Things that go bump in the night.
or….
Kids who discover the photo booth on your new Ipad and experiment without your knowledge.
Boy as man eating shark with braces?
And as with most sibling activities in my house – separate but equal is the name of the game.
Other boy as man eating shark
My life holds few distinctions, but I think it is safe to say the fact that my boys are confirmed goofballs is one of them.
I am just lucky that way!
Electronics, machines in general, and I do not always see eye to eye. This was never more apparent than in my article about the onset of my war on electronics in the fight for control over my kids – I Am Woman (Ode to Chris the Caveman).
However, there was also the showdown with the nasty smoke alarm in Woman vs. Machine. And don’t even get me started on my nemesis – the vacuum – as portrayed in The Day I Killed the Vaccum.
The thing is, I was recently lulled into a false sense of security when I found a way to make my big time enemy – electronics – into my unwitting ally. Or at least, I thought I had found a way. Today, on ParentSociety.com, I share my story of underestimation and slippery deception.
Are You a Parent Fighting the War on Electronics?
Here is something you need to know about the enemy!
Wouldn’t you want to hide those feet?
My husband and I have irreconcilable differences. We do. I have always known it to be true. I suppose for a time, I thought there were reconcilable solutions (i.e. he quits being stupid and sees the light of my way). But after several years of marriage, I have finally given up the notion.
For 17 years, my husband and I have had a cold war standoff over differences of great import such as where his muddy shoes should go, how big a pile of dirty laundry can get before going into the hamper (big enough to lose the dog?), the necessity of closing a door if you are going right back through it (personally, I don’t see the point), and whose job it is to clean up the trash after the dog has strewn it all over the yard. But, the deal breaker to, I fear, finally bring down our wall is the pivotal “tucked” or “untucked” issue.
You see, my husband subscribes to the sheet and blanket “untucked” – free to be you and me – feet flapping in the breeze philosophy while I, on the other hand, am a sheet and blanket “tucked” – fully covered – feet tightly bound & gagged – extremist of the most radical kind.
I mean, really, when you take this difference into consideration, how did we ever get together, anyway? The reality is, when you are dating everything is all “schnukems” and “peanut wuvs monkey” – so who cares if your feet freeze (me) or can’t move (him). But when the honeymoon is over – i.e. once you have washed his dirty underwear for the umpteenth time and he has cleaned up everyone’s puke after stomach flew (including the dog’s) – these issues begin to take on a whole new level of importance.
And thus, the cold war began.
So now, when I make the bed, I wrap the sheet and blanket tightly, all the way around to underneath the mattress. When he makes the bed, he leaves the sheet and blanket untucked, and then surreptitiously hides the evidence with the bedspread. Upon going to sleep at night, I will secretly check all bedding to make sure they are securely tucked. However he, in the middle of the night, will dislodge the bedding with a hefty kick of his feet. When I am awoken by the disconcerting feeling of my cold and flapping-in-the-breeze feet I, while resisting the urge to clobber him with the bedside lamp, get up and securely re-tuck all bedding.
And so it goes – which makes me crazy and not a little bit pissed off. The thing is, I know now beyond a shadow of a doubt, for the whole of our life together this tucked vs. untucked Cold War will continue. Neither of us will ever raise the white flag (nor well, sheet) of surrender. It is an issue that cannot be reconciled, ever.
But on the other hand, he does take out the trash…and can fix most anything…and never complains when I spend money…
And the truth is, I just kinda love the guy (and doubt anyone else would put up with me)
So, tucked or untucked, I guess I will keep him.
But, he might want to learn to duck in his sleep…
For those of you who live in places where seasons are practically non-existent, you can just tune out right now for you may be perplexed (and possibly horrified) by what I am about to say. However, for those of you in other parts of the country or world where winter just does not seem to want to leave this year, allow me to express my thought for the day:
If spring/summer does not come soon, I will be compelled to begin painting my house all colors of the rainbow. My kids will hate it, but may gain some ground for their “Mom is off her rocker” defense”. My husband will love it because his motto in design is “go to the point where it is almost gaudy…and then go one step farther. And I will regret it once I have a chance to stand back and admire the purple beaded board with green trim in the kitchen.
There, I said it. May the best man win.
Taxco, Mexico
I love Mexico. Not for the obvious reasons, the beautiful beaches and coastal resorts, but rather for the fact that if it wasn’t for Mexico, our future family traveling experiences would have been vastly different. You see, my kids cut their teeth, in a travel sort of way, by experiencing the historic, rustic and colorful country that is Mexico.
Starting when our kids were 4 and 6, between the years of 2004 and 2007, we took several trips to Mexico. On each trip, we would map out a section of the country we had not seen before, fly in & rent a car, have on hand a slush fund for “extras” (aka payments-for-tickets-while-traveling- in-and-out-of-Mexico City-that-made-no-sense-whatsoever-but-satisfy-police-officer-so-could-proceed-on-our-way), and start driving.
We would go on the cheap – staying mostly in rustic and often historic little hotels as opposed to chain options and eating at the home cooked local street stands (we were never revenged upon by Montezuma). We would carry throw-away clothes that could be left behind in order to make room for all the cool hand-made swag we would accumulate at markets along the way. We would seek out colonial towns and cities, ruins, eco adventures, beaches, waterfalls, cathedrals and oddities of any kind (the mummy museum in Guanajuato filled with actual mummies excavated from a nearby cemetery a long remembered fave). We looked for local festivities and parades (they can carry a saint through town like nobody’s business). And we would travel for as many days as we could afford to be away– usually between 14 and 16 days.
After several years of experiencing Mexico’s culture, sites, language, people, colors, my kids (and myself) were officially hooked on the whole idea of foreign travel and discovery.
For this reason alone, Mexico will always hold a special place in my heart.
But honestly, it is so much more than that. For when I go back and look at all the pictures from those trips, it is as if my kids at 4 and 6 (ish) are somehow mysteriously still there, forever fixed in time at that age and in that place.
As if they are forever standing underneath the colorful hand crafted banners
Puebla
Forever chasing pigeons in the historic squares
Guanajuato, Mexico
Forever climbing the pyramids
The pyramids of Ek Balem, Mexico
Forever exploring the wilds of Mexico
Casa de Cortez, Mexico
And when I want to find them, laugh with them, be with them…
Bernal, Mexico
I always know just where to look.
For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!
A trip is a trip. From where I stand, any trip is a good one. The minute I board a plane, there is the excitement of unknown adventures and happenings ahead. The longer I go between trips, the more I begin to feel like a bird with it’s wings clipped – or, just really bored.
But the truth is, not all trips are created equally (although in the interest of hurt feelings, we try not to talk about it – we like our trips to feel good about themselves). Where some trips are about adventure, unique experiences, seeing new places, or lounging on beaches – others are about spending time with family.
Over our spring break last week, I grabbed my kids, jumped a plane (well, walked onto it) and headed out on one of those spending time with family types of trips – fun and enjoyable, but in a more sedate, ordinary kind of way.
For example, every morning, we made coffee,
Desperation is the mother of invention.
We regularly walked to the store and hijacked stranded shopping carts,
Look out, here comes the “po po”.
Played hours and hours of backyard wiffle baseball – that is until all our wiffle balls had been lost to the bushes, trees and neighboring backyards.
Anyone for lemon ball?
Watched Manuel the cable guy climb a power line pole to fix the internet connection, (I swear he is up there, somewhere…I think).
Hey Manuel, can you see any of our wiffle balls from up there?
Went to a museum. But before we could enter, we had to be briefed by Obi “Sean”…
May the force be with Billy Dee Williams?
…be reminded that Billy Dee Williams was in fact in a Star Wars movie…
I must have blinked during that scene in Star Wars.
…and battle the dark force before we could proceed into the museum.
I think I can take the short guy…
Oh and by the way, once we did actually make it into the museum, we sensed there was something amiss…
I suspect conspiracy.
So, aside from picking up some new one liners from the movie “The Amazing Burt Wonderstone” like
“He put a puppy in my pants!”
“Your skin makes me cry”
“He has more urine in him than blood…he should be dead.”
And the guy who passed out on our airplane and had to be escorted off by police and paramedics.
Paramedic: “Sir, have you done any drugs today.”
Passed out guy: “umm, nooooo.”
Plane erupts in laughter.
This is probably what the guy looked like the night before boarding our plane.
It was just an ordinary trip… more or less.
For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!
Comic by K
We now interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you another episode of Teen Talk. I assure you, everything you are about to hear is real and unedited. Please, do not try this at home. Unless, you have a gas mask handy.
One day, Teen needed a shower.
Mom: “Teen, could you take a shower before we go.”
Teen: “Why?”
Mom: “Um, lets see, long drive…small car…”
Teen: “Yeah, I get your point.”
Later that day, Teen was in the bathroom.
Mom: Hey Teen, is that you in the bathroom?”
Teen: “Yeah.”
Mom: “I need to get something out of there.”
Teen: “Well, I really don’t recommend coming in here at this particular time.”
Teen draws a conclusion.
Teen: “I’m a growing boy, I smell in ways I never thought possible.”
The End
Last weekend, I had a “moment” – one of those times when you are standing somewhere random, like say in this case, the grocery store, and you all of a sudden wonder how the heck you got there. I don’t mean physically, because of course I drove there in my not-so-cool-but-can-still-peel-out-in soccer mom van. But rather, “got there” in the metaphysical sense.
You see, at the moment of my epiphany, I was pushing my huge, over -flowing cart around the grocery store…on a Saturday(wait it gets worse)…on a Saturday night… thinking nothing of it until that very moment.
It suddenly dawned on me, how and when exactly did this happen? I mean really, I think there was a time when my life was way cooler than that! A time when I would not have been caught dead in the grocery store with a full cart of groceries, on a Saturday night! There was a time when I actually did stuff on Saturday night.
Back in the day on a Saturday night, I actually saw movies in a movie theater – you know, with a big screen, other people, and without animation or battling robots.
If I was awake when the sun came up it was because I never went to sleep.
I wore mini-skirts with abandon and leggings as pants (not necessarily together) and played beach volleyball on the weekend (not in the mini-skirt or leggings…usually) after those late Saturday nights.
I drove a car with a turbo engine (that is, until it caught fire and burned up, which wasn’t so cool).
I had red leather pants, and wore them…with a matching red jacket. (picture it, I dare you).
I did photo shoots like this…
That there is some awesome big hair!
Mystery City: Rod Boyum, Brad Wilson, Paula Benedetti (Danner), John Pagano, Paul Franks
And then rocked out on the Sunset Strip.
Mystery City at Gazzarris, Sunset strip, Los Angeles.
Paula Benedetti (Danner) and Brad Wilson
All the way home in the car I thought about this life change and how it seemed to happen overnight – even though it has been way, way, way longer (did I mention, way longer)
When I arrived home, the first thing I noticed was that while I was gone, my husband had moved his car so I could have the best spot in the driveway.
Then, my dog ran out into the freezing cold and onto the snow covered ground to enthusiastically welcome me home (the cat at least came to the window to observe, I am sure she was happy to see me… I buy the treats).
Inside, Pre-teen gave me a huge hug hello as if I had been gone 24 hours instead of just 3.
Kids and husband brought in all the groceries and while I was putting them away, Teen informed me a movie we wanted to watch together was coming on pay-per-view in 25 minutes.
Teen made the popcorn for everyone and helped me quickly finish putting away the groceries so we could all watch the movie.
So I am thinking, maybe I am still just a little bit cool like that. At least they seem to think so. And probably, hopefully, most definitely, theirs is the only opinion that matters.
And anyway, I think I could still rock out, wearing mini-skirt or leggings, while playing beach volleyball…
That is, if I really wanted to.
Related post: Fear of Full Disclosure
To Shave or Not to Shave? This is a question, or rather choice of great import I recently faced – which started me thinking about the parenting nightmare it can be teaching our kids how to not only make choices but also, (dare to dream) make good choices.
Today, over at ParentSociety.com, I share three phases we (husband and I) have experienced in the quest to teach our kids how to make choices, which phase I am not sure I will live through, and the ultimate outcome of my own big decision!
The 3 Phases to Teaching Your Kids to Make Choices
And if the proposed strategies all fail, no worries, there is always the 8 ball!
Along the hike to The Devil’s Bridge
Around this time last year, I shared some of my favorite pictures and moments from our Spring Break trip to Las Vegas, the Grand Canyon and Sedona, Arizona – more particularly, the highlight of The Devil’s Bridge!
However, I never really got around to telling the story of how we actually got to the Devil’s Bridge – or rather almost didn’t get there – until now!
Thanks to my fabulous writer friend Sherri Kuhn (whom I have known since the dark ages – i.e. when I still had braces) I am sharing the story over at SheKnows.com as part of a multi-writer contribution article about most memorable Spring Break vacation trips!
Find out what turning 50 (please, NOT ME – my husband) and a quest for The Devil’s Bridge have in common.
Go here to jump right to my story of how we strayed off the beaten path!
Go here to start at the beginning and read all contributing articles!
Really, it’s all good!
For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!
I love to laugh. I don’t believe this could possibly be a secret to anyone. Lets face it, the internet is filled with funny, ridiculous stuff always ready to give a good laugh (or cry). But, every once in a while, I come across those items that make me laugh not once, not twice, but over and over again. I keep track of these little gems for times when a laugh is desperately needed…like, on a daily basis. I refer to them as the gifts that keep on giving.
The other day, my son was having a bad day. Why? Well, because he is a teen and some days are just like that. So I searched out one of my recent favorite gems.
“Hey, Teen, come here and watch this with me.”
“Why, I’ve already seen that one.”
“I know, come anyway.”
A few minutes and several views later, with laughing tears streaming down our faces, life did not seem so bad.
Good even.
That, is a gift.
Here is my gift to you.
Love, Sweet Spot
I have one really big personal rule – I never go anywhere in public wearing pajamas! Not on a coffee run, for a quick school drop off, on an airplane, to the bank, grocery store, pet store, DMV and nope, not even to Wal Mart (even though I would be so not alone there).
However, rules were made to be broken, right?
To truly understand my story of rebellion, though, you must first grasp the workings and plight of the small town post office.
In my town, many of the residents only option for receiving mail is to collect it at an assigned P.O. Box inside the small town post office building. It is not such a bad system. I can collect my mail from the combination box during business hours, or even later as the door to where the boxes are located is left unlocked into the evening. However, the boxes are small, and well ancient
Don’t I belong in a museum somewhere?
and thus any item bigger than the standard letter must be collected from an actual person, at the window, during Post Office business hours.
So here inlays the problem -the plight of the small town Post Office, or should I say, the slow extinction. In order to cut losses (and pay for Michele’s new bangs), the independent government agency responsible for U.S. Mail is slowly whittling down and closing small town post offices (which makes people mad, and let me just tell you, this is not a good idea -‘cause country folk have guns, and lots of beef). Anyway, in a move one step closer to closing altogether, my small town post office hours of operation were recently reduced to only 9am to 1 pm, Monday through Friday and 7am to 9am on Saturday. I think you see the problem. You can pretty much forget about ever getting packages again unless you are out of work, too old to work, playing hooky from work, or allergic to work.
And this is where my situation stood last Saturday. My post office was holding hostage several of my packages that had come in during the week, which since I don’t fall into any of the above categories, (although I am seriously lobbying for the allergy angle), I was unable to collect during the limited business hours. Thus on Saturday, when I awoke at 8:45 am (15 minutes before post office closing) the idea occurred to me to break my long standing pajamas in public rule. As I jumped out of bed and threw on my coat, I reasoned “how bad could it be?” The postal lady knows me and will surely excuse my break with decorum showing up in rumpled pajamas. But just to be on the safe side, I donned dark glasses on the cloudy morning in the attempt to hide my bare face, draw attention away from my pjs/ bed head, and protect from the traumatization of small children, old people and stray dogs I may encounter along the way.
When I arrived at the Post Office just prior to closing, I quickly stepped to the window trying my best to hide inside my coat and behind my glasses, ready to make a joke at my own expense, get my packages and steal away home. But, to my surprise and horror, the clerk was NOT the familiar face I expected to laugh with me about my public pj exposure (which I suddenly realized looked disturbingly like long underwear – Beverly Hillbillies here I come!). No, the postal clerk was new, a guy, someone I had never seen before who was surely wondering what side of the bed I had just rolled out of (um, the left?) and why I was all Corey Hart wearing my “sunglasses at night.”
But, nonetheless, I wanted my packages. So, I quickly formulated a new plan – grab my packages quickly, keep my head down, and run out the door. Then maybe, just maybe, the new postal clerk guy would not recognize me if we chanced to meet in public later when I actually had clothes on… and mascara.
But then, before I could even put my new plan into action, the new postal clerk guy blurted out excitedly as he handed me my packages…
“HEY! You live at 467 Smith Street?!!!”
“Um, Yeah” I answered with trepidation. Was he sending the fashion police to my house? Stacy and Clinton? The Moms Who Have Let Themselves Go Intervention Team?
“I’m your new neighbor! I move in next week!”
Some rules were just not meant to be broken.
Like, ever.
The Love Locks – Venice, Italy
I think I may have mentioned we were in Italy last November (I promise to shut up about it after this post, maybe). But one day, walking across the Accademia Bridge in Venice, my sons and I noticed rows of padlocks lining the hand rail up and down the bridge. We were intrigued (‘cause what is cooler than a bunch of unexplained hardware on a historic landmark?) On closer inspection, we discovered the locks were inscribed with names and sentiments of love – which I found adorable, and my boys found just plain embarrassing for the poor schmucks involved. As we began to notice these locks secured on other historic bridges around Venice, including the famous Rialto Bridge, our curiosity grew.
And thus, through deep investigation (aka google search) we were able to solve the mystery of what we found out was called The Love Locks.
So, this Valentine’s day, if you want to say I Love You Italian-style, here is how it is done.
Accademia Bridge – Venice, Italy
1. Choose a romantic and/or historic bridge as depicted in the 2006 novel responsible for the current craze, “I Want You” by Italian author Federico Moccia. The preferred romantic locations seem to be in Italy – Rome, Venice, and Florence – although bridges in other countries such as Ireland, Germany, France, Canada and Russia seem to qualify as well due to the locks massively appearing. Heck, a bridge anywhere will probably do the trick.
2. Get a padlock. Go fancy by engraving it with the name/initials of you and your lover and maybe some gooey sentiments. Or do a poor man’s version by hand writing names and message of everlasting amour on your padlock (sharpie , nail polish, whatever is handy). Then lock the padlock onto a historic/romantic bridge and throw the padlock key into the canal or body of water while thus swearing eternal love and devotion to one another.
But pay heed to #3…
3. Seriously, here is the most important part, so don’t zone out yet.
Once you have put your lock into place and thrown the key into the water, run like Willie Nelson from the IRS! You see, the truth is, putting the locks on the historic bridges is, in many places illegal due to the fact that they are considered by some to be an eyesore and also damage the old stone on the famous bridges as the locks begin to rust. Getting caught locking your love to a bridge could be accompanied by a heavy fine, and in some cases, jail time (um, you have seen Midnight Express, right?). All in the name of love.
However, don’t despair because…
While it is true that your padlock of eternal love could end up victim to massive bolt cutters in the night by authorities cleaning up and protecting the historic bridge (making the whole eternal thing a little less everlasting), there is still hope. In true love Italian-style, authorities have in some places near or on the preferred historic bridges begun to install fences or special bars on which to hang the locks of love legally, without damaging the bridges.
You know what they say (or, well, Lenny Kravitz says it – which is good enough for me),
“We Got to Let Love Rule!”
Happy Valentines Day from Sweet Spot!
Other Valentines Day Posts: True Love By Way of a Kitty Dance and a Bucking Horse.
For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Have you ever asked your kids this question?
When my boys were little, I would ask the question and get cute, dream-big answers such as; “an astronaut”, “a fireman”, “Tim Lincecum” (um – without the weed?), “rich”, “anything that does not require college” (there goes that whole ‘rich’ idea).
But when my boys reached a certain age, it became ‘uncool’ to answer this question and my inquiry into their future plans was met with blank stares, I don’t knows, or scary answers meant to silence me from asking the question ever again such as “the garbage man” or “a guy who mutters to himself”. It worked. I quit asking.
But, last weekend, as we were driving around in the car, Pre-teen,out of the clear blue sky (which is where he likes to draw ideas from) exclaimed,
“Being an ice cream tester would be a cool job”
And that was when I had one of those brilliant Mom moments aimed at tapping into the illusive psyche of my Pre-teen and Teen. Ok, well it may have been my only instance of brilliance to date. Be that as it may, I quickly jumped into pre-teen’s musings.
“Really? What other jobs do you think would be really cool?”
And without hesitation, Teen and Pre-Teen, in complete and full agreement with one another (thus the 8th Wonder of the World was established), fired off for me a list of their ideal and sought after cool jobs (and various accompanying colorful comments). As follows and in the order they were given to me:
Video Game Tester
Super-Model Photographer (“Now there is a job you wouldn’t mind working over-time!”)
Sports Announcer
Body Guard for an Actor (“Someone cool and funny – like Johnny Depp”. I sense some possible perks for Mom here.)
Secret Service
Bouncer (“’Cause, you know, you get to be all buff and stuff”)
Any type of Professional Athlete except Curling (unmovable they were on this point of specification)
Olympic Athlete
Monster Truck Driver
Architect
Gun Designer (what can I say; we live in the country…)
Scientist for Black Cat Fireworks (not placing a whole lot of value on protruding body parts)
Car Tester (I didn’t have the heart to break it to them, crash test dummies pretty much have that job all sewn up)
And lastly, of course what all kid must want…or maybe it is just mine,
The Actor in “The most interesting man in the world” Dos Equis Commercials…
And here, was the end of Teen and Pre-teen’s list of future aspirations. Really, though, where else does one go from there?
Surely, as a Mom, I am so proud.
And in some cases, possibly a little sorry I asked.
We now interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you another episode of Teen Talk. I assure you, everything you are about to hear is real and unedited. Please, do not try this at home. Unless your Mom has a good sense of humor.
One day, Teen discovered the new chalkboard Mom had put up.
The End.
Travel: it costs money. Sometimes a lot of money. Scratch that, travel pretty much all the time costs a bucket load of money. Unfortunately for our pocketbook, my husband and I have developed an obsessive love for traveling, and we have successfully infected our kids with the obsession as well!
Today, over at ParentSociety.com, as a result of a trip to Italy in November, I am sharing nine of our favorite free (or practically free) activities to do with kids in Italy (believe, if you are planning a trip to Italy – with or without your kids – you are gonna need it!). Go here!
9 Free Activities to Do With Kids in Italy
Other Sweet Spot posts about Italy.
For more Sweet Spot Travels posts Go Here!
Today, it would be nice if I was doing something like this:
Or maybe even this:
But, in all likelihood, my day will probably look more like this:
In September, I began the task of looking for a job outside my home. It turned out to be a much more arduous process (and at times embarrassing – Bag Lady Goes a Job Hunting) than I had anticipated. But at long last, in December I was offered a full time position (someone finally took pity on me) and officially changed my status from WAHM (work at home Mom) to WOHM (work outside the home Mom).
I expected a transition time, what I got was chaos.
Head over to ParentSociety.com where today, I share the whole messy story and what I plan to do about it!
I had a dream. No, not one of those “lofty” dreams like Martin Luther King, Jr. Just a dream. Come to think of it – it was more of a nightmare. Honestly, I usually do not write about this type of thing on Sweet Spot. However, the dream has haunted me ever since.
It started out simply:
There I was in my kitchen one morning, wanting (more like needing desperately) to make coffee – a typical morning. But, try as I might, I could not find the coffee machine, anywhere. I searched and searched. Finally, I did find a machine for making coffee – but it was miniature, like Barbie-sized. Anyway, it was of no consequence about the missing coffee machine because it was then I realized there were no coffee grounds to be found anywhere in the house either.
Quickly, I grabbed my kids (no dream is really a nightmare unless your kids are somehow involved) and we headed out in search of coffee. We didn’t have to go far, for very quickly we came to a place whose countenance promised loads of coffee. I quickly stepped up to the counter,
Me:“Coffee, please”
Her: “Sorry, no coffee”.
Me: “What? “Well, where can I get coffee.”
Her: “Nowhere.”
Me: “What are you saying?“
Her: “This is the Alternate Universe. There is no coffee in the Alternate Universe.”
Me: “Alternate Universe? What? How did I get here?”
Her: “You thought the wrong thing.”
Me: “How do I get back?’
Her: *shrugs*
“Also”, Alternate Universe Girl continued, “In the Alternate Universe you don’t have to even order. We know exactly what you want.”
No sooner had Alternate Universe Girl uttered this statement when she handed each of my kids a bag with one donut each inside and then to me she handed…
a box of a dozen muffins with NO MUFFIN TOPS.
The end.
Seriously, the Alternate Universe sucks. Don’t ever go there…
(Please, do not attempt dream analysis. I fear the results would be futile and not a little bit scary).
My son got a 5.5 gallon fish tank for Christmas – something he had long wished for. The day came to go purchase the lucky inhabitants. My son dutifully put in colored rocks, hooked up the light, put together the filter, let it run for a few hours, and “Voila!” ready for fish!
Our trek to the pet store was actually twofold. One, to acquire the perfect fish for his tank and two, to pick up potty training pads for puppy-size-of-a guinea-pig my mom & dad in-law had UN-preparedly acquired (which is a story in an of itself and will likely be filed under the heading – Sounded Like a Good Idea at the Time).
Anyway, back to my fish story.
Once at the Pet Store, we confidently headed for the fish section and engaged the attendant. However, before we could even start our fish inquiry, we were barraged with questions.
“Has your tank been running for a minimum of two days?”
“Umm, no, more like two hours.”
“Have you treated the water in the tank so the fish don’t get stressed?”
“Fish stress-out?”
“Do you have thermometer in the tank?”
“Well, no.”
“Is the water the right temperature for tropical fish?”
“Yeah, probably. The guppies we had in the fish bowl seemed to do fine…well, two out of three anyway.” (In retrospect, I probably should have kept this last tidbit to myself).
“Do you even know how warm it needs to be for Tropical Fish?”
“Warmish?”
“Do you have a heater in the tank?”
“No.”
“Have you considered tank décor?”
(ok, she didn’t ask this but I know it was coming!)
I sensed where the inquisition was going and so did my son whose eyes were beginning to well up in disappointment. I offered to him that we could go ahead, get the fish and take our chances. It was at this very moment we discovered we had fallen into the net (ha, fish humor, get it?) of The Fish Nazi – for before my son could even consider my proposal, the Fish Nazi interrupted with…
“OH NO, NO FISH FOR YOU!”
“But…”
“NO, NO FISH FOR YOU!”
And that was that. We were loaded up with all the necessary items needed to acquire fish in some distant future and hustled out the door with an unceremonious don’t let the door hit you in the butt.
However, two days later, we dared show our faces again in the Pet Store Fish Republic. But this time, we were prepared. When we arrived, The Fish Nazi was busy terrorizing another customer so we were offered help from The Fish Nazi’s Assistant.
We were informed by The Fish Nazi’s Assistant, for the fish tank size, my son could have 3 “beginner” fish and two shrimp cleaners – any more than that and the fish get “stressed” (Oh yeah? Bring it on Fishies, I’ll show you stress – can you say Christmas shopping in Wal-mart???). However, with The Fish Nazi within earshot, we decided to acquiesce quietly.
Once chosen, we left The Fish Nazi’s Assistant on his own to collect our 3 fish & 2 shrimp into a bag – a mistake as it turned out. For, when we returned for our bag-o-fish & shrimp, The Fish Nazi’s Assistant was having trouble looking us in the eye.
“Ummm, well, you see, I was just told (duh, by The Fish Nazi!) that you can’t have the shrimp until you have had fish in your tank for a minimum of 2 to 4 weeks.”
In other words,
NO SHRIMP FOR YOU!
So for now, my son’s tank has 3 fish and no shrimp as we await the day our tank will be worthy.
The fish, however, seem happy and completely without stress (boy that Valium works wonders).
I, on the other hand… well let’s just say I fear the fish tank experience may also end up under the heading – Sounded Like a Good Idea at the Time.
That is where my story was supposed to end. But, before I could stop being a slacker and finish it, I found myself a few days later back in the Pet Store returning items (a little over zealous on the tank décor).
I couldn’t help it. I had to take a chance. I stealthily crept through the aisles and peeked around the corner at the wall of fish tanks. There, happily scooping up fish for any and all, was your average (but knowledgeable) Pet Store employee without The Fish Nazi or The Fish Nazi’s Assistant anywhere in sight.
So, I explained to the average (but knowledgeable) employee, I wanted for my son’s new 5.5 gallon tank, a cleaner fish or shrimp. She unceremoniously offered me the very fish my son had previously been denied – something about it being an “intermediate” fish and he but a lowly “beginner”. She, however, did not seem concerned.
“I’ll take it”, I said as I quickly looked around for any blindsided sneak attack. (i.e The Fish Nazi jumping out from behind the fish food). Home I went, cleaner fish happily in hand (or, well you know, in the bag).
And with this heavy blow to the reign of The Fish Nazi and let’s just face it, to all Fish Tyranny in general,
My fish story is finally all told out.
Yes, it is that time again – Resolution time. Truthfully, I hold with the Non-Resolution style of ringing in the New Year. That being said, there is always something of value to be learned from history – ones own adventures and, well, misadventures.
Thus this year, I decided to scour the Sweet Spot Archives of 2012 in search of some well earned Resolutions for 2013.
I think I found some pretty powerful nuggets of advice for the New Year…
1. I will be sure to check my pants zipper (Life, the Ego-Sucking Siege) before entering any and all public establishments.
2. I will struggle on in my war against electronics (I Am Woman – Ode to Chris the Caveman) in the never ending battle for influence over my kids’ brain.
3. I will try to have a kindler, gentler approach to my vacuum (The Day I Killed the Vacuum) and well, for that matter all machines in general (Woman vs. Machine).
4. I will try to take Teens advice to drink water and recycle – preferably at the same time – (Teen Talk: Episode #3) and, of course, Pre-Teens advice to Never Sit on a Couch at a Nudest Colony.
5. I swear never to utter the chant “Party at home plate” at my kids’ baseball games (Take Us To Warp Speed, Scotty), or do any of those other things that would qualify me for “bulldog” status as a Sports Mom (Bulldogs Don’t Wear Lipstick).
6. I promise, for Teen and Pre-Teen’s sake, to work in the words “Balls” (Word-Up: We’ve Got Big Balls) and “Weenus” (Word-Up: Show Me Your Weenus) into every conversation where possible but not necessarily appropriate.
7. In true Mid-West fashion, I promise to generously give the “no problem” wave, the “thanks for not honking at me even though I deserve it” wave, and possibly throw in the “I’m cool” head wave. (You Deserve the Wave Today).
8. I will seek out adventure every chance I get (Sweet Spot Travels), even the scary kind (Today’s Best Moment Thursday April 5.)
9. I will try to make someones day as often as possible simply by donning a pen and piece of rainbow stationary. (Go Ahead, Make My Day).
10. I will be sure to have plenty of stockings/pantyhose and pet hair removal devices on hand for whatever occasion may arise. (Bag Lady Goes a Job Hunting).
11. I will try to never, ever forget how good it feels to laugh (Destroy This Note After Reading).
And lastly, two lessons – clearly resolution worthy – from some recent experiences:
I will try to not take as a personal commentary the worker-monogrammed cups received at Starbucks:
And, I will remember to pee prior to attending a D-Box movie.
Happy New Year from Looking for the Sweet Spot.
Go get ’em!
Looking for the Sweet Spot 