What an eventful year! Last year at this time Paul was a mere six months old and just had his first acting gig as the Baby Jesus. Claire was two and a half and still using diapers and sippy cups. We've come a long way.
I've developed several fans of this blog, but the problem with that is that I've been afraid to blog because I want the perfect message. Well, I'm just going to have to poopoo that idea. I think I've had about five perfect ideas and Lord knows I've had a million not so perfect ones. So you, my readers, will have to start sifting, because I'm just going to keep writing.
This holiday season I learned two very important lessons.
1. No matter how much I want to do everything, I cannot. I do get a sense of fulfillment from doing good deeds, but more good deeds does not equal more fulfillment. It's not my job to save the world.
A week before Christmas, I had an emotional collapse under the weight of my commitments. Luckily, a team of people (yes, a team!) allowed me to delegate nearly everything and I was able to enjoy Christmas with less stress. It was eye-opening to me to realize I needed a team of people to carry out the commitments one person had gotten into.
2. People love baked goods just as much as they love that "perfect" gift. Every year Adam and I break our necks shopping in a mad rush, trying to find the right gift for everyone. This year's economic outlook limited our shopping and I chose to bake instead of buy. I received just as much appreciation and excitement from those opening baked goods as I always have. I love cooking, and I don't enjoy shopping, so I'm started a new trend. Next year, no matter what the budget, I'll continue to stay out of the stores and stay in my kitchen.
In the new year, I hope to do less and enjoy more. It's hard for me to learn of needs and not break my neck to fulfill them, so we'll see how long I can sit on my hands and stop volunteering. I'm not Martha Stewart or Mother Theresa, so I will try to accept my limitations.
Here's a place where Sarah writes what's on her heart and mind for whomever will read it. Sometimes it's hilarious, sometimes it's little pieces of life that I'm grateful for. Enjoy!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I'm a shellfish!
I was reading a story to Claire about the different types of fish in the ocean and found I related to the shellfish. The book said a shellfish has a hard outside to protect its soft, beautiful, fragile inside. A shellfish keeps its shell open but shuts immediately if it senses danger.
The book Shellfish Aren't Fish by Alan Fowler is me in a nutshell.
No, I don't live in the bottom of the ocean, but I have many similarities with the shellfish. Clams and oysters have ugly outsides, but beautiful pearl on the inside of their shell. While some people might be impressed with my outside, I believe all my best attributes are inside.
Rather than focusing on hair and makeup, I always focus on relationships and helping people out. I, too, keep my mind and spirit open, but close myself off when I sense ugliness.
The shellfish opens itself back up when danger passes it, but unfortunately, I am not that brave. Once I close up, it takes time and effort to open back up.
"Every mollusk makes its own shell. So in a way, a mollusk's home--its shell-- is a part of the animal."
Isn't that true about humans? I believe we, too, make our own shells that become part of our self.
"Sometimes a grain of sand gets inside a bivalve's shell. When it rubs against the animal's soft body, the bivalve coats it with a smooth material called mother-of-pearl."
So when something small gets inside the oyster and irritates it, the oyster turns it into something beautiful. That is something I would like to do.
The book Shellfish Aren't Fish by Alan Fowler is me in a nutshell.
No, I don't live in the bottom of the ocean, but I have many similarities with the shellfish. Clams and oysters have ugly outsides, but beautiful pearl on the inside of their shell. While some people might be impressed with my outside, I believe all my best attributes are inside.
Rather than focusing on hair and makeup, I always focus on relationships and helping people out. I, too, keep my mind and spirit open, but close myself off when I sense ugliness.
The shellfish opens itself back up when danger passes it, but unfortunately, I am not that brave. Once I close up, it takes time and effort to open back up.
"Every mollusk makes its own shell. So in a way, a mollusk's home--its shell-- is a part of the animal."
Isn't that true about humans? I believe we, too, make our own shells that become part of our self.
"Sometimes a grain of sand gets inside a bivalve's shell. When it rubs against the animal's soft body, the bivalve coats it with a smooth material called mother-of-pearl."
So when something small gets inside the oyster and irritates it, the oyster turns it into something beautiful. That is something I would like to do.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Balance and Candy Corn
When I called my elderly friend Jo for a visit recently, I wrote down her grocery list. I've been buying her groceries with my own for years, but since Paul came along, it's been a little more difficult. I have to take two kids to the store every time I go. That means four hands that have to be supervised the entire time.
Also, I only go once every two weeks because of the economic crunch from my lack of income. Add to that the task of feeding two hungry kids at least five times a day and you have a basket full of groceries, exhuastion, and stress.
Because of the enormity of the shopping experience, I have started buying Jo's groceries on a separate trip. It's usually a short list, so I just run in her small local grocer and grab the items on the way to her house for a visit.
So this week she needed coffee, creamer, milk, and candy corn. Her store was sold out of Halloween merchandise. This meant I had to drag the kids to another store to buy what she wanted.
I know helping the elderly is right, but after consulting some friends, I'm going to have to put a limit on it. The message of the church is to give more, but sometimes I feel like I over-give.
I am often sent on wild goose chases for my grandfather or Jo. Either my grandfather's sight is failing, which is likely, or his local Wal-Mart is cutting their stock every time he goes. Each time I visit him he tells me about some grocery item that his store "doesn't sell anymore." For a while I wrote these items down and tried to buy them at my store, but they were never the right item.
"No, not that kind of tomatoes. There's onions in the can," or "No, that can is too big. I just can't use it."
I am now imposing a one store limit. If I can't find what is requested at the first store, then I just have to visit with empty hands. That might actually be better anyway because it would take the focus of my visit off of the groceries and onto the people.
I want to help because it's right and I enjoy it. The chase for candy corn will now stop so I can take a load off and focus on the other loads I carry.
Also, I only go once every two weeks because of the economic crunch from my lack of income. Add to that the task of feeding two hungry kids at least five times a day and you have a basket full of groceries, exhuastion, and stress.
Because of the enormity of the shopping experience, I have started buying Jo's groceries on a separate trip. It's usually a short list, so I just run in her small local grocer and grab the items on the way to her house for a visit.
So this week she needed coffee, creamer, milk, and candy corn. Her store was sold out of Halloween merchandise. This meant I had to drag the kids to another store to buy what she wanted.
I know helping the elderly is right, but after consulting some friends, I'm going to have to put a limit on it. The message of the church is to give more, but sometimes I feel like I over-give.
I am often sent on wild goose chases for my grandfather or Jo. Either my grandfather's sight is failing, which is likely, or his local Wal-Mart is cutting their stock every time he goes. Each time I visit him he tells me about some grocery item that his store "doesn't sell anymore." For a while I wrote these items down and tried to buy them at my store, but they were never the right item.
"No, not that kind of tomatoes. There's onions in the can," or "No, that can is too big. I just can't use it."
I am now imposing a one store limit. If I can't find what is requested at the first store, then I just have to visit with empty hands. That might actually be better anyway because it would take the focus of my visit off of the groceries and onto the people.
I want to help because it's right and I enjoy it. The chase for candy corn will now stop so I can take a load off and focus on the other loads I carry.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Being Grateful
My elderly friend Jo lives alone with her dog, Sir Charles Lowe Throckmorton. She calls him Charlie for short, but we all know he's royalty.
Jo is almost completely blind, has constant dental and dietary problems, but you would never know it. She is the happiest, most grateful person you've ever met.
We used to live next door to Jo. One of my first memories of her is after we moved in we were talking to her and she stopped abruptly. "Let's get something straight," she said. Adam and I both froze. I was worried we had somehow offended her and she was about to put us in our places. She put us in our places, but not in the way we were expecting.
"My name is Jo," she said.
We had been calling her Mrs. Throckmorton. And thus was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Before work, I would go to her house and have a cup of coffee. I would walk our dog Wesley and her dog, Bucky, around the block and then sit down in her front yard for coffee and conversation.
I started purchasing her groceries with ours. Because she's blind, she obviously can't drive or see items on the shelves. She gets around her home because she's lived there since the 1950s and knows exactly where everything is.
Seven years later, I'm still buying Jo's groceries, she still makes me coffee when I come over, and she's still exactly the same wonderful lady she's always been.
Jo is the most grateful person you will ever meet. Whenever I bring her something I've baked, she eats it and exclaims, "Now I don't want anything better than that!" Or if I give her a gift, she replies, "This does my heart good." She is genuinely grateful for anything she receives, from a paper clip to a something big, like Adam trimming her trees. Her thanksgiving is always at the same level. I once teased Adam that she would thank me for a dirty diaper, and one day she did.
When Claire was a baby she once had a gigantic poopy diaper at Jo's house. I apologized for having to place it in her trash, and Jo said to me, "It does my heart good to have something of Claire here at the house."
I wish I was more grateful for the things I have, even poopy diapers.
Jo is almost completely blind, has constant dental and dietary problems, but you would never know it. She is the happiest, most grateful person you've ever met.
We used to live next door to Jo. One of my first memories of her is after we moved in we were talking to her and she stopped abruptly. "Let's get something straight," she said. Adam and I both froze. I was worried we had somehow offended her and she was about to put us in our places. She put us in our places, but not in the way we were expecting.
"My name is Jo," she said.
We had been calling her Mrs. Throckmorton. And thus was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Before work, I would go to her house and have a cup of coffee. I would walk our dog Wesley and her dog, Bucky, around the block and then sit down in her front yard for coffee and conversation.
I started purchasing her groceries with ours. Because she's blind, she obviously can't drive or see items on the shelves. She gets around her home because she's lived there since the 1950s and knows exactly where everything is.
Seven years later, I'm still buying Jo's groceries, she still makes me coffee when I come over, and she's still exactly the same wonderful lady she's always been.
Jo is the most grateful person you will ever meet. Whenever I bring her something I've baked, she eats it and exclaims, "Now I don't want anything better than that!" Or if I give her a gift, she replies, "This does my heart good." She is genuinely grateful for anything she receives, from a paper clip to a something big, like Adam trimming her trees. Her thanksgiving is always at the same level. I once teased Adam that she would thank me for a dirty diaper, and one day she did.
When Claire was a baby she once had a gigantic poopy diaper at Jo's house. I apologized for having to place it in her trash, and Jo said to me, "It does my heart good to have something of Claire here at the house."
I wish I was more grateful for the things I have, even poopy diapers.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Blowing Bubbles
One of Claire's favorite pastimes is blowing bubbles. We like to sit on the deck and she, Paul, and our dog, Wesley, chase them until they pop.
When I was pregnant with Paul, I was still working and had little play time with Claire. I also had the same laundry, cooking, and cleaning responsibilities I do today. To make sure I had time play and was still able to make dinner, I would sit outside with Claire and a kitchen timer. We would blow bubbles for ten minutes and then I'd go work for ten minutes and repeat.
Yesterday Claire pointed to my kitchen timer and reminded me of that time. She also reminded me of how fast time goes with little children. Just 12 months ago Paul was a tiny baby, Claire was still wearing diapers, and I was getting up at every hour of the night, getting my days and nights confused.
Right this minute, Claire is playing with a naked Ken doll and offering dance instructions to Paul, who is dancing while holding a blanket and a balloon. She still says "Hold you!" when she wants to be held, and Paul still snuggles, a little.
But like the bubbles that last for only a short time, I know this time will be gone as well. I'm trying to focus on every opportunity I can to enjoy my kids and play with them. In a world of e-mails, cell phones, errands, and church meetings, it's hard. I know there will be more bubbles of opportunity but as my kids get older, the bubbles will pop, so I need to catch them while I can.
When I was pregnant with Paul, I was still working and had little play time with Claire. I also had the same laundry, cooking, and cleaning responsibilities I do today. To make sure I had time play and was still able to make dinner, I would sit outside with Claire and a kitchen timer. We would blow bubbles for ten minutes and then I'd go work for ten minutes and repeat.
Yesterday Claire pointed to my kitchen timer and reminded me of that time. She also reminded me of how fast time goes with little children. Just 12 months ago Paul was a tiny baby, Claire was still wearing diapers, and I was getting up at every hour of the night, getting my days and nights confused.
Right this minute, Claire is playing with a naked Ken doll and offering dance instructions to Paul, who is dancing while holding a blanket and a balloon. She still says "Hold you!" when she wants to be held, and Paul still snuggles, a little.
But like the bubbles that last for only a short time, I know this time will be gone as well. I'm trying to focus on every opportunity I can to enjoy my kids and play with them. In a world of e-mails, cell phones, errands, and church meetings, it's hard. I know there will be more bubbles of opportunity but as my kids get older, the bubbles will pop, so I need to catch them while I can.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Being a Badass
Recently, the kids and I were on TV as we protested the proposed closing of our favorite library. We went to the city council and we marched in a protest march. We were on so many channels that being on TV started being mundane.
I got word that the city council had withdrawn it's proposal to close the library, so even though it won't be official until they adopt the budget tomorrow, I know our library will stay open. It's an empowering feeling, and I've been using it.
Since the march I've become confrontational where I've felt it might do some good.
At the park by our house, I saw a group of four teenagers sharing something they were smoking that smelled suspicious. They also were all drinking out of the same Sprite bottle. We've had an increase of grafitti at the park and the school that shares the park's land was having a PTA event. I decided to fight back. I approached them with my stroller, three-year old, and tiny dog and asked them to leave. I told them I didn't know what they were doing, and I didn't want to know, but that was a park for kids and they needed to take their business elsewhere. Three of them left immediately, but one stood her ground. I called the police, but before they could get there, the lone girl ran off as well. Unfortunately my glasses aren't strong enough to let me read license plates 50 ft. in front of me, so they got away.
Adam said I did a good deed, and that we should stand up for our neighborhood. I was upset because I'm not used to confronting people, and all that mess ended up taking the time I was going to go swimming with the kids. So I got the punks out of the park, but my kids suffered. I'm still debating whether that was worth it.
The next day Adam's godparents were in town and I took his godmother, Kaa, to Costco. We were enjoying the Costco feast, where you can sample food on every aisle. The last sample before the checkout was some fountain of youth in a wine bottle, non-alcoholic juices to make you look younger. Kaa tried it and nearly spit it out. "This is awful!" she said. "I can't believe anyone would buy this!" The lady who was offering the samples scoffed and said under her breath, "You wouldn't buy it, because you don't understand what it is for." I thought that was rude, but continued on our way. Unfortunately, the employee was an older woman who needed to drink more of the juice she was sampling. She also needed some hearing aids. When another employee approached her to relieve her of her duties, she started complaining to him in a loud voice, "Stupid people, don't understand what this juice is about..." I know she was trying to speak quietly, but she wasn't successful. I whirled around and approached her. "She is not stupid," I said, referring to Kaa. "You work in customer service, and you should not be calling your potential customers stupid!" The old lady backed down and said she called Kaa silly. "No, I heard exactly what you said." She apologized, and I was about to call her manager and complain, but Kaa didn't want me to. She said she felt sorry for anyone who had to sell something that tasted so awful.
Then I started feeling guilty about chewing out an old lady. I think I'll go back to being good-ole-easy-going me.
I got word that the city council had withdrawn it's proposal to close the library, so even though it won't be official until they adopt the budget tomorrow, I know our library will stay open. It's an empowering feeling, and I've been using it.
Since the march I've become confrontational where I've felt it might do some good.
At the park by our house, I saw a group of four teenagers sharing something they were smoking that smelled suspicious. They also were all drinking out of the same Sprite bottle. We've had an increase of grafitti at the park and the school that shares the park's land was having a PTA event. I decided to fight back. I approached them with my stroller, three-year old, and tiny dog and asked them to leave. I told them I didn't know what they were doing, and I didn't want to know, but that was a park for kids and they needed to take their business elsewhere. Three of them left immediately, but one stood her ground. I called the police, but before they could get there, the lone girl ran off as well. Unfortunately my glasses aren't strong enough to let me read license plates 50 ft. in front of me, so they got away.
Adam said I did a good deed, and that we should stand up for our neighborhood. I was upset because I'm not used to confronting people, and all that mess ended up taking the time I was going to go swimming with the kids. So I got the punks out of the park, but my kids suffered. I'm still debating whether that was worth it.
The next day Adam's godparents were in town and I took his godmother, Kaa, to Costco. We were enjoying the Costco feast, where you can sample food on every aisle. The last sample before the checkout was some fountain of youth in a wine bottle, non-alcoholic juices to make you look younger. Kaa tried it and nearly spit it out. "This is awful!" she said. "I can't believe anyone would buy this!" The lady who was offering the samples scoffed and said under her breath, "You wouldn't buy it, because you don't understand what it is for." I thought that was rude, but continued on our way. Unfortunately, the employee was an older woman who needed to drink more of the juice she was sampling. She also needed some hearing aids. When another employee approached her to relieve her of her duties, she started complaining to him in a loud voice, "Stupid people, don't understand what this juice is about..." I know she was trying to speak quietly, but she wasn't successful. I whirled around and approached her. "She is not stupid," I said, referring to Kaa. "You work in customer service, and you should not be calling your potential customers stupid!" The old lady backed down and said she called Kaa silly. "No, I heard exactly what you said." She apologized, and I was about to call her manager and complain, but Kaa didn't want me to. She said she felt sorry for anyone who had to sell something that tasted so awful.
Then I started feeling guilty about chewing out an old lady. I think I'll go back to being good-ole-easy-going me.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Cleaning up, Cleaning Out
My house is a constant explosion of toys, books, and laundry. Dirty laundry is confined to laundry baskets, and dirty dishes usually are confined to the sink, so my house isn't as dirty as it is cluttered.
I'm always worried about it. I have a hard time "living in the now" when there's always a load of dishes or clothes to wash, toys to pick up, a meal to cook, errands to run, etc. I know my kids are growing up faster than I can keep up with them, but I have so much guilt about keeping up with dishes/laundry/cooking/shopping/correspondence/visiting old folks, I have a hard time focusing on any one thing.
Last week I decided to focus on cleaning, and maybe that would make me feel better.
Claire has about 1,000 books. Some people are always buying their kids toys, but I always buy mine books. We have baskets of books all over the house to encourage reading. Both kids love reading, but Claire had so many books that we couldn't read them all. I sat on her floor for several hours and went through each book and toy. We kept everything she wanted and immediately boxed everything she didn't.
The books we took to Half Price Books. Claire proudly sold them back and recieved $10 in exchange. I told her she could purchase two books with her money and put the rest in her bank. I was touched when she decided one of her books would be for Paul. So she got to purchase two books, had $2 left over, and put that in her bank. I got to condense her library into one bookcase. No more baskets of books to drive me nuts.
With her toys, we took them to Goodwill. I explained to her that some children don't have any toys and we'll give them to Goodwill and they will give them to the kids that need them. She was totally fine with this. We turned in two bags of toys and condensed all the rest into her toy boxes and kitchen. She was happy to give away some of her toys, and I felt like a load had been lifted off of me. It's been a week now and her room is still neat. She hasn't mourned the loss of any of her toys or books.
I realized that I was more attached to all her "stuff" than she was. Kids get over stuff pretty easily. I found that out again when she lost her favorite stuffed dog at Albertson's on Friday. I advised her not to bring it in the store in case she lost it, but left the decision up to her. The dog did get lost, either because of her or because Paul pitched it overboard; I'm not sure. But I was sad about it; almost crying when I realized it was gone. Claire didn't shed a tear or throw a fit. Instead, she requested that I print off a picture on the computer so she could play with a new dog. I found a picture of Clifford, printed it out, and she put it on a leash. She feeds that piece of paper and drags it around the house on a real dog leash.
It's amazing what my kids teach me on a daily basis. Let go of "stuff." Have fun with what you've got.
I'm always worried about it. I have a hard time "living in the now" when there's always a load of dishes or clothes to wash, toys to pick up, a meal to cook, errands to run, etc. I know my kids are growing up faster than I can keep up with them, but I have so much guilt about keeping up with dishes/laundry/cooking/shopping/correspondence/visiting old folks, I have a hard time focusing on any one thing.
Last week I decided to focus on cleaning, and maybe that would make me feel better.
Claire has about 1,000 books. Some people are always buying their kids toys, but I always buy mine books. We have baskets of books all over the house to encourage reading. Both kids love reading, but Claire had so many books that we couldn't read them all. I sat on her floor for several hours and went through each book and toy. We kept everything she wanted and immediately boxed everything she didn't.
The books we took to Half Price Books. Claire proudly sold them back and recieved $10 in exchange. I told her she could purchase two books with her money and put the rest in her bank. I was touched when she decided one of her books would be for Paul. So she got to purchase two books, had $2 left over, and put that in her bank. I got to condense her library into one bookcase. No more baskets of books to drive me nuts.
With her toys, we took them to Goodwill. I explained to her that some children don't have any toys and we'll give them to Goodwill and they will give them to the kids that need them. She was totally fine with this. We turned in two bags of toys and condensed all the rest into her toy boxes and kitchen. She was happy to give away some of her toys, and I felt like a load had been lifted off of me. It's been a week now and her room is still neat. She hasn't mourned the loss of any of her toys or books.
I realized that I was more attached to all her "stuff" than she was. Kids get over stuff pretty easily. I found that out again when she lost her favorite stuffed dog at Albertson's on Friday. I advised her not to bring it in the store in case she lost it, but left the decision up to her. The dog did get lost, either because of her or because Paul pitched it overboard; I'm not sure. But I was sad about it; almost crying when I realized it was gone. Claire didn't shed a tear or throw a fit. Instead, she requested that I print off a picture on the computer so she could play with a new dog. I found a picture of Clifford, printed it out, and she put it on a leash. She feeds that piece of paper and drags it around the house on a real dog leash.
It's amazing what my kids teach me on a daily basis. Let go of "stuff." Have fun with what you've got.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Things I've Done Wrong
Many think I am the perfect parent. As calm, collected, and pristine as I may seem, it's not true. (Laughing yet?) I do the best I can, but I've screwed up, too. Try to avoid these errors with your own kids.
1. Saying "yes" to crap.
At stores, Claire is constantly begging for food, toys, etc. I tell her "No. No. No. I'm sorry, no." I don't give into her every whim, but occasionally, if the toy/snack/piece of crap is affordable and she's been stellar, I say "yes." But between what I buy and what she receives from others, our house is overflowing with toys. I was thinking yesterday that I need to teach Claire about value. She occasionally picks up her toys, but usually I go behind her and do it. So if I only allow bigger toys/toys with less parts in our house, I might have a lot less to pick up. I'm not sure this theory will work.
2. Saying "The trash man's going to get you!"
When Claire was two, way before Paul was born, I getting Claire dressed one morning when the trash man drove down our street. Obviously the truck has lots of beeps, buzzes, and mechanical sounds. Claire asked what the noise was, and I told her, "It's the trash man. He's going to come get you!" at which point I tickled her and we played. I did this one time and to this day she is afraid of the trashman.
3. Mexicom
One day I thought I'd be a smart mom and teach Claire that a stop sign is a hexagon. We drove around that morning and pointed them out. Claire couldn't pronounce "hexagon," and called them "mexicoms." It wasn't until that evening when I bragged to Adam about Claire's new knowledge that he told me a stop sign is actually an octagon. I'm still trying to correct that, and Claire still says, "No, it's a mexicom."
1. Saying "yes" to crap.
At stores, Claire is constantly begging for food, toys, etc. I tell her "No. No. No. I'm sorry, no." I don't give into her every whim, but occasionally, if the toy/snack/piece of crap is affordable and she's been stellar, I say "yes." But between what I buy and what she receives from others, our house is overflowing with toys. I was thinking yesterday that I need to teach Claire about value. She occasionally picks up her toys, but usually I go behind her and do it. So if I only allow bigger toys/toys with less parts in our house, I might have a lot less to pick up. I'm not sure this theory will work.
2. Saying "The trash man's going to get you!"
When Claire was two, way before Paul was born, I getting Claire dressed one morning when the trash man drove down our street. Obviously the truck has lots of beeps, buzzes, and mechanical sounds. Claire asked what the noise was, and I told her, "It's the trash man. He's going to come get you!" at which point I tickled her and we played. I did this one time and to this day she is afraid of the trashman.
3. Mexicom
One day I thought I'd be a smart mom and teach Claire that a stop sign is a hexagon. We drove around that morning and pointed them out. Claire couldn't pronounce "hexagon," and called them "mexicoms." It wasn't until that evening when I bragged to Adam about Claire's new knowledge that he told me a stop sign is actually an octagon. I'm still trying to correct that, and Claire still says, "No, it's a mexicom."
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Political Activism
We love our library. Every Wednesday morning at 10:30 you can find the Wacky Boyettes at the Wedgwood Branch of the Fort Worth Public Library. The children's librarian, Vidya, (known to Claire as Miss Video) leads the kids in songs and stories and crafts. Claire and Paul both love it.
If you've ever seen Claire at church, you can picture her at the library. She feels right at home, runs up to different librarians to say "hi," hides in the bookshelves, shows off the stuffed animal of the day, and generally makes herself comfortable. Paul likes to dance to the music and pull books off shelves.
We're regulars at the library and consider the librarians our friends. So when we heard that the Fort Worth City Council had proposed shutting down our library, we were horrified. Sure, there's another library close by, but it's too big and crowded. If Claire hid in the shelves there, I'd never find her. We like our little library.
We immediately fired off a letter to city council and the mayor. They responded, thanking us for our comments and promising to do the best they could. Adam and I talked and we felt that wasn't enough. I wanted to go speak to the council in person but didn't want to take the kids. Adam had a different idea.
"You should take the kids, because they are patrons, too," he said. "Every time they disturb the meeting, the council will be reminded why you are there and maybe that will make a difference."
So yesterday we tried it. We got to city hall at 9:30 a.m. The meeting was supposed to start at 10, so we signed in as speakers and sat down to wait. A 30-minute wait is manageable; I brought Barbie and Ken and snacks. Everyone thought the kids were precious.
Thirty minutes dragged on to an hour. We went into the meeting and everyone still thought the kids were adorable. We sat quietly and looked at books while the council went through the agenda, approving resolutions and listening to presentations about various topics.
Thirty minutes after that, Paul was done. He wanted to walk around. His cuteness was waning. Claire had brought her giant magic wand from the circus and was waving it around and tapping people with it. Her cuteness, also, was waning.
We waited in the lobby, calmed down, went back into the meeting, got fussy, left, came back, left, came back; I lost track of the time. I finally told the police officer my name and asked her to come get me when it was our time to speak. At this point some people were sympathetic and some people were irritated. City council meetings aren't for kids.
When it was our turn, we made a grand entrance. Claire pranced down the aisles tapping people with her wand and entertaining the audience. Paul tried to speak into the microphone. I tried to be serious. The mayor thought it would be a great idea to pass down his gavel for the kids to play with. I just set it to the side.
I did get to say my piece and I think they listened. It ended up being a good idea to bring the kids because it was definitely memorable for all involved. Apparently we even made the news and appeared on two different channels last night. Unfortunately we missed both showings.
Some people would be horrified at the idea of taking two small children to such a serious event, and I have to admit I was at times. Adam and I both believe that sometimes our presence is more important than our decorum. I hope that turns out to be the case here. We'll know if they keep our library open.
If you've ever seen Claire at church, you can picture her at the library. She feels right at home, runs up to different librarians to say "hi," hides in the bookshelves, shows off the stuffed animal of the day, and generally makes herself comfortable. Paul likes to dance to the music and pull books off shelves.
We're regulars at the library and consider the librarians our friends. So when we heard that the Fort Worth City Council had proposed shutting down our library, we were horrified. Sure, there's another library close by, but it's too big and crowded. If Claire hid in the shelves there, I'd never find her. We like our little library.
We immediately fired off a letter to city council and the mayor. They responded, thanking us for our comments and promising to do the best they could. Adam and I talked and we felt that wasn't enough. I wanted to go speak to the council in person but didn't want to take the kids. Adam had a different idea.
"You should take the kids, because they are patrons, too," he said. "Every time they disturb the meeting, the council will be reminded why you are there and maybe that will make a difference."
So yesterday we tried it. We got to city hall at 9:30 a.m. The meeting was supposed to start at 10, so we signed in as speakers and sat down to wait. A 30-minute wait is manageable; I brought Barbie and Ken and snacks. Everyone thought the kids were precious.
Thirty minutes dragged on to an hour. We went into the meeting and everyone still thought the kids were adorable. We sat quietly and looked at books while the council went through the agenda, approving resolutions and listening to presentations about various topics.
Thirty minutes after that, Paul was done. He wanted to walk around. His cuteness was waning. Claire had brought her giant magic wand from the circus and was waving it around and tapping people with it. Her cuteness, also, was waning.
We waited in the lobby, calmed down, went back into the meeting, got fussy, left, came back, left, came back; I lost track of the time. I finally told the police officer my name and asked her to come get me when it was our time to speak. At this point some people were sympathetic and some people were irritated. City council meetings aren't for kids.
When it was our turn, we made a grand entrance. Claire pranced down the aisles tapping people with her wand and entertaining the audience. Paul tried to speak into the microphone. I tried to be serious. The mayor thought it would be a great idea to pass down his gavel for the kids to play with. I just set it to the side.
I did get to say my piece and I think they listened. It ended up being a good idea to bring the kids because it was definitely memorable for all involved. Apparently we even made the news and appeared on two different channels last night. Unfortunately we missed both showings.
Some people would be horrified at the idea of taking two small children to such a serious event, and I have to admit I was at times. Adam and I both believe that sometimes our presence is more important than our decorum. I hope that turns out to be the case here. We'll know if they keep our library open.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Super Brownies!
When I make my brownies, humility is not included in the recipe. They are the best brownies you've ever had. I offer my apologies to those who make good brownies, even those who make delicious ones. Mine are better.
My brownies have a layer of chocolate candy in them. They are so tasty that whenever I make a batch, strangely, the entire pan never makes it to the destination.
That was the case yesterday when I made a batch of brownies to serve the homeless ladies who were spending the night at our church. Claire and I wanted to offer our best, so we taste-tested them before we took them to church. Our friend Robyn wasn't satisfied that I had properly tested them, so when she cut them and put them on the serving tray, she too, had to try them out.
I don't have much experience dealing directly with homeless people. I've seen homeless folks, even talked to a few, but there's always been something separating me from them like my car or a serving line.
Yesterday I brought my brownies and my kids to church and it was a tie as to which made the ladies happier. Claire was ecstatic at having an audience and flailed around the room laughing and jumping on their beds. (I kept trying to get her to stop that, but something about a mattress just makes kids want to jump!) Paul toddled around the room hijacking food and chasing me.
Having the kids there was stressful. I was in charge of coordinating all the volunteers last night and had a hard time concentrating because of a constant worry that Paul would crawl down the stairs (two attempts) or that Claire would run away (lost count on that one.)
Having kids there was right. Kids are universal. No matter if you are rich or poor, everyone loves cute kids. And as luck would have it, my kids are cute. Claire and Paul offered a common topic of conversation that didn't involve any class divisions. They are also entertaining in their rambunctiousness. Several of the ladies labeled Claire and/or Paul as their "friend" and tried to keep them. One lady asked if Claire could spend the night.
So I'm glad I brought Claire and Paul, and I'm glad I brought brownies. I overheard one lady mentioning she was used to eating stale food. They all loved the brownies and asked if they were having them again for breakfast. I told them no, but found some baggies and gave each one of them an extra brownie in a bag. Some of them hid those under the table and I saw at least two ladies take their brownie bag to the bathroom, unwilling to part with it even for a minute.
I'm not claiming to have changed any lives, but I think I helped offer a little bit of happiness with my kids and my brownies. And if my momentary stress offers someone a distraction from their problems, it's worth it to me.
My brownies have a layer of chocolate candy in them. They are so tasty that whenever I make a batch, strangely, the entire pan never makes it to the destination.
That was the case yesterday when I made a batch of brownies to serve the homeless ladies who were spending the night at our church. Claire and I wanted to offer our best, so we taste-tested them before we took them to church. Our friend Robyn wasn't satisfied that I had properly tested them, so when she cut them and put them on the serving tray, she too, had to try them out.
I don't have much experience dealing directly with homeless people. I've seen homeless folks, even talked to a few, but there's always been something separating me from them like my car or a serving line.
Yesterday I brought my brownies and my kids to church and it was a tie as to which made the ladies happier. Claire was ecstatic at having an audience and flailed around the room laughing and jumping on their beds. (I kept trying to get her to stop that, but something about a mattress just makes kids want to jump!) Paul toddled around the room hijacking food and chasing me.
Having the kids there was stressful. I was in charge of coordinating all the volunteers last night and had a hard time concentrating because of a constant worry that Paul would crawl down the stairs (two attempts) or that Claire would run away (lost count on that one.)
Having kids there was right. Kids are universal. No matter if you are rich or poor, everyone loves cute kids. And as luck would have it, my kids are cute. Claire and Paul offered a common topic of conversation that didn't involve any class divisions. They are also entertaining in their rambunctiousness. Several of the ladies labeled Claire and/or Paul as their "friend" and tried to keep them. One lady asked if Claire could spend the night.
So I'm glad I brought Claire and Paul, and I'm glad I brought brownies. I overheard one lady mentioning she was used to eating stale food. They all loved the brownies and asked if they were having them again for breakfast. I told them no, but found some baggies and gave each one of them an extra brownie in a bag. Some of them hid those under the table and I saw at least two ladies take their brownie bag to the bathroom, unwilling to part with it even for a minute.
I'm not claiming to have changed any lives, but I think I helped offer a little bit of happiness with my kids and my brownies. And if my momentary stress offers someone a distraction from their problems, it's worth it to me.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Susan
We have a friend named Susan. She is 55 years old and she's always teaching us life lessons.
Susan is mentally challenged. She was cared for her entire life by her father, a friend of ours, who passed away recently. We were casual friends with Susan before, but have stepped in to help out since her father passed away. The result has been a beautiful friendship between her and our entire family.
The first time I was amazed at Susan was about a year before her father passed away. She had just gotten home from the hospital after surgery. We had never been to her house before and were amazed at the artwork on display there. Her favorite activity is coloring and the walls on both floors of her home were covered with framed color by number marker posters. Her father was as proud of them as he would have been owning a Monet.
A couple of weeks after her father's funeral we discovered Susan was staying at a home near our house. One of our ministers was driving across town to make sure she made it to church every Sunday, so we took over that job. Her favorite outfit to wear to church included a T-shirt emblazened with the words "Still Undefeated." It was in reference to a football team, but we found it appropriate for her situation, too.
Eventually she had to be moved to a full-time nursing center because of health problems. We were initially horrified at the center because she was roomed with a severely mentally unstable lady who was convinced everyone was out to hurt her. Adam and I cringed when we visited Susan because of her roommate and couldn't stand to think about Susan staying with her. Susan didn't mind. She introduced the crazy lady as her friend and shared her birthday presents. She gave her birthday cake, brand new crayons and even a small piece of jewelry. She has a new roommate now, and we love her.
Recently we were at the nursing home and were startled by a lady screaming. This particular lady is usually screaming when we come. Claire was scared of her, and I must admit being unsettled myself. When we picked up Susan Sunday to go to church, she stopped in front of the lady's room and called her by name. "Bye Diana!" she said, and the lady responded in kind, calling Susan by name in her yell-speak. I was afraid to be around the lady and Susan calls her a friend.
At church, Susan is anxious to receive communion. She nearly runs down the aisle, and I have seen her clap her hands and point to her palm in anticipation. I enjoy communion myself, but I have never run down the aisle or demanded my communion come faster. Maybe I should.
Yesterday we took Susan to dinner at Whataburger (one of her favorites) and she thanked us as well as each employee when we left. "Thank you. It was very good!" she told them all. I always tell fast-food people thank you when I receive my food, but I have never gone back to compliment them on their hard work. They weren't used to it, either, and were obviously impressed.
Susan always gives Claire or Paul her artwork from church. She attends class with Claire because they are on about the same level. She might have the intelligence of a three year old, but her wisdom is ageless.
Susan is mentally challenged. She was cared for her entire life by her father, a friend of ours, who passed away recently. We were casual friends with Susan before, but have stepped in to help out since her father passed away. The result has been a beautiful friendship between her and our entire family.
The first time I was amazed at Susan was about a year before her father passed away. She had just gotten home from the hospital after surgery. We had never been to her house before and were amazed at the artwork on display there. Her favorite activity is coloring and the walls on both floors of her home were covered with framed color by number marker posters. Her father was as proud of them as he would have been owning a Monet.
A couple of weeks after her father's funeral we discovered Susan was staying at a home near our house. One of our ministers was driving across town to make sure she made it to church every Sunday, so we took over that job. Her favorite outfit to wear to church included a T-shirt emblazened with the words "Still Undefeated." It was in reference to a football team, but we found it appropriate for her situation, too.
Eventually she had to be moved to a full-time nursing center because of health problems. We were initially horrified at the center because she was roomed with a severely mentally unstable lady who was convinced everyone was out to hurt her. Adam and I cringed when we visited Susan because of her roommate and couldn't stand to think about Susan staying with her. Susan didn't mind. She introduced the crazy lady as her friend and shared her birthday presents. She gave her birthday cake, brand new crayons and even a small piece of jewelry. She has a new roommate now, and we love her.
Recently we were at the nursing home and were startled by a lady screaming. This particular lady is usually screaming when we come. Claire was scared of her, and I must admit being unsettled myself. When we picked up Susan Sunday to go to church, she stopped in front of the lady's room and called her by name. "Bye Diana!" she said, and the lady responded in kind, calling Susan by name in her yell-speak. I was afraid to be around the lady and Susan calls her a friend.
At church, Susan is anxious to receive communion. She nearly runs down the aisle, and I have seen her clap her hands and point to her palm in anticipation. I enjoy communion myself, but I have never run down the aisle or demanded my communion come faster. Maybe I should.
Yesterday we took Susan to dinner at Whataburger (one of her favorites) and she thanked us as well as each employee when we left. "Thank you. It was very good!" she told them all. I always tell fast-food people thank you when I receive my food, but I have never gone back to compliment them on their hard work. They weren't used to it, either, and were obviously impressed.
Susan always gives Claire or Paul her artwork from church. She attends class with Claire because they are on about the same level. She might have the intelligence of a three year old, but her wisdom is ageless.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Games we play
Around the Boyette household, we have several games that we play daily. Here's a brief listing:
1. Boo! -- About a year ago, Claire got into a phase where she loved to shout "boo!" and "scare" people. Adam taught her to be polite when she does it, so she says, "Pardon me, boo!" We crack up every time. Adam says it's nice for her to say excuse me before she scares people half to death.
2. Whoo! -- Adam and his Uncle Gilbert have named each other animal names so they can feel tough and trash-talk using animal lingo. Adam is Spotted Owl and his uncle is the Horned Toad. (Don't ask, I don't know why those were chosen.) When Adam comes home from lunch everyday, he walks in as quietly as possible. Claire always hears the door creak, though. They tiptoe in a circle around the house until they find each other at which point, they yell "Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! With a little razzmatazz!" Apparently that's what spotted owls say.
3. Meowwwwww! -- We have several children's CDs, but Claire's favorite contains a song about the "Three Little Kittens." The cats lost their mittens and they cry and I hate that song. We listen to it daily. The lady who sings it makes the cats sound like they are dying. When we sing along we try to make the most pathetic cat sounds you've ever heard. "Meoooooooooooooowww!" The winner is the one who makes the most awful sound. I've shared this song with Adam's mom and she's in on the game as well. She answers her phone with an awful meow sound. Adam's father has begged us to stop, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon.
4. Ow! -- Claire's favorite panties are "monkey panties" featuring Curious George. Adam is also almost always wearing an animal logo somewhere on his clothing. Every morning when Adam is getting ready for work, either she or he will point to the other's clothing. "Is that monkey/horse/dog/elephant on your shirt/shorts/panties/pants/boxers nice?" The reply is always, "Yes, that one is, but you have to watch out for this other one because he's mean." At which point the questioner bravely sticks out his/her hand toward the "mean" one and shouts "Ow! That monkey/horse/dog/elephant bit me!"
5. Love Pat -- Since we first started dating, Adam cannot pass behind me without smacking my behind. I don't even notice it anymore. Claire does, though, and asked Daddy why he was giving Mama "pankings." (She has problems remember initial 's' sounds, which makes interesting words like skunk without the 's.') Adam taught her the difference between a spanking and a "love pat." So now she'll run up behind Adam, me, or other friends and smack their bottom followed by a declaration, "That was a love pat!" When it's too hard, the victim argues, "No, that was a spanking!" I've had to explain Claire's actions a few times to friends whose bottoms she's slapped. She also likes to "burp" people, modeling what we do to Paul.
I've been told children love routines, and around this house, silliness is definitely the routine.
1. Boo! -- About a year ago, Claire got into a phase where she loved to shout "boo!" and "scare" people. Adam taught her to be polite when she does it, so she says, "Pardon me, boo!" We crack up every time. Adam says it's nice for her to say excuse me before she scares people half to death.
2. Whoo! -- Adam and his Uncle Gilbert have named each other animal names so they can feel tough and trash-talk using animal lingo. Adam is Spotted Owl and his uncle is the Horned Toad. (Don't ask, I don't know why those were chosen.) When Adam comes home from lunch everyday, he walks in as quietly as possible. Claire always hears the door creak, though. They tiptoe in a circle around the house until they find each other at which point, they yell "Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! With a little razzmatazz!" Apparently that's what spotted owls say.
3. Meowwwwww! -- We have several children's CDs, but Claire's favorite contains a song about the "Three Little Kittens." The cats lost their mittens and they cry and I hate that song. We listen to it daily. The lady who sings it makes the cats sound like they are dying. When we sing along we try to make the most pathetic cat sounds you've ever heard. "Meoooooooooooooowww!" The winner is the one who makes the most awful sound. I've shared this song with Adam's mom and she's in on the game as well. She answers her phone with an awful meow sound. Adam's father has begged us to stop, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon.
4. Ow! -- Claire's favorite panties are "monkey panties" featuring Curious George. Adam is also almost always wearing an animal logo somewhere on his clothing. Every morning when Adam is getting ready for work, either she or he will point to the other's clothing. "Is that monkey/horse/dog/elephant on your shirt/shorts/panties/pants/boxers nice?" The reply is always, "Yes, that one is, but you have to watch out for this other one because he's mean." At which point the questioner bravely sticks out his/her hand toward the "mean" one and shouts "Ow! That monkey/horse/dog/elephant bit me!"
5. Love Pat -- Since we first started dating, Adam cannot pass behind me without smacking my behind. I don't even notice it anymore. Claire does, though, and asked Daddy why he was giving Mama "pankings." (She has problems remember initial 's' sounds, which makes interesting words like skunk without the 's.') Adam taught her the difference between a spanking and a "love pat." So now she'll run up behind Adam, me, or other friends and smack their bottom followed by a declaration, "That was a love pat!" When it's too hard, the victim argues, "No, that was a spanking!" I've had to explain Claire's actions a few times to friends whose bottoms she's slapped. She also likes to "burp" people, modeling what we do to Paul.
I've been told children love routines, and around this house, silliness is definitely the routine.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Messy Blessy
Our house is a mess. I have no excuses, but have to admit that our house is always a mess. Every time I set my mind to clean it, two little helpers come behind me and undo everything as I'm doing it.
If I'm sweeping, Claire gets a broom and "helps" me by sweeping my pile away. Paul sees a pile of food remains and goes to eat it. Wesley, our dog, comes up and sniffs it to make sure there's nothing he would want to eat.
When I pick up toys, either the kids suddenly remember they love that particular toy and need to play with it right now, or they are inspired to get out other toys to play with.
I run the dishwasher and handwash dishes daily, but my sink stays empty for approximately 15 minutes. It's always either snacktime or mealtime around here.
Then the laundry. Even if I do four or five loads in one day, the next morning, I have at least one load to do. I do laundry every day.
Recently, I was thinking about all my chores and how they never get done and how we have so much clutter in our house. Usually thoughts like this lead to depression and frustration, but that day, I took a different route. I became grateful.
I'm grateful for our clutter. Pictures of our beautiful children, stacked everywhere, notes from loved ones, coupons collected from friends and family to help us save money. Our clutter means that we are loved.
Toys all over the house represent the two happy, healthy children that live here. If I worked outside the home, the toys wouldn't be scattered so much, but only because the kids wouldn't have as much time to play with them. I'm grateful they get full use of all their toys, even if it is all at once.
Our house is furnished almost entirely with gifts, from the couch to the dishes, so I decided that now, when I see a pile of dirty dishes, or laundry on the couch, I'm going to be thankful for our friends that gave us the dishes and couch. I'm also going to be thankful for the food that was served on those dishes.
It is frustrating when you feel like you just stepped on the 100th Cheerio of the day. And just now I tripped over Claire's shopping cart, which is loaded with every canned good she can steal from my pantry. But I'm trying to think gratefully. I'm trying to think, as I sweep up Cheerios and pick up toys, that I'm thankful. Many families don't even have junk. They don't even have Cheerios, much less toys cluttering up their house. All this messiness just shows how blessed we are.
If I'm sweeping, Claire gets a broom and "helps" me by sweeping my pile away. Paul sees a pile of food remains and goes to eat it. Wesley, our dog, comes up and sniffs it to make sure there's nothing he would want to eat.
When I pick up toys, either the kids suddenly remember they love that particular toy and need to play with it right now, or they are inspired to get out other toys to play with.
I run the dishwasher and handwash dishes daily, but my sink stays empty for approximately 15 minutes. It's always either snacktime or mealtime around here.
Then the laundry. Even if I do four or five loads in one day, the next morning, I have at least one load to do. I do laundry every day.
Recently, I was thinking about all my chores and how they never get done and how we have so much clutter in our house. Usually thoughts like this lead to depression and frustration, but that day, I took a different route. I became grateful.
I'm grateful for our clutter. Pictures of our beautiful children, stacked everywhere, notes from loved ones, coupons collected from friends and family to help us save money. Our clutter means that we are loved.
Toys all over the house represent the two happy, healthy children that live here. If I worked outside the home, the toys wouldn't be scattered so much, but only because the kids wouldn't have as much time to play with them. I'm grateful they get full use of all their toys, even if it is all at once.
Our house is furnished almost entirely with gifts, from the couch to the dishes, so I decided that now, when I see a pile of dirty dishes, or laundry on the couch, I'm going to be thankful for our friends that gave us the dishes and couch. I'm also going to be thankful for the food that was served on those dishes.
It is frustrating when you feel like you just stepped on the 100th Cheerio of the day. And just now I tripped over Claire's shopping cart, which is loaded with every canned good she can steal from my pantry. But I'm trying to think gratefully. I'm trying to think, as I sweep up Cheerios and pick up toys, that I'm thankful. Many families don't even have junk. They don't even have Cheerios, much less toys cluttering up their house. All this messiness just shows how blessed we are.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Finding it at home
Yesterday Paul and I were up early and snuck out of the house while everyone else was asleep. We went on a walk in search of an estate sale my friend Stacy alerted us to. I walked and sweated, pushing Paul in the stroller. It's even sweltering in the mornings now. I walked and I walked and I walked. I walked the entire street the sale was supposed to be on but couldn't find it. I don't need anything, but you never know what you'll find at an estate sale. I love buying things that make me laugh.
So I was hot and frustrated when we turned back home. Then I realized there was a garage sale on our street, just a few doors down. I walked there and found several funny magnets and flashcards and toys for Claire. Quite a good haul, I thought. And then I was thinking, isn't that the way life is? You do all that searching and working to find whatever it is you're looking for and it's always at home.
This happens to me often. Last fall I was going through a period of depression/transition to stay-at-home-momness and Adam told me I needed a new friend. I got online and joined the moms group at the local Baptist church. I strategically reached out to several people, trying to kindle the kind of friendship I was looking for and came back empty-handed. I went to several moms' group events and introduced myself to everyone in attendance. Nothing.
Then at my church one day I was talking to a casual friend. I knew her family lived near us, but we'd never gotten together. We made a date to do it, and the rest is history. We talk almost every day and often work out.
It's just so funny to me, and I think it's God. I will empower myself to search for whatever I want, whether it's an estate sale or a friend. I'll go out of my way, walk a long distance, introduce myself to strangers, make myself uncomfortable and then when I'm done, I find "it" right here at home.
My parents live far away and our relationship is full of problems, but I've found plenty of adopted moms here at my home church and neighborhood. I wanted Claire to make friends to socialize with and did some research on playgroups, but found the perfect playmates here, already around us. Even in high school, I had lofty ambitions to attend a far-away school, but found the perfect ones here, where I've lived all my life. I also dated several boys, long-distance and local and found the best one here. Adam and I had been friends for several years before either of us had any inkling we might work out as a couple. We both have lived in Tarrant County our entire lives.
I look back on my life thus far and can name countless instances when I was looking for something and found it right back where I came from. Whatever I need is always here at home. I just have to open my eyes to see it.
So I was hot and frustrated when we turned back home. Then I realized there was a garage sale on our street, just a few doors down. I walked there and found several funny magnets and flashcards and toys for Claire. Quite a good haul, I thought. And then I was thinking, isn't that the way life is? You do all that searching and working to find whatever it is you're looking for and it's always at home.
This happens to me often. Last fall I was going through a period of depression/transition to stay-at-home-momness and Adam told me I needed a new friend. I got online and joined the moms group at the local Baptist church. I strategically reached out to several people, trying to kindle the kind of friendship I was looking for and came back empty-handed. I went to several moms' group events and introduced myself to everyone in attendance. Nothing.
Then at my church one day I was talking to a casual friend. I knew her family lived near us, but we'd never gotten together. We made a date to do it, and the rest is history. We talk almost every day and often work out.
It's just so funny to me, and I think it's God. I will empower myself to search for whatever I want, whether it's an estate sale or a friend. I'll go out of my way, walk a long distance, introduce myself to strangers, make myself uncomfortable and then when I'm done, I find "it" right here at home.
My parents live far away and our relationship is full of problems, but I've found plenty of adopted moms here at my home church and neighborhood. I wanted Claire to make friends to socialize with and did some research on playgroups, but found the perfect playmates here, already around us. Even in high school, I had lofty ambitions to attend a far-away school, but found the perfect ones here, where I've lived all my life. I also dated several boys, long-distance and local and found the best one here. Adam and I had been friends for several years before either of us had any inkling we might work out as a couple. We both have lived in Tarrant County our entire lives.
I look back on my life thus far and can name countless instances when I was looking for something and found it right back where I came from. Whatever I need is always here at home. I just have to open my eyes to see it.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
This Week
We've been very busy the past seven days. Friday afternoon, Adam loaded our truck Clampett-style and we went camping in San Marcos.
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We went with a group from our church and we all had a fun, with the exception of Wesley Eugene. He was the only dog in the group, so he got constant attention. He's not fond of children to begin with, so this was a weekend of torture for him. Luckily he didn't snap or bite any of them.
Claire learned to use a port-a-potty. The first time she sat down on it she said, "Hmmm...This is interesting."
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We all went tubing down the river, even Claire and Paul. The water was calm enough for even the littlest Boyette to enjoy it. Claire even took a nap while tubing with Adam.
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Sunday we headed back home.
Monday morning, I took Claire and Paul to the zoo, for the special "Members Only" activities. Claire got to get up close and personal with a flamingo.
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Tuesday morning, I took the kids to see Kung Fu Panda. It was a free showing, so I didn't feel bad taking a baby to a movie theater. We went with our friends, Alli, Emerson, and Declan, and Alli and I later kicked ourselves for that. Emerson and Claire might as well be sisters. They fight all the time and feed off of each other. About 20 minutes into the movie, Claire needed to go potty. As soon as we got back, Emerson needed to go.
About that time, a family arrived late and sat directly behind us. Our noses told us that. If you've ever been to the Fort Worth Zoo, you know it has a very distinctive smell, a mix of animal poop and stagnant water. Sometimes (and this has happened to me) you leave the zoo smelling like it. It's pretty bad.
So immediately when this family sat behind us, Alli and I looked to each other and verified it wasn't our kids smelling like that. I kept sniffing Paul to make sure he didn't have a dirty diaper. I guess that family had smelled like that all day and didn't notice it. (This has also happened to me, but the Adam has been gracious enough to let me know.)
At one point in the movie, the smell got a lot worse. The boy apparently pooped in the seat because soon after the smell worsened, he ran down the steps with a package of wipes in his hand. The rest of the family left soon after, and the smell remained. Apparently he pooped on the chair.
Alli and I had been very stressed out about our kids during the whole movie. Claire wouldn't sit down, Paul tried to crawl around the theater, Alli's kids were restless as well. But when the kid behind us, who had to be seven or eight, pooped in the seat, it made me grateful. It could always be worse. I could be fleeing from a darkened theater where my kid just pooped on the seat.
Tuesday night, Adam and I went on a hot date to see Twelfth Night at TCU. Wednesday we went to the library twice, once for story time and once to see clowns. We also had a pool playdate.
Last night, after all her friends had left, Claire asked me, "Do people have tails between their legs right here?" She made a gesture toward her privates. "No, silly," I said. "Why do you ask?" "Because Gabe and Paul do." Apparently Claire had walked in on her friend Gabe using the restroom, and she sees Paul naked all the time.
Claire is definitely getting to the questioning stage. She also asked me recently if Paul had peanuts. She definitely needs the information, but I'm not ready to give it to her, so I blew her off with "That's just their bottoms. They're boys, so it's a little bit different."
Claire's pretty smart, so I don't know how long my vague explanations of body parts will last. I want to teach her all the correct words, but I don't want her to shout at the library that boys have penises. (Yesterday, she yelled, "That boy is sooo black!" I don't even know where she got that, because I never talk about that.) I'm going to have to wait until she has developed a little discretion. Of course, that might be a mistake, too, because I know I am not her only source of information. Parenting is hard work.
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We went with a group from our church and we all had a fun, with the exception of Wesley Eugene. He was the only dog in the group, so he got constant attention. He's not fond of children to begin with, so this was a weekend of torture for him. Luckily he didn't snap or bite any of them.
Claire learned to use a port-a-potty. The first time she sat down on it she said, "Hmmm...This is interesting."
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We all went tubing down the river, even Claire and Paul. The water was calm enough for even the littlest Boyette to enjoy it. Claire even took a nap while tubing with Adam.
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Sunday we headed back home.
Monday morning, I took Claire and Paul to the zoo, for the special "Members Only" activities. Claire got to get up close and personal with a flamingo.
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Tuesday morning, I took the kids to see Kung Fu Panda. It was a free showing, so I didn't feel bad taking a baby to a movie theater. We went with our friends, Alli, Emerson, and Declan, and Alli and I later kicked ourselves for that. Emerson and Claire might as well be sisters. They fight all the time and feed off of each other. About 20 minutes into the movie, Claire needed to go potty. As soon as we got back, Emerson needed to go.
About that time, a family arrived late and sat directly behind us. Our noses told us that. If you've ever been to the Fort Worth Zoo, you know it has a very distinctive smell, a mix of animal poop and stagnant water. Sometimes (and this has happened to me) you leave the zoo smelling like it. It's pretty bad.
So immediately when this family sat behind us, Alli and I looked to each other and verified it wasn't our kids smelling like that. I kept sniffing Paul to make sure he didn't have a dirty diaper. I guess that family had smelled like that all day and didn't notice it. (This has also happened to me, but the Adam has been gracious enough to let me know.)
At one point in the movie, the smell got a lot worse. The boy apparently pooped in the seat because soon after the smell worsened, he ran down the steps with a package of wipes in his hand. The rest of the family left soon after, and the smell remained. Apparently he pooped on the chair.
Alli and I had been very stressed out about our kids during the whole movie. Claire wouldn't sit down, Paul tried to crawl around the theater, Alli's kids were restless as well. But when the kid behind us, who had to be seven or eight, pooped in the seat, it made me grateful. It could always be worse. I could be fleeing from a darkened theater where my kid just pooped on the seat.
Tuesday night, Adam and I went on a hot date to see Twelfth Night at TCU. Wednesday we went to the library twice, once for story time and once to see clowns. We also had a pool playdate.
Last night, after all her friends had left, Claire asked me, "Do people have tails between their legs right here?" She made a gesture toward her privates. "No, silly," I said. "Why do you ask?" "Because Gabe and Paul do." Apparently Claire had walked in on her friend Gabe using the restroom, and she sees Paul naked all the time.
Claire is definitely getting to the questioning stage. She also asked me recently if Paul had peanuts. She definitely needs the information, but I'm not ready to give it to her, so I blew her off with "That's just their bottoms. They're boys, so it's a little bit different."
Claire's pretty smart, so I don't know how long my vague explanations of body parts will last. I want to teach her all the correct words, but I don't want her to shout at the library that boys have penises. (Yesterday, she yelled, "That boy is sooo black!" I don't even know where she got that, because I never talk about that.) I'm going to have to wait until she has developed a little discretion. Of course, that might be a mistake, too, because I know I am not her only source of information. Parenting is hard work.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Visiting Mi
Today we went to visit my granddad on my father's side. We call him "Mi." He's been depressed since my grandmother died two years ago, so since I've quit working, we go spend the day with him every other Thursday. Somedays we help, somedays we visit, but today I think we just stressed out.
I should have gotten the kids back in the car and went home at the first sign of trouble. Within five minutes of arriving, Paul had dissected Mi's spittoon, and had used tobacco leaves on the corners of his mouth and in between his fingers. That was just a sign of more to come.
We spent an hour of searching my grandmother's recipes for the perfect meatloaf recipe. My grandfather is 83 and has failing eyesight. About a year ago he started wearing my grandmother's old glasses, but today even those weren't strong enough. He put on magnifying safety goggles to look through cookbooks.
While I was helping him, the kids were going crazy, getting into everything from the trash can to the DVD collection. After it became apparent the meatloaf recipe was like searching for Atlantis, I decided to make lunch. I usually discuss the menu with Mi, but today I decided to surprise him and make okra. We both love okra, and he has a freezer full of it, but rarely makes it because he's the only one there.
I turned on his ventahood but was unaware there was not an outlet for the smoke. The smoke detector went off, I laughed, explained, and went back to cooking. Then the Life Alert smoke detector went off. The house was vibrating with the alarm and a lady started shouting at us through the security panel. "Mr Baker! Mr. Baker! Are you okay? Are you okay?" Mr. Baker replied with a "I can't shut this damn alarm off. I can't hear you because this is too damn loud!" I eventually punched in his code and hung up on the lady.
Then the phone started ringing. The security company wanted to make sure he was okay. At this point I had also dissected the smoke alarm on the wall. My granddad came in to intervene on the cooking and told me to open the screen door. On her last visit, my mom accidentally broke the brackets to hold up the glass on the screen, so I had to open the door all the way. Claire started laughing and screaming that Paul was going to go on a walk in the street. He escaped out the front door at least five times before I was able to assemble the pack 'n' play and barricade him in.
Danger averted from lunch, we sat down and ate. Afterward, it was nap time. Mi has fond memories of kids sleeping in cribs in his house, so I try to always bring the pack 'n' play for Paul. This is the only place we use it, so Paul feels like he's in prison. He screamed for at least 20 minutes before I gave up and got him. I tried to lay him down with Claire and me on a pallet in the living room, but that was a struggle. He calmed down and then Claire announced that her and Curious George needed to go potty. They were gone for about 20 minutes, and then she came back with some mail and said it was hers. Then my granddad appeared and asked if we had a good nap. Nap? What's that?
I had just gotten Paul to sleep and then he saw Mi. He started jumping up and down, flapping his arms. No more nap for him. It was about 3 p.m. at this point, so I wrapped up the recipe conversation, offered to make the perfect meatloaf next time I come, and started cleaning. I guided Claire on picking up her toys and meanwhile, Paul was stringing stuff out. I picked up his mess, and then she had gotten out more books. I went in circles, and at 4 p.m., I finally caught up with both of them.
Claire went potty and then I followed. I always leave the toilet lid up after I'm done because it's so hard for my granddad to bend down. At our house, the lids stay down. Paul knows that and seized his unique opportunity. He crawled to the toilet as fast as he could and started splashing water. I picked him up, washed him off, and didn't set him down again in the house. I managed to get the kids to hug my granddad and get out of there without any more crises.
I was feeling bad because we had turned his normal, quiet house upside down, but when I hugged Mi bye, he told me, "I love you, Doll." I guess everything will be okay.
I should have gotten the kids back in the car and went home at the first sign of trouble. Within five minutes of arriving, Paul had dissected Mi's spittoon, and had used tobacco leaves on the corners of his mouth and in between his fingers. That was just a sign of more to come.
We spent an hour of searching my grandmother's recipes for the perfect meatloaf recipe. My grandfather is 83 and has failing eyesight. About a year ago he started wearing my grandmother's old glasses, but today even those weren't strong enough. He put on magnifying safety goggles to look through cookbooks.
While I was helping him, the kids were going crazy, getting into everything from the trash can to the DVD collection. After it became apparent the meatloaf recipe was like searching for Atlantis, I decided to make lunch. I usually discuss the menu with Mi, but today I decided to surprise him and make okra. We both love okra, and he has a freezer full of it, but rarely makes it because he's the only one there.
I turned on his ventahood but was unaware there was not an outlet for the smoke. The smoke detector went off, I laughed, explained, and went back to cooking. Then the Life Alert smoke detector went off. The house was vibrating with the alarm and a lady started shouting at us through the security panel. "Mr Baker! Mr. Baker! Are you okay? Are you okay?" Mr. Baker replied with a "I can't shut this damn alarm off. I can't hear you because this is too damn loud!" I eventually punched in his code and hung up on the lady.
Then the phone started ringing. The security company wanted to make sure he was okay. At this point I had also dissected the smoke alarm on the wall. My granddad came in to intervene on the cooking and told me to open the screen door. On her last visit, my mom accidentally broke the brackets to hold up the glass on the screen, so I had to open the door all the way. Claire started laughing and screaming that Paul was going to go on a walk in the street. He escaped out the front door at least five times before I was able to assemble the pack 'n' play and barricade him in.
Danger averted from lunch, we sat down and ate. Afterward, it was nap time. Mi has fond memories of kids sleeping in cribs in his house, so I try to always bring the pack 'n' play for Paul. This is the only place we use it, so Paul feels like he's in prison. He screamed for at least 20 minutes before I gave up and got him. I tried to lay him down with Claire and me on a pallet in the living room, but that was a struggle. He calmed down and then Claire announced that her and Curious George needed to go potty. They were gone for about 20 minutes, and then she came back with some mail and said it was hers. Then my granddad appeared and asked if we had a good nap. Nap? What's that?
I had just gotten Paul to sleep and then he saw Mi. He started jumping up and down, flapping his arms. No more nap for him. It was about 3 p.m. at this point, so I wrapped up the recipe conversation, offered to make the perfect meatloaf next time I come, and started cleaning. I guided Claire on picking up her toys and meanwhile, Paul was stringing stuff out. I picked up his mess, and then she had gotten out more books. I went in circles, and at 4 p.m., I finally caught up with both of them.
Claire went potty and then I followed. I always leave the toilet lid up after I'm done because it's so hard for my granddad to bend down. At our house, the lids stay down. Paul knows that and seized his unique opportunity. He crawled to the toilet as fast as he could and started splashing water. I picked him up, washed him off, and didn't set him down again in the house. I managed to get the kids to hug my granddad and get out of there without any more crises.
I was feeling bad because we had turned his normal, quiet house upside down, but when I hugged Mi bye, he told me, "I love you, Doll." I guess everything will be okay.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Eat your vegetables!
Adam did not grow up eating vegetables. His mother has told me several times that he only would eat macaroni and cheese, pizza, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when he was growing up.
I did not grow up watching football. My dad said he didn't like watching grown men play a child's game. He and my mother hated the Dallas Cowboys and like a good daughter, I followed suit.
Early in our relationship, Adam and I realized we had a problem. He hated foods that I loved and couldn't live without and I hated football, which he loved and couldn't live without. We made a deal, and it stands to this day. I watch football and he eats whatever I cook. After eight years of marriage, it's still working well.
There are several parts of my life that I liken to eating vegetables. You might not like it the first time, or the second time, but by the third or fourth time, you actually enjoy it and are getting something out of it.
I eat vegetables with my reading habits. I love to read fiction, but I rotate between a fiction book and a book that edifies my person, either spiritually or intellectually. Switching off between novels for entertainment and books for education has broadened my horizons. I've found I actually enjoy some non-fiction books.
I also eat vegetables with good deeds. Sometimes I don't feel like taking groceries to by elderly friend, but after I do it, I feel better. I'm constantly making myself go the extra mile in the good deed category. Sometimes I want to and sometimes I just make myself, but almost all the time I'm glad I did.
It's not always rewarding. A recent visit to help my grandfather was frustrating and stressful. (Six remote controls and technical difficulties, plus two kids climbing in my lap crying.) But it's the right thing to do.
I think we were put on Earth to make the world a better place; to help and love each other, so even if I don't want to, I do it. Adam is the same way. I remember driving back from a road trip to Las Vegas. We were already late, but Adam, sick and exhausted, pulled over to change a lady's tire. She was amazed a stranger would do that for her.
Maybe we're getting stars on some celestial chart, but that's not why we do it. We do it because eating your vegetables is good for you.
I did not grow up watching football. My dad said he didn't like watching grown men play a child's game. He and my mother hated the Dallas Cowboys and like a good daughter, I followed suit.
Early in our relationship, Adam and I realized we had a problem. He hated foods that I loved and couldn't live without and I hated football, which he loved and couldn't live without. We made a deal, and it stands to this day. I watch football and he eats whatever I cook. After eight years of marriage, it's still working well.
There are several parts of my life that I liken to eating vegetables. You might not like it the first time, or the second time, but by the third or fourth time, you actually enjoy it and are getting something out of it.
I eat vegetables with my reading habits. I love to read fiction, but I rotate between a fiction book and a book that edifies my person, either spiritually or intellectually. Switching off between novels for entertainment and books for education has broadened my horizons. I've found I actually enjoy some non-fiction books.
I also eat vegetables with good deeds. Sometimes I don't feel like taking groceries to by elderly friend, but after I do it, I feel better. I'm constantly making myself go the extra mile in the good deed category. Sometimes I want to and sometimes I just make myself, but almost all the time I'm glad I did.
It's not always rewarding. A recent visit to help my grandfather was frustrating and stressful. (Six remote controls and technical difficulties, plus two kids climbing in my lap crying.) But it's the right thing to do.
I think we were put on Earth to make the world a better place; to help and love each other, so even if I don't want to, I do it. Adam is the same way. I remember driving back from a road trip to Las Vegas. We were already late, but Adam, sick and exhausted, pulled over to change a lady's tire. She was amazed a stranger would do that for her.
Maybe we're getting stars on some celestial chart, but that's not why we do it. We do it because eating your vegetables is good for you.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Kleptomaniac
I am about to confess something that will make you think less of me. My son, 11 months old, is already a kleptomaniac.
I discovered this a couple of days ago when we went to Kroger. Adam was at an engineering meeting and the kids and I went to get some broccoli and a few bake mixes. Claire's birthday was yesterday and I wanted to bake her the muffins and cookies of her choosing and broccoli to balance it all out.
It was a fairly short trip to the grocery store. It was also fairly low maintenance. No trips to the bathroom, no time-outs in the grocery cart, not much begging for unnecessary items.
I put all my groceries on the register, keeping one eye on Claire because she kept grabbing candy bars and offering them to other people in line. She didn't quite understand why the lady behind us didn't want to eat the Hershey bar she was trying to give her.
So one eye on Claire, one eye on the register, pen in hand writing a check. We checked out, I sighed with relief and we started walking out. Then I saw it.
Paul was hugging a package of cookie mix. I hadn't paid for it.
And this is where my crisis of conscience comes in. I had a debate in my head. Do I go back to the register, apologize and pay for the $2 mix? Do I use this as a lesson on honesty? Or do I pretend I didn't notice and keep on walking out the door with unpaid merchandise?
Claire is now three, old enough to be learning lessons like this. She could have benefitted from her mother's act of honesty. Instead, her mother was dishonest and kept on walking. I could list a thousand excuses for why I didn't go back and pay for the cookies, but the real reason is that I didn't want to.
And as a kick in the seat of my pants, I swear to you I have never seen a rent-a-cop at Kroger, but there was one right outside the door when we left. At first I was scared we were going to be arrested, but then I realized I still could go back and pay for the cookies. I didn't.
Right and wrong is often not black and white. My life has a lot of gray in it. I believe it's important to model good choices for my children, especially when it would have been so easy to go back and pay. Hopefully my kids will pick up on all my good deeds and not remember this one. Or they could be headed toward a life of crime, which could have been avoided for $2 plus tax.
I discovered this a couple of days ago when we went to Kroger. Adam was at an engineering meeting and the kids and I went to get some broccoli and a few bake mixes. Claire's birthday was yesterday and I wanted to bake her the muffins and cookies of her choosing and broccoli to balance it all out.
It was a fairly short trip to the grocery store. It was also fairly low maintenance. No trips to the bathroom, no time-outs in the grocery cart, not much begging for unnecessary items.
I put all my groceries on the register, keeping one eye on Claire because she kept grabbing candy bars and offering them to other people in line. She didn't quite understand why the lady behind us didn't want to eat the Hershey bar she was trying to give her.
So one eye on Claire, one eye on the register, pen in hand writing a check. We checked out, I sighed with relief and we started walking out. Then I saw it.
Paul was hugging a package of cookie mix. I hadn't paid for it.
And this is where my crisis of conscience comes in. I had a debate in my head. Do I go back to the register, apologize and pay for the $2 mix? Do I use this as a lesson on honesty? Or do I pretend I didn't notice and keep on walking out the door with unpaid merchandise?
Claire is now three, old enough to be learning lessons like this. She could have benefitted from her mother's act of honesty. Instead, her mother was dishonest and kept on walking. I could list a thousand excuses for why I didn't go back and pay for the cookies, but the real reason is that I didn't want to.
And as a kick in the seat of my pants, I swear to you I have never seen a rent-a-cop at Kroger, but there was one right outside the door when we left. At first I was scared we were going to be arrested, but then I realized I still could go back and pay for the cookies. I didn't.
Right and wrong is often not black and white. My life has a lot of gray in it. I believe it's important to model good choices for my children, especially when it would have been so easy to go back and pay. Hopefully my kids will pick up on all my good deeds and not remember this one. Or they could be headed toward a life of crime, which could have been avoided for $2 plus tax.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Pace Car
Though I was born in the South and am white, I am not a NASCAR fan. Adam and I have been to a couple of races at the Texas Motor Speedway, but that was only because we got free tickets in the mail from Marlboro. (We posed as smokers one night at a concert. Didn't have to actually smoke, just say that we did, and boom, we get all sorts of gifts in the mail from them.)
Before the race starts, they have a few warm-up laps, where the drivers drive around the speedway behind a pace car. They're not allowed to pass up the pace car. There are reasons for that.
As I've gotten older, my driving has slowed down. Don't get me wrong; I have a history of wild driving, and the driving record to prove it. Adam thinks I drive like an old lady now. Somedays, though, the temperature is just right, the windows are down, and I'm rocking out and hitting the gas. I'll be zooming along and then have to slam on my breaks because some jerk in front of me is actually going the speed limit. After I hit the brakes and take a deep breath, I usually see a police officer on the side of the road. Then I thank God for putting the pace car in front of me and saving me from a ticket or a wreck.
I think God often puts pace cars in front of me to slow me down. Sometimes my pace car is one of my elderly friends. I'll go over to Jo's house, and time will stand still. Sometimes it's one of my children, who bring a toy to me and remind me that there are more important activities than housework. Sometimes it's a stranger who offers a small act of kindness when I'm struggling.
Even as a stay-at-home mom, my life runs a break-neck speeds. I am grateful when I am forced to slow down and appreciate life. Pace cars are blessings.
Before the race starts, they have a few warm-up laps, where the drivers drive around the speedway behind a pace car. They're not allowed to pass up the pace car. There are reasons for that.
As I've gotten older, my driving has slowed down. Don't get me wrong; I have a history of wild driving, and the driving record to prove it. Adam thinks I drive like an old lady now. Somedays, though, the temperature is just right, the windows are down, and I'm rocking out and hitting the gas. I'll be zooming along and then have to slam on my breaks because some jerk in front of me is actually going the speed limit. After I hit the brakes and take a deep breath, I usually see a police officer on the side of the road. Then I thank God for putting the pace car in front of me and saving me from a ticket or a wreck.
I think God often puts pace cars in front of me to slow me down. Sometimes my pace car is one of my elderly friends. I'll go over to Jo's house, and time will stand still. Sometimes it's one of my children, who bring a toy to me and remind me that there are more important activities than housework. Sometimes it's a stranger who offers a small act of kindness when I'm struggling.
Even as a stay-at-home mom, my life runs a break-neck speeds. I am grateful when I am forced to slow down and appreciate life. Pace cars are blessings.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
A Primer on Grocery Shopping
When I was a kid, my grandma would send us little envelopes in the mail. Sometimes she wouldn't send them, she'd just hand them to my mom when we visited. Malcolm Gladwell, author of The Tipping Point, would have called her a coupon maven. She was always on the lookout for good coupons and would remember what products our family used so she could send us the coordinating coupons. Sometimes the coupons came in your birthday card, which always made us roll our eyes. What everyone wants for their birthday is coupons!
Every Sunday afternoon growing up, my parents had a debate. We'd just finished service at the Baptist church and they couldn't decide if they wanted a nap first or eat lunch first. We rotated, but one thing we didn't rotate on was the activities afterward. Everyone sat on the couch and went through the Sunday paper. My dad would read the news, and my mom, sister, and I would go through the salespapers and cut coupons. I remember getting tired of the activity as I got older and I started to rebel. I stopped cutting the edges off the coupons, leaving a white border. I was hard core.
My mom taught me math by helping me to calculating discounts off the clothes we bought. We bought everything on sale, and when we took our outfits up to the register, we knew what to expect from the 50% off sale.
When I was in college, I often went grocery shopping with my grandma. She taught me new tips on shopping, like how to pick a cashier. She usually chose men who looked kind of dumb. They didn't check her expiration dates on her coupons and she could save more money. She taught me how to slip an expired coupon in with all your regular coupons. She taught me the rules of coupon doubling and tripling. I remember her beaming from ear to ear when I would check out and only owe $20.
Some of Grandma's tips don't work any more. I tend to chose the smarter-looking cashiers now because they will override the register if the coupon doesn't ring up. I'm always careful to buy exactly what the coupons tells me to, but sometimes the register still beeps. If the cashier isn't very smart, they get confused and call the manager. You can't use expired coupons any more, either. The computers eliminated that.
As a stay-at-home mom, a large part of my time is spent getting ready for the grocery store. I have a team of shoppers that help me, too. My grandfather and my blind friend, Jo, both save their Sunday coupons for me. My grandfather goes through and picks the right set of coupons for me. Jo, who I suspect subscribes to the paper solely for the obituaries, throws anything that looks couponish into a bag for me. I appreciate both of them because I can often buy multiple items and have a coupon for each one.
My mother-in-law, Sarita, is in on the game, too. She usually calls me on Sunday afternoon to alert me to good coupons in the paper that week. When I was working I was always a week or two behind on my clipping, and sometimes missed good ones. Sarita clips all the coupons she needs and then saves the rest in a bag for me. I have a special coupon drawer for her at our house. Every time we see each other, we trade sacks of coupons.
This last year, with the loss of my paycheck, it has become even more important for me to save money on the grocery bill. I've started studying the grocery store ads, and now "grocery hop" to different stores for different products. On a typical shopping day, we might go to five different stores for groceries. This is no small task for a single adult, but when you add two small children, it nearly drives me to the insane asylum. I can tell you where the bathroom is in any grocery store on my side of Fort Worth. I don't know if she really needs it or if she gets entertained frustrating her mom, but Claire can use the potty four times in one grocery store.
I do not bribe my children to behave in the store, but I do feed them. If I buy deli meat, I always make sure to get a sample for Claire and Paul. At Tom Thumb, they allow each child to have an apple, banana, orange, or balloon for free. If they're eating, they are happy.
Here's a few time-tested tips from me, a third generation grocery store maven:
1. Albertson's, Kroger, and Tom Thumb triple the face value of a coupon up to 39 cents. They double it up to 50 cents. Beyond that it is face value only.
2. At Walmart, coupons are worth their face value only. I do find Walmart grocery stores to have cheaper prices if you are not using a coupon, but I've done the math. If you are using coupons, traditional grocery stores are better.
3. Tom Thumb is more expensive on certain items, but if I'm depressed and need good customer service, I go there.
4. Albertson's is cheapest on meat. They have ridiculous sales where you can buy one package of steaks and get two free. You would think it would be bad meat, but it's delicious! Watch their salepaper for the coupons.
5. If you forgot your store-specific coupons at your house, go to customer service. They keep them behind the counter.
6. Sales start every Wednesday, but sometimes they have weekend-only deals.
7. On Hulen Street in Fort Worth, at Tom Thumb, the bathroom is in the pharmacy. At Albertson's, it's in produce. At Kroger, it's in the meat department.
It's a lot of work, but it's worth it. Last week I spent $89 for two weeks worth of groceries. I love looking at my receipt at the end. I usually save about 25 percent with coupons and sales. Sometimes I get into big money and save up to 30 percent or more.
My grandma doesn't cut coupons as much anymore. She finds it to be too much work for just her and my grandpa. Every time I see her, she is proud to hear my war stories from the grocery store. It's a battle against manufacturer's profit, and they don't make a lot from me. I'm a war veteran.
Every Sunday afternoon growing up, my parents had a debate. We'd just finished service at the Baptist church and they couldn't decide if they wanted a nap first or eat lunch first. We rotated, but one thing we didn't rotate on was the activities afterward. Everyone sat on the couch and went through the Sunday paper. My dad would read the news, and my mom, sister, and I would go through the salespapers and cut coupons. I remember getting tired of the activity as I got older and I started to rebel. I stopped cutting the edges off the coupons, leaving a white border. I was hard core.
My mom taught me math by helping me to calculating discounts off the clothes we bought. We bought everything on sale, and when we took our outfits up to the register, we knew what to expect from the 50% off sale.
When I was in college, I often went grocery shopping with my grandma. She taught me new tips on shopping, like how to pick a cashier. She usually chose men who looked kind of dumb. They didn't check her expiration dates on her coupons and she could save more money. She taught me how to slip an expired coupon in with all your regular coupons. She taught me the rules of coupon doubling and tripling. I remember her beaming from ear to ear when I would check out and only owe $20.
Some of Grandma's tips don't work any more. I tend to chose the smarter-looking cashiers now because they will override the register if the coupon doesn't ring up. I'm always careful to buy exactly what the coupons tells me to, but sometimes the register still beeps. If the cashier isn't very smart, they get confused and call the manager. You can't use expired coupons any more, either. The computers eliminated that.
As a stay-at-home mom, a large part of my time is spent getting ready for the grocery store. I have a team of shoppers that help me, too. My grandfather and my blind friend, Jo, both save their Sunday coupons for me. My grandfather goes through and picks the right set of coupons for me. Jo, who I suspect subscribes to the paper solely for the obituaries, throws anything that looks couponish into a bag for me. I appreciate both of them because I can often buy multiple items and have a coupon for each one.
My mother-in-law, Sarita, is in on the game, too. She usually calls me on Sunday afternoon to alert me to good coupons in the paper that week. When I was working I was always a week or two behind on my clipping, and sometimes missed good ones. Sarita clips all the coupons she needs and then saves the rest in a bag for me. I have a special coupon drawer for her at our house. Every time we see each other, we trade sacks of coupons.
This last year, with the loss of my paycheck, it has become even more important for me to save money on the grocery bill. I've started studying the grocery store ads, and now "grocery hop" to different stores for different products. On a typical shopping day, we might go to five different stores for groceries. This is no small task for a single adult, but when you add two small children, it nearly drives me to the insane asylum. I can tell you where the bathroom is in any grocery store on my side of Fort Worth. I don't know if she really needs it or if she gets entertained frustrating her mom, but Claire can use the potty four times in one grocery store.
I do not bribe my children to behave in the store, but I do feed them. If I buy deli meat, I always make sure to get a sample for Claire and Paul. At Tom Thumb, they allow each child to have an apple, banana, orange, or balloon for free. If they're eating, they are happy.
Here's a few time-tested tips from me, a third generation grocery store maven:
1. Albertson's, Kroger, and Tom Thumb triple the face value of a coupon up to 39 cents. They double it up to 50 cents. Beyond that it is face value only.
2. At Walmart, coupons are worth their face value only. I do find Walmart grocery stores to have cheaper prices if you are not using a coupon, but I've done the math. If you are using coupons, traditional grocery stores are better.
3. Tom Thumb is more expensive on certain items, but if I'm depressed and need good customer service, I go there.
4. Albertson's is cheapest on meat. They have ridiculous sales where you can buy one package of steaks and get two free. You would think it would be bad meat, but it's delicious! Watch their salepaper for the coupons.
5. If you forgot your store-specific coupons at your house, go to customer service. They keep them behind the counter.
6. Sales start every Wednesday, but sometimes they have weekend-only deals.
7. On Hulen Street in Fort Worth, at Tom Thumb, the bathroom is in the pharmacy. At Albertson's, it's in produce. At Kroger, it's in the meat department.
It's a lot of work, but it's worth it. Last week I spent $89 for two weeks worth of groceries. I love looking at my receipt at the end. I usually save about 25 percent with coupons and sales. Sometimes I get into big money and save up to 30 percent or more.
My grandma doesn't cut coupons as much anymore. She finds it to be too much work for just her and my grandpa. Every time I see her, she is proud to hear my war stories from the grocery store. It's a battle against manufacturer's profit, and they don't make a lot from me. I'm a war veteran.
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