Video Enjoyment of Another Parent's Oops!

This is so hilarious to me, only because this is being a parent.  An innocent little statement of fact can totally temporarily destroy your child.  The attempts of the parents to try to "make it all better" followed by the Dad's last statement is just classic.

The birds and bees

I am in the midst of some serious emotional gunk/turmoil (post in composition mode), and market cleaning (yes, you will hear about this for another week or so), but couldn't let THIS one pass me by. Such a classic.


For those that have been reading my little corner of the blogging world for a while know that "Time for bed" is translated in Ethan's mind to "Time for deep conversations with Mom." Thus follows tonight's very brief conversation:

Ethan: Mom, I have one of those questions for you.

Me: Ok, let's sit down on the sofa.

Ethan: So, how does sex actually start.

Me: Ummm. Ummm. Well, why are you asking that? Did someone say something at school?

Note: I have learned that often something has been said that produces such questions and if I ask what precipitated the question then I can usually come up with a satisfactory answer without giving too much away.

Ethan: No. I have just been thinking.

Me: Well, you know it is between a husband and wife, who are married and well, I guess it begins with kissing. Not that kissing always leads to that. Ummm. Well. (Clearly stalling as I have no idea what the appropriate response is)

Ethan: But is sex just for making babies? Wait, no, ...does that mean...(I can see the wheels turning in his mind)...Do you and Daddy still have sex?

Me: JJJJJJJJAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!!

I am so not ready for this.

Ummm, what do you want?

Because every once in a while I revert to a being a teenager with no sense of decorum and complete immarturity, I document this line spoken by my sweet little Lily, age5, who had just finished up her bowl of popcorn.

"MOOOOMMMMM, I want some more cockporn, please."

I just looked at her innocent face and left the room to howl.  At least she used her manners.  I hope I don't start getting a million hits from complete sleezebags because I wrote that word on my blog. 

Oh, Sadie.

Tough day for my gal. Completely out of sorts and claims she is completely fine with that news about swim changes in my previous post. After a very, very difficult day at school, I had the pleasure of telling her I found her little piece of artwork in the basement. She decided my lampshade would look a little better with 5 red dots in row, courtesy of a bingo marker. Restitution was ordered up. What a lovely job she did folding three loads of laundry. Why do I not make the kids do this all the time? So nice to have that crossed off my to do list. There will be many, many laundry piles in her future. A new lampshade is not cheap.

While she was folding the laundry and I was fixing some hot tea, she said, out of the blue with so much confidence, "You know, Mom? I just have this feeling that I am going to be on America's Got Talent." She said it like there was no doubt in her mind that her fate rests with this television show. I dared not ask what her talent was going to be. Fear must have forced me there. Inwardly, it gave me a good chuckle.

Any good guesses out there on what kind of talent it might be?

Needs

It is Friday morning. I have asked several times for Sadie to get her hair brushed. Normally, this isn't an issue for her. Sometime during the summer the light bulb turned on in the personal hygiene department. At least in the visual department of personal hygiene; we are still working on the non-visual like bad breeth and teeth. Brushing her hair is outward, readily seen and relevant to her.

Anyway, this was our conversation:

Me: Sadie, You need to have your hair brushed.
Sadie: I don't need to have it brushed.
Me: Yes, Sadie, you need to brush it. It is looking ratty.
Sadie: No, I don't need anything. I only need God.
And she flashes me that little smirk as she slips into my bathroom for a hairbrush.

Random thoughts

I wrote the following collection of scattered thoughts over the past several days. The thoughts smack of triviality in light of the catastrophe in Haiti. I hesitate to post them. However, this is my life, as out of focus it may be at times. I also think of the people living in abject poverty every day through out the world. What am I doing for them? But for the grace of God it could be me. With renewed feelings of extreme gratefulness and gratitude to have the following experiences and thoughts, I post.

Tonight, I was helping Lily take a bath. She loves to talk, babbling incessantly without much thought as to what is coming out of her mouth. She says to me, "Today, we did 'science' at lunch." I responded, "Oh. What did you do?" Lily said, "We put yogurt in our water and then we added some food." "Lily, that isn't called 'science,' that is called 'playing with your food.' You better watch it because you will get in trouble for it." She paused and chose not to say anything else on this topic.

I don't understand Sarah Palin. I mean, I am a card carrying member of the Republican party. I will never vote for her, ever. Who is driving her train? My best guess is that it is the media. The more they portray her as the "shining light of party," the more those of us on the fringe closest to left of the party start believing that she is the core of what it believes rather than the freakish, far right. Surely this benefits "the other side" of which most of the media is card carrying members.

I just know way too much about her personal life, more than any other elected official, and she is not that anymore. (The names of her children, out of wedlock grandchild, even the boyfriend/father in Playgirl - the fact that he posed, not the pictures themselves) Well, maybe we ALL know more about "that dress" and Bill Clinton than we needed. And, I do recall Dick Cheney has a lesbian daughter. Useless pieces of information people. Useless garbage taking space in my brain. I don't need to know any more about her than I do Jon & Kate plus 8. And yet, the media keeps going on and on and on.

I hear people say that they feel they can relate to her. She is just an average hockey mom. Or, someone will say I will vote for this person because they are like me. I believe that I am far too simple-minded for that to be a good thing. I don't want "to be able to sit around" and have a glass of wine, or beer with Barack Obama. As our president, he should be above me in intellect, in education, in knowledge, in experiences. He shouldn't be "common man," right? C'mon people, we are electing the leader of the free world, not choosing our next dinner club members.

Library Books. Why can't we keep up with them? It doesn't matter whether they are from the school library or the city library. We lose them - in the car, in other peoples' cars, all over the house, even at school. We turn them into the wrong location, creating confusion for everyone. We get overdue fines (from the city) and reminder slips (from the school). We have paid money for books we never located. You just have to love spending money on something you lost. If anyone out there has a process for keeping up with library books, please let me know. I am afraid to go there any more.

Peanut Butter Chocolate Spread. Yes, it exists and it is heavenly. Like putting a spreadable Reese's cup on bread. It is at WalMart - peanut butter aisle. I wonder why I can't drop these last 5 - 6 pounds.

Once again, a particular family member is moving. Once again, I feel the need to scoop up any discarded furniture or items of memory. Among this move's loot, are voluminous boxes over flowing with crafting supplies. I will never need take a trip to Hobby Lobby for a child's project again. Paint, glue, feathers, markers, Styrofoam balls, enough beads and parts to make 100 necklaces, clay, sponges, brushes, nifty little craft knives...you name it, my sister bought it. She really had two obsessions - funky folk art and craft/scrapbooking supplies. I have now been the recipient of both. Her distinct smell is still all over these things which make me weepy. I wish she were here to use them with me.

Lately, my heart has heard the cry of a little baby, possibly a child. I don't mean this in the literal sense like I am hearing voices. I mean, a little desire is stirring in my soul to bring another into our family. I know I am a bit crazy, but this idea of adoption has always been out there in my thoughts. It is a little louder at the moment. I pray that God will open or close the door to this thought and for my spirit to calm and at peace.

One last thought to Haiti...I find it interesting that I wrote the morning of the earthquake in Haiti about some of the responses to the Tsunami in 2004 being the wrath of God. It has happened again; this time with Pat Robertson. Speechless.

Specks

After yesterday's post, I realized that either 1) it was maybe too serious 2) it didn't make sense or 3) offended too many. Regardless, I am still going to write about it. Probably several entries, in fact. In the meantime, however, I will break up the arduous and formidable topic with this little tale from my life.

A sign of my body succumbing to illness is when my eyes become tired and sore. Not just achy but the eyeballs themselves throb and pound. The only relief is a very hot washcloth on my eyes, liberal amounts of water, and massive amounts of sleep. Over the past couple of years, I noticed that my eyes were more sore than they weren't.

Beginning in September, this little symptom started snowballing. I felt it every day, particularly at night. I could not keep my eyes open. Just painful. I just knew a terrible combination of illnesses were waiting for me the very next morning - a boiling pot of pneumonia, flu, bronchitis, topped of by the worst sinus infection of all time. Headaches began their decent by mid morning each day and I decided I could wait not longer. To the doctor I went.

Despite a series of doctor appointments, a round of antibiotics and nasal decongestant, nothing changed. To make matters worse, another condition developed, too - jaw clenching and some teeth grinding. My doctor suspicions began to grow and he decided to order an MRI to see exactly what was going on with all of these symptoms. It showed nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.

The holidays came and went. I began to tire more easily resulting in my bedtime rolling in around 8. All I wanted to do was close my eyes. I decided I needed lots of vitamins, exercise and water. Unfortunately, this didn't change my fatigue, instead it gave me gas and muscle soreness.

Last week, while I was cleaning out my nightstand, I contemplated calling the doctor...again. But, what was he going to do? Blood work? I was in a bit of a quandary. I was organizing this drawer when I spied something shoved way in the back. I had not seen this in several years. I opened it up. Low and behold, after using it, my eye aches, my clenching, my headaches have all gone away. It has been miraculous!

What did I find, you ask? Why, the glasses that were prescribed to me about 4 years ago that haven't been on my face in about 2 years!

I do have a couple pairs of reading glasses that get tossed around in my pocketbook. I bring them out whenever the print is too small for me to read. Usually, though, I don't take the time to get them out, opting to deepen my frown lines by squinting my way through it. For the last two years, I have been a more consistent blogger and computer user which, without a doubt, has caused the eye irritation and headaches. I promptly made an appointment with my optometrist to have an exam and update my prescription. In the meantime, I will be sporting my old specks all the time. Sometimes we just can't see the obvious.

In Search of Justice

As a mother of girls, I take some effort into procuring clothing that is properly fitting, cute, yet age appropriate and made decently enough that it can withstand the rigours of the roughness and accident-proness of daughter #1 in order to be passed down to daughter #2. I care about my son, too, but you'll soon understand why he does not need to be included in this post.

We are at a transition period with daughter #1, age 8. I learned to pick my battles with her attire early on, giving her a day here and there to make her own choices. Otherwise, we have a few standard rules that she has to obey. Thankfully, she is at a school where the main pieces of clothing are dictated to her. Yes, uniforms. Yet, I recognized over the summer that I needed to at least hear her out when she said, "You just don't know fashion, Mom."

I asked several moms of her friends exactly where does one go when you start aging out of Gymboree-type clothing? Their response: Justice. (and a crowd of tween girls start going wild). They didn't warn me, but I will send up some cautionary flares for you.

On our first trip, my daughter walked in there and thought she had died and gone to heaven. She swooned and pined over the tick-tackiest, heaped on bling-iest, eye-gouging colored clothes in the store, of which there were plenty. Lest I forget to mention to you our discovery of racks and piles of toys, lip gloss, hair accessories stuffed into every corner and every rack of clothing. Of course, it was always "on sale" and further encouraged at the cashier station. Daughter #1 lit up like a Christmas tree at the glory of it all. The music? Of course blaring, sounding like a hyped-up Cyndi Lauper on crystal meth. Just another work-them-into-a-riot marking device.

And if I thought there might be a bargain here, I was quickly corrected. T-shirts: $25.00. A t-shirt that you can see your hand through - a simple t-shirt with a very basic silk-screened design on it.

I'll give the marketing and merchandising leaders credit where credit is due. They have created a den that works even the most shy and meek little girl into a frenzy. You walk into the store, believing that you are there for clothes and you walk about with 2 webkinz, a My Little Pet Shop gift set and some charm bracelet.

I was sorely prepared for this adventure. I was cajoled into purchasing two pieces of the "add-ons"- a lipgloss bracelet contraption and another tube of sparkly gloss. Seriously, I think at that point the neon coloring that adorned just about every item in the store had worked on my mental acuity. I caved. A week later, I found it melting under the back seat of the car, creating a strawberry scented cesspool. The other unfortunate chap stick was taken away by her "obsessed with no make-up on my child" dad within minutes of leaving the store.

Overpriced? Yes. Shopped and worn by every girl from grades 2 - 7? Yes. Much to my chagrin, we have a store credit burning a hole in Daughter #1's pocket. We plan on going this Saturday. Let the pep talks being now, because I will not walk out of that store with anything made of unnatural fibers, metal or plastic.

As my children age, I hear I can look forward to the next step in the "popular shopping chain" . A poorly-lit store that will require me to carry a flashlight to navigate my way to more overpriced, poorly made junk all the while listening to more ear blasting music. I hear I might need to stock up on my claritin because there will be no store "models" to come to my aid lest I have an allergy attack from inhaling the overwhelming aroma of cologne. I believe they are paid to ignore customers.

Lily's Prayer

God,
You know,
Even when you don't want to eat them, you have to eat your brussel sprouts.
And, God, thank you for my tooth being lost.
And God, thank you that you can fix everything and make everything better.
Thank you for my dinner and brussel sprouts.
I love you, God.
Amen.

The first loss

An impromptu trip to a local furniture store took a very funny turn today.

We decided to search for a new sofa for our kitchen area. Six years of little kids spills, puppy chewing, and some unfortunate run-ins with the vacuum had made our current sofa pretty shabby. Jay suggested we go to a local, very large furniture store outlet to scope some possibilities.

We were on the second floor of the outlet center in a gigantic open room with rows and rows of all shapes and colors of upholstery. Jay and I kept moving through the rows, easily eliminating most, if not all the choices. The kids couldn't keep up with us and they stayed back in one of the first rows, messing around as kids would do if faced with hundreds of sofas.

Jay and I were halfway across the room when we heard a shout. We saw Sadie running toward us as fast as she could, her face a mix of excitement and determination. Inwardly, I panicked. All I could think was that Lily must have peed or worse on one of the sofas. The emergency exit plan was forming in my mind when Sadie arrived and said:

"Lily just lost her tooth and here it is!" With that, she thrust this little white tooth about the size of a grain of rice into my face.

I quickly looked across the room to Lily and shouted her name. Lily, still sitting on a sofa, stood up, turned to me and with fist pumping in the air, started jumping up and down. Her little ponytail was just bouncing in the air and her smile was as big as I have ever seen it, despite being one tooth less. She was thrilled.

Sadie continued the tale by stating that she had offered a piece of gum to Lily and when Lily bit into it, the tooth just came out. It was Lily's right bottom tooth.

Lily ran to me and we went to the bathroom to get some paper towels for blood, which was surprisingly little. It was clearly much looser than I had realized. From that moment on, whenever she saw anyone in the store, she announced with every ounce of pride in her, "I lost my tooth!"

My youngest and last child is losing her baby teeth. Another end of a season and the transition into a new one.

Quotable quotes

Walking into my bedroom, Lily said: "I am going to play tag with...with...with...nonone, I guess." Then she walked out of my room saying. "Tag. Tag. Tag." to imaginary people along the way.

When I picked up Lily yesterday she announced, "I got candy today. I was an O+ girl!" I love that she thrives on the doing well. I see a lot of growth in her consistency and handwriting. Yay for my little O+ girl!

Sadie has recently learned about the layers of the earth. Clearly in her element, she gobbled up every last bit of information taught to her, spewing the knowledge all over me each afternoon. Today, she was showing a healing wound on her leg to her grandfather. It was a little cracked looking and she remarked to him that it looked like the, "electronic plates" of the earth's crust. I smiled and asked, "Do you mean tectonic plates?" "Oh, yeah," she said.

Ethan has been "Mister Inquisitive" these days. I find myself navigating our vehicle through the streets of our town and to and from school trying to come up with the answers that are accurate, on a 9-year old level, and complete enough to cease the questions. Often, I am frustrated. If someone can help me, I would appreciate it. Here are some recent topics: What is the mortgage crisis? Why does someone drink alcohol/get drunk? Why did the South want slavery? What do they keep talking about healthcare reform? This last question's obvious answer then leads to, "Then what is the bill going to do?" and "Why do some people not want it?" Maybe we should just stop talking about current events and watching the news until he can figure it out on his own.

How I See Things

I don't know how this fiasco really got going, but I think it was the suggestion of a "dear friend." You see, this friend had always wanted to try wearing false eyelashes. On a whim, I picked up a couple of pairs of lashes and appropriate adhesive and decided in conjunction with her birthday, we could give it a go. Here are the "lessons learned" from my first and last false eyelash application. I say "last" because I can only envision needing them for a "lady of the night" costume and I can't at this point in my life foresee this need.

1) It takes two people to apply eyelashes. I have no idea how anyone can attempt this frivolity by themselves and be successful. I attempted this on my own and the results were similar to a one-armed wallpaper hanger. It just didn't happen. Maybe it is achievable for the younger generation who still has 20/20 vision. But, with age comes far-sightedness for most of us, you know, the ones who really need this product, and application is impossible. Your natural eyelashes get in the way because, after all, their purpose is to protect the eye and anything coming near it. You start squinting to see your upper lid with the one eye that is left open, blurring your vision further. The lash ends up being adhered about halfway up your eyelid, creating a freakish, stunned-in-the-headlights look.


2) The adhesive glue must have been invented by a man. The suggested accompaniment to the lashes comes in a proportionately much larger tube than needed. You are supposed to apply the glue to the teeny tiny thin line that actually attaches to your lid. Again, failure is eminent if your eyesight is poor, see #1. The tip of tube of glue is very tiny, but despite all efforts of only squeezing out a little, inevitably, it comes out in globs. Our solution was to squeeze out a tiny drop on our finger and run the eyelash strip along it, but that was after 3 eyelash application attempts which created a clumpy look to the lash. See # 5.

3) Too much glue creates something that can only be described as eyelash dandruff. It would make much more sense if the glue dried clear. See #2. Rather, it dries white. After seeing numerous white specks of dried glue throughout my newly applied lashes, I realized the "attention" the dandruff might cause would not be for the long, luscious lashes I now batted. There might be some other solution, but the only one I could come up with was using the tip of my mascara to color the dried specks and flecks. I did consider a sharpie, but the toxic smell of permanent marker so near my nose might result in a "marker high." Not only would I look like a more street-worn prostitute, but I might have the added bonus of acting like I was stoned.

4) Eyelashes are not reusable, despite claims of this possibility on the packaging. It is inevitable that you will use too much glue, which then seeps into the lashes causing them to clump together. Instead of multiple, perfectly fanned out lashes, you end up with three large clumpy ones. Attempts to remove the dried adhesive is impossible. I first ran the lashes under warm water. This only accentuated the clumpy look to the lashes. Using superior brain reasoning, I took a q-tip and some fingernail polish remover which also did not work and actually may have started the disintegration of the "natural" look of the lash. With the dried glue dandruff and resulting three clumped lashes, I am not sure I wanted to use them the first time, let alone for subsequent costumes.

5) Problems will arise if you use a hair dryer at any point while applying lashes. Maybe this point is moot for most people and it might point to a deficit in my mental computing. BUT...I thought that I could dry out and attempt re-fanning the eyelash back into its original shape. Not only did this not work, but the air flowing out of the dryer hit the other lash, sending it flying away across the bathroom. Now, what does one do with ONE eyelash?

6) If you look in the mirror and you think you weird or funny, you probably do. I kept thinking that I looked like I had sucked in my cheeks and was transformed into this hoity toity upper class, much older lady of society. Not quite the runway super model that I had envisioned. It just looked ridiculous. My friend assured me that I looked good. I have begun to question my "friend's" such label in my life. Out in public, most people I encountered stared into my eyes with inquiry, pondering, "what the heck is going on there and why did she do that to herself?"

7) Sunglasses and long lashes do not work together. I didn't think about this one prior to putting on my sunglasses, but the lashes were so long that they hit the plastic every time I blinked. That was annoying, so I wore my sun glasses a little lower on the bridge of my nose. Lucky for me, my appearance of peering over the sunglasses only accentuated to the snobbish, much older lady. I guess you could trim the lashes, but I knew I could not do that naturally, so I lived with it. In the car ride to lunch, I kept looking in the mirror, trying to adjust what I had just super glued to my lid. Amazing I didn't wreck the car in my vanity.


8) There is a reason why God created short lashes. Did you know that if you look down and then look back up, while wearing long lashes, your hair will get caught in them? Ridiculous. Forget glamour. Now, you just look like Cousin It from the Adam's Family.


9) Your husband will not be complimentary. The big question was, "Who will notice?" Sometimes it was hard to tell, but I am pretty sure that most people were trying to figure out just what was going on with my eyes. Sadie was the first one to say, "What did you do to your eyes, Mom." And, Jay, after arriving home from work said, "What is up with your eyes? Did you just draw lines on your lids?" I think it is safe to assume that this was not complimentary.


10) You will forget about the lashes and instead, start thinking you have something in your eye. All it will take is one quick swoop of the hand and off comes one lash. For my friend, the most unfortunate of circumstances in the life of a lash occurred. Her lash flew off her eye, landing at the feet of her dog who was waiting for some attention. In one nanosecond that dog surveyed the little black wisp that landed at his feet and promptly ate it. Game over.


I have no doubt that "professional" application yields different results. However, I cannot justify the expense of such cosmetics. And, since my own attempts at applying and wearing the lashes were stunningly pathetic and awkward, not to mention poorly received by my family, I think I will just stick with my own. That I just how I see things.

Hair Where?

Yesterday, while waiting to pick up kids, my carpool mom began talking about what a delight my little Lily is. This is the first year she has had the pleasure of Lily's company in the car rides to or from school. Lily does have a certain charm about here when she so chooses to let it shine.

Then, my carpool mom began to giggle and said, "Oh, I should tell you what she said in the car ride this morning."

Immediately, my red flag flew up the pole of warning in my mind. I braced for it.

Lily said, "I have hair on my bottom."

My eyes became a little larger and I brought my hand to my forehead. "Oh, great. That is just lovely," I responded.

My carpool mom told me she asked her to repeat what she had just said to make sure that she heard correctly. Lily repeated, "I have hair on my bottom."

At this point all the other ears in the car perked up to such a statement of private matters. Not to be undone, Sadie had to contribute to the topic of body hair knowledge.

Sadie said, "Yes, but boys have a lot more hair than girls do," at which point all five children began to giggle and laugh.

My carpool mom held it together and confirmed that yes, we have little hair all over our bodies. And, Sadie, yes men often do have more hair all over their bodies than women.

Lily, feeling the need to explain her discovery finished the conversation with, "I saw the hair on my bottom when I took my bath." Delightful, Lily.

Thankfully, this all took place in the confines of the car ride to school. I just makes me wonder what she is saying at school. It is probably best I do not know.

Job Seeking 101

The start of the school year is the most depressing time for me. Change and transitions are never fluid and calm in my spirit. Instead they are like a thousand rocks crashing and crunching around. Constantly being grounded up and rumbling. Schedules that are on paper, but not yet lived out, completely stress me out. I would love for my nature to be different, but it is not. For example, not fully understanding how my kids should be dressed when they arrive at swim practice verses what they should pack has swirled around in my brain more times than I care to admit. Anyway...


Last week, I was driving to "work." By "work" I mean some very loosely defined hours at the office where I pick and choose the lesser of the evils to accomplish that day. I explained to Jay, my husband, that if I helped out at our business I would have to have tasks that did not significantly impact accounting or inventory. My purpose in doing so was to minimize the level of conflict we have experienced in the past from working together. Of course, what is there to do that doesn't drastically affect these two areas? Human Resources. I have written and distributed the official Employee Handbook and posted two job listings on Monster. com.

The first posted position on monster was for a basic warehouse position. The pay is appropriate for an entry level job and nice benefits are to commence upon completing a 90-day probationary period. There is the possibility of upward mobility with the job, so we were looking for someone willing to work hard and grow with the company.

I believe evidence of our recession can be measured with the following statistic. 120 resumes received within 2 weeks, for an unskilled job listed on monster. I can't imagine what volumes we would have received had we placed a classified in the newspaper. We also posted a position for an IT Manager which, last count, we received over 200 resumes from interested applicants.

Sifting through all of this information, calling prospects on the phone, interviewing applicants, I have gleaned a few tidbits of information over the past several weeks and I thought I might pass along. Let my experiences be to your gain!

1) If you have not worked longer than 3 months at any of the 8 jobs you have had in the last 2 years, it is probably best that you explain why you are unable to pass a 90-day probationary period. Your chances of being hired are pretty low.

2) If I ask what your previous employer might say about you and your answer is, "Well, probably not very good since I just walked out on them." Your chances of being hired are pretty low.

3) On your resume if you say that your reason for leaving is that you had conflicts with new management styles. Your chances of being hired are pretty low.

4) When asked in an interview to tell me about when you were part of a team that worked successfully together and your answer is, redundantly, "It was when they all worked together," thus giving me a simple definition of teamwork, your chance of being hired are pretty low.

5) On your resume if you list under interests, "I have 13 children," it does makes me think twice. I will still interview you, based on your qualifications. If you want your chances of being hired to go up, take that OFF your resume.

6) If you have established your own website to promote your skills and qualifications, it would be to your advantage if you would not have paragraph after paragraph written about your interest in astronomy and star trek.

7) To add to #6 you might also increase your chances of being employed if you would remove the tab from your website marked "donations." Yes, as strange as this sounds, companies may think twice about someone who openly and without shame posts a paypal button on their website to receive funds for themselves rather than a social cause.

8) If you ask if you are going to be drug tested during your interview, "You know, so you won't take some "medication" that shows up on drug tests," your chances of being hired are pretty low.

9) If you ask me to "hold on" while you ask loudly, "Can someone drive me over to High Point for an interview on Wednesday," your chances of being hired are pretty low.

10) If a family member responds to the request for an interview because the applicant does not speak English well enough to speak on the phone themselves, your chances of being hired are pretty low.

11) If you attempt to post a "resume" to the job listing with only your name and phone number, your chances of being hired are pretty low.

12) If you post the following statement, "This is my sister's computer and I can't put my resume on," your chances of being hired are pretty low.

13) If you show up for an interview wearing ragged, dirty shorts and a t-shirt, your chance of being hired are pretty low. It is a warehouse position, but a pride in personal hygiene is still essential.

14) If you live out of state and believe that we might pay for "relocation" expenses for an hourly warehouse position, your chances of being hired are pretty low.

Lastly,

15) Non-working phone numbers supplied will, surprisingly, lessen your chances of being hired.

This is not a complete list of my experiences; I could on with probably 30 more, but you get the picture. Most of these seem to be "common sense" issues really. For example, if you don't have transportation, don't let me believe that you are the mercy of whomever happens to be in the room at the moment.

Sadly, the experience also shed light on a certain population segment that is must be suffering the greatest during this economic downturn. We received multiple resumes from people in their 50s who had worked at one or two places their entire lives. These are people who were employed by the furniture or textiles industries so prevalent in our geographical area, working in a warehouse for their entire careers. With the recession and outsourcing overseas, most of these industries have drastically downsized or ceased to exist altogether. After 15 or 20 years with the same company, these workers were making a nice hourly wage with good benefits. However, these same dedicated and loyal workers did not have positions that required continuous education or training. They have been left without computer skills and experiences now needed by most companies. Where do they find jobs? Who is hiring this segment of the population? Hard working people whose chances at decently paying job are very low.

On the flip side, I was stunned at the presentation either through resumes, over the phone or in interviews of well over 60% of the applicants. I believed that with so few jobs available in this area, with so many people out of work, that the younger generation would step it up a bit, attempt to sell themselves and want to be hired. Most were amazingly clueless or really didn't want to be hired.

In the end, I was able to find 2 strong applicants who we have hired for the warehouse. We are still wading through the IT resumes as those skill sets are more involved. Interviews should begin next week. Wish me luck.

Chapter 2, The Physical Prowess of Sadie

Let's see. She must have been three and a half. Shockingly, what I found in her room, could have killed her, easily. Now, I can be amazed at how her determination, creativity, dexterity, imagination and keen skills of manipulation converged together in this single event.

Sadie had a strong affinity for the Flintstone vitamins we kept on the highest shelf of our tall kitchen cabinets. She was a tiny little thing for her age, but with amazing fine motor skills and physical flexibility.

I entered her bedroom to clean up what was always the Sadie-tornado-induced disaster. I approached the little round play kitchen and saw a white piece of plastic with jagged edges sitting in the play microwave. I picked it up, it was clearly a lid with some of the surrounding pieces of plastic intact. I began to search around for other clues to this mystery. It didn't take long to find it. Hidden underneath her freshly painted white desk was the remainder of the large plastic bottle of vitamins and a very sharp kitchen knife.

Here is what she accomplished sometime in the previous day or so. She had scrambled onto the kitchen counter, stood on tip toes to retrieve the "child-proof" bottle of vitamins (which by the way are chocked full of iron). She then scrambled to another counter to procure a sharp kitchen knife from the butcher block holder. At some point she took both items up the long stairway to her room. Then, she proceeded to use the sharp kitchen knife to completely cut through the very thick plastic bottle and ultimately cut the entire lid off, creating two pieces. She achieved this without a single cut or injury to herself.

In my panicked discovery, I quickly grabbed the phone and dialed poison control. The overdose of iron could be deadly. Because this was the "Costco" version of the bottle, there was no way to tell exactly how many had been ingested. I was instructed to quiz Sadie on how many she took. Sadie calmly answered me, "Mommy, I just took 1/2 pill a day, just like I 'posed to. I used the knife to cut them into two." Of course. The child who goes to all the trouble to obtain the vitamins, breaking every rule in our house, will at least follow the instructions on the bottle.

The operator was very kind and after discussing the time frame of the incident we gathered that she was most likely ok. However, I was instructed to watch her like a hawk, which clearly I had not been doing, and to go to the emergency room if a slew of reactions began to present themselves.

And, where was I when all of this was happening? Who knows, really. I mean, it is not like I left her alone for long periods of time. I best surmise it happened while I was in the shower and getting ready one morning. I am sure there are a few "new" mothers freaking out about now, but seriously, what is the likelihood this entire scenario would play out? We are talking a 3-1/2 year old.

Which leads me to another point...what does this say about my child? That she is persistent, determined and has an amazing ability to not only know what she wants, but can work through the steps on how to achieve it. Granted, this skill was not channeled in a direction I would have chosen, but I am trying to find the positive in what easily could have been disaster.

I have seen this same skill set played out over and over in her brief life. At age 18 months, not yet potty-trained, she took her diaper off. Picked up the poo contained within, and crammed it into the little toy potty in her dollhouse that Santa had dropped off just 5 months previous. At least she understood where is was supposed to go, right?

Sometime when Sadie was around 17 months old, I was cleaning out winter clothes, switching in summer ones. There were a few bathing suits in a box. While I was putting clothes in the drawers, Sadie completely undressed herself and adorned herself, correctly I will add, with a bathing suit. She even reached down and put her own socks back on her feet. At 17 months.

When she was 4, she could shimmy across the monkey bars, the big kid monkey bars, all by herself. She taught herself how to swing her legs left and right to propel her body forward. I recall in the spring of 2007, we visited friends in D.C. and rode the metro. Not content to sit in the chairs, my child held on to the poles that help you remain steady when standing, you know, when all the seats are full. Quickly, she began to "work" that pole, skimming up and down, slinging around, twirling. All I wished at that moment was that it was not an indication of her future profession.

When she was barely 5, she came running into the house shouting, "Mommy, I just rode Ethan's bike!" I grabbed the camera and went outside. Yep, she taught herself how to ride a big kid's bike without training wheels...all by herself.

Recently, at age 6, she attempted to climb a rock climbing wall. Never having participated in such a feat, she was immediately infatuated with giving it a go. She quickly scrambled to the top, almost reaching the bell, and then became stuck. Instead of whimpering and panicking like most of the people before her, she simply lowered herself back down to the mid-way point. She reassessed the entire wall, calculated her new route and headed right back up in a newly determined path to ring that bell.

And, I watched her yesterday at the Great Wolf Lodge, tackling some plastic lily pads floating in the water. There were ropes above you to help you maneuver across the pool on the pads. Picture an obstacle course on water. Many failed before her, and some were challenged. Not Sadie. Quickly, with skill and agility, she made it look very easy. Her mother was not so lucky.

I am sure I could comb through her baby book and add many other stories. I am also positive that many reading this could, too. It is that confidence, that complete lack of fear that scares me, yet allows me to probably give her a bit more freedom than most children her age. I laugh, but with some seriousness say to people...Sadie has the ability to set the world on fire, literally or figuratively. My prayer is for the latter!

Just a Little Crabby

A few years ago, it was the high-season of pets in our home. I know it always appears that way to those that know us well, but this particular season we owned two dogs, a cat, two lovebirds and two hermit crabs. The kids were thrilled with all of the living creatures around us, though it seems all I did was clean up after more critters than the three required by law. Sadie was particularly fond of her hermit crab although their lack of activity, their stench and well, boring lifestyle made it a mystery to me.

It was a Sunday morning during this season. Well, actually, it was one of those Sunday mornings. You know the kind - the one where you break every cardinal sin, or at least think of them, before you reach the church doors? From the moment you wake, the kids are fighting, your husband has a headache and the irony of the snipping, snapping, arguing does not escape you on this, "the Lord's day."

Your squalling and fretting continue even when you enter the church parking lot, and as the doors of the van slide open you try to put on that "happy" church face where all appears calm and perfect, and none of the struggles that plagued you just a second ago are visible. Wetting your hand to try to smooth the obvious bed-head still evident on your children. What wetness remains you use to wipe off the last bit of sugary stickiness from the breakfast consumed just a few minutes earlier.

You quickly shove the kids in their age-appropriate classrooms and arrive at the sanctuary doors out of breath realizing that you still have the diaper bag in hand. Back to the children's wing you go.

And this is the set up of today's chapter in, "The Enigma that is Sadie." I had forgotten about it until recently and as I recounted it to several friends, I was told it was definitely blog material.

After the sermon was over, I collected my three children. As we maneuvered down the packed church hallway, I noticed that something dropped to the floor from Sadie's vicinity and subsequently rolled slightly away. I stopped. I peered. I sucked in every bit of breath in the area. It was...a hermit crab. Yes, my dear little Sadie had brought a pet to church unbeknownst to me and against every rule we have on bringing items from home to church. I mistakenly believed that if the rule pertained to inanimate objects, i.e. purses, toys, lip gloss, then surely it was clear that animate, living, breathing pets were as well. I was wrong.

I ran to retrieve the hermit crab before he was stepped on by the stampede of adult and children's feet. Face it, one blow and he would be squashed out of existence. With one quick swoop I clutched him in my fist and turned to face the child responsible. I am sure the look on my face was not a pretty one, possibly the devil incarnate. But then, I realized something more shocking than the fact that our crustacean was a guest that morning. Well, the term "guest" implies that it was somewhat voluntary and clearly, the hermit crab had no say so in the matter.

What dawned on me was that Sadie did not have any pockets on her dress that morning. She did not have a purse in which to store the hermit crab either, because that was against our rule. Here was the quick, ensuing interview:

Me: Sadie, where did you have the hermit crab?
Wait for it...wait for it...

Sadie: In my panties.

Oh, my. Oh, MY! Yes, think about it for a moment. That meant that my child had crabs in a bizarrely and strangely and perplexing way. I was at a complete loss.

Speechless, I thrust the crab into the diaper bag I was still lugging around for Lily's sake and I quickly herded the children to the car. The ride home was quiet, the calm before the storm. At home we silently filed inside. The rest of the day was quite unremarkable, until dinner. It was at that point in time when I realized I had left the diaper bag in the car and the hermit crab contained within. Racing to the car I discovered that the crab had, in fact, escaped the confines of the diaper bag. I spent the next 30 minutes crawling around the floor of the van, flashlight in hand, searching for this "beloved pet." I finally discovered him, clinging to the bottom of the driver's seat. Still living? Yes. Traumatized? Oh, most definitely!

It is no surprise that he met his demise just a few days later. I decided not to tell the children right away, just to see how long it took them to notice he was missing. It took them exactly 16 days. Clearly, we were all over "the crabs."

His Name is ....

As I tucked Lily into bed I decided to have a little "God" talk. I was going on about how much God loves her, that He is always there for her - even though she can't actually see Him. She can see His work in all of creation, even in her.

Then I said, "And you know God's son. What is his name?"
Now, before I continue, please understand that we attend church regularly and she attends a Christian preschool.

Her answer: Ummmmm, Kevin?

I thought I was going to fall into the floor.
Holding myself together, I asked: "Kevin?"

Lily: Yes, the boy from my class.

Me: Ummmm, no.

At that point, we had a coming to Jesus meeting right there in her bed. I have no idea how she confused our Savior and the boy from her class, Kevin. But, rest assured, she is super clear on that now.

Two Quick Takes

Lily
Said this to my stepmother when she spent the night:
Terry, Terry, the stars are sleeping. It is time to get up.

Ethan
Discussion about his first summer camp experience to occur this summer (09). Colby was talking about how they don't make you take a shower until the last night. (!!!) Being the tweens they are, they concurred that this fact was "awesome!" I inquired why this is such a good thing. Ethan said, What's the point of taking a shower anyway, you are just going to get dirty the next day. Colby chimed in with, "Yeah. They have a swimming pool and lake, ya know." I can't imagine what filth will accompany my son home from this "first time away from mom" event. Obviously, I am the only one who cares.

The Death of Words

I read an interesting article here. It is about the oldest words in language and how language evolves. The article, for the most part, is complete bunk, but I became fixated on one part of the piece: Words that are evolving rapidly, and likely to disappear. According to Mark Pagel, a researcher, the following words fall into this category:

Dirty, squeeze, bad, because, guts, push (verb), smell (verb), stab, stick (noun), turn (verb), wipe.

His rationale is that these already differ greatly between related languages, such as English and German, and are good candidates to evolve into new forms. I think the man just randomly picked a group of words that he heard parents say on a daily basis and branded them as such. Well, ok, so maybe not stab and guts - that he got from playing Call of Duty too many times.

I'll throw out that it is the advent of texting that is creating a whole new language and means of communication. "Because" evolves to "cause" evolves to "cuz"? I offer this link of texting abbreviations as some flimsy evidence for my theory (which I am sure is not new or enlightening). I only have a few committed to memory and figure I will never learn to be an extensive texter. Really, when am I ever going to need to know how to text EMRTW (Evil Monkeys Rule The World). Speaking of, I am going phone shopping this week. Since they no longer make a car charger for my phone, I gather my phone is obsolete. I lag behind the technological times.

I have a friend who teaches communications on the college level. She recently posted that she has students who actually answer questions on papers, exams, etc. with texting abbreviations. Clearly, we are regressing. Sad.

A Fresh Scent

I remember when he came home smelling like cheap perfume. "Hell-oooo," he called as he entered the house after a day at work. He made his way to the bedroom where I was dressing a child after a bath. He bent down to give me a kiss upon the cheek. As he did, my nose sniffed and my back stiffened a bit. There was a different scent surrounding him.

I was used to years of the stale scent of cigarettes, sterile office funk and even sometimes a bit of his greasy lunch. However, for the last several months, he had been fighting the addiction of nicotine. An addiction of 15 years that was a monster with which to be reckoned. But, he was determined and well, was forced to end it because of suffering a mild heart attack at only 34. During our 8 years of knowing each other, I had never known his "normal" scent. It had always been masked by the heaviness of a pack a day habit. But, within the first week of his battle, his natural smell slowly emerged, as years of the toxins slowly released from his pores. But what my nose hinted at this evening was not this newly known scent, this was more floral.

"What is that smell?" I asked.
"What smell?" he immediately responded.
"You smell like cheap perfume." I said with a little bit of indignity.
"I do? No I don't," he said.
Did Tammy (his assistant) wear something new that somehow caught wind of you?" I inquired.
"No," he said as he walked into the closet to change clothes.

The next day, upon entering our house, he leaned to give the "honey, I am home" peck on the cheek.
"AHA! I smell it again!" I exclaimed. "I know I smell something, Jay."
"What?" he said.
"You know exactly what I am talking about!" I began to shout. "What is going on? I want to know." I could feel the bile begin to rise in my throat, my heart beating faster and faster. This couldn't be happening.
He hung his head and I knew this couldn't be good.
He began to mutter, "It is Febreeze."
"Febreeze?" I said, completely flabbergasted. "What are you talking about?"
His words spilling quickly from his mouth, "I have started smoking again and I didn't want you to know. So, to mask the smell, I started spraying myself with Febreeze before getting out of the car. I am sorry."
"Ok, that is THE most ridiculous thing I have ever heard," I said. "Febreeze." I let out a deep breath. With much relief I hugged him and told him to take a shower. I wanted that scent gone!