Kind Word Goes Viral

The other day at Mikey's field day I recognized a cheerful-midsized family man. He smiled at me and I scratched my head.

He went behind my line to help with Bingo. Then, a moment later, I remembered who he was. He was the washer repair man! We've had to call him two or three times.

Our red GE front loaders (all the rage) haven't been what I thought they'd be. Did you know you can't load comforters or large blankets in them? They are not full-capacity washers. And, if you are not careful, the washer will sound like a helicopter in your living room and the kids will be running for the hills.

He came last time and showed me that the spring had broken and the washer was actually hanging. He said this is usually a "two-man" job to fix cheerfully as he laughed at the damage one hand-made wool blanket had done to the powerful machine.

He showed me the strong spring about a third of the size of a garage door spring. I had made a difference (like when I pulled the wrong show for Fox Sports and 3.5 million people saw the wrong show).

He fixes the machine. It's about a $300 repair, I think. It's a mess. The washer/dryer cost about $3, 000 - -a gift from my mom three years ago. I wonder if it would have been less painful if they were blue instead of fire engine red.

While he's working Noah is loving him. He sits at his feet. Watches him. Talks to him. Experiments with his tools. The repairman talks about his wife, her desire to move to old country like Lake Jackson. He is considerate too.

I pay the bill and he leaves. Then about a week later, I receive a chance to review the man in my email. I call the company and give him a rave review. I say cheerfully (genuinely impressed with his routine customer service. He's 8 times better than the cable guy, 20 times better than the refrigerator repair guy) "He's the kindof man that the kids love and I feel safe to have him in my house with my kids. He's cheerful. He's helpful. He's respectful and considerate." Something to that effect. I know it was heart-felt.

A year later, her finds me at the school. As I am leaving, he asks, "Do you know who I am?" I said, "Yes, you are the washer guy!" He said, "I wanted to thank you for your kind review." I say, "It was nothing." He said, "Let me tell you what happened. The big boss called me into his office. He had me listen to the review and he played it at the corporate office. And they asked what I did so they could make those types of improvements to the company and all customer service. I told them 'I just try to treat others how I would want to be treated.' "

It was a cool moment. I smiled and said, "Well a kind word is never wasted." I laughed and said cheerfully, "I hope I don't have to call you soon. " He smiled and waved good-bye.

I love it when a kind word changes a day

mommy hybrid

About six years ago, I was sitting in the hallway monitoring high school students during the Texas state test. About six months pregnant, I was seated next to a returning-from-SAHM-status mom eager to be in the school to help. She had a science degree and had spent the last previous six years at home with her children. She was smart and very capable. I asked her some advice about staying home.

She said, "It's worth it. But, you miss adult conversation." 

I didn't believe her.

I don't really like crowds or bunches of people. I actually dislike parties and social events. I thought, I'm safe. I'll be fine. I've got nothing to worry about.

It wasn't until my son's first few pediatrician appointments when it hit me. I was staring at the doctor while he asked me about my son's progress. Then, alone in that room, I was staring at him and thinking, "Someone's talking to me. Actually, talking to me." After he left, I then remembered I was wearing earrings, I don't usually wear jewelry, and I thought, "This is an outing for me!" I was embarrassed. 

Studies show that 80 percent of new parents feel this type of isolation and 34 percent spend their days alone (Brain Rules for Baby 73-74). And it's not their fault. After a while, as a new mom, you stop getting out. It's hard with a baby. Heck, it takes ten minutes just to pack and another ten minutes to load the car.

And, people stop dropping by. I've noticed as a mom, you can't call other moms, you can only text, because kids just don't allow you to stop and have the intimate chat you really need. It's like illegal. So , you are stuck inside a tomb with your kids... for 12 hours or so..

You can dabble with speaker phone for five minutes every now and then, but that's rare. You can cheat every now and then and leave a long and detailed voice mail. But, it's just not the same.

On top of the isolation, women at home spend 94.4 hours a week working (Brain Rules for Baby 77) and if paid for the efforts, would earn figures close to $120,000 a year. 

SAH moms don't get paid in things they can touch. They get paid in smiles, and with viewings of the first steps, the first words and in being able to have every moment with their children.

Sometimes, ironically, though, that every moment can become hard too. I find that if I don't miss my children, I need to get away.  And, ironically, I can BE home but not actually HOME in my mind. And, I can take my kids to the park, but I'm just watching them play. 

Or, not watching them play. Last week I saw a mom bring her Ipad to the park. She ignored the kids and played on her own. I would have delighted in talking to her for a while.

In short I miss what's happening around me if I am there all the time. I zone out when I get burned out. It's not always conscious. I forget the reasons I fought to be home.

When I worked full time, I came home at 5 and was putting my son to bed by 6:30. I had very little of myself to give. Now that I am home, I give everything of myself to my children. But, I remember that I've got to save something for me too- -because that, in itself, is a gift. A happy mom makes for happy kids. After Tuesday's flight, coming off of that moment is another story.

I often laugh and think moms should get merit badges. A merit badge for cooking a new dish. A merit badge for surviving the grocery store with three kids, planning meals for the week and somehow getting home in one piece. A merit badge for getting your child to eat peas.

Or, a badge for surviving the transition between working-full-time mom to stay-at-home-full-time mom. I mean, some moms are very capable in the work force and it is sheer culture shock to stay at home. Some moms, to be frank, were made to be at home. Some moms delight in cooking and baking and caring for young people. 

That's not me. 

In fact, for me, it took a year for me to understand how to make it work, to accept my limits, understand my talents and enjoy what I was capable of doing within my created boundaries. I'll never be the best cook, but I can learn a new recipe and try it out.  I'll be sure to have a dial-up backup.  And, honestly ordering pizza is better than a message. I get food made. I don't have dishes. So, it's like getting a maid and a cook and down time for just $15.

I'll never be cool mom let's play-on-the-floor-all-day mom. The house will never SHINE. But, in time, I can progress- -however that may look.

I read a blog from a former biologist turn SAHM the other day. She said, "I hate to admit it, but I am going back to work because I am bored." And, then another mom told me six months after being home, she turned back to school to get her master's degree because she too, was "bored."

I think some women were created to work and some were created to be home. If the two could merge, that would be a phenomenon. 

To be honest, I am a bit of a hybrid in training. I am a working mom, and it took a year for me to do a little morphing to be a SAHM. I've learned to enjoy the smell of clean clothes and a warm cooked meal that wasn't just out of the box- -or to be honest, mostly from the box. 

And, if given the chance between, some days googling over my baby and writing, some days, I'll choose work over that blistful moment. Right now, I am ignoring everything in my first hour and maybe only hour alone this week just to hide on my laptop and write because I find it fulfilling.

But, every time I take a moment to spend time in my local mom's group, I come back feeling renewed. I actually end up posting a comment like, "Thank you girls. You rebooted my day." Because company really does help. It's a tiny sacrifice to get out, but it's usually worth it in the longrun.

Sometimes it's hard to give up that time. I am typing now as my one-year-old sleeps and my friend Ann requested we hang out today, but due to child illnesses, we had to reschedule. But, sometimes, I get stuck between two worlds of what I need: social time and isolation. 

Sometimes I need to be alone, to shower, to have time to shave both legs and sometimes I need time with a good friend that makes my soul happy again. Sometimes and all too often, I choose the shower over the time chatting over coffee. I am not sure if it's a survival instinct or just temperament.

There's a sense of isolation that overcomes a new mom and a SAHM mom. Unlike old days before the Internet and cable TV, neighbors tend to keep to themselves. I hear when our parents were children, neighbors used to get together to watch TV. 

Whether it is because of safety concerns or what, I don't know. My former sweet neighbor, military babe that she was, was always out and social, perhaps her habit of moving every two years made her stronger and more apt to get out and get to know the world around her.  I cried for a week when she moved.

I am, however, barricaded by two Vietnamese women who are very kept to themselves. One, I was almost friends with, but even after all I can do, she won't talk to me. So much for team work.

One mom two doors down is almost my friend. I am trying to play it cool, but some days it's all I can do not to run up to her while we are waiting for our kids at the bus stop like a lost puppy finding its way home to say hello. Yes, if I had a tail, I'd be wagging it. Some days I am THAT desperate for conversation and quality time. Who knew that lady I talked to six years ago actually knew what she was talking about?

Funny, but true, sometimes as a SAHM, the deepest- -only conversation you may have all day will be the creepy photo guy at CVS saying "Thank you. Here's your change." Or, the woman at Starbucks might ask you if you want a receipt.

I will look forward all day for that five minutes of conversation with that neighbor. The other day she Facebook friended me and I played it cool. Didn't want to seem overzealous, but, honestly, I was estactic. 

I do talk to my good friends about 6-8 times a day, via text. I would LOVE to hear their voices on the phones, but they don't answer. You see, kids just don't let you talk on the phone and there's very little time to be on the phone, even if you are multitasking. But, a kind text, can save your day. It can be a lifeline in a sea of troubled waters.

I read a blog about four years ago that I'll never forget. The young new mom blogged about her first few months as a mom. She rode the subway. She rode the train to the zoo. She did all the fun things. And, there was the quote I'll always remember. She just boarded the train, three months after baby is born. She said, "I'll talk to ANYONE." It's funny. I find myself doing the same thing in doctor offices or in elevators when it gets down to just me and the other person.

So everyone tells you that when you become a SAHM you'll miss "adult conversation." I remember thinking "What's adult conversation? I don't like adults. I don't like people. They annoy me most days." 

But, adults can give you that voice of reason a toddler can not. When your kid is screaming, "I want that!!!!" and it's not a rational want, as they are pointing to a flying fish and you've done ALL you can do to say, "The fish is NOT real," another mom can talk you off the wall.

And, I've been on that wall a thousand times. Raising kids comes in phases. It gets better and then it gets harder. Thank God for the transitions in between. He knows our limits.

And, thank God for the friends that call and drag me out of the house. Some days all I want is my own cup of coffee (or hot cocoa so I can sleep later), a warm shower, my own remote with whatever on TV (something fluffy and nothing to do with work. Gossip is fine), and quiet. Like when Jenna from 13 Going on 30 just wants "Water and a fluffy pillow!!"

Last Saturday for my birthday, I snuck away and bought a People magazine and went to Starbucks for a sandwich and a coffee. It was magnificent. I read about Hollywood maybe marriages and birthdays. I ate quietly without managing a group of three merry little men beneath my feet. My mom kept calling me and worrying. She texted, "But, you're alone.. are you okay??" 

I was okay.  I was in bliss. It was remarkable. It changed my soul inside and out. Heck, after an hour alone, I felt like Hollywood royalty.

An hour later, of course, I called her back.

Seeing The Vow movie made me want to go back...

Seeing The Vow movie made me want to go back...

To work...or school...

Yes, weird. But, it made me want to go back to work.. even part time or something.. but how?  I don't know how. I already work part time from home.

I am searching to define me. Could this be a middle-life crisis? I don't know. But I am searching for something more than SAH mommy hood. The kids need me. As I write I remember one of my children is coughing and needs to go to the doctor. The other needs two cavities filled. Just tonight, I saw it. They need me to be home. They need me not to have to take a day off of work to care for them.

Why am I not fufilled in fufilling their needs?

They need me. I need to be here. Why do I feel lost?

I dabbled on the idea of trying to work evenings at the local paper. Stammering into their offices, slamming down my Journalism degree and experience...literally blowing off the dust on my resume.

I write as my oldest makes car noises at play time before bed. That's precious.

There I am again, trapped between both worlds as if it's all or nothing.

I shopped Friday on my own and it was hard to just look around and not think of them. I shopped and wondered about who I was and what girl I was shopping for. I can't dress me in work clothes and I am tired of t-shirts and jeans. I don't work, but yet, I don't want to dress for being home.

Who am I? Am I a working girl in transition? It's just a pause? In the movie, Paige searches for herself and her husband searches to find their marriage again. It's a cross between two worlds. She is no longer an artist, nor lawyer, nor lawyer turned artist.

After watching the film I wanted to go back to school and go back to work. I wanted to find ME again. I wanted to be like Paige, lost in a room smudging my hands in clay to reclaim the message trapped inside my soul.

She found her soul. She found her spirit in her art. I find me in my writing, but to conduct an interview I have to hide in a closet and hold the door shut while screaming kids pound on the door.

I know it's a blink and they are back in school. Perhaps this is just me being prepared for big change in two years. Maybe it's a good thing. I wanted to be home. I FOUGHT to be home. I interviewed dozens to find the reasons to stay home. I am convinced now I am a working mom that stays home. Heart here, mind over there..

I really wanted to be here. I just get lost sometimes between the two worlds.

Between the two mes.

Between the vows, the promises of who I was, who I am and who I think or want or will be.

Perhaps, it's about constant change. Things are always shifting. Like clothes on the shelf. Like mirror images and time that tramples over the reflections.

Like growing babes. And seasons of coughs and cavities. Appreciation is 20-20 and the soul is in need of constant recharging. And, the reflections of those moments can't be found by dusting off trophies. But, breaking up the artist in me certainly reshapes my soul too.

Internet lust

For the last two days I've been lusting over a Lucky Bourbon colored Abbey Road style crossbody handbag. It's stylish. It's "imported Italian leather." It's stitched and lays over like it's from the old ages. http://www.zappos.com/lucky-brand-abbey-road-bourbon

Perhaps it's just a touch of Italy. My secret DRIVE to move to Tuscany. Or it's a vacation to another side of me. An illusion of the non-mommy me. It's ME without the diaper bag. It's me falling in love with an illusion. I can be cute for just $178.  For $178 I can have this soft, stitched, rugged grandpa bag-looking-carry-along friend.

In fact, I visit it daily. It says "hello" on my Iphone and on my computer. I have also passed it along to friends and family members. And, I've searched for bags "just like it." But none have it's luster. None seem to tell it's story in the same way.

My parsimonious side reined. I've left the bag alone. And, I've settled for the teal Mossimo Target-brand tote for $30. It's not the $178 price tag of the Lucky bag and there's no guilt attached to spending. And, I can abuse it. It fits snugly. It's fine.

But, I lust over this silly purse. Last night I did my research and found the illusion was in fact, just that. The product is flawed.

The Lucky bag had 90 reviews. I read them all. Three people said their bags broke. Every reviewer considered the bag for a long time, some even years before buying it and "loving" it.

I did the same thing last night on the Victoria Secret website winter clearance section. Boots, for $30, not $148. But, minutes after I put them "in my cart," the size nine boots were "sold out." I considered it a sign to move on and not purchase the multiple "deals."

I was falling in love with an image. I was being seduced by the want to look like the woman in the pictures.  She is carefree. Beautiful. I can be her for just $30.

Last night I had a dream about an elevator. The elevator dream. I have this every time there's about to be a big change, a job change, a move or a difficult emotional time when I usually feel a lack of control.

Perhaps, that's why I am attracted to the Internet shopping sales or non-sales. It's an illusion of "control."  With one click, I can have that image. It's mine. So easy, right?

In this elevator dream I am trapped. A little like the real-life event when I was nine trapped inside the First Baptist Houston elevator for a long three minutes. The door just never opened. I agonized about whether to push the open door button for fear of seeing just machinery. Would that scare me more? I pushed door open and it opened. It was the most terrifying experience.

I didn't ride alone in elevators until I was in college. Even in the state history fair competition at a hoity toity Houston hotel, I asked a stranger to ride up to the 8th floor with me at the age of 12. I think the ghetto elevators at UH cured me. Fourteen floors a day with elevators that sometimes open and sometimes kindof glide to the next floor wore me down.

In the elevator dreams sometimes the elevator separates from the sides and collapses. Or sometimes it turns over in circles like that Zipper carnival ride. Another "great" childhood experience.

Either way I'm trapped, dealing with claustrophobic feelings and heights and the loss of control. In my dream I wasn't alone, but I was with a stranger. This is new.

Also, coincidentally,  in my dream alongside my elevator rides, Oprah was challenging her viewers to just jump over the mile-high roof tops without a net for ratings. The participants were stepping over a one-inch gap jumping from roof to roof. No net over a zillion-foot high building.  Cameras rolling.

So many layers here. Perhaps it's why I dyed my hair red. It's something. One thing, I can control.

Dreams are weird. Sometimes they reflect creative aspirations. The need to fly. Sometimes the need to have control, like the dream I had with my teeth falling out.

And shopping on the Internet is an illusion of control too. Yet, in one click and you've lost a day's pay. The joys are temporary. The moment fills you up for a moment. Then, you get the bill.

Internet lust. An illusion.  A moving crossbody window shop experience. An elevator experience of it's own. Up and down. Moving me to feel like, for a moment I am what I am not. A different floor with the touch of a button. Yet, when I get there, the view isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Today I am taking more time to see what I can see in me. Right here. Away from the illusions. An original imperfect perfection.

And, Tuscany, well, I can create that dream here too.

"What a Future!"

This is a paper I wrote in college. The task: to compose a humorous essay. Not easy. I wrote from my viewpoint. I look back now and laugh out loud. I had a nice boss but I had many crazy times. It was very Office Space for the most part. About two years ago, I met one of my bosses for lunch and thanked her for the experience. She offered me a job starting at about $10 an hour. I declined cheerfully since I was already teaching full time. But, we had a cordial lunch and cheerfully talked about old times. 

But, back then, things were different. People were ridiculous about trying to protect their jobs. And, the live-TV world is crucial and every bit like the movie Broadcast News. One moment I was told with a middle-aged man to “watch” the Odetics machine. It’s an automatic juke box for Beta tapes. Two of us, two chairs, we sat watching the machine, as if it was going to move or break.  People walked by and laughed. It was a ridiculous panic.
 
Then, there was another time the big boss had lined up the 9 by 9 room with cheesy black frames with the network names to impress the big bosses. John H and I typed up ”Shunshine” for the Florida network and put it in the frame- -hoping no one would notice. When they did, we died laughing- -quietly.

Here’s the tale. An average day at Cable Network Net. The name is changed to protect the image or, to be polite...or to be, as honest as I can. As of now, only four people have read this.

                                                            “What a Future!”

Today is Saturday. It’s time to go to work. I work at an unusual place. It’s not the typical part-time college job. In fact, here, 40 hours is “part-time.” You just work 40 hours and you get benefits, but it’s still considered “part-time.”  It’s not my dream job, but it has it’s moments. Well, I thought it was THE job when I started. But, I think everyone else did too.

As a member of the “Program Resource Center,” I am instructed to work together with a team of five to ten other librarians. We gather videos to prepare them for air. Today is different though. Beverly, a woman in her fifties, is training three new video librarians to replace the others that have been promoted or fired. It will take six weeks to train the new recruits.

Three recruits waddle like ducks behind their instructor. So far, two of the three recruits are fine. It’s become an assembly-line learning class. The third duck, however is lagging behind. He has been separated from the others. He will get hands-on attention away from the crowd. Rumor has it our supervisor doesn’t want the big chief to know the third duck seems to have a learning disability.

Our job, as part of the existing team, is to buckle down and carry the extra load. On Saturdays a "select" few will be responsible for pulling shows for three networks. When most of us first applied for the entry-level $9-an-hour position, we were told we’d be responsible for getting “two networks on air.” We are told that this is a deed that is unheard of in most television networks. It is also our ticket into the world of motion picture making.

With this experience, we can transfer to any cable network facility and be a star. With the CSN network on our resume, we will be untouchable. For many of us, that was enough to accept the job. We wanted a piece of the pie.

The road to glory starts with pulling the programming for various regions of the country. There are twelve “networks” as we refer to them. One is Middle East or World. World feeds to places like Australia and Singapore. The other networks are South, Detroit, Arizona, Northwest, Pittsburgh, Midwest, Rocky Mountain, Sunshine, Southwest, Network and Auxillary. Basically it’s like twelve television stations in one building. At the top of every hour the countdown to air echoes throughout every network and hallway.  With the technical gadgets going it’s a little like counting down the new year or expecting a shuttle to launch toward some unknown galaxy all of the time.

Walking into work this Saturday morning I was scheduled to work South, Rocky Mountain and Midwest. I explain walking into South to the master controller, that “If I am not here, it’s just because I am pulling shows for three networks instead of two.” He smiled and nodded. Almost animal-like. Grunting like an ape.

I check to make sure all of the shows are in the network and then check Midwest and Rocky Mountain.

Alice, the master controller in Midwest, welcomes me happily. She asks me how I’ve been and proceeds to tell me about her men diliemmas and what it is like to still be living at home at the age of 23. She complains about her parents trying to marry her off to a doctor. She invites me to come to the movies with her and a friend.

I finish up Rocky Mountain, checking to make sure the appropriate shows are filled for the day. Hampton is all too happy to have me keep him company. We talk about school, about infomercials and how tired he is. He complains when I turn the lights up. He howls like a vampire in the sudden light. He also whimpers when I leave the room.

The master controllers were told that if they needed to leave the room for any reason, they are supposed to call a supervisor to sit in to watch their programming for them.

If they must leave the room for any reason, they must ask permission. Sometimes walking down the hallway, I can see them hanging on doorways with their arms stretched out to brace their hands on the sides of the sliding glass walls. They shout their words to companions across the hall. Sometimes they speak to each other over the mics in their rooms. Sometimes I can hear them singing to each other. They sing commercial songs, tap their feet, jump around to release all of their energy it takes for them to sit eight hours straight. They have the coveted jobs. They make $28,000 a year. They may work 12-14 hour days, but they are loaded.

After filling in the shows and updating the commercial spots, two hours have passed and it's time to start pulling the programs for Sunday.

I first have to put the commercials from Friday away. I take all of the three carts and pile them inside the commercial library. Carlos walked into the room and asks, “What if staring at someone was sexual harassment? Then none of us would look at each other. Everything is harassment these days."

Zach, a teen-face comedic newer librarian, takes a sheet of paper and puts it over his face and like an Indian dances around the room. Lurched over, he talks to us through the white paper muffling the sound of his voice.

Carlos, a Hispanic middle-sized man, always scared he will lose his job librarian, laughs and leaves the room.

I continue to put up my commercial spots. Crystal, a head librarian, is full of confidence.  She finishes putting up the southwest spots. From where I am standing, I can see her climbing the moving shelves, She has braced herself up to the very top.

Climbing up the shelves is a definite problem with the supervisors. I remember my first day. I was taught to ONLY climb the shelves when a super wasn’t around. I climbed very carefully. I asked to be warned if there was a chance at being caught. Walker, Crystal’s husband, said, “Tip toe!!” I guess I didn’t get the code. The super over the librarian, third in the chain of command, walked by and then called me to speak with him.

This super’s name is Joe. He’s middle-aged, but he looks young and he talks with a girl kind-of voice. He later dates a girl in Poland that he meets on the internet, but after a year-long engagement, they break it off.  He’s insecure- -dangerously so. He's always worried about how things look. He is the kindof guy that can have your back...then watch his own very carefully too.

Joe,  whose voice mimics Barney, pulls me aside. He is certain to let me know we are not peers.  I give him my best dumb look.  To smooth things over, I compliment the hole in his jeans. He did not take the compliment very well though. The funny thing is, I was being genuine. He called me into his office later to talk to me about my problem with authority.

But today is Saturday and no authorities, no "supers" are present.

Carlos asks, “Who’s going to get breakfast?” It’s Saturday so there’s no breakfast truck or "Roach Coach" outside as most would refer to it. I squirm and say, “I'm not hungry.” Crystal, who just had a baby girl, says she doesn’t "need it". Carlos stares, waiting for someone to give in and then pouts. He leaves quickly to get his own breakfast.

Half an hour later he returns. He finds all three of us still putting away spots. He calls us, “Slow.”

I finish putting away all of the commercial spots and roll one of the carts to the beta tape library. To get there, I have to push the cart down the hall and through the copy and log administrator’s offices, past the master control supervisor’s room, past the International headquarters, past human resources and then around the hall again. When I get there Crystal has some sort of teenage Saturday morning sitcom on the tube, our “illegal” cable tube. She is working on her show list.

Carlos joins us and Zack files in a little later. Crystal comes in and out like she owns the place. About half an hour later, the new security guard meanders to the back with the rest of us scrubs.  He sneaks up on Carlos and I. We both jump at his sudden appearance.

He asks us what we’re up to and then takes a look around the screening room- -as if he’s looking for loot. His coiled hair reminds me of the rap star Coolio, yet Coolio, though I’ve never met him, seems friendlier. The guy is always coming into the room about the same time on Saturday mornings when he’s supposed to be manning the front desk- -about a half a mile away from here.  He always asks me the same question. He asks me when I’m getting off of work.

Sometimes I muffle up my words and act stupid. Other times I say coldly, “Six."  He always makes me feel guilty. It’s as if he’s just looking for trouble.

When he first started working here he wasn’t even this refined. He spoke with more of a ghetto slang. It was hard for people to understand when he was paging us. A lot of people took advantage of him. They would call him at the front desk and ask him to page people. Mostly on the weekends, they’d ask for “Al Coholic” and other distasteful names. And it was especially funny because it took him a long time to learn. It took a week before the other officers began telling him he’d have to sometimes write the names down on a sheet of paper before announcing them out loud on the intercom.

After mumbling a few words, he leaves the screening room as ghostly as he came. I scribble a note to Carlos, "He scares me.” Carlos says simply, “Me too.”

We suddenly hear Nelson’s voice. He’s the big wig that runs this place. He is king. Carlos jumps a hundred feet. He’s usually not around on the weekends.  Or, at least he’s not back with the scrubs. Seems he’s showing off the new master control area currently under construction (i.e. our baseball field when no one is looking).

Carlos runs over to turn off the TV. He then leaves the room to take a peek down the hallway. He whispers, “It’s Nelson.” I question his paranoia. He explains, “The cable is illegal back here. If they find out, they will take it away.” On a typical 8-7 schedule, to be honest, when you have 3 hours of actual work to do and the rest of the time to “look busy,” the illegal cable really is the only source of sanity.

I explain to Carlos that all of the On Air Programmers have cable TV in their rooms. He says “We’re not O A P s!” He waits a while then peeks down the hallway again.  He then turns the TV to the Spanish station and begins to bop to Spanish music. He narrates and sings under his breath while he jots down notes for his networks. He asks me if I understand the song and then explains the dances and asks me if I dance.

I tell him I am shy about dancing. He says, “Most Americans are shy about dancing.”

The day is broken up around lunch time. One librarian is listed for “lunch duty.” This means he/she has to stay until the rest of the crew comes back. Today it is my turn.

The rest of the day is simply pulling shows and updating the tapes. It’s about an hour’s worth of work.  I screen a couple of fishing shows. You know, small boat, middle of the water, catch a fish, throw it back.  Zack turns up the television. We watch the better half of White Men Can’t Jump. 

Between commercials he screens a Rugby game. He explains the details of the game to me. He says the trick is to pass the ball between another player’s legs. He says that this is the whole point of the game. He and I watch the players topple over each other, grabbing one another as if they were part of a wrestling team.

He laughs out loud, sticks his thumb in his mouth and giggles. He then pauses the beta player and swivels the chair around to catch the next movie segment. Crystal comes back to take a break. She watches the movie with us commenting on the commercials and she said she was watching a bit of “Baywatch.” She says it’s nothing more than soft porn.

The show starts again. Zach laughs out loud- -leaning back in his seat, covering his mouth to muffle the laughter. The security guard pops in again. I leave for a moment and return to see he has taken my seat. He can tell that I am annoyed. You see we get the left-over chairs back there. And, if your seat isn’t falling apart, it means you fought for it.  I explain, “Back here we always fight over the seats. Some lean way back and some just aren’t tall enough to reach the screening booth.” He gets up.

I finish screening the shows. It actually takes more than one hour. I am distracted by the movie.  Carlos comes in from his lunch break and sees that I am still screening the same show. He calls me “slow” again.  He says “What a future!!!” In his Hispanic accent. “I could have screened those shows in seven minutes!” This reminds me of when I saw him last, he told me "not to get lost" (aka don't be a stranger).

Carlos leaves to find a few missing shows.

The security guard asks if the show just started. He returns to the front of the building. Before leaving he comments on how easy we have it.

I start updating tapes. Three hours later it’s time to make copies of the runsheets. Run sheets show the problems in the air. They call them “p-sheets” or “problem” sheets. My job as the "p-sheet" person on Saturday is find the all of the copies, separate them and distribute them. It’s very Office Space. It’s tedius work, but if you don’t do it exactly “right” you get a memo.

It’s now five minutes to six. Zach is still screening the Rugby match. He asks me if there’s anything he can help me with. I decline the offer. He announces he’s planning to stay. He explains the golf game comes down late. He brings in his CD player from the car and sets up camp. Carlos and Crystal have vanished. I walk down the hallway again, thankful to see the evening shift security guard. It’s time to go home.

I look at the clock, and it’s only three minutes til six. If it were a weekday, I’d be expected to stay until the top of the hour. I sit on the couch and wait for the clock to change.

One minute til six. I figure it’s okay to leave. “Close enough." I say. The guard says, “Yes, go home and relax. You’ve earned it!”

I smile and nod, exit out the front doors, surprised it’s still daylight.

Drizzles of miracles

I'm happy. I am blissfully happy. And,  I don't know why...

I think one of the reasons I am happy is because my husband is finally done with grad school. He's beginning to realize that maybe he spends too much time focusing on work... It's been five years of me praying and venting to my friends about this..He's seeing it in his heart too. He WANTS to be home too... An answered prayer.

Drizzles of miracles falling all around me...

Last weekend, I was sick and he did the dishes (maybe the third time in ten years), went grocery shopping (maybe the fifth time in ten years) and he said, "You know I'd clean the kitchen more if it'd stay that way.. this is your job.. this is my hobby... Why should I go to all the trouble to clean it up if it's not going to stay cleaned?"

I didn't react my usual blow-up way. I, instead laughed, and smiled sweetly.

I said, "Yep. You got it."

He smiled and said, "Oh." And, I let the layers settle in for a bit.

Learning how to not react is a good thing.  And, I let God do the talking. He's better at it anyway.

I am also happy because since I am feeling better the house is cleaner, yet, I'm doing less. I am finding more time for me and doing less. DUH! I wished I'd figured this out years ago.  Yesterday I painted my nails pink, dyed my hair red (why not?) and even washed my own laundry first. I have clean clothes to wear. Imagine that.

Today, when I walked my son into preschool the director noticed. She said, "See, you DO have another long-sleeved shirt."  Yesterday I complained about the cold weather because I only had one long-sleeved shirt...I smiled and laughed and said, "I did the laundry!" She laughed and cheered me down the hallway. I heard the Rocky theme music in my head clamoring.

It's nice to feel better too. After a week of being unable to MOVE, I can finally breathe. Really, just being able to breathe makes me happy. Having a cold and taking care of three kids is unthinkable.

And, then, there's another miracle inside me.

As the week went on and I let more stuff go, I saw how much I did as a mom. I saw the glue that I am to my family. I saw the importance of making lunches. I saw how they depend on me, need me and really do love me.

They got along without me just fine, but not really. When I'm not really there, they miss me. I saw the value in what I do.  I also saw how quickly they are growing.  Several of Mikey's pants are an inch too short now. I blinked and he grew into a first grader.

I am happy. Okay with being glue. And, okay with being stuck here too.

And I'm not perfect, but don't put me in a Box!

I am not perfect. Though, sometimes I expect myself to be...why isn't anyone else being as hard on themselves as I've been on myself?

Or, does everyone else also rage within themselves?

I told my friend today at the gym, I felt fat and I had a muffin top. She said, "Gag!" and she didn't take me seriously. She said I'm "Skinny" and I felt crossed over when she ignored my feelings. I wasn't encouraged but rather discouraged by her lack of concern for how I was feeling. She put me in a box.

I suppose I am like that a lot with my friend with one child. She drives me nuts. I have three children. We are miles apart these days. Two languages. For her, bed time is an hour-long process. For me, all three are down in twenty minutes. She, works on the schedule constantly. I see it's more about flex time.. More like "Guidelines" as the Pirates would say. pirates clipSo, I am probably pretty callous when it comes to her. I can work on that. Another box.

I would say I am a little rough around the edges.  Socially, I don't always fit into the box. When you first meet me, you won't get my sarcasm. You won't get my dry comments. You may assume the worst of me. You may not know that underneath the layers, I care almost too much about everyone I meet.

For one, I am terrible at interrupting. I have so much going on in my head some days, I can't wait to talk. I am comfortable when we can both talk at the same time. I want to yell "Catch up!" some days. 

And, I have a tendency to try to control the conversation instead of listening. Maybe it would be best if my tongue was where my hands are so that I could sit on my tongue. 

And, when I workout, I don't take it seriously. I am trying to, but mostly to be honest, it's about having the kids in childcare and watching HGTV on the treadmill for an hour. I'll use the three-pound weights instead of the fifteen-pounders to work on my "form." 

It's sanity time.  Stop judging me. Hey, I showed up right?

Also, I am very impatient. I have a hard time with slow people. I am a mega-multi-tasker. This means I will do things as mom calls them "half-a**" but it's done.   People that take the time to lay out all of the ingredients one at a time drive me bonkers.

I can be impatient with change and hard on friends. I can expect too much and ask too little all at once. I am all too willing to put my friends ahead of everything in my life, and when they don't do the same for me, I can be a jerk.

I realized today after reading my son The Giving Tree, that for most of my life, that has been me- -willing to give it all away. As I held back tears with each word, I had to ask my son if he liked the book. He said, "Nope. It was stupid." And, perhaps the story needed some adjusting. Like me. I feel sorry for the tree. He gives up too much and it's not fair. 

The Giving Tree

But, now, after reading Boundaries and now reading Boundaries in Marriage and Boundaries with Kids, I am changing, growing and putting myself first for a change.

Trying to see myself less like less-than. And, not like a child, with overgrown humility and sticking up for myself more. Which all at once, makes me feel like my evil twin. Thus two blogs. One for nice PC me and one for me. Just me. So tired of the censored box.

Tired of all of the boxes people put me in. Some friends won't let me change. Maybe I need new friends. 

I've stepped out. Yes, I am imperfect. But, this is me. This is me. And, I am stomping on the box.