Sunday, July 31, 2011

So, I admit it...

As if you were surprised... I'm a nerd. A total, absolute, can't get over it... NERD. How? Other than the knitting, bad sewing, cooking, silver hobby, AND internet savviness? I've kinda gotten a little hooked on genealogy. Yeah, I know, if you didn't know I was 30 with gray hair, you'd think I was 70 with excellent skin.

So, I have two things that are fascinating me at the moment, okay, maybe not fascinating me... but two things that, well, here:

(1) My Great Grand Aunt (you like that, don't you), Lena Snedecor, lost her mother (March), her sister (July), and her husband (November) in 1918-- talk about a dismal 365 days. Merry Christmas?
... side note: I thesaursed DISMAL to see if there was a word that fit better... "flea bitten" was one of my choices. I'm stickin' with dismal. If I find any other deaths in 1918, I'll be sure to let you know.


(2) My Great Grandfather married his first wife, Inez, and then promptly left for a three month "wedding trip." (Those were the days!) Two months later, his new father-in-law married his sister. What does that make her to Inez- sis? mom? Can you imagine writing that very confusing "thank you for being my maid of honor" and "congrats on marrying Pops" letter upon her return. Would you use engraved stationery for that or just settle for the old embossed monogram? Oh, Emily Post... decisions... The headline (not kidding) of the NY Times said... wait, this is much better:


In the words of my father, YOU JUST CANNOT MAKE THIS STUFF UP! Love....

PS- they would wind up having babies and grandbabies and living happily ever after. Sadly, the Doc would be "stricken" with a stroke in November a number of years later while at a college football game. More on that later.

Thank the Sweet Lord for CROPPING

They say black is slimming... they also say the camera adds 10 pounds. They say a lot of things.

I'll take this one ANY day of the week! :)

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Parenting

I never thought much about parenting until about a year ago. My friend, Aleasha, has three babies and they are all **fantastic**. No exaggeration, those babies can go to the finest restaurant and have their best manners. Aleasha can tell them to do something and, without fail, it gets done. The girls are not even double digits-- the oldest is about to start kindergarten. (holy mackerel, I spelled it right-- first try, without spell check) But, they are, by far, the kind of children I want to raise.

In Augusta, Aleasha had no one. I mean, she had her husband, who was in Husband's residency class, but that being said- she had a mother, two sisters, three grandmothers, and a home four states away. When the chips were down, it was Aleasha who had to do the raising. I was constantly amazed by her and her ability to not hide under the covers every day.

She gave me confidence that I could have a well behaved child without having to brow beat them or myself. Before relocating to DC, I watched how she interacted with her babes & made mental notes of how to emulate things I liked. Other parents were put on the same pedestal- especially those that have great kids. Much like a game tape, these parents would be my teachers of both mistakes and successes.

Why?

Because when I was growing up, you could tell the kids that were raised by Dr. Spock Parents- and they had their own basket full of problems. By no means am I raising the perfection flag for my family, but, well, Dr. Spock kids were... they were who they were.

Recently, LMC has had her own set of problems. She is deep in the throws of being a two year old- full of life, energy, and resilience. Full of herself, of her friends, and wanting it her way right away. My patience has been running thin and my rope has been unraveling about how to handle situations in our 1056 square foot apartment. I broke down. An hour on Amazon was spent researching parenting books, because I am not going to be That Parent. 

I've been That Girl plenty of times, but please, oh please, do not let me be That Parent.

The book, Life with Toddlers- 3 Simple Strategies to East the Struggle and Raise Happy, Healthy Toddlers (currently to the right, what I am reading) has a certain level of common sense and a certain level of Dr. Spock authority. For instance:
Everybody is allowed a bad day every now and then, but in the midst of your day from hell, try to remember your child's age. They're just learning what makes the world go round. It is not their intention to drive us batty. They just want to know what'll happen if they shake chocolate milk onto our four thousand dollar Karastan rug or how long they'll need to howl before you give them an Oreo. It's not personal- just the business of being a toddler. 
 Or.... my very favorite:
Toddlers are a walking definition of aggravation, and from their vantage point, who could blame them.... Adults insist they eat disgusting green veggies for dinner instead of ice cream. Other pint sized little monsters threaten their life and steal their toys. The pet turtle refuses to cuddle. Mommies go ape over a ludicrous article of clothing called "underwear" and badger the poor tot to sit on the toilet for no conceivably good reason. Cell phones are off limits, and Mommy locks up all the knives...Just when things get interesting, all hell breaks loose and they get tossed in a time out. If I were a toddler, I'd be on a permanent protest of life's unfairness too.
Anyway, that being said, I have been reading this book-- not from front to back, but from chapter to as-I-need-it chapter & it has, for the most part, been very helpful. Don't get me wrong- I still very much so have a two year old, but zonkers, she is a different toddler now than she was six weeks ago.

There is more to the book, but you did not come here to read a parenting book. So, if you are thinking that you might be in my boat- check it out. There is nothing complicated about it & LMC actually likes to see it laying around and say, "A MESS! A MESS!" as there are two toddlers on the front making .... a mess... out of blue icing and cake.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Queen LMC

Shadows... part II... which is what this should be called. Today, we pulled out the construction paper & the lone popsicle stick I have.

Three circles make a "HOT DAWG!" (Mickey) We play shadow puppets with her most favorite and with every gleeful "Oh TOOOO-DOOOOOO-LESSSS!" She fear, for the moment, started to subside.

Never wasteful, the remnants that were used to create the mouse became moons... looking better as eyebrows, two triangles and a fourth circle for a nose... the outline of one circle cut in half became the mouth.... More interested in the shapes than the face it could make, we forego and cut squares, circles, triangles, an "E" ... next an "A" .... the number "1" (a fancy one, not just a rectangle). The smile became a "C" and the squares found their way to her head... then my head. Cutting them in half, we produced twice the amount of squares (whatever, they were rectangles-- but we aren't there yet), before she said "HAT?"

Do you want a crown? You've earned it.

YEAH!

What color?

Peeeenk! (shocker)

How about a red, it's a really dark pink.

YEAH!

Measuring her head and clipping out more squares- she is sitting at the counter next to me as I type decorating what will be her very first (of many) construction paper crowns.

Sidenote: The shadow fear must be on the way out the door as she is laying her head right next to her crown to draw her "ea-ah sa-dough" (ear shadow)







Shadows

On Friday night we hosted 60 doctors and nurses as the PICU welcomed the incoming fellows, putting Husband on the second to lowest man on the totem pole. What was supposed to be a party on the roof for all these people (who do not have kids and are, for the most part, single... man, you can see where this is going!) turned into a frantic house scouring party as the anticipated temperature at 7 pm was going to be a ridiculous 102 degrees.
LMC needed a good nap. She had a crappy one.
I needed to do about 4 loads of laundry. I got 2 out of the way.
LMC needed to hang out in her room while I cleaned the main parts of the apartment. She wanted to follow me everywhere (except when I had the vacuum going).
You get the picture. But, this is not the point. The point is that she is constantly making discoveries. 
As people came and went throughout the evening, it got more and more crowded. Strangers in her space and not wanting anyone but me. Not that I am complaining, but there was only one place she wanted to be- in my arms. A pediatrician in the room introduced himself to our daughter and thought it would be **real cool** to show her the shadows on the ceiling from the lamp that sat beside us.
LMC shuttered backwards in fear and screamed at the ghastly incubus that had invaded her home with these strange people. She dove farther in my arms, put her face deep in that space between my shoulder & neck and cried. Cried those painful tears of absolute terror.

Thanks, doc.
All weekend long she has found new shadows, new to her two year old eyes, old to anyone else. With every shadow brings a new scream and quivers of terror. We showed her shadows, made a game out of it, and every time.... screams of terror. I pulled out a piece of white paper and a crayon to show traces of shadows, which brought less screams, more interest, and zero chance that we were going to be able to trace her shadow. I trace the sippy cup, Husband’s hand, a spoon, the “aero-plane,” and LMC’s toe. (not toes- toe. She ran off before I could finish)
Literally, she is afraid of her own shadow.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Happy

On the way home from the pool, post fender bender and pre-two bags, a purse, and baby in hands and arms- LMC looked up, drunk from the sun and water of Virginia and said, "Hap-pee."

What, baby?

"Mama, hap-pee"

I'm happy, too baby. It was a good day, wasn't it?

"Yes. Hap-pee."

Even the fender bender on the way home, trying a new way (which failed miserably) did not faze us or make the day any more than what it was- excellent.

I have great friends:

That's An-Ew's mom on the left; Miss Clara's mom on the right

We're bunko pals. We're mom friends. We're sanity keepers, shoe finders, and bathroom respites.

This is Miss Clara's debut on here at MTNC-- allow me to present:


She's pretty awesome and LMC's first friend. We met at Capital City Brew & shared french fries, crayons, and sippy cups. Later, they shared syrup and toys while the moms caught a few moments of peace and the girls entertained themselves.

I was able to return the favor of pancake breakfasts at Eastern Market on Fridays by introducing Miss Clara to An-Ew. The three are definitely in "co-play" mode and we try to maintain the chaos as six hands and six eyes are always better than two.


Unfortunately, LMC is the runt of the group (excluding JJ, who is just a shrimp) and can't go into the deep end by herself. 12 inches of water are the perfect height for her to slip and nose be under and eyes asunder. (okay, that really makes no sense- but, the idea is there)


An-Ew, on the other hand, can handle 12 inches with pure gusto. Here he is, showing the infamous "kik kik an-ew" that we have had on repeat this summer.


If he's not swimming by the end of the summer, I'm a monkey's uncle

LMC stalks her prey with the uncanny man-eater eye that she definitely came by naturally. (not me-- any one of her aunts... but... not... me)


An-Ew sometimes responds and sometimes not.



This is my favorite picture, complete mirth: (mirth is an excellent adjective for anything to do with elves or elfin size & LMC would fit into that category perfectly)


And here is our merry band of brothers (minus the photographer, with her new short & curly hair)... wait, where's Miss Clara?


Well, she's part of the crew too....

I love those sassy faces!

It was a good day. Summertime makes me feel like a better parent. A little more patient, a little more exercise, a little more one on one time, a little more of everything wonderful. Wet poolside kisses, extra coats of sunscreen (PS-- there's a difference between spray screen "NO RUB" and spray lotion. Just an FYI), and allowing her to turn a nose up to lunch of strawberries, etc in lieu of french fries and "deep it". We will batten down and get back on the straight and narrow come fall time.

Today, though, today I am hap-pee just like my baby.

Good day.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Skinning the cat

Currently, LMC has no protection from me and my attitude of "she will eat more than yogurt." Husband was on call last night (shocker) and I am determined to get her outside of yogurt and crackers.

Yesterday, it was sweet potatoes cut into strips for lunch (one Cagle has the belief that she likes things cut into strips... the other Cagle thinks that he is crazy). 

NO!
NO!
NO!

Cook-ie?

No, LMC. You cannot have a cookie.

Peas? (batting her eyes...) (that would be PLEASE and not the nutritious green things)

No. 

Fit pitched- we're off to naptime a wee little early. Cries from the crib. Fingers in my ears. A feeble 1.5 hours later, she awakens. 

Hi..... are you ready to try lunch again? 

a nod.

Okay... let's load up.

Sweet taters on her tray, she says, "No, peas. Chick-chick?" I oblige at her politeness. At least she did not throw the taters. It's give and take, right?

Yo-yo, chick-chick, actual peas, and ice cream later, her "drunch" is complete. (Seriously, mom? Ice cream? Hey- don't judge, it's dairy.)

But, I was not giving up on the taters.

A few fits later (at my refusal for DORA for the day) & not wanting to go to bed, I could see my rope starting to unravel. It had been a long day as when Elmo or any of the other Sesame Street characters caused her to run behind the chair and scream for all she was worth. But, tomorrow is a new one.

Tomorrow-- today. I was not giving up on sweet taters. Without hesitation, I whip out the taters, toss 'em in the pan, get 'em hot. Crack an egg to combine and back in the pan. Sweet tater eggs can be formed into the shape of mickey mouse & served with syrup as "dip it" really aren't that bad. She has devoured the taters & asking for more.

No idea that she is eating two things she rejected yesterday- eggs AND taters.

It appears that I have tripled stamp that double stamp, Lloyd. At least for today... as always, tomorrow is a new one.

Friday, July 15, 2011

I don't know how she does it.

She has two of 'em. Boys, too. Which I have discovered are a little more of a handful than my little girl. Don't get me wrong- LMC is no angel, but she lacks that extra gear An-Ew has.

On the flip side, An-Ew has an extra six months on him, so I can "reason" with him (to some extent), while LMC looks at me like "Mom- that's cool you're talking, but, really? This is MINE... and another thing, those carrots you are going to pass off for chips later on, you can just go ahead and toss 'em in the trash."

So, the other day, she asked me if I could watch "John Jetcher" for An-Ew's maiden voyage to the dentist. Excited, we showed up early and bid the elder brother farewell. It would be about an hour. I mean, really, we roll the ball, cut on some music, play with the pretend kitchen, eat yo-yo... how much can happen in an hour?

Well, JJ was in great spirits, LMC was having a blast playing with him and running up and down the hall- finding a **new** ball (boys have far more rolling objects than girls and this little girl was very excited about finding new ones), rolling it to the JJ and then running off again. JJ rolls the ball to me and crawls away, following this new role model.

Very fun. Not 10 minutes are we three flying solo, when LMC looks at me and gives the call that she has to, uh, what did I call them? righttt... daisies. We scoop, we whisk, we run to An-Ew's bathroom. Elmo's potty top in place, LMC in place, an immediate earning for fishies ensues while we wait for the ... daisy... I head to the kitchen to find the ever-valuable fishies. JJ is still hanging tight, surrounded by balls and gleefully pushing one into the other. Super cute. LMC gets her fishies and produces a need for a greater prize via the Elmo seat.

Back up front to find more fishies, JJ still self-entertaining for a moment... then... there was this.... thud.
Not so much a thud, but a sound of something that had fallen, like a book. Yeah, like a book on a baby's head.

JJ's not crying, but LMC is. I race back to An-Ew's bathroom.

Eileen has defied gravity. She's holding the Elmo seat in her left hand, her feet above her head, and she is soaking wet... in the toilet.

"Ma-ma?" She calls quietly.

Not laughing (because that would not be rude), I scoop her up, shuck her clothes in the washer, race her back to Ms. Elizabeth's bathtub, find JJ (who has moved from the balls to behind the table), race back to LMC and run a quick bath. JJ, uninterested in watching turns and crawls back to the land of 800 balls.

Fastest bath known to man over, we grab a towel & find JJ back up front. Double scoop- one kid on each hip, we head to the boys' room for some unisex clothes. JJ is watching me and laughing, which makes LMC laugh... which makes me laugh at the funniness of being us in this moment.

JJ hands me the shorts, LMC kisses his head, JJ starts crying and asking for food. We race up front, load in the high chair, fish out the yo-yo & start eating. LMC sees that JJ has yoyo and asks for the same. Between bites with JJ, grab another and a spoon, set LMC up in An-Ew's booster seat. JJ is looking at me on the verge of tears for his next bite.

Yo Yo complete, things settle down for a moment while we play in the pretend kitchen and LMC finishes her lunch. Toast in the pretend oven, toast on the stove. Toast on the griddle, toast back in the oven. Out of the oven, onto the stove, Fries in the oven, fries on the stove. No sooner had it settled down with two kids playing in the kitchen & one adult checking email, did the door that closed less than an hour ago open & in walked the greatest big brother ever... with a red sticky lizard!

I had such fun glimpsing into the life of more than just one, but I seriously do not know how she does it.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Sophie's Choice

I feel a little bad entitling this "Sophie's Choice" as the only thing I know about this movie is someone has to make a big choice & it is set in the Holocaust. While probably based on a true story, like Schlinder's List,  and Independence Day (with Will Smith)- I just do not enjoy sad movies. Give me Caddyshack or Animal House any day of the week.

LMC popped up from her nap a few minutes ago after a busy morning at the pool (which we had to evacuate due to a child, um, well- let's just say the pool closed for the rest of the day. No Caddyshack scenes here, some poor kid yakked. Ew.), we abandoned the hottest day of the year to fingerpainting in the bathtub with An-Ew, lunch, then Oobleck on the counter. Mess after awesome mess. Kisses to An-Ew, John Jetcher, we are off for nap.

Upon awaking, I would have no idea that we would be set in a black and white concentration camp when it came to what the choice Sophie would make for her snack.

Catholic v. Jewish?

Oh, no.

Goldfish v. pop tart

Fishie? Fishie? Fishie? (no fishie, honey)
Running to the pantry, "UP! UP!" (nothing from Mom)
UP, Peas?" (mom lifts her up.)
Ohh.... Cookie... peas?" (Not wanting her to have a two pop tarts two  hours before supper, I open the other pantry door.... foolish, I know.)

"Honey, do you want a cookie.... or.... (dumb dumb dumb dumb) do you want FISHIES?!

Ohhhhh, fishies! fishies! fishies!

We load up in the chair and pour out the fishies....

Ohhhhh.... fishies! Cookie?

Try reasoning with a screaming two year old and explaining with flash cards, props, and charts about having either the pop tart OR the fishies, but not both.

No. Dice.

More screams. More calls for cookies. She was smart enough to not throw the fishies, but still more calls for cookies while clutching the fishies in her white knuckled grasp.

Sigh, how did Sophie ever decide?

Sunday, July 10, 2011

An email to Da-Dee

Dear Daddy,

I have had such a great morning. Starting off, I slept in until almost 9! While I did not eat much breakfast (1/2 a banana and more O-Ohs than I should tell you), mom let me stay in my jammies and watch three... THREE Doras! I read a book, and told Pat, "NO! Pat, NO!" as he was about to sit on the cactus (that Dr. Seuss is very smart) before I asked mom to help her cook, even though she was unloading the dishwasher. 


We were going to make a smoothie and started chopping the strawberries, however I kept sneaking bites of yummy red-berriness, so we decided to forego that. Mom had already pulled out some chicken for lunch and I ate that... and asked for more... TWICE! Three plates of chicken and enough strawberries to make me full... I spotted the fruit twists. After having one of those and wanting more, mom moved my attention to a cookie that I am currently eating. All this while sitting on the counter AND a tiara on my head. Daddy, I am a big girl!


To think, why such a fuss when it comes to eating? That mom, she can be tricky sometimes sneaking food into my belly. 
I love you and hope you have a good day and night at work. Miss you! Tomorrow, Mom and I are going with Miss Elizabeth and An-Ew to HIS pool. How cool is that? I'm going to wear a bikini and mom is going to pack a lunch for us.



Love you,


LMC

Friday, July 8, 2011

Cranky

Man on man, I am cranky today. Maybe it was the cashier who squished my bread, tomatoes, and made my artichoke jar explode. Maybe it is the baby who figured out how to open the yogurt in the grocery store and proceeded to dip her fingers in it and spread it all over her face, with only the tiniest bit actually getting into her mouth. Maybe it was the jack*$$ driving in the parking garage at 45 mph while I struggled with groceries and a screaming 2 year old (who had lost her balloon) and almost mowed us down. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that Husband and wife did not get a stick of sleep last night due to the screaming princess and not wanting to go to bed.

Maybe....

Either way, it's probably a good thing Husband is on call tonight & Sunday night. And a bad thing, since he has had no sleep. If I am this cranky, I can only imagine how he feels today.

Ugh. When can I call a mulligan?

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Just Do It.

I am starting a revolution. Not crustless sandwiches, but rather the MONSTERS! Eileen and I spend almost every day at the pool for a spell of time. Sometimes even twice a day. Every time, we have two rules.
  1. Walk on the khaki, run on the gray. (Khaki being the cement right by the pool, gray being the planks on the roof outside the danger of slipping and falling range)
  2. The monster has to be worn on the khaki and in the pool. No exceptions. 
At the pool, we see several moms and several babies and we always get the same question...
What is that thing she is swimming in called?
Her monster? Oh, you mean the greatest thing ever? It’s called a “Puddle Jumper” by Stearns. 
The smallest size holds 30-50 pounds of baby and it is Coast Guard Approved. They can swim, have an excellent range of motion, and you don’t have to worry about the “boards” on the front AND back being a danger. There are no straps between the legs and if they fall in- either front ways or back ways, it keeps their head up. Their arms won’t tire like they do in the “muscles” and it only takes one click of the buckle on their back and she is ready to roll. 
Do it. Don’t hem and haw and watch how easily LMC & An-Ew hop in and out of the water, hold their heads up so well, and can kik-kik-an-ew like they were born in the water. Water birth or C-Secion? Hmmm...  Give me drugs and pick up that scalpel. I am not earthy, granola, or otherwise crazy. Besides, birthing babies is a messy business. Swimming does not have to be. 

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

And the Band played on

I spent the fourth by the pool and have some commentary about girls and bathing suits.
Cheetah prints. They are not attractive as underroos, bed sheets, and ... yes, bikinis. Skinny & Tan are two things they do not create. 
I have a firm rule (and always have) that bikinis should not be made past a certain size. It is a generous rule, too, in that anything past Medium... no no no no. Step away from that two piece. Tankinis, over in the matronly department, shall we make introductions?  That being said, just because those cheeks can squeeze into that medium- if there is anything protruding over the top: step fast. If the buns look like they are fighting for air in that tiny bottom covering the not-so-tiny bottom, than it’s time to let them come up for a breath. 
If a crack can be seen- don’t walk, run. On second thought, don’t run, rather, discreetly skeeter away to the next size up, or, be bold! Two sizes up.
Sequins? Really? Unless there is a stage, a crown, and a hope for world peace, sequins do not belong in the water tied around tatas. The shiny beads will not hide anything but good taste.
To think, the parade of bad fashion started before lunch. In my blue tankini, laptop in lap, Georgia visor in place, I surfed (the internet) with Jimmy Buffett in my ears. A pale whisper of a girl caught my eye the way an impending train wreck does. The grand master of ceremonies as she shall be referred to. You don’t want to stare, but you just can’t look away. Allow me the short, short version: skinny, string bikini, and floppy boobies. And when I say floppy- I mean, seriously, floppy. As she walked, they went to the left, the right, up, to the left, to the right, up. She should have had two black eyes. In thinking back, it dawned on me that the only string bikinis I have ever seen were on Baywatch with Pam Anderson. 
Which brings me to another rule: Unless an augmentation has taken place, skip the strings. 
Why? Because someone might be watching and blog about the bad bikini choices parade.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Not From Around Here

Husband, Wife, and LMC have been here a year, together, today. It is crazy to think about how fast that zipped by. While normal is something I firmly believe is a setting and not a state, there are times when I realize that there are some differences between Georgia and DC. Major differences. Allow me to share my knowledge...
* I am 30, married four years, and have a two year old. Husband is 30, married, and has the same two year old. That means we got married in our mid-twenties & had a baby before we turned 37. And the crazy thing... we want more than just the one.
*The other day at the gym, I was talking to a classmate and helping her set up due to her late arrival. She half friendly/half caddy said, “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Nope, Georgia. What makes you say that?”
“You’re too friendly.”
“I will elect to take that as a compliment. Thank you.”
zing. btw, bitch, get your own weights when running late. 
* Quite the fan of monograms and embroidery. Monogrammed napkins, glasses, towels and waiting on sheets. “The Cagles” on our cooler, our picnic basket, and the like. Our stuff won’t get lost and we look preppy doing it. We... well, I. And LMC.
* Not too long ago, our “not from the south but still love her” babysitter had some friends over and we ran into them on the roof while we sipped our wine & chatted waiting on the grill. I, with my “The Cagles” picnic basket holding LMC’s toys, LMC running around (barefoot <--- another sign), madris shorts, and a southern accent thanks to the cooling effects of the day, were enjoying the setting sun and the wafting yumminess from the grill. The friend of our “NFTSBSLH” babysitter made a comment about The South:

“People from the south think that there is no place better. That’s the 
stupidest thing ever.”


Now, “NFTSBSLH” babysitter has a boyfriend... from the South- not just any south, he’s from Alabama. Mobile to be precise. We were three southerners with three northerners meeting at the Mason-Dixon. We three said, “WOAH- that’s cool and all. But the south is pretty fabulous.” (I said fabulous- the guys said something with the chests bowed and could not hear over the gorilla grunts) 
We polite southerners laughed it off and offered another round of drinks from our monogrammed cooler. “NFTSBSLH” babysitters friend, let’s call her Pink Hair, and I started talking. Oh, she’s called Pink Hair because she has... well... pink hair streaked through her beautiful blonde locks. We were chatting and laughing about something with NFTSBSLH babysitter and Pink Hair said, “My God, you are the preppiest yuppy I have ever met.”


I laughed and said, “Thank you. I love gracious compliments like that. Thank you for noticing.”
zing.
* Speaking of Eileen and monogramming, she wears monogrammed eyelet bloomers. Not for cuteness sake, but for practicality sake.... but if they happen to be cute, than so be it. If she didn’t, her diaper would be around her knees in no time. At the grocery store, this woman came up to me-- very friendly-- and we struck up a conversation. While thinking she was selling Amway, I started to be the one to bid farewell. Before my grand exit, she said, “You must be from the south. I’m from Mississippi.”
I stop. Wait. What? 

“Why yes, yes I am. Georgia. How’d you know?”
“The bloomers. You just cannot find kids wearing such clothes around here.”
“Thank you.”
Like I said, I’m not from around here.

What I will stand up and scream for.

Not too long ago, Husband & I were having a discussion (not a fight, though that is what we call them when we are discussing past discussions) about what we would stand up and shout from the rooftops- what we believe in- what is that one thing that we are so passionate about that people know it.

My friend, Alice, she's a card-carrying, certified conservative Republican. She'd vote for Reagan tomorrow... if she could. She believes in breastfeeding and Enfamil when breastfeeding is not an option. She knows that what you put into your baby is not just feeding them until the next meal, but rather, building a brain & building a future asset to society. Spend about 45 seconds with Alice, and you know, you just know, these things about her.

Pepco is our electrical company up in the marble jungle.

And, there you sit... thinking, okay, what does Pepco & your friend Alice have to do with each other?

Well, let me tell you.

Never have I been someone that would stand on the rooftops and scream what I believe. While a Catholic, I'm a pretty big fan of the death penalty. While conservative, pretty much support a woman's choice. While a Republican, would rather be a Libertarian. While not an environmentalist or "green," I keep the lights off in the house during the day and get annoyed with that dashing husband of mine when he leaves the refrigerator door open while pouring something to drink (or cooking something in the microwave or just walking away from it... deep breath.) or leaves the water running for more than four seconds. While cheap-beyond-belief, I spend money on good paper and eBay.

Like I said, not a screamer-from-the-roof. Until now.

I filed a $600 claim with Pepco (the aforementioned electrical company) from our power outage due to a loss of food. A loss of a place to sleep. A loss, a loss, an MF-ing loss. Six. Hundred. Dollars. Three days misplaced from our little abode. Three days trudging up seven flights and down seven flights of stairs. Documentation. Pictures. Forms. Food tossed. Pictures. Receipts. Almost $2 in stamps to mail every damn thing.

D-E-N-I-E-D.

Why? Why on earth would they reject such documentation, such organization, such a way to spend four hours of my time?

Ready for this... ready for this.... I just do not think you are ready for this...
Based on the tariffs that we at Pepco have established with the government of the District of Columbia, Pepco is not required to provide continual electrical service to its residents.
Excuse me? I'm sorry... you are an electrical company, right?


Allow me to scream from the rooftops.

The cable companies get it. Hell, even AT&T for all their lack of coverage gets it. My health insurance clients dang-sure get it and are some kind of ticked off when there is a problem. My apartment building even gets it. But, come on, seriously? You are not required to provide continual service? I wish the same could happen on the opposite end, when I have to pay my (you're going to love this) $283 bill for 27 days of service. (Should have been 30, but there was that pesky outage)

Upon calling to inquire why my 1056 square foot apartment was costing so much money, and mentioning that we had a three day power outage, the *$^@% lady on the other end of the line said -- I kid you not--
"M'am, we were not charging you for service when the power was out."
Really?

Rant's over.