aspects of adulting: figuring out what is good advice and what is bad advice.
For example, what to do about this Equifax data breach? Do you sign up for the monitoring service, or do you not? It depends on who you ask. Some advice-givers tell you to sign up, and some say, run for the hills; whatever you do, do not sign up for that monitoring service- why would you want the people who mismanaged your personal data in the first place in charge of monitoring if other people were trying to steal it? I have no idea what to do. This is outside the Mom of No's area of expertise.
For a brief moment, I mentally explored the concept of cancelling all the credit cards, going off the grid, and hiding all my cash in a coffee can buried in a secret spot that I would divulge to no one. However, I don't think my employer will actually pay me in cash and for the next four years I have to fill out something called a FAFSA, which requires income tax information, so going financially rogue isn't really going to work well for me logistically at this time.
Before the onset of Hurricane Irma, there was a meme going around Facebook advising people to store their most precious memories in their dishwasher. A dishwasher, after all, seems to be watertight, so in theory this idea sounds great. However, other people were saying that this was a bad idea and it didn't actually work- dishwashers aren't really watertight and if your house did flood, you could come home to a dishwasher full of wet paper pulp that used to be your prized photographs and your important documents.
No matter what problem you are trying to solve, or what stage of your life you are in, bad and conflicting advice abounds. Because I am approaching the early stages of geezerhood, I remember when the sources of information were limited to your family and friends, the 7 PM news on TV, newspapers, and books. Now you can log on to Facebook, post any request for information, and watch the conflicting information roll in. It's probably a good thing social media was not yet a thing when I had infants and toddlers; Mommy boards were bad enough. Facebook would have sent me over the edge in terms of attempting to make informed parenting decisions.
So, if you are wondering what to do about the data breach, or trying to decide where to store essential documents and important irreplaceable photographs, I'm actually not sure what to tell you. I'm still trying to figure it all out myself. In a few weeks I have to fill out my first FAFSA; I'm sure it will take weeks to recover from reading all the Internet advice about that.
*John Donne, English Poet, 1572-1631, famous for the phrase "No Man is an Island". I had to write a paper on it. He's actually not that bad as poets go, although I'm more of a science and historical fiction reader.
Monday, September 4, 2017
The Plan
Quite awhile ago, I was surfing through the four thousand channels on the TV, looking for something interesting to watch. I'm not usually much of a TV watcher so I must have been home sick, or something- but I finally settled on a show about people prepping for the apocalypse. The family in the show was prepared to go off the grid for years after the total breakdown of society. They had a plan in place and they were ready. They had shelves stockpiled with food, water, medicines and sanitary items, all hidden in a bunker out in the middle of nowhere. It was absolutely impressive. As someone who appreciates a good plan, I was in awe of the logistics involved here.
After watching this show, I surveyed my pantry. I have enough food to last two teenagers about 5 days. Maybe six, if you include the stuff no one likes- canned beets, trail mix with coconut (coconut is not a preferred flavor in the Household of No), and the stuff that requires other stuff and the application of heat to actually become something edible, like flour or rice.
I didn't give it much thought after that.
Last week, as Hurricane Harvey unfolded in Houston, I called the Grandpa of No every day, checking on him. Water was backing up on his street. Water was in his yard. Water was up to the landscaping by his house. Water was nearly up to his front door.
What are you going to do? I asked him. What is your plan? The Grandpa of No has always been a man with a plan. What are you going to do about Mom? My mother's Alzheimer's is steadily progressing, and she gets agitated in unfamiliar environments.
Well, I don't know, he responded. Your mother refuses to leave the house.
Later, I was on the Internet with the Son of Never Stops Eating, looking for information on animal-related charities, and we came across some comments criticizing people who had stayed in the Houston area. Why didn't they leave before the hurricane? the commenter said. I would have been gone. I would have taken my fur-babies and gotten out of there.
Maybe people stayed because the footprint of the Houston area is huge, or because Harvey didn't impact just Houston but all along the Texas coast. Maybe people remembered the mess that was the Hurricane Rita evacuation in 2005, with freeways backed up for miles. Maybe more people than we realize have family members with autism and Alzheimer's disease and other disabilities and illnesses that make it difficult to just pack up and go. When leaving the house to go to the grocery store requires a series of carefully choreographed steps, planning an evacuation from a potential disaster probably seems overwhelmingly impossible.
The day after the water was at the Grandpa of No's front door, I called his cell phone and received no answer. I sat at my computer, mulling over options. I didn't have the phone number of the neighbor who had been checking on him. I wasn't sure who the law enforcement authority was in the area. Just as horrible possibilities started playing out in my mind, he answered his phone.
We're all good here, he told me. It got close, but we're still at the house and the water is receding from the yard.
The entire event made me realize, whatever plans we have, they're inadequate. I am the prepping equivalent of going into a disaster with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Planning for emergencies is easy to put off, because there are so many other things that require attention, and after all, what were the chances that a category 4 hurricane would slam right into the Texas coast, causing massive flooding in the metropolitan area where your parents live?
I don't think I'll be stockpiling five year's worth of water, however. Alas, I lack a huge underground bunker in which to store it.
After watching this show, I surveyed my pantry. I have enough food to last two teenagers about 5 days. Maybe six, if you include the stuff no one likes- canned beets, trail mix with coconut (coconut is not a preferred flavor in the Household of No), and the stuff that requires other stuff and the application of heat to actually become something edible, like flour or rice.
I didn't give it much thought after that.
Last week, as Hurricane Harvey unfolded in Houston, I called the Grandpa of No every day, checking on him. Water was backing up on his street. Water was in his yard. Water was up to the landscaping by his house. Water was nearly up to his front door.
What are you going to do? I asked him. What is your plan? The Grandpa of No has always been a man with a plan. What are you going to do about Mom? My mother's Alzheimer's is steadily progressing, and she gets agitated in unfamiliar environments.
Well, I don't know, he responded. Your mother refuses to leave the house.
Later, I was on the Internet with the Son of Never Stops Eating, looking for information on animal-related charities, and we came across some comments criticizing people who had stayed in the Houston area. Why didn't they leave before the hurricane? the commenter said. I would have been gone. I would have taken my fur-babies and gotten out of there.
Maybe people stayed because the footprint of the Houston area is huge, or because Harvey didn't impact just Houston but all along the Texas coast. Maybe people remembered the mess that was the Hurricane Rita evacuation in 2005, with freeways backed up for miles. Maybe more people than we realize have family members with autism and Alzheimer's disease and other disabilities and illnesses that make it difficult to just pack up and go. When leaving the house to go to the grocery store requires a series of carefully choreographed steps, planning an evacuation from a potential disaster probably seems overwhelmingly impossible.
The day after the water was at the Grandpa of No's front door, I called his cell phone and received no answer. I sat at my computer, mulling over options. I didn't have the phone number of the neighbor who had been checking on him. I wasn't sure who the law enforcement authority was in the area. Just as horrible possibilities started playing out in my mind, he answered his phone.
We're all good here, he told me. It got close, but we're still at the house and the water is receding from the yard.
The entire event made me realize, whatever plans we have, they're inadequate. I am the prepping equivalent of going into a disaster with a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Planning for emergencies is easy to put off, because there are so many other things that require attention, and after all, what were the chances that a category 4 hurricane would slam right into the Texas coast, causing massive flooding in the metropolitan area where your parents live?
I don't think I'll be stockpiling five year's worth of water, however. Alas, I lack a huge underground bunker in which to store it.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
It's a Big State
As I write this, the coastal bend area of Texas is being pummeled by Hurricane/Tropical Storm Harvey. The area is undergoing massive flooding; damage is immense. The recovery could take years.
At the same time, friends who don't live in Texas are e-mailing and messaging me, asking if we are okay, if we're surviving, if we've had any damage, if there's water in our house yet. I look out the window, where the sun is attempting to peek through the clouds and a cool (for August) breeze is blowing. A few rain showers have come through, but, except for the adolescents of the household not being too excited about starting school tomorrow, we're doing well- because we're actually nowhere near the hurricane.
I know people mean well and they are concerned, and I appreciate that greatly. Texas is a big state, but you might not realize how big it is unless you actually live here, and decide that it might be fun to go on a road trip through West Texas to visit Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. You drive and drive and drive and drive and then realize that you're only in Abilene and you still have to keep driving and you are still nowhere near the New Mexico border- and in fact, it might be another hour before you even see a Dairy Queen because you are stuck in the middle of nowhere on a two lane highway behind some truck towing some giant farm machinery that is going only 30 MPH.
That ended up being a great road trip, though. Good times.
I can understand how people might be confused, however, because if you've ever driven down Interstate 45 from Dallas to Houston, it takes an hour to get out of Dallas and before you know it, you're in the outskirts of Houston because Dallas is huge, Houston is massive, and both cities just keep growing so eventually they'll probably just merge into one massive metropolitan area with Austin and San Antonio. Maybe there will be a tiny rural circle left in the middle of the I-45/I-35/I-10 triangle with nothing in it but some cows and a Buc-ees (if you're not from Texas, you'll have to look that up).
People who live in Texas tell stories about friends and relatives from smaller states who come to visit and will say things, like, "Hey, let's drive down to San Antonio and see the Alamo this morning, and then after lunch maybe go to South Padre Island!", and the punchline of the story always involves the Texan explaining that they live in El Paso or Dallas or Lubbock and that it will actually take hours to get there so it would probably be an overnight trip, and the not-from-Texas relatives are astonished to learn this. I never believed these stories until I went to New England on a work trip and drove through three states in the same time that it takes me to drive to work.
Several years ago I volunteered at work to go to Beaumont, Texas after Hurricane Rita to assist in a disaster recovery mission. A woman taking care of logistics (who was probably not from Texas) called me to make arrangements for me to get from my house to Beaumont. She wanted me to fly into Houston and pick up a rental car at the airport.
Nah, that's OK, I told her. I'll just get a rental car here and drive down there. That way I can bring more than one suitcase of stuff (I tend to be an overpacker, especially when I know I'm going to be away from home for a long time).
How long will it take you to drive down there? she asked me.
About six hours, I told her. Plus or minus an hour based on traffic.
That's a long drive! she exclaimed. Are you sure you don't want to fly?
Nope, I said, I drive an hour to get my hair cut. I'm fine with it. Besides, I hate to fly.
You're crazy, she told me.
I'm fairly certain I'm not crazy, although people who come here to visit in August might dispute that. But just like almost every other Texas resident, I do drive a lot.
So to my friends and relatives who live beyond the Texas borders, we are doing fine, except for the usual back to school angst. Houston and the coastal areas, however, could use your prayers and your support, not just now but during what will likely be a long recovery.
At the same time, friends who don't live in Texas are e-mailing and messaging me, asking if we are okay, if we're surviving, if we've had any damage, if there's water in our house yet. I look out the window, where the sun is attempting to peek through the clouds and a cool (for August) breeze is blowing. A few rain showers have come through, but, except for the adolescents of the household not being too excited about starting school tomorrow, we're doing well- because we're actually nowhere near the hurricane.
I know people mean well and they are concerned, and I appreciate that greatly. Texas is a big state, but you might not realize how big it is unless you actually live here, and decide that it might be fun to go on a road trip through West Texas to visit Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. You drive and drive and drive and drive and then realize that you're only in Abilene and you still have to keep driving and you are still nowhere near the New Mexico border- and in fact, it might be another hour before you even see a Dairy Queen because you are stuck in the middle of nowhere on a two lane highway behind some truck towing some giant farm machinery that is going only 30 MPH.
That ended up being a great road trip, though. Good times.
I can understand how people might be confused, however, because if you've ever driven down Interstate 45 from Dallas to Houston, it takes an hour to get out of Dallas and before you know it, you're in the outskirts of Houston because Dallas is huge, Houston is massive, and both cities just keep growing so eventually they'll probably just merge into one massive metropolitan area with Austin and San Antonio. Maybe there will be a tiny rural circle left in the middle of the I-45/I-35/I-10 triangle with nothing in it but some cows and a Buc-ees (if you're not from Texas, you'll have to look that up).
People who live in Texas tell stories about friends and relatives from smaller states who come to visit and will say things, like, "Hey, let's drive down to San Antonio and see the Alamo this morning, and then after lunch maybe go to South Padre Island!", and the punchline of the story always involves the Texan explaining that they live in El Paso or Dallas or Lubbock and that it will actually take hours to get there so it would probably be an overnight trip, and the not-from-Texas relatives are astonished to learn this. I never believed these stories until I went to New England on a work trip and drove through three states in the same time that it takes me to drive to work.
Several years ago I volunteered at work to go to Beaumont, Texas after Hurricane Rita to assist in a disaster recovery mission. A woman taking care of logistics (who was probably not from Texas) called me to make arrangements for me to get from my house to Beaumont. She wanted me to fly into Houston and pick up a rental car at the airport.
Nah, that's OK, I told her. I'll just get a rental car here and drive down there. That way I can bring more than one suitcase of stuff (I tend to be an overpacker, especially when I know I'm going to be away from home for a long time).
How long will it take you to drive down there? she asked me.
About six hours, I told her. Plus or minus an hour based on traffic.
That's a long drive! she exclaimed. Are you sure you don't want to fly?
Nope, I said, I drive an hour to get my hair cut. I'm fine with it. Besides, I hate to fly.
You're crazy, she told me.
I'm fairly certain I'm not crazy, although people who come here to visit in August might dispute that. But just like almost every other Texas resident, I do drive a lot.
So to my friends and relatives who live beyond the Texas borders, we are doing fine, except for the usual back to school angst. Houston and the coastal areas, however, could use your prayers and your support, not just now but during what will likely be a long recovery.
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