When my children went to Our Lady of the Valley R.C. School in Wayne New Jersey, I became friendly with Sister Mary Theresa, aka, Sister Mary Music. She was the music minister in our parish. My son played the drums and my daughter sang with the Children's Choir. Sister had some health issues when she wasn't making that organ smoke. Sister had great faith and dynamite Rosary Beads, though, to be able to relax and have me drive her to doctor appointments, to eye surgery, assorted errands and shhhh....don't tell Sister Ave (the Superior, at the time), cruising with my roof open, blasting the radio to the park for picnics and a bottle of wine. She just loved riding in that car and trying to scratch up some drag races.
One day, during Holy Week, as we were parting company in front of the Convent and hugging, I said: "Oh, go get some rest Sister and have a Happy Easter!" With that, fury descended on me from the formerly sweet Sister. I swear, I felt the flames of hell licking the hem of my skirt! "That's not acceptable! The entire Crucifixion, death of Jesus, and this, our holiest week of our Liturgical Year, just NOT HAPPY, Laura! You should be more respectful of our Savior!...I would have thought..." And on and on and on... I watched her for a while, remembered that she was not one of my children ranting, but God's and said: "I get that, I really do. But, just think of how HAPPY Jesus was to come alive again, to be off of that hard rock and out of those borrowed sheets, have a tete-a-tete with Mary Magdalene, strut His stuff at Pilate and his goons and manage to crank open those gate of Heaven for all of those good souls lined up waiting, probably cheering. I don't know about you, Sister, but, I'm thinking that the Easter/Resurrection thing is on the Happier side of Lent." She stood, stared at me for a nano-second and in a hushed voice said: "I see your point. I will pray for you though, dear. And, by the way, don't tell Ave that we went joy riding, next time we'll shut those punks down...great wine, thanks for lunch!" She turned on her sensible shoe's heel and went inside.
Sister died about a month after that, not from my driving, thank you, but whenever I say: "Happy Easter" to anyone other than the heathens who surround me, I miss her. I think of her. So, if on Easter Sunday, you catch me looking up...join me in saying: HAPPY EASTER , SISTER MARY MUSIC!!!
Laura Macy Author & Actress
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Thursday, April 10, 2014
I ASK YOU BABY BOOMERS: WERE WE SO GOOD, THAT IT'S NO GOOD?
I am a Baby Boomer. I am a divorced Baby Boomer. I am a divorced Baby Boomer Grandparent. My social circle is comprised of Baby Boomers who are either divorced, widowed, married, yet mostly grandparents. There are, by the way about 76 million Baby Boomers out there. We talk about music, movies, our parents (sorry Mom and Dad, but we do), our lawns, our condo associations, our cars, possibly Viet Nam, fundraisers, Church, history, our Alma Maters/degrees (I know, I know, I do what most consider hobbies), taxes, the "Market", latest clothing trends (got 'em), latest electronic trends (can't get 'em) and over coffee, a glass of wine, possibly a beer...our children/our grandchildren.
We grew up in an era of "responsibility". Yes, we enjoyed the activities, the "craziness" of teenage years, sports, dancing schools, band trips, shenanigans during lunch, study, trying to "cut" school, "everyone else is doing it..." But, most of our Dads earned the family's income out of the home and our Moms ran the "castle" so to speak. We learned respect, accountability. We were educated (not always loving it, I know), getting in "trouble" in school was not the best choice, because at home you'd be in "bigger trouble." We were taught that the purpose of an education was to obtain a "good JOB". Many worked for the "extras", put our own gas in our "jalopies" that we worked on for years until we could drive. I, personally, danced with Billy (another Blog) to win record albums in contests. There was not extra money for some things like records, or some of the craft/art supplies that I craved. Things were moderate, measured. There were family vacations that we didn't want to end at the beach or a lake.
Of course, in high school, there were incidents like smoking in the boys' room", drinking behind the Junior High on Friday nights, or even an occasional cherry bomb in the toilet in the boys' room. But, by college, or in the military, we still had fun, humor, pranks, but we became adults with responsibility and to sound repetitive , respect. Respect for authority, for parents, for family, for God, Country. We marched into the Viet Nam Was, some pro, some con. We fought or demonstrated. We were treated shabbily upon the return home, but we maintained our dignity remaining strong, proud, moral. The Boomers bridged war, technology, radical social, economic changes, but we vowed to make the world better, easier for our children.
What happened?
Many of the Boomers' children are productive, successful, happy. However, I find that the majority of Boomers with whom I have come in contact, wonder "What happened? Where did we go wrong?" What is the common denominator that drove boomers into the despair and statistic of approximately 2 1/2 million of us raising our grandchildren? The number increases by at least 1 million of those assuming more parental responsibility. As we grew up, we visited our grandparents. Perhaps there was a standing "Sunday Dinner" weekly. We spent holidays, overnight was a treat. They attended our Dance Recitals, our Graduations, Birthday dinners, occasionally baby-sat. But, the vast majority of our parents raised us, taught us, aged because of us.
I am led to believe that we may have, in our drive to make things easier for our children, to let them grow as expressive individuals, be exposed to "everything" such as music, culture, art, upscale organized sports, while striving to remain youthful and "cool" ourselves, we just may have cultivated a collection of miserable, unhappy, unproductive, over exposed, problem ridden young adults. Many of the young men have problems with drugs, alcohol, work ethics. Our daughters are out of control. They are equipped with their degrees, yet bottles of Vodka. Picking up the slack for our children, as we have always done, we Boomers, now are going to school meetings, arranging lessons, seeing to homework/education, clothing feeding and in some cases, becoming their sports coaches or the "backstage" mothers at dance recitals. We are Santa Clauses, Easter Bunnies, we ride the Carousel and the Train. We are pushing swings, bouncing up and down on teeter-totters. We're doing it all over again. Our children are selfish. We taught them to expect the world given to them, not earned. We tried and tried to be so generous, understanding, to participate and be the "go to" parent, that we forgot that they must learn to sustain themselves and continue life.
There was an old saying: "A good parent gives their children Roots and Wings. Roots so that they have a solid anchor and know that they are loved and accepted; Wings in order that they fly and thrive."
Some of us, Boomers, have strangled our children with roots that now bind us as well. We didn't get the "wing" thing down.
Our conversations among ourselves include statements like: "Do you have the children this weekend? OR "I'm taking my daughter to outpatient counseling...she was discharged from de-tox." OR "I have new outfits for the girls' school pictures, Mom's still in the psych ward" OR "My daughter hates me. I have spent nothing but time and money on her...gotta run and pick up the kids from school!" OR "I kept the boys while my husband went to that place, just in time before the drug raid mentioned in the paper, looking for her." How many homes have become multi-generational, or how many of our new cars have racked up 7,000 miles in three weeks?
Though we compare notes, help each other out, arrange play dates, struggle through another round of child raising, we would not ever, ever drop the ball. NEVER. The Boomers are paying the piper for trying to be good, involved, interesting parents, thereby encouraging our children to play too hard. Our hearts are with our Grandchildren. None of us would trade the responsibility, the love, the little voices when they say: "Meme (may-may), O Pa, Grandma, Pop-Pop, Nannie, Granny, Grandma, Grandpa, you are the only one that I can trust! I love you!"
So, Boomers, we have a chance for redemption. A "do-over" with our Grandchildren. (I pray that we don't make the same mistakes, if we only knew what exactly they were) We love them more than ourselves or our lives. It's said that people live longer now than ever before! It's a good thing, because we have a crop of children to give roots and wings. Let's get it right!
I ask you, Boomers, were we so good that it's no good?
We grew up in an era of "responsibility". Yes, we enjoyed the activities, the "craziness" of teenage years, sports, dancing schools, band trips, shenanigans during lunch, study, trying to "cut" school, "everyone else is doing it..." But, most of our Dads earned the family's income out of the home and our Moms ran the "castle" so to speak. We learned respect, accountability. We were educated (not always loving it, I know), getting in "trouble" in school was not the best choice, because at home you'd be in "bigger trouble." We were taught that the purpose of an education was to obtain a "good JOB". Many worked for the "extras", put our own gas in our "jalopies" that we worked on for years until we could drive. I, personally, danced with Billy (another Blog) to win record albums in contests. There was not extra money for some things like records, or some of the craft/art supplies that I craved. Things were moderate, measured. There were family vacations that we didn't want to end at the beach or a lake.
Of course, in high school, there were incidents like smoking in the boys' room", drinking behind the Junior High on Friday nights, or even an occasional cherry bomb in the toilet in the boys' room. But, by college, or in the military, we still had fun, humor, pranks, but we became adults with responsibility and to sound repetitive , respect. Respect for authority, for parents, for family, for God, Country. We marched into the Viet Nam Was, some pro, some con. We fought or demonstrated. We were treated shabbily upon the return home, but we maintained our dignity remaining strong, proud, moral. The Boomers bridged war, technology, radical social, economic changes, but we vowed to make the world better, easier for our children.
What happened?
Many of the Boomers' children are productive, successful, happy. However, I find that the majority of Boomers with whom I have come in contact, wonder "What happened? Where did we go wrong?" What is the common denominator that drove boomers into the despair and statistic of approximately 2 1/2 million of us raising our grandchildren? The number increases by at least 1 million of those assuming more parental responsibility. As we grew up, we visited our grandparents. Perhaps there was a standing "Sunday Dinner" weekly. We spent holidays, overnight was a treat. They attended our Dance Recitals, our Graduations, Birthday dinners, occasionally baby-sat. But, the vast majority of our parents raised us, taught us, aged because of us.
I am led to believe that we may have, in our drive to make things easier for our children, to let them grow as expressive individuals, be exposed to "everything" such as music, culture, art, upscale organized sports, while striving to remain youthful and "cool" ourselves, we just may have cultivated a collection of miserable, unhappy, unproductive, over exposed, problem ridden young adults. Many of the young men have problems with drugs, alcohol, work ethics. Our daughters are out of control. They are equipped with their degrees, yet bottles of Vodka. Picking up the slack for our children, as we have always done, we Boomers, now are going to school meetings, arranging lessons, seeing to homework/education, clothing feeding and in some cases, becoming their sports coaches or the "backstage" mothers at dance recitals. We are Santa Clauses, Easter Bunnies, we ride the Carousel and the Train. We are pushing swings, bouncing up and down on teeter-totters. We're doing it all over again. Our children are selfish. We taught them to expect the world given to them, not earned. We tried and tried to be so generous, understanding, to participate and be the "go to" parent, that we forgot that they must learn to sustain themselves and continue life.
There was an old saying: "A good parent gives their children Roots and Wings. Roots so that they have a solid anchor and know that they are loved and accepted; Wings in order that they fly and thrive."
Some of us, Boomers, have strangled our children with roots that now bind us as well. We didn't get the "wing" thing down.
Our conversations among ourselves include statements like: "Do you have the children this weekend? OR "I'm taking my daughter to outpatient counseling...she was discharged from de-tox." OR "I have new outfits for the girls' school pictures, Mom's still in the psych ward" OR "My daughter hates me. I have spent nothing but time and money on her...gotta run and pick up the kids from school!" OR "I kept the boys while my husband went to that place, just in time before the drug raid mentioned in the paper, looking for her." How many homes have become multi-generational, or how many of our new cars have racked up 7,000 miles in three weeks?
Though we compare notes, help each other out, arrange play dates, struggle through another round of child raising, we would not ever, ever drop the ball. NEVER. The Boomers are paying the piper for trying to be good, involved, interesting parents, thereby encouraging our children to play too hard. Our hearts are with our Grandchildren. None of us would trade the responsibility, the love, the little voices when they say: "Meme (may-may), O Pa, Grandma, Pop-Pop, Nannie, Granny, Grandma, Grandpa, you are the only one that I can trust! I love you!"
So, Boomers, we have a chance for redemption. A "do-over" with our Grandchildren. (I pray that we don't make the same mistakes, if we only knew what exactly they were) We love them more than ourselves or our lives. It's said that people live longer now than ever before! It's a good thing, because we have a crop of children to give roots and wings. Let's get it right!
I ask you, Boomers, were we so good that it's no good?
Friday, March 21, 2014
THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH (no joke...the GREATEST E-V-E-R!)
My three young grandchildren were having a terrible day, one Friday. They had worked so hard on their "Pinewood Derby" cars for a month. Unfortunately, they are products of divorce. The kind of divorce where Dad hates Mom (my daughter) more than he loves the children. (Child support w-a-y behind also) In spite of pleas, offers to "switch weekends", offers of an extra weekend, visiting for only one of the two nights of the weekend (going to Dad's after the Derby), offers for Dad to attend the Derby, participate and that I would do the driving, were refuted with great hostility. My heart broke as I stood with Todd (10 years old) as he pleaded, cried and begged to participate in the Pinewood Derby. Dad only wanted to punish Mom, claiming last minute (not so) and on and on as he waved his "court orders" like a flag. The two younger children (Tess, 9 and Tanner 6) agreed with Todd, but were fearful of the classically cruel step-mother (if Dad and she were married...simply a live in). But, no one could move the mountain of disagree-ability. When Dad threatened little Todd that he would have me - Meme (may-may) arrested for attempted kidnapping, if he refused to get into his Dad's car and went into mine, Todd reluctantly, miserably agreed to go with Dad. Todd then said, as he hugged and kissed me: "Meme, you are the only one that I trust. I'll see you Sunday."
What I did not mention to Dad, was that I had tickets for RINGLING BROTHERS, BARNUM AND BAILEY CIRCUS immediately after visitation! I am a" Circus Junkie". I have attended Ringling Brothers, Cole Brothers, Wallace Brothers and the Pan Am Circuses since I was the size of a thimble! After I graduated from College, I wanted to attend "Clown College" having been inspired by Bill Balentine's book about the Circus and Clown Alley. My parents were less than enthused. However, my father told my mother to tell me, just last week, that the Circus has a clown shortage and perhaps, I just might consider auditioning. I have a perfect "graduation act" ready, but, I think that the Trio's parents might be on the same page, for once, if we all ran away and joined the Circus.
The trio was returned to me at 4 pm. After extreme hugs, kisses and cheers, we drove to Cincinnati, caught the "Pre-show" of the Circus. The children during the Pre-Show were invited into the center ring to meet the performers, obtain autographs, get up close and personal with the animals. The cast was gracious and radiated warmth implying that they were happy to see us! We, then situated ourselves in the front row with a perfect view of EVERYTHING that was about to unfold!
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, CHILDREN OF ALL AGES, WELCOME TO RINGLING BROTHERS, BARNUM AND BAILEY CIRCUS...THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!"
The weekend dissolved into lights, color, music, magic, clowns, acrobats, elephants, big cats. During the Circus Parade, we waved to the elephant riders, horses, dogs, clowns, King Charles Troupe, aerialists, acrobats, animal trainers, dancers. They all smiled and waved back! Todd and a clown had an exchange; a clown flirted with Tess; a third clown hi-fived Tanner! We laughed, sang, stomped, danced, totally immersed ourselves in the joy of the Greatest Show on Earth! "Meme! Look! They are going to shoot someone out of a cannon!" "Meme! Look! How do they go around on that thing and not fall off?" "Meme! Look! That tiger is so big!" And so the amazement continued throughout the "Built to Amaze" edition of the Circus. Dancers were extremely talented, embraced the audience and then broke out into "Gangman Style". Tanner simply got up and pranced along! Popcorn, soda, cotton candy, cool circus hats and ices in elephant mugs added to the uninhibited glee. We hung onto every minute! The entertainment of the Circus is so varied that there is something for everyone to enjoy.
Finally, the performance ended. I could feel tears swelling as the Ringmaster said: "MAY ALL YOUR DAYS BE CIRCUS DAYS!"
As we pulled out of the parking garage at US BANK ARENA, Todd said, "You know, Meme, now the weekend seems so far away from us. The circus makes me happy and makes everything good again." Tess and Tanner, readily agreed. Todd continued: "We can only trust you, and maybe, we should remember and try together that all our days be circus days...just like the Greatest Show on Earth!"
What I did not mention to Dad, was that I had tickets for RINGLING BROTHERS, BARNUM AND BAILEY CIRCUS immediately after visitation! I am a" Circus Junkie". I have attended Ringling Brothers, Cole Brothers, Wallace Brothers and the Pan Am Circuses since I was the size of a thimble! After I graduated from College, I wanted to attend "Clown College" having been inspired by Bill Balentine's book about the Circus and Clown Alley. My parents were less than enthused. However, my father told my mother to tell me, just last week, that the Circus has a clown shortage and perhaps, I just might consider auditioning. I have a perfect "graduation act" ready, but, I think that the Trio's parents might be on the same page, for once, if we all ran away and joined the Circus.
The trio was returned to me at 4 pm. After extreme hugs, kisses and cheers, we drove to Cincinnati, caught the "Pre-show" of the Circus. The children during the Pre-Show were invited into the center ring to meet the performers, obtain autographs, get up close and personal with the animals. The cast was gracious and radiated warmth implying that they were happy to see us! We, then situated ourselves in the front row with a perfect view of EVERYTHING that was about to unfold!
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, CHILDREN OF ALL AGES, WELCOME TO RINGLING BROTHERS, BARNUM AND BAILEY CIRCUS...THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!"
The weekend dissolved into lights, color, music, magic, clowns, acrobats, elephants, big cats. During the Circus Parade, we waved to the elephant riders, horses, dogs, clowns, King Charles Troupe, aerialists, acrobats, animal trainers, dancers. They all smiled and waved back! Todd and a clown had an exchange; a clown flirted with Tess; a third clown hi-fived Tanner! We laughed, sang, stomped, danced, totally immersed ourselves in the joy of the Greatest Show on Earth! "Meme! Look! They are going to shoot someone out of a cannon!" "Meme! Look! How do they go around on that thing and not fall off?" "Meme! Look! That tiger is so big!" And so the amazement continued throughout the "Built to Amaze" edition of the Circus. Dancers were extremely talented, embraced the audience and then broke out into "Gangman Style". Tanner simply got up and pranced along! Popcorn, soda, cotton candy, cool circus hats and ices in elephant mugs added to the uninhibited glee. We hung onto every minute! The entertainment of the Circus is so varied that there is something for everyone to enjoy.
Finally, the performance ended. I could feel tears swelling as the Ringmaster said: "MAY ALL YOUR DAYS BE CIRCUS DAYS!"
As we pulled out of the parking garage at US BANK ARENA, Todd said, "You know, Meme, now the weekend seems so far away from us. The circus makes me happy and makes everything good again." Tess and Tanner, readily agreed. Todd continued: "We can only trust you, and maybe, we should remember and try together that all our days be circus days...just like the Greatest Show on Earth!"
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
OF COURSE...CALL OR TEXT ANYTIME
Let me begin with a shaky foundation. I bought the trio (Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 6) Kindle Fires. They have the ability to text from those contraptions. Their cell phones have been lost, broken, not replaced (yet). My phone has a rather loud "Pirate Jig" ringtone and my text alert sounds like a "clang" heard at your local fire department. I am not a morning person.
BUT...I am a smothering, over involved Grandmother.
SO... After a weekend visit, the usual hugs, kisses, see you next weekend , I love you's and "call anytime" I unknowingly sealed the deal that I just might never sleep until sunrise again.
BECAUSE... This morning, my text alarm clanged at 7:02 A.M. That startled me out of a rather pleasant dream. UGH. I managed to grope and grab my phone after knocking the alarm clock (never used), some papers, a pen, two paper clips, an emery board, three flash drives, two prayer books, a photo of my grandparents, a bracelet and a glass of water off of my night table onto the floor. The text was from Tess: "Good morning Meme (may-may)! I love you! I'll talk to you later!" So, one eyed, stiff fingered, I replied something to the effect: "Good morning pretty Princess! I love you too!" I gently closed my eyes. At 7:18 A.M., the Pirate Jig, not to be outdone, rattled me. "Hello?" Todd: "Meme! Is Tessie bothering you? I told her that texting would wake you up. Your text thingie is so loud! I'll talk to her about bothering you early in the morning!" Ah-ha...is it me? "Todd, I was up anyway". (Oh sure, let's see now - America's top lies: 1. "the check is in the mail" 2. "you can tell me anything" and 3."I was up"), so no worries. Are you getting ready for school? Better have some breakfast and I'll talk to you when you get home!" Todd: "Okay, love you, bye!" Click. I settled under the covers again, ignoring the mess on the floor. I snuggled in just right, when, you guessed it...a text followed quickly by the jig! Tanner, before I could speak : "Meme! Todd grabs the phone before me! Tess said that I can't text you while she is because that's too much at once and your phone will break! I think that they make stuff up and grab the house phone faster because I'm the baby!" Oh boy. "Tanner. It's true that you are the youngest. But, you are no baby, because you have those two figured out! Quick Fingers and Bossy Bloomers have nothing on you!" Giggling: "I love you, Meme! You are always right!"
When children are 6, adults are right. When they are 10 until, oh maybe yesterday (talking to my 36 year old son), not so much! Of course, call or text anytime and I'll remind you!
BUT...I am a smothering, over involved Grandmother.
SO... After a weekend visit, the usual hugs, kisses, see you next weekend , I love you's and "call anytime" I unknowingly sealed the deal that I just might never sleep until sunrise again.
BECAUSE... This morning, my text alarm clanged at 7:02 A.M. That startled me out of a rather pleasant dream. UGH. I managed to grope and grab my phone after knocking the alarm clock (never used), some papers, a pen, two paper clips, an emery board, three flash drives, two prayer books, a photo of my grandparents, a bracelet and a glass of water off of my night table onto the floor. The text was from Tess: "Good morning Meme (may-may)! I love you! I'll talk to you later!" So, one eyed, stiff fingered, I replied something to the effect: "Good morning pretty Princess! I love you too!" I gently closed my eyes. At 7:18 A.M., the Pirate Jig, not to be outdone, rattled me. "Hello?" Todd: "Meme! Is Tessie bothering you? I told her that texting would wake you up. Your text thingie is so loud! I'll talk to her about bothering you early in the morning!" Ah-ha...is it me? "Todd, I was up anyway". (Oh sure, let's see now - America's top lies: 1. "the check is in the mail" 2. "you can tell me anything" and 3."I was up"), so no worries. Are you getting ready for school? Better have some breakfast and I'll talk to you when you get home!" Todd: "Okay, love you, bye!" Click. I settled under the covers again, ignoring the mess on the floor. I snuggled in just right, when, you guessed it...a text followed quickly by the jig! Tanner, before I could speak : "Meme! Todd grabs the phone before me! Tess said that I can't text you while she is because that's too much at once and your phone will break! I think that they make stuff up and grab the house phone faster because I'm the baby!" Oh boy. "Tanner. It's true that you are the youngest. But, you are no baby, because you have those two figured out! Quick Fingers and Bossy Bloomers have nothing on you!" Giggling: "I love you, Meme! You are always right!"
When children are 6, adults are right. When they are 10 until, oh maybe yesterday (talking to my 36 year old son), not so much! Of course, call or text anytime and I'll remind you!
Sunday, February 16, 2014
THIS WILL BE RECORDED FOR QUALITY ASSURANCE AND TRAINING PURPOSES
How many of us has phoned "Customer Dis-Service", oh, excuse me -"Customer Service"? If one is on this planet, at one time or other, this experience, this exercise in exasperation, has been "enjoyed."
Usually,the joy ride begins like this: You phone "Customer Service" with a problem. Before you do, you logically think the entire mess through in order to sound intelligent, methodical in order to talk the "representative" through the swamp of dishonest disgust in which you are forced to wade. A phone connection is made with five options to press buttons to "serve you more effectively". Only the English option is valid, the rest does nothing to address your issue. After pressing "O" enough, you hear: "Thank you for contacting ____customer service. Your call is important to us, so please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order in which it was received." Then, you hear, "All calls are recorded for quality assurance and training purposes." Now, right there, I challenge any and all companies, if calls were truly used for accuracy and training, one would think that someone would learn something and clean up the rather poor, badly lacking comedy show...the "get the hook" act is so old, stale, and basically ironically sad and insulting to the consumer. Shabby comes to mind. And so, you are placed on "ignore" and if your call was important, you wouldn't be placed on ignore right out of the box! The music that is played, apparently is geared to agitate an unhappy customer to the point of hysteria. Horrid, offensive, abrasive music finds it's resting place in customer dis-service "hold" lines. Finally, totally incomprehensible syllables spill into your ear. After at least seventeen attempts on your part, pleading and apologizing: "I'm sorry, I don't understand you! Is there someone who can speak reasonably understandable English?" (in those grass shacks with coconuts and strings...no, you can't say THAT) Finally, a representative who has marginal command of General American English takes you on. As a rational, mature adult, you begin your tale of woe after introducing yourself. Whoa! Whoa! "Spell you name please." Name spelled, story begins. Whoa! Whoa! "Please may I have your full address and verify your zip code." Address reported. Zip code fine and dandy, story begins. Whoa! Whoa! "The county?" UGH. You reveal the county. (Why?) "May I have your phone number please, area code first?" Now, after all of that, you begin the reason that you are calling. Whoa! Whoa! "E-mail address?" You patiently (yeah, sure) give your e-mail address and are told that it is not a valid e-mail address. The fact that you have received e-mails with that address for twenty years and that you are receiving e-mails on your phone at that address while you are being told that it is not a valid e-mail address is not relative, I suppose. After a sparing match, I finally say: "I don't have an e-mail address."
There you go! Do I have an order number, shipment number, item ID number, transaction number, authorization number, reference number, receipt number? NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO,NO! "How can I help you?" Whew! Finally! By now, you have spent three days trying to make a connection in order to ask a question. You have missed your child's first step, the first day of school, the birth of your second child and dinner!
So, you explain the "nature of your call." You are stopped, challenged, made to repeat yourself. You try to explain in other terms, answer questions and are told: "We'll get back to you." OH NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!! You demand to speak to a supervisor who is always in a meeting. Now, I believe that my publisher, my cell phone carrier, FragranceNet.com, Amazon have parties/meetings together scheduled for supervisors all at the same time. Occasionally they meet with the billing department supervisor of my Doctor's office, the cable company's supervisor and any government agency supervisor (or not) and yuck it up together while you are waiting, because, if you do not "remain on the line" (aka IGNORE), you will never hear from any "customer dis-service supervisor" EVER! And, if you try to phone back, you have to go back to square one and begin at the very first "hello" at the start of the loop from deep, dark, tangled gyrations suffered in the previous paragraphs! So, you wait and wait as you begin looking for a machete, a lead pipe or two or a sub-machine gun to attempt achieving a little attention and "blow off steam", after you've emptied your wine bottle. Finally, you have a 50/50 shot and someone gets on the phone with a marginal vocabulary, fair language skills and whose IQ just might reach the temperature of the room. BUT...you have to explain your name, address, zip code, county, phone number all over again. Apparently, he/she is incapable of pressing "play" to hear the "recording". And then he/she gets slick: "E-mail address?" Ah-ha! you learned that you don't have a valid e-mail address from the last round in this ring...'None" you boast proudly. Snarky pants sitting in "supervisor's" chair: " So, you are telling me that ____________@____.com is not your e-mail address? I will have to transfer you to..." "NO! NO! NO! My e-mail address is: ____________@____.com, but I was told that it is not valid. When I said that I don't have one, I was still connected to the service department. Don't make me start this mess all over again! And further more, why is my e-mail address an issue? I am not phoning about e-mails, my problem is..." Then Ms. Snippy launches into : "Mam! Mam! " (I hate that) "This is for your own security! We respect privacy and security!" The Yahoo address worked just fine, Mam. Now, your mother's maiden name please?" How is your identity protected with Mom's name when I never filled that out when I bought the items (in a brick and mortar store)
in question? UGH!!!
Now, the fancy talking really begins. Let me share my latest experience:
For Christmas, I bought the trio (Grandchildren: Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 6) Kindle Fires. I walked into Staples during a sale. Three grandchildren = three Kindle Fires. In the snappy boxes containing these electronic contraptions, only the Fires and USB cables were nestled. The actual plug for the cord ($25 each) and cases (starting at $50 are sold separately, thank you very much. By mid January, Tanner's wouldn't charge (loose port) and Todd's had no sound! So, we trooped to Staples. A nice saleswoman handed us a phone number: "Here's the phone number for Amazon Customer Service (Apparently, Amazon is the sponsor of the Swindle Fire line of torture) You will be able to resolve all of your issues in a phone call." Sure after 1. The check is in the mail and 2. You can tell me anything. I will not repeat the previous paragraphs, but actually, they accurately retell my experience. I was told: "We'll send you replacements. You must return the damaged Kindle Fires in the boxes in which the new ones are shipped. We are e-mailing you shipping labels immediately." (you know, to the invalid e-mail address? don't go there). After removing the replacements, place the returns in the boxes, USB cords, use the shipping labels and bring them to an authorized UPS shipment facility. We will take your credit card number and only if within a week, we do not receive the old Kindles, we will charge you for the new ones." This conversation occurred on Monday, January 13. On Tuesday, I received two new Kindles. On Wednesday, January 15, the defective testaments to technology were on their way back to the Thieves (without Ali Baba) Cave. I thought, "Hot Diggity!" The trio danced to "The Bird is the Word", performed Virtual Surgery, played games, built in Minecraft. In spite of the insanity with Customer Dis-Service, life was good.
Until:
February 16. A month after the Customer Dis-Service polka and shipment watusi. An e-mail from Amazon was in my in box stating that my credit card will be charged for an unreturned Kindle! Without rocket fuel and before I shed my boosters, I launched into space! I spent an hour in the scenario that I described in the beginning of this blog (again). I endured the music, the questions, retold the story 1,000 times, give or take. I stressed that if my previous calls had been recorded, they could pull from the archives my information. I also had to resort to telling "Debbie" (supervisor...got to her in 32 minutes of hellish music) that I was a finger away from hitting "send" to the BBB for this after I talk to my bank. My attorney would then tap dance because of fraud and theft. Well, well...all resolved. I asked for a confirmation of the solution, no charges, etc. She said she would e-mail it to me. Yep, the same "invalid" e-mail address through which the threatening letter was sent. Go figure. She made the mistake, after I saw the confirmation on my screen, to ask: "Is there anything else that I can do do help you? I apologize. You made sense." With every possible fiber of my being, I maintained rational restraint and replied: "Lose the abrasive, annoying, obnoxious music and please DO BE SURE that "this conversation was recorded for quality assurance and training purposes" instead of replays for amusement around the water cooler. Common sense is severely lacking. Language is a problem. Please record that for quality assurance and training purposes!
Usually,the joy ride begins like this: You phone "Customer Service" with a problem. Before you do, you logically think the entire mess through in order to sound intelligent, methodical in order to talk the "representative" through the swamp of dishonest disgust in which you are forced to wade. A phone connection is made with five options to press buttons to "serve you more effectively". Only the English option is valid, the rest does nothing to address your issue. After pressing "O" enough, you hear: "Thank you for contacting ____customer service. Your call is important to us, so please stay on the line and your call will be answered in the order in which it was received." Then, you hear, "All calls are recorded for quality assurance and training purposes." Now, right there, I challenge any and all companies, if calls were truly used for accuracy and training, one would think that someone would learn something and clean up the rather poor, badly lacking comedy show...the "get the hook" act is so old, stale, and basically ironically sad and insulting to the consumer. Shabby comes to mind. And so, you are placed on "ignore" and if your call was important, you wouldn't be placed on ignore right out of the box! The music that is played, apparently is geared to agitate an unhappy customer to the point of hysteria. Horrid, offensive, abrasive music finds it's resting place in customer dis-service "hold" lines. Finally, totally incomprehensible syllables spill into your ear. After at least seventeen attempts on your part, pleading and apologizing: "I'm sorry, I don't understand you! Is there someone who can speak reasonably understandable English?" (in those grass shacks with coconuts and strings...no, you can't say THAT) Finally, a representative who has marginal command of General American English takes you on. As a rational, mature adult, you begin your tale of woe after introducing yourself. Whoa! Whoa! "Spell you name please." Name spelled, story begins. Whoa! Whoa! "Please may I have your full address and verify your zip code." Address reported. Zip code fine and dandy, story begins. Whoa! Whoa! "The county?" UGH. You reveal the county. (Why?) "May I have your phone number please, area code first?" Now, after all of that, you begin the reason that you are calling. Whoa! Whoa! "E-mail address?" You patiently (yeah, sure) give your e-mail address and are told that it is not a valid e-mail address. The fact that you have received e-mails with that address for twenty years and that you are receiving e-mails on your phone at that address while you are being told that it is not a valid e-mail address is not relative, I suppose. After a sparing match, I finally say: "I don't have an e-mail address."
There you go! Do I have an order number, shipment number, item ID number, transaction number, authorization number, reference number, receipt number? NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO,NO! "How can I help you?" Whew! Finally! By now, you have spent three days trying to make a connection in order to ask a question. You have missed your child's first step, the first day of school, the birth of your second child and dinner!
So, you explain the "nature of your call." You are stopped, challenged, made to repeat yourself. You try to explain in other terms, answer questions and are told: "We'll get back to you." OH NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!! You demand to speak to a supervisor who is always in a meeting. Now, I believe that my publisher, my cell phone carrier, FragranceNet.com, Amazon have parties/meetings together scheduled for supervisors all at the same time. Occasionally they meet with the billing department supervisor of my Doctor's office, the cable company's supervisor and any government agency supervisor (or not) and yuck it up together while you are waiting, because, if you do not "remain on the line" (aka IGNORE), you will never hear from any "customer dis-service supervisor" EVER! And, if you try to phone back, you have to go back to square one and begin at the very first "hello" at the start of the loop from deep, dark, tangled gyrations suffered in the previous paragraphs! So, you wait and wait as you begin looking for a machete, a lead pipe or two or a sub-machine gun to attempt achieving a little attention and "blow off steam", after you've emptied your wine bottle. Finally, you have a 50/50 shot and someone gets on the phone with a marginal vocabulary, fair language skills and whose IQ just might reach the temperature of the room. BUT...you have to explain your name, address, zip code, county, phone number all over again. Apparently, he/she is incapable of pressing "play" to hear the "recording". And then he/she gets slick: "E-mail address?" Ah-ha! you learned that you don't have a valid e-mail address from the last round in this ring...'None" you boast proudly. Snarky pants sitting in "supervisor's" chair: " So, you are telling me that ____________@____.com is not your e-mail address? I will have to transfer you to..." "NO! NO! NO! My e-mail address is: ____________@____.com, but I was told that it is not valid. When I said that I don't have one, I was still connected to the service department. Don't make me start this mess all over again! And further more, why is my e-mail address an issue? I am not phoning about e-mails, my problem is..." Then Ms. Snippy launches into : "Mam! Mam! " (I hate that) "This is for your own security! We respect privacy and security!" The Yahoo address worked just fine, Mam. Now, your mother's maiden name please?" How is your identity protected with Mom's name when I never filled that out when I bought the items (in a brick and mortar store)
in question? UGH!!!
Now, the fancy talking really begins. Let me share my latest experience:
For Christmas, I bought the trio (Grandchildren: Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 6) Kindle Fires. I walked into Staples during a sale. Three grandchildren = three Kindle Fires. In the snappy boxes containing these electronic contraptions, only the Fires and USB cables were nestled. The actual plug for the cord ($25 each) and cases (starting at $50 are sold separately, thank you very much. By mid January, Tanner's wouldn't charge (loose port) and Todd's had no sound! So, we trooped to Staples. A nice saleswoman handed us a phone number: "Here's the phone number for Amazon Customer Service (Apparently, Amazon is the sponsor of the Swindle Fire line of torture) You will be able to resolve all of your issues in a phone call." Sure after 1. The check is in the mail and 2. You can tell me anything. I will not repeat the previous paragraphs, but actually, they accurately retell my experience. I was told: "We'll send you replacements. You must return the damaged Kindle Fires in the boxes in which the new ones are shipped. We are e-mailing you shipping labels immediately." (you know, to the invalid e-mail address? don't go there). After removing the replacements, place the returns in the boxes, USB cords, use the shipping labels and bring them to an authorized UPS shipment facility. We will take your credit card number and only if within a week, we do not receive the old Kindles, we will charge you for the new ones." This conversation occurred on Monday, January 13. On Tuesday, I received two new Kindles. On Wednesday, January 15, the defective testaments to technology were on their way back to the Thieves (without Ali Baba) Cave. I thought, "Hot Diggity!" The trio danced to "The Bird is the Word", performed Virtual Surgery, played games, built in Minecraft. In spite of the insanity with Customer Dis-Service, life was good.
Until:
February 16. A month after the Customer Dis-Service polka and shipment watusi. An e-mail from Amazon was in my in box stating that my credit card will be charged for an unreturned Kindle! Without rocket fuel and before I shed my boosters, I launched into space! I spent an hour in the scenario that I described in the beginning of this blog (again). I endured the music, the questions, retold the story 1,000 times, give or take. I stressed that if my previous calls had been recorded, they could pull from the archives my information. I also had to resort to telling "Debbie" (supervisor...got to her in 32 minutes of hellish music) that I was a finger away from hitting "send" to the BBB for this after I talk to my bank. My attorney would then tap dance because of fraud and theft. Well, well...all resolved. I asked for a confirmation of the solution, no charges, etc. She said she would e-mail it to me. Yep, the same "invalid" e-mail address through which the threatening letter was sent. Go figure. She made the mistake, after I saw the confirmation on my screen, to ask: "Is there anything else that I can do do help you? I apologize. You made sense." With every possible fiber of my being, I maintained rational restraint and replied: "Lose the abrasive, annoying, obnoxious music and please DO BE SURE that "this conversation was recorded for quality assurance and training purposes" instead of replays for amusement around the water cooler. Common sense is severely lacking. Language is a problem. Please record that for quality assurance and training purposes!
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
THE DOCTOR IS IN!!!
For Christmas, I bought my grandchildren: Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 6 Kindle Fires. I found them on sale and thought that I made a real coup! I did the happy dance at the savings until I purchased three chargers and three cases. Todd downloaded at least 1,000,000 "Apps" for WWE and Minecraft, including music. Tess found cute animal things and really good hip-hop and pop music. Tanner acquired the aptitude for some kitchen or bakery things and then started dancing around to: "The Bird Is The Word" !!! I thought that the dance party would never end!
Until...
Tess began downloading decorating "apps" such as "Baby Room Makeover". Todd was developing the knack for laughing like a hyena over some office chaos game and "Kill the Boss" thing. Tanner, well, what do you think of "Toilet Time"? They just loved teasing me with an "app" that made a shattering/breaking sound and the screens would then look cracked. Oh well, different? Maybe?
Until...
I overheard the children, riding in the back seat of my car, discussing surgery, very seriously. They were consulting each other about all sorts of major operations and the implements that they needed. It sounded as if they were surgeons "assisting " each other. Having to keep my eyes on the road and diligently respecting the speed limit while looking for that skunk, Trooper Davis hiding in bushes, I could not really get too involved in the mobile hospital I was transporting.
Until...
The next morning, my e-mail in-box contained confirmations from Amazon/Kindle for:
HIP SURGERY
VIRTUAL EYE SURGERY
ZOMBIE DENTIST
NOSE JOB
TONSILLECTOMY
The trio, I suppose, will be doing their "residencies" at Amazon.com. People say that you can find anything and everything on-line, specifically on Amazon's site. My recommendation: On your next visit to your doctor, especially a possibly recently certified one, eye-ball his wall for diplomas and assorted wall ornaments from brick and mortar institutions, with which you are familiar. Chances are that he might have been riding in the back of his grandmother's car performing his first medical procedure! And, just think, on the screen before that procedure, he might have been building with the block head (literally, cube headed) Steve in "Minecraft", or playing "Toilet Time" while dancing to "The Bird Is The Word"!
Excuse me...gotta run...I don't feel well...no worries...THE DOCTOR IS IN!!!
Until...
Tess began downloading decorating "apps" such as "Baby Room Makeover". Todd was developing the knack for laughing like a hyena over some office chaos game and "Kill the Boss" thing. Tanner, well, what do you think of "Toilet Time"? They just loved teasing me with an "app" that made a shattering/breaking sound and the screens would then look cracked. Oh well, different? Maybe?
Until...
I overheard the children, riding in the back seat of my car, discussing surgery, very seriously. They were consulting each other about all sorts of major operations and the implements that they needed. It sounded as if they were surgeons "assisting " each other. Having to keep my eyes on the road and diligently respecting the speed limit while looking for that skunk, Trooper Davis hiding in bushes, I could not really get too involved in the mobile hospital I was transporting.
Until...
The next morning, my e-mail in-box contained confirmations from Amazon/Kindle for:
HIP SURGERY
VIRTUAL EYE SURGERY
ZOMBIE DENTIST
NOSE JOB
TONSILLECTOMY
The trio, I suppose, will be doing their "residencies" at Amazon.com. People say that you can find anything and everything on-line, specifically on Amazon's site. My recommendation: On your next visit to your doctor, especially a possibly recently certified one, eye-ball his wall for diplomas and assorted wall ornaments from brick and mortar institutions, with which you are familiar. Chances are that he might have been riding in the back of his grandmother's car performing his first medical procedure! And, just think, on the screen before that procedure, he might have been building with the block head (literally, cube headed) Steve in "Minecraft", or playing "Toilet Time" while dancing to "The Bird Is The Word"!
Excuse me...gotta run...I don't feel well...no worries...THE DOCTOR IS IN!!!
Friday, January 31, 2014
GRANDPARENTING - A RICH MAN'S SPORT
I know, I know, money can't buy love. Money is the root of all evil. And so it goes. Sign me up for: SHALLOW. Money doesn't hurt, really. To hear: "Meme" (that's may-may), "This is the best day/night ever!" OR to be able to say: "Okay, sounds great! Let's do it!" without hesitating when asked for lessons, movies, leopard, fur lined shoes dusted with glitter from Justice, new basketball shorts, etc. is exhilarating!
Let me start at the beginning of the story. My daughter, the mother of the Trio - Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 6 announced that she would be on a Caribbean Cruise for two weeks - January 11- January 25. She also said, "Mom, you have to stay in Zanesville, because the children have school, but, I know that you will want to take them home with you on weekends." Ah-ha. Okay.
Zanesville, Ohio is a two and a half hour drive from my residence in Kettering, Ohio if I do the speed limit. Trooper Davis in West Jefferson (not quite one-half way from Kettering) is rather prickly about things like speed limits, so to be sure, it's a two and a half hour ride. Zanesville is grey, ugly, unpleasant. That may sound unfair, because Bryan's, Muddy Miser's, Florafino's, Picnic Pizza, Movement on Main, St. Nicholas parish, Bishop Fenway School are rather pleasant and so genteel. The staff of The Comfort Inn is commendable as well. The Stagecoach and The Horseshoe are rather welcoming also. The rest of Zanesville is ill-mannered, impolite, detestable and Duncan Falls Elementary School produces bullies and is proud of it! Zanesville is Naples, Florida (another Blog, a year and a half ago) without money. But, that is not what I am talking about. The only thing to do in Zanesville, is race to the border to get out!
But my new son-in-law's office is in Zanesville, thereby forcing the family to move into the pits and try to make the best of it.
The children and I had a wonderful time! Most of the school days were "snow" days! No school! But, we went to lessons (dance), signed the boys up for basket ball, shopped, frequented restaurants, took in a movie - "The Nut Job". The travelers returned home rested, tanned. Meme , not so much. Instead, I was rather exhausted, on a tight rope bordering poverty stricken, upon their return.
At the "Golden Corral", we indulged in the chocolate, white chocolate and caramel fountains while we strategized future "Darla Darling" shows. We made shopping lists during dinner at "The Stagecoach". Of course, we threw a little educational chat into the mix at "The Stagecoach" over wings and mozzarella sticks.
Todd: "Hey, Meme, did you ever ride in a stagecoach when you were little?" Happy to share a story, I told them about "Frontier Town" in New York State. "Mo, Meme! I mean, did you go anywhere in one? What's a stagecoach anyway?" I assured the Trio that I was not that old and that it was an old-fashioned Greyhound Bus. The differences: the driver rides on top, not inside; the driver steers with reins, not a steering wheel; the horses pull to power in front rather than the engine with horse power inside. Todd needed a black dress shirt and a logo-free, non-hooded sweat shirt or top for his new school's uniform and uniform gym attire. Calvin Klein, thank you very much! Tess saw great shoes in "Justice" - glitter leopard, fur lined - got 'em! Tanner needed dress shoes - no problem. At "Bob Evans", we made a mouth watering shopping list and tore up Krogers, Riesbeck's (Instant Dino Oatmeal...dinosaurs "hatch" from "eggs" when boiling water is added). We dined at"The Horseshoe" and then zipped through "Dairy Queen" to take home dessert. Both boys needed basket ball shorts and Pirouette (Tess' Bearded Dragon) needed crickets. Tess reminded me that the list that she created to replenish items in the "Ducky" bathroom was marking a place in the book I was reading. Hmmm. I had to transfer all of my receipts into a separate, roomy tote bag after purchasing Todd eight T-shirts, since on one snowy day, we used all of his while silk screening cool designs! After lunch at Steak N Shake, we picked up new socks and a light to heat the Shrinky-Dink oven. Two weeks, not including three tanks of gas, totaling $550 for our adventures did not rattle me much...until...
The boys have a tall dresser. A brand new, not yet connected, flat screened TV was perched on top. Evidently, it was too close to the edge. The top drawer was stuck. I yanked. I have quick reflexes and caught the tumbling TV in my forearms. Whew! I thought, - near miss! I have quick reflexes, but not quick enough! Short story, long...I am now on the hook for a new television. The screen cracked!
Restaurants, food stores, drug stores, clothes, shoes, socks, T-shirts, basket ball shorts, paint, crazy gizmos from the Dollar Store, a specialty bulb for the Shrinky-Dink oven, movies AND a television: $1200. Snuggling with the Trio, laughing, playing, just sharing time: PRICELESS. I would not trade the kisses, hugs, "I love you's" for the world.
But, I am here to tell you: GRANDPARENTING IS A RICH MAN'S SPORT not meant for the weak!
Let me start at the beginning of the story. My daughter, the mother of the Trio - Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 6 announced that she would be on a Caribbean Cruise for two weeks - January 11- January 25. She also said, "Mom, you have to stay in Zanesville, because the children have school, but, I know that you will want to take them home with you on weekends." Ah-ha. Okay.
Zanesville, Ohio is a two and a half hour drive from my residence in Kettering, Ohio if I do the speed limit. Trooper Davis in West Jefferson (not quite one-half way from Kettering) is rather prickly about things like speed limits, so to be sure, it's a two and a half hour ride. Zanesville is grey, ugly, unpleasant. That may sound unfair, because Bryan's, Muddy Miser's, Florafino's, Picnic Pizza, Movement on Main, St. Nicholas parish, Bishop Fenway School are rather pleasant and so genteel. The staff of The Comfort Inn is commendable as well. The Stagecoach and The Horseshoe are rather welcoming also. The rest of Zanesville is ill-mannered, impolite, detestable and Duncan Falls Elementary School produces bullies and is proud of it! Zanesville is Naples, Florida (another Blog, a year and a half ago) without money. But, that is not what I am talking about. The only thing to do in Zanesville, is race to the border to get out!
But my new son-in-law's office is in Zanesville, thereby forcing the family to move into the pits and try to make the best of it.
The children and I had a wonderful time! Most of the school days were "snow" days! No school! But, we went to lessons (dance), signed the boys up for basket ball, shopped, frequented restaurants, took in a movie - "The Nut Job". The travelers returned home rested, tanned. Meme , not so much. Instead, I was rather exhausted, on a tight rope bordering poverty stricken, upon their return.
At the "Golden Corral", we indulged in the chocolate, white chocolate and caramel fountains while we strategized future "Darla Darling" shows. We made shopping lists during dinner at "The Stagecoach". Of course, we threw a little educational chat into the mix at "The Stagecoach" over wings and mozzarella sticks.
Todd: "Hey, Meme, did you ever ride in a stagecoach when you were little?" Happy to share a story, I told them about "Frontier Town" in New York State. "Mo, Meme! I mean, did you go anywhere in one? What's a stagecoach anyway?" I assured the Trio that I was not that old and that it was an old-fashioned Greyhound Bus. The differences: the driver rides on top, not inside; the driver steers with reins, not a steering wheel; the horses pull to power in front rather than the engine with horse power inside. Todd needed a black dress shirt and a logo-free, non-hooded sweat shirt or top for his new school's uniform and uniform gym attire. Calvin Klein, thank you very much! Tess saw great shoes in "Justice" - glitter leopard, fur lined - got 'em! Tanner needed dress shoes - no problem. At "Bob Evans", we made a mouth watering shopping list and tore up Krogers, Riesbeck's (Instant Dino Oatmeal...dinosaurs "hatch" from "eggs" when boiling water is added). We dined at"The Horseshoe" and then zipped through "Dairy Queen" to take home dessert. Both boys needed basket ball shorts and Pirouette (Tess' Bearded Dragon) needed crickets. Tess reminded me that the list that she created to replenish items in the "Ducky" bathroom was marking a place in the book I was reading. Hmmm. I had to transfer all of my receipts into a separate, roomy tote bag after purchasing Todd eight T-shirts, since on one snowy day, we used all of his while silk screening cool designs! After lunch at Steak N Shake, we picked up new socks and a light to heat the Shrinky-Dink oven. Two weeks, not including three tanks of gas, totaling $550 for our adventures did not rattle me much...until...
The boys have a tall dresser. A brand new, not yet connected, flat screened TV was perched on top. Evidently, it was too close to the edge. The top drawer was stuck. I yanked. I have quick reflexes and caught the tumbling TV in my forearms. Whew! I thought, - near miss! I have quick reflexes, but not quick enough! Short story, long...I am now on the hook for a new television. The screen cracked!
Restaurants, food stores, drug stores, clothes, shoes, socks, T-shirts, basket ball shorts, paint, crazy gizmos from the Dollar Store, a specialty bulb for the Shrinky-Dink oven, movies AND a television: $1200. Snuggling with the Trio, laughing, playing, just sharing time: PRICELESS. I would not trade the kisses, hugs, "I love you's" for the world.
But, I am here to tell you: GRANDPARENTING IS A RICH MAN'S SPORT not meant for the weak!
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