Perspective. How old are you when you finally get some?
My 15-year-old son asked for only one thing for Christmas -- and even offered some of his inevitable Christmas dough from aunts, uncles and grandparents to pay for it as it was expensive.
Rock Band, a video game that includes a fake guitar, a fake drum set and a fake microphone.
Three people play it, one on each of the musical fakes, and you try to match the "notes" as they scroll across the screen.
So he got the coveted video game -- and some t-shirts and warm-ups he didn't ask for but desperately needed. We didn't even make him cough up any of the purchase price.
Christmas evening at home, after finishing all the family outings at various grandparent's and aunt's homes, he spends a couple hours putting together the drum kit, setting up the game, creating his character in the game (funny -- in real life my son does not have green-tipped spiked hair or any piercings).
Then the X-Box broke.
Such wailing and gnashing of teeth! At first he was convinced that the Rock Band game purchased not from an expensive video game store but from Sam's Club was defective. When it was proven the X-Box would no longer play ANY video game, this phrase drifted to my ears, "This is the worst Christmas ever."
Tsk. Tsk. If only. That is my wish as a mother for you my son. That this Christmas truly be your worst Christmas ever. That you never have to experience a Christmas where there isn't enough money to provide a Christmas. Or you never experience a Christmas that comes too soon after the death of a cherished loved one. Or a solitary Christmas away from the places and people you love the most.
The worst Christmas ever -- if you are lucky.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
When is a kid not a kid?
We long ago quit buying Christmas gifts for extended family -- aunts and uncles. All the adults buy presents for the nieces and nephews only. It was a good decision. I don't need more Christmas themed hand towels or socks or jewelry I wouldn't wear even if I was drunk.
My two oldest nephews are out of college and working -- one selling condos in the warm southwest U.S. and the other pitching for the Phillies (or whatever minor league level they decide to send him to -- he's been up and down like a ping-pong ball.)
My brother-in-law (not their father) asked me: When do we stop getting them presents? We don't buy for adults, and they are adults, right?
No. Afraid not. My rule is when they get married and have kids of their own -- then they are adults. Of course, his rule could be different. I'm not telling him what his rule ought to be. But to me they will always be Timmy and Mikey and even though it's not as much fun handing over money to them at Christmas as it was searching for the perfect He-Man or Skeletor action figure, I still love to give them something.
Because you never know. Someday when I need people to pay for my cushy apartment at the assisted living center, my nephews may remember those crisp $50 bills and chip in. plan ahead, that's my motto.
My two oldest nephews are out of college and working -- one selling condos in the warm southwest U.S. and the other pitching for the Phillies (or whatever minor league level they decide to send him to -- he's been up and down like a ping-pong ball.)
My brother-in-law (not their father) asked me: When do we stop getting them presents? We don't buy for adults, and they are adults, right?
No. Afraid not. My rule is when they get married and have kids of their own -- then they are adults. Of course, his rule could be different. I'm not telling him what his rule ought to be. But to me they will always be Timmy and Mikey and even though it's not as much fun handing over money to them at Christmas as it was searching for the perfect He-Man or Skeletor action figure, I still love to give them something.
Because you never know. Someday when I need people to pay for my cushy apartment at the assisted living center, my nephews may remember those crisp $50 bills and chip in. plan ahead, that's my motto.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
OK, this time i'll remember my blog password
It's been awhile. Frankly, I forgot my login and password and today finally got enough energy to figure it out. I'm a bad blogger.
It's nearly Christmas -- my favorite holiday. And i like it even more when there's a kid who still believes in Santa in the house. My 7 year old still believes -- although i think he's getting close to figuring it out. Mostly because his cousins keep spilling the beans. so far he's been deaf to their hints.
Still, he is asking interesting questions.
"Mom," he asked the other day, "Are Santa and Jesus friends?"
"Yes," I replied without hesitation.
"How do you know," he asked?
"Because Santa is friends with everyone," I said.
"So is Jesus," he reminded me.
Gotta admit that's true.
Watching the original Rudolph, which i think i have seen every year since it was released in the '60s during my childhood, he asked me, "Is this a true story?"
"Well," I hemmed and hawed, "I've never seen flying reindeer or reindeer that could talk."
"Maybe they just added the talking to the reindeer to make it more interesting," he said, as he had already decided -- yes, it's a true story. Plus, he pointed out to me, snowmen (ala Burl Ives) don't move around, sing or talk, either.
But, if it's not a true story parts of it at least ring true -- the disappointment of fathers in their sons, the mistreatment of misfits, the sadness of knowing you must leave your family -- i still cry at parts of this puppet show. Try not to tell anyone.
Who hasn't felt like a Charlie in the Box from time to time? Who isn't relieved when a kind act from a loved one reminds us it's ok to be who we are?
Merry Christmas -- Enjoy the season --
It's nearly Christmas -- my favorite holiday. And i like it even more when there's a kid who still believes in Santa in the house. My 7 year old still believes -- although i think he's getting close to figuring it out. Mostly because his cousins keep spilling the beans. so far he's been deaf to their hints.
Still, he is asking interesting questions.
"Mom," he asked the other day, "Are Santa and Jesus friends?"
"Yes," I replied without hesitation.
"How do you know," he asked?
"Because Santa is friends with everyone," I said.
"So is Jesus," he reminded me.
Gotta admit that's true.
Watching the original Rudolph, which i think i have seen every year since it was released in the '60s during my childhood, he asked me, "Is this a true story?"
"Well," I hemmed and hawed, "I've never seen flying reindeer or reindeer that could talk."
"Maybe they just added the talking to the reindeer to make it more interesting," he said, as he had already decided -- yes, it's a true story. Plus, he pointed out to me, snowmen (ala Burl Ives) don't move around, sing or talk, either.
But, if it's not a true story parts of it at least ring true -- the disappointment of fathers in their sons, the mistreatment of misfits, the sadness of knowing you must leave your family -- i still cry at parts of this puppet show. Try not to tell anyone.
Who hasn't felt like a Charlie in the Box from time to time? Who isn't relieved when a kind act from a loved one reminds us it's ok to be who we are?
Merry Christmas -- Enjoy the season --
Friday, June 22, 2007
Life is like a soggy bag of malted milk balls
Every two weeks a woman come to our office, The Mountain Man Lady, selling candy and snacks. Some men in the office anxiously await her arrival as she is good looking. Others of us await her arrival because we constantly require bags of chocolate coated treats to keep us working at top efficiency -- or at least to keep us dragging ourselves in each day. We are like self-trained dogs, giving ourselves the doggie treats for showing up.
I usually buy a $5.00 bag of malted milk balls from this lady. The ones she sells are the best ever. It's easy to screw up malted milk balls. Whompers are too malty. Other brands have low-grade chocolate that is too waxy. Others have malt centers that are too hard to eat my preferred way: bite the ball in half, soften up and suck out the center, collapse the left-over chocolate shell onto the roof of your mouth with your tongue.
Man -- i think i have a food problem.
I ate some of the treats, rewarding myself for a day spent well-sat in my office chair, and took the rest home. Later in the evening, i was looking to reward myself for not snapping at my children or saying what i really wanted to say to my hubbie.
but the malted milk balls were not where i left them.
I soon found the bag, lieing in a pool of bath water, next to the tub. My seven year old had taken them into the bath and was eating them WHILE he bathed. There was about 1/4 cup of bath water INSIDE the bag, turning the remaining malted milk balls into a really nasty soup.
I gotta hand it to the boy, though. Hot bath and chocolate treats -- he is learning SOMETHING from his mom!
I usually buy a $5.00 bag of malted milk balls from this lady. The ones she sells are the best ever. It's easy to screw up malted milk balls. Whompers are too malty. Other brands have low-grade chocolate that is too waxy. Others have malt centers that are too hard to eat my preferred way: bite the ball in half, soften up and suck out the center, collapse the left-over chocolate shell onto the roof of your mouth with your tongue.
Man -- i think i have a food problem.
I ate some of the treats, rewarding myself for a day spent well-sat in my office chair, and took the rest home. Later in the evening, i was looking to reward myself for not snapping at my children or saying what i really wanted to say to my hubbie.
but the malted milk balls were not where i left them.
I soon found the bag, lieing in a pool of bath water, next to the tub. My seven year old had taken them into the bath and was eating them WHILE he bathed. There was about 1/4 cup of bath water INSIDE the bag, turning the remaining malted milk balls into a really nasty soup.
I gotta hand it to the boy, though. Hot bath and chocolate treats -- he is learning SOMETHING from his mom!
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Hey Mom, I started a blog
Since I like to write about whatever pops into my head (usually comments on my kids, life in the 'burbs, my husband, work strife) without thought to form or substance, blogging is perfect for me! I finally went through the steps and got one started.
more later, i'm actually supposed to be working right now!
czlife
more later, i'm actually supposed to be working right now!
czlife
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