My neighbor came over yesterday and we were sitting at my kitchen table talking and she mentioned that she has gone on strike. She was fed up with doing everything for everyone in her house and she has decided to just go on strike. She was no longer cleaning, cooking, and if they did not put certain items on the grocery list (like say, milk... eggs... butter... KY Jelly) she would not buy it. *side note: I mentioned KY Jelly in a joke to my mom the other day and she laughed and laughed and then said "What is KY Jelly?"
I gave her a stern warning... my mom went on strike back when I was a teenager, and she never recuperated from it!
Now, when I was a kid, I felt that my sister and I (my older sister, our younger sister never had to do ANYTHING because she was the BABY and they loved her more than they loved us.) we had to do sooo many chores it was unbelievable. Not the simple chores that people give their children today like pick up your room, or feed the dog, no, we had hard labor chores. I was mowing the lawn when I was 7. No joke! We scrubbed bathroom floors, cleaned toilets, and even washed the dinner dishes by hand every night! It was like I was a Walton let me tell you.
The problem was that my parents (I am looking mostly at my Dad here) are pack-rats. They save every stinking thing they can get their hands on. They can't find anything from yesterday's mail, but if you need a letter that Aunt Carol wrote back in 1983, well that is on the buffet table in the kitchen... right on top of the Bobby Darin record. I think the only thing that my mother managed to ever toss out was the wood sculpture that my dad had of a hand giving the middle finger. I never knew they had such art until I saw it in a photo. My mom was holding my sister as a infant and in the background, sitting on top of the TV was a big ol' wooden middle finger. Priceless.
Anyway, my sister and I tried in vain to keep that house clean-until we went on strike as teenagers. This was around the same time my mom shouted "GOD BLESS AMERICA!" at the top of her lungs and declared she was going on strike. Sure mom, believe what you want... but we all know it was us that went on strike. I was a teenager and I had more important things to do than brown the pork chops for dinner... I had my tiger beat mag to read and my New Order cassette to listen to.
I could see where my mom was coming from though. When we were little, it was easy to get us to help around the house. As long as you start kids off early with slave labor, they will not know the difference for years to come. If you say "No TV until the kitchen is swept, the living room is dusted and all of the towels are off the bathroom floor." than one can bet that a kid will do these chores in order to get the TV because they do not know any better. Mom has always been the law around these here parts, and they are not about to go Billy the Kid on the system.
My kids are not yet teenagers, but they are entering the stages of "moodiness" and "JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" They are starting to form their own ideas and their own opinions (dang!) and I see the way my daughter looks at me when I give her a "to-do" list. Her eyes tell me that she thinks I am lazy. So what if I am going to lay on the couch with a People magazine and a can of soda while she vacuums around me... my mother did it to me, I am just passing down family tradition here.
The truth is that I depend on my kids a lot to help out. If I didn't write a list of chores each day, this place would be in squalor. It would eventually look like a medieval shack with no indoor plumbing. I would have to go on the show "Clean This House" or I would have to call "Home Extreme Makeover" and have them come rebuild me a new house after this one has been destroyed. I would have to think of a good cover story to get them out here. I am still working on one. I was thinking of the angle "My husband can rinse the dishes, but somehow he is incapable of putting the rinsed dishes in the dishwasher, so really his idea of helping is causing me cerebral hemorrhaging." I don't know-I don't think they'll buy it.
Anyway, my mom went on strike years ago and it did not work. All she got was a messy house that never recovered. I know this for a fact because a few years ago my parents moved from the house they had lived in for 32 years and headed south to a new house. I helped them pack. I should get an award or something because I have never packed more crap in my life. They now have all of that crap in their new house in Georgia. So, my mom's idea of "I am just going to show them!" did not work. We all said "show us what?" and now she still has Aunt Carol's 1983 letter on that same buffet table in the kitchen, only it is in a new kitchen 800 miles south.
4.19.2007
4.18.2007
My, What Big Teeth You Have Granny...
Yesterday I had to go to the veterinarian. I have decided that I should go back to school and become a veterinarian... because the prices they charge are ridiculous!
Our dog Sophie has horrible breath. She also has separation anxiety which means that every time we leave the house we have to put her in a pen in the garage because she is not trusted to be alone indoors. She has been known to scratch, bite and claw her way through a slatted door and then manage to pull the insulation between the door and the door frame completely out. She is a maniac... a psycho... but she loves us, so we keep her.
When we first moved here I needed to update her shots. I should have done it in good ol' Nebraska where you can pay your vet with some chicken feed if you need to. Here in VA... they want cold hard cash, and they want a lot of it. I walked out of the Animal Hospital in shock from paying a $300 bill. FOR A DOG! This time around I was determined to not pay so much so I started shopping around for a vet to clean her teeth. Again, back in Nebraska it was no big deal to call and make an appointment for Sophie to get her teeth cleaned... here I have to second mortgage my house and budget before I can schedule the appointment.
I had to go in for an "initial" visit so that the Vet could see Sophie before he cleans her teeth... I had all of her shot records with me, so I did not know why he would need to see her, but whatever.
I load Sophie into the car (which is the easiest part of going to the Vet). Sophie will bound into the car with pure joy. She sits in the back with her tongue hanging out and her breath permeating the air. She is so excited to be going for a ride... in the car... to anywhere! Her demeanor changed dramatically the moment we pulled into the parking lot. Her and I both looked at the building. She was only thinking of torture techniques I am sure, whereas I looked at the double wide trailer and saw some cheap prices on the horizon.
I continue to drag her into the trailer/office while she is attempting her Michael Jackson impersonation of the moon walk. Her mouth is now fully open and her tongue has become the length of a toddler's arm hanging out of it. She is in full-panic mode.
We wait in the trailer/waiting area that smells of disinfectant and urine combined with a little wet dog hair and bad breath and I start to understand why the receptionist has a constant pinched look on her face. Finally, we are called to see the Vet. I drag Sophie through the back doors (which remind me of the back door to the pawn shop in the movie "Pulp Fiction" but I quickly put those images out of my mind) and we sit in another room waiting.
Sophie has crazy eyes now. She is crying and making every attempt to jump into my lap. Her hair is flying off of her body and she is breathing so hard one would think she was just strapped to our bumper and ran along the car the entire way to the Vet. Finally... the Vet comes in and engages me in small talk. Looking at my protruding pregnant belly (which always gives me the creeps when men look at my prego belly) he starts to tell me about his 3 children who are all in college. While he is giving me the 411 on how brilliant his children are, he is listening to Sophie's heart rate and feeling her tummy. 2 seconds later he says she is all set to come in for a teeth cleaning and to see the receptionist to schedule it.
I head back to the waiting area with Sophie dragging me toward the door and stop to make my appointment and pay for the 2 second check-up. $50 later we are out the door and on our way home. $50???? For what??? A story about your kids (who I am apparently now helping to put through college) and you feeling up my dog? What a scam!
There will be no pedicures for me this month, just so the dog can have pleasant breath. I will tell you one thing... I better not catch her outside eating her poop when this is all said and done!
Our dog Sophie has horrible breath. She also has separation anxiety which means that every time we leave the house we have to put her in a pen in the garage because she is not trusted to be alone indoors. She has been known to scratch, bite and claw her way through a slatted door and then manage to pull the insulation between the door and the door frame completely out. She is a maniac... a psycho... but she loves us, so we keep her.
When we first moved here I needed to update her shots. I should have done it in good ol' Nebraska where you can pay your vet with some chicken feed if you need to. Here in VA... they want cold hard cash, and they want a lot of it. I walked out of the Animal Hospital in shock from paying a $300 bill. FOR A DOG! This time around I was determined to not pay so much so I started shopping around for a vet to clean her teeth. Again, back in Nebraska it was no big deal to call and make an appointment for Sophie to get her teeth cleaned... here I have to second mortgage my house and budget before I can schedule the appointment.
I had to go in for an "initial" visit so that the Vet could see Sophie before he cleans her teeth... I had all of her shot records with me, so I did not know why he would need to see her, but whatever.
I load Sophie into the car (which is the easiest part of going to the Vet). Sophie will bound into the car with pure joy. She sits in the back with her tongue hanging out and her breath permeating the air. She is so excited to be going for a ride... in the car... to anywhere! Her demeanor changed dramatically the moment we pulled into the parking lot. Her and I both looked at the building. She was only thinking of torture techniques I am sure, whereas I looked at the double wide trailer and saw some cheap prices on the horizon.
I continue to drag her into the trailer/office while she is attempting her Michael Jackson impersonation of the moon walk. Her mouth is now fully open and her tongue has become the length of a toddler's arm hanging out of it. She is in full-panic mode.
We wait in the trailer/waiting area that smells of disinfectant and urine combined with a little wet dog hair and bad breath and I start to understand why the receptionist has a constant pinched look on her face. Finally, we are called to see the Vet. I drag Sophie through the back doors (which remind me of the back door to the pawn shop in the movie "Pulp Fiction" but I quickly put those images out of my mind) and we sit in another room waiting.
Sophie has crazy eyes now. She is crying and making every attempt to jump into my lap. Her hair is flying off of her body and she is breathing so hard one would think she was just strapped to our bumper and ran along the car the entire way to the Vet. Finally... the Vet comes in and engages me in small talk. Looking at my protruding pregnant belly (which always gives me the creeps when men look at my prego belly) he starts to tell me about his 3 children who are all in college. While he is giving me the 411 on how brilliant his children are, he is listening to Sophie's heart rate and feeling her tummy. 2 seconds later he says she is all set to come in for a teeth cleaning and to see the receptionist to schedule it.
I head back to the waiting area with Sophie dragging me toward the door and stop to make my appointment and pay for the 2 second check-up. $50 later we are out the door and on our way home. $50???? For what??? A story about your kids (who I am apparently now helping to put through college) and you feeling up my dog? What a scam!
There will be no pedicures for me this month, just so the dog can have pleasant breath. I will tell you one thing... I better not catch her outside eating her poop when this is all said and done!
4.17.2007
Is This a Contraction I am Having, or am I Just Happy to See Myself?
Labor and Delivery. UGH!
I was thinking about Eve (From the singing group Adam and Eve... in the Bible) the other day and I started to wonder something. Did she only give birth to two boys? We only read about Cain and Abel in the Bible, yet we are all here today... meaning that Adam apparently found her irresistible in her leaves and vines, and she had other children. She had to have girls as well. Having said that, this would mean that her boys would have to have children with their sisters... which may explain a lot about my mental state from time to time but it still makes me scratch my head and wonder. Now, I have heard of people marrying their first cousin, and if we are all related as brothers and sisters and then you go and marry your first cousin... no wonder your children are born with 4 fingers or an extra nipple.
Anyway, I decided to ignore the thought of Eve having more children other than the two that we know about in the Bible and just assume that maybe God came down and made more people-maybe not next door to Adam and Eve's hut-but on the other side of the world. I don't know-it is a stretch, but it helps to support my labor and delivery decision that I have been tossing about in my head.
Now, God told Eve that she would have to endure the pains of childbirth as a punishment for eating the apple. If I go with the thought that she only had her two boys, than she only had to go through natural childbirth twice.
As far as I am concerned, this means that I am all Eve'd out since I have gone through natural childbirth twice as well. I am good... I am even with Eve. I am well on my way to heaven.
I was at the Dr. yesterday and we were talking about epidurals. I had an epi with my first born and it was a bad experience. I was so pumped with juice that I had no idea I even had legs and I could not walk for hours and hours after birth. Our oldest had to be away from me for 5 hours and in observation since the meds made her heart rate decrease and she was a forceps delivery. Personally, the forceps should trump anything Eve ever had to do... but whatever.
With my second and third deliveries I went a' la' natural, thus making me even with Eve. So with this baby I am once again considering the epidural. I expressed my fears from my first epidural experience to my Doc and she stated that since this is my fourth baby, my body will be better at reading the signs of labor (like when to actually push the baby out!)
The other problem I have is that I truly do not think my body "knows" how to go into labor. I have been induced with each of my babies. I was hoping my Doc would take pity on me and simply schedule an induction rather than let me wonder each day if I am having a contraction or if I am just having gas. No such luck there. She suggested I start taking Evening Primrose capsules and see how I do. SEE HOW I DO? That is what is worrying me.
I live an hour from the hospital on a good day. I truly do not want to give birth to this baby on the George Washington Parkway. It would be easier for all involved (my husband, the police, the road crews, other commuters) if I had a scheduled induction... but I am going to start taking the evening primrose.
I also mentioned to my husband that he should start helping me out. Like a friend of mine says, The best way to get it out, is the way you got it in. My husband said "Whatever you need me to do babe." As if he were being the hero and taking one for the team... he is such an Adam.
I was thinking about Eve (From the singing group Adam and Eve... in the Bible) the other day and I started to wonder something. Did she only give birth to two boys? We only read about Cain and Abel in the Bible, yet we are all here today... meaning that Adam apparently found her irresistible in her leaves and vines, and she had other children. She had to have girls as well. Having said that, this would mean that her boys would have to have children with their sisters... which may explain a lot about my mental state from time to time but it still makes me scratch my head and wonder. Now, I have heard of people marrying their first cousin, and if we are all related as brothers and sisters and then you go and marry your first cousin... no wonder your children are born with 4 fingers or an extra nipple.
Anyway, I decided to ignore the thought of Eve having more children other than the two that we know about in the Bible and just assume that maybe God came down and made more people-maybe not next door to Adam and Eve's hut-but on the other side of the world. I don't know-it is a stretch, but it helps to support my labor and delivery decision that I have been tossing about in my head.
Now, God told Eve that she would have to endure the pains of childbirth as a punishment for eating the apple. If I go with the thought that she only had her two boys, than she only had to go through natural childbirth twice.
As far as I am concerned, this means that I am all Eve'd out since I have gone through natural childbirth twice as well. I am good... I am even with Eve. I am well on my way to heaven.
I was at the Dr. yesterday and we were talking about epidurals. I had an epi with my first born and it was a bad experience. I was so pumped with juice that I had no idea I even had legs and I could not walk for hours and hours after birth. Our oldest had to be away from me for 5 hours and in observation since the meds made her heart rate decrease and she was a forceps delivery. Personally, the forceps should trump anything Eve ever had to do... but whatever.
With my second and third deliveries I went a' la' natural, thus making me even with Eve. So with this baby I am once again considering the epidural. I expressed my fears from my first epidural experience to my Doc and she stated that since this is my fourth baby, my body will be better at reading the signs of labor (like when to actually push the baby out!)
The other problem I have is that I truly do not think my body "knows" how to go into labor. I have been induced with each of my babies. I was hoping my Doc would take pity on me and simply schedule an induction rather than let me wonder each day if I am having a contraction or if I am just having gas. No such luck there. She suggested I start taking Evening Primrose capsules and see how I do. SEE HOW I DO? That is what is worrying me.
I live an hour from the hospital on a good day. I truly do not want to give birth to this baby on the George Washington Parkway. It would be easier for all involved (my husband, the police, the road crews, other commuters) if I had a scheduled induction... but I am going to start taking the evening primrose.
I also mentioned to my husband that he should start helping me out. Like a friend of mine says, The best way to get it out, is the way you got it in. My husband said "Whatever you need me to do babe." As if he were being the hero and taking one for the team... he is such an Adam.
4.16.2007
What Does The Pope And My Aunt Have In Common?
Their birthday of course! Happy Birthday Aunt Barb! Happy Birthday Pope Ben!
I bet you get a special dispensation for everything when you share your birthday with the Pope! Talk about having an "in!"
Love you~
God Bless,
Crissy
I bet you get a special dispensation for everything when you share your birthday with the Pope! Talk about having an "in!"
Love you~
God Bless,
Crissy
A Fly On The Wall...
I saw an amazing thing today. It boggled my mind and made me even start to second guess the existence of manly men (other than my husband of course.)
I was at ballet today and enjoying listening to the "posh" mom's conversation. It usually goes something like this:
Posh #1: "I spent $500 yesterday at Target, and I don't' know what I bought!"
Posh #2: "That is nothing! I spent $1300 on a bicycle for my son... and he refuses to ride on it!"
Posh wanna-be (this is the mom who does not look like a posh mom to me, but has somehow gotten sucked into the posh conversation every week. She says a lot of "Uh-Huhs" as if she knows what the other posh moms are talking about, but she and I both know that she is just as confused about the description that posh mom #1 is giving about her new kitchen counter tops as I am!): "Uh-Huh"
I usually sit off to the side reading a book or balancing my checkbook and I can chuckle to myself at how absurd these women are. I don't mean to be all judgemental, and I do confess this to Fr. D, but it is not like I am gossiping about them to my best friend, I am just sharing this story with the millions of readers I have (OK, not millions...)
Today, posh mom #2 was not there so she sent posh husband in her place to take posh daughter to ballet. From what I gathered from the initial greetings, posh mom #2 was very tired from their weekend getaway to California so posh husband took the day off of work to help out with the kids. HUH? I had to physically shake my head back and forth to see if a bird had pooped in my ear in the parking lot and had somehow altered my hearing abilities. Posh mom #1 and posh mom wanna-be looked very sympathetic of posh mom #2's condition.
Posh husband went on to describe in intricate detail the wonderful weekend he and his posh wife had browsing antique shops and buying chocolate. He talked more than posh mom #1 usually talks, and she talks so much that by the end of ballet I am usually ready to pound my head against the wall mumbling "make it stop, make it stop." He then went on to describe a ring he had bought for posh wife and he used words that I had to jot down quickly in order to look them up in the dictionary when I got home.
And then it happened... I started to question his manhood. Now, I must admit that I started to lightly question it when he walked in with his ironed blue jeans (the kind that have the crease down the front) that were hitched up way past his belly button, his penny loafers and his black socks. He looked like my grandpa, but he was only around the age of 39. His hair was combed into a perfect style (which actually did not surprise me as posh mom #2, also his posh wife, has a perfect hairdo every week. It is not a hair do that I would be caught dead wearing... but it seems to fit her to a tee.) Anyway, posh mom #1 started to talk about body lotion. She started to go into detail the dry skin that her and her posh daughters suffer from and the various expensive lotions she had tried. She finally found the perfect one-I can't remember the name because it was something in french and I have not taken a french class for about 17 years so she lost me-in any case, I had never heard of this lotion and I would probably have to sell my 9 year old son in order to afford it.
Posh husband was thoroughly intrigued with the lotion conversation. He started to tell posh mom #1 and posh mom wanna-be (who by the way simply said "Uh-Huh" when she heard of the french named lotion-but I am willing to stake my life that she had never heard of it either!) about HIS struggle with dry skin and HIS constant scavenger hunt for the perfect lotion! I had to stop myself from staring with my mouth gaping open in disbelief!
As I drove home from ballet, I thought of my husband and if he had ever even been in a conversation with all women. He seems to avoid situations like that for one reason or another... but the main reason being that he can give a crap about what women talk about. I am also willing to bet that if he and I went on a weekend getaway all he would talk about would be the food he ate and the sex he had, but he does not talk about sex in the presence of women so he would just talk about food. The lotion conversation would have put him in a day dream about boobies and baseball and if quizzed on what was said, he would not be able to recollect any of it.
I am married to a man, a burping, farting, stinky man who has never even put lotion on unless it is the kind that gets "warm when you blow lightly on it." I am married to a man who will talk about three things in public... politics, religion, and sports. He has never had a manicure and he still gets his hair cut at a barber-and they only use clippers on him. I am married to a man whose idea of trimming his nails is to stand naked over the toilet and clip them down to the nub before he jumps in the shower, only to have them bleed for a week or two until they grow a little. I am married to a man who loves me for all of the things that he is not--feminine.
Basically, if my husband had to listen to the ballet posh conversation today, he would have come home, taken two shots of tequila and gone out in the garage to use his hammer, chainsaw, and lawn mower-all at the same time!
By the way, if any of you have a posh husband, my suggestion would be for you to go directly to Sears and buy him every power tool known to man. You will have a stinky farting husband in no time! Guaranteed!
I was at ballet today and enjoying listening to the "posh" mom's conversation. It usually goes something like this:
Posh #1: "I spent $500 yesterday at Target, and I don't' know what I bought!"
Posh #2: "That is nothing! I spent $1300 on a bicycle for my son... and he refuses to ride on it!"
Posh wanna-be (this is the mom who does not look like a posh mom to me, but has somehow gotten sucked into the posh conversation every week. She says a lot of "Uh-Huhs" as if she knows what the other posh moms are talking about, but she and I both know that she is just as confused about the description that posh mom #1 is giving about her new kitchen counter tops as I am!): "Uh-Huh"
I usually sit off to the side reading a book or balancing my checkbook and I can chuckle to myself at how absurd these women are. I don't mean to be all judgemental, and I do confess this to Fr. D, but it is not like I am gossiping about them to my best friend, I am just sharing this story with the millions of readers I have (OK, not millions...)
Today, posh mom #2 was not there so she sent posh husband in her place to take posh daughter to ballet. From what I gathered from the initial greetings, posh mom #2 was very tired from their weekend getaway to California so posh husband took the day off of work to help out with the kids. HUH? I had to physically shake my head back and forth to see if a bird had pooped in my ear in the parking lot and had somehow altered my hearing abilities. Posh mom #1 and posh mom wanna-be looked very sympathetic of posh mom #2's condition.
Posh husband went on to describe in intricate detail the wonderful weekend he and his posh wife had browsing antique shops and buying chocolate. He talked more than posh mom #1 usually talks, and she talks so much that by the end of ballet I am usually ready to pound my head against the wall mumbling "make it stop, make it stop." He then went on to describe a ring he had bought for posh wife and he used words that I had to jot down quickly in order to look them up in the dictionary when I got home.
And then it happened... I started to question his manhood. Now, I must admit that I started to lightly question it when he walked in with his ironed blue jeans (the kind that have the crease down the front) that were hitched up way past his belly button, his penny loafers and his black socks. He looked like my grandpa, but he was only around the age of 39. His hair was combed into a perfect style (which actually did not surprise me as posh mom #2, also his posh wife, has a perfect hairdo every week. It is not a hair do that I would be caught dead wearing... but it seems to fit her to a tee.) Anyway, posh mom #1 started to talk about body lotion. She started to go into detail the dry skin that her and her posh daughters suffer from and the various expensive lotions she had tried. She finally found the perfect one-I can't remember the name because it was something in french and I have not taken a french class for about 17 years so she lost me-in any case, I had never heard of this lotion and I would probably have to sell my 9 year old son in order to afford it.
Posh husband was thoroughly intrigued with the lotion conversation. He started to tell posh mom #1 and posh mom wanna-be (who by the way simply said "Uh-Huh" when she heard of the french named lotion-but I am willing to stake my life that she had never heard of it either!) about HIS struggle with dry skin and HIS constant scavenger hunt for the perfect lotion! I had to stop myself from staring with my mouth gaping open in disbelief!
As I drove home from ballet, I thought of my husband and if he had ever even been in a conversation with all women. He seems to avoid situations like that for one reason or another... but the main reason being that he can give a crap about what women talk about. I am also willing to bet that if he and I went on a weekend getaway all he would talk about would be the food he ate and the sex he had, but he does not talk about sex in the presence of women so he would just talk about food. The lotion conversation would have put him in a day dream about boobies and baseball and if quizzed on what was said, he would not be able to recollect any of it.
I am married to a man, a burping, farting, stinky man who has never even put lotion on unless it is the kind that gets "warm when you blow lightly on it." I am married to a man who will talk about three things in public... politics, religion, and sports. He has never had a manicure and he still gets his hair cut at a barber-and they only use clippers on him. I am married to a man whose idea of trimming his nails is to stand naked over the toilet and clip them down to the nub before he jumps in the shower, only to have them bleed for a week or two until they grow a little. I am married to a man who loves me for all of the things that he is not--feminine.
Basically, if my husband had to listen to the ballet posh conversation today, he would have come home, taken two shots of tequila and gone out in the garage to use his hammer, chainsaw, and lawn mower-all at the same time!
By the way, if any of you have a posh husband, my suggestion would be for you to go directly to Sears and buy him every power tool known to man. You will have a stinky farting husband in no time! Guaranteed!
4.15.2007
My Husband Is Nesting...
I like to ignore the fact that pregnancy will lead to labor and delivery. I like to live my life oblivious to the fact that I will very soon have an enormous amount of pain to hehehoo through. I like to pretend I am still skinny and life as I know it will just keep moving as it does every day... my husband on the other hand is different than me.
He is nesting. We have done more "preparations" for this baby in the last 24 hours that I am starting to think he has the inside track on my cervix and whether or not I am dilating at all! He has been telling me for months now that I need to start getting prepared for this little bundle, i.e. I need to go out and buy baby stuff. I have yet to do this... I don't know why, I just don't have the energy to decide what crib sheets to buy, how many onsies I will need and if I should get a digital monitor or a regular one that will enable me to listen in on my neighbor's cordless phone conversations. It is not that I am not excited about this baby (although I admit I am still in a little shock from that pregnancy test that came out positive), I just don't think a brand new baby needs all that stuff right away. All she needs are some diapers, a few pairs of socks, a couple of onsies, my boobies... and she is set! She does not even need the crib set up because she will sleep with me for a few months. I don't need a changing table, because who has time to stop what they are doing and go into a different room to change a baby? I just do it on my lap, and a baby tub? Nah, I just use the tub that came with the house--it is amazing that houses come with tubs now and they work very well at bathing children, even the little ones.
Well last night we went to Babies R Us and bought out the place. I would sit and fret over which brand to buy by the amount of money each cost whereas my husband was in baby utopia and wanted to buy everything he possibly could for the baby-and he only wanted to pay top dollar! I wish he had this attitude more often, like when we are in a jewelry store or a furniture store. We came home with the van packed and my husband was very proud of himself.
Today he busied himself putting everything together. We now have the cradle up, the changing table all stocked and ready and every stitch of baby clothing has been washed, folded, and put away lovingly in little drawers. We are set...
I am not due for another couple of weeks, and my babies always like to hang in there for as long as they can. My theory on this is that they hear me yelling so often at their new brother and sisters that they are floating around in there thinking "I think it is safer if I just stay in here."
My husband has given me a list of things to do before I go into labor. I thought the wife was supposed to give the husband a list of things to do before the baby, but I have come to realize that my husband and I are nothing like your typical "husband and wife." Wouldn't it be nice if all I had to do was HAVE the baby?
He is nesting. We have done more "preparations" for this baby in the last 24 hours that I am starting to think he has the inside track on my cervix and whether or not I am dilating at all! He has been telling me for months now that I need to start getting prepared for this little bundle, i.e. I need to go out and buy baby stuff. I have yet to do this... I don't know why, I just don't have the energy to decide what crib sheets to buy, how many onsies I will need and if I should get a digital monitor or a regular one that will enable me to listen in on my neighbor's cordless phone conversations. It is not that I am not excited about this baby (although I admit I am still in a little shock from that pregnancy test that came out positive), I just don't think a brand new baby needs all that stuff right away. All she needs are some diapers, a few pairs of socks, a couple of onsies, my boobies... and she is set! She does not even need the crib set up because she will sleep with me for a few months. I don't need a changing table, because who has time to stop what they are doing and go into a different room to change a baby? I just do it on my lap, and a baby tub? Nah, I just use the tub that came with the house--it is amazing that houses come with tubs now and they work very well at bathing children, even the little ones.
Well last night we went to Babies R Us and bought out the place. I would sit and fret over which brand to buy by the amount of money each cost whereas my husband was in baby utopia and wanted to buy everything he possibly could for the baby-and he only wanted to pay top dollar! I wish he had this attitude more often, like when we are in a jewelry store or a furniture store. We came home with the van packed and my husband was very proud of himself.
Today he busied himself putting everything together. We now have the cradle up, the changing table all stocked and ready and every stitch of baby clothing has been washed, folded, and put away lovingly in little drawers. We are set...
I am not due for another couple of weeks, and my babies always like to hang in there for as long as they can. My theory on this is that they hear me yelling so often at their new brother and sisters that they are floating around in there thinking "I think it is safer if I just stay in here."
My husband has given me a list of things to do before I go into labor. I thought the wife was supposed to give the husband a list of things to do before the baby, but I have come to realize that my husband and I are nothing like your typical "husband and wife." Wouldn't it be nice if all I had to do was HAVE the baby?
4.14.2007
Yesterday Was A Bad Day...
I pee'd my pant yesterday. Thankfully I was home in my own bathroom, but it still happened! I have been trying very hard this pregnancy to stay in fashion. Now, that may seem like an oxy-moron because most of the maternity clothes that I find either scream "look at me! I am a big pregnant person wearing flowers and bunnies!" or it says "don't look at me I am fat!" Through some serious searching however, I have been able to find a few items that have become staples in my wardrobe these past few months. One of these items is a pair of chocolate draw-string pants. They are very comfy and they are very cute. I can roll them up and button them to become Capri's or I can leave them down and keep them as trousers. From the back, I don't even look pregnant wearing them! OK, that is a lie, but these kind of lies are what get me through the day people.
I have only pee'd my pants once before. I was in kindergarten and we were making mailboxes out of cartons of milk. Do you remember when milk came in gallon cardboard cartons-not the plastic gallons we have today? Those were so much better for crafts-I should write a letter to the president of milking and let him know that he is doing a disservice to little children everywhere by doing away with the craft friendly cardboard gallon cartons.
Anyway, I had to pee, but I was afraid of my teacher. I was afraid because a boy had just asked to go to the bathroom and she yelled at him because he did not go when the class went and so no, he could not go now. Now, I ask you, what kind of kindergarten teacher does this? As far as I know, 5 year olds are much like puppies. They do not have full control of their bladders yet and if you tickle them or give them lots to drink-they need to pee.
So, I decided to not let the teacher know I had to use the facilities and I went on making my mailbox. I suddenly started to cry. The girl next to me was very sympathetic and wanted to know what was wrong-I don't remember her name, but I do remember that she even hugged me. She was very kind until she realized that she was in fact standing in a warm puddle of pee... then she turned on me and yelled for the teacher bringing all the attention of the entire class upon me and my golden puddle I was standing in. It was humiliating... I don't know where this girl is now, but I bet she is a kindergarten teacher somewhere.
My dad was home recuperating from open heart surgery and my mom was off running errands with the car. We only had one vehicle back then-as most of Middle America did, and if my dad was hanging around the house recovering from surgery, I am willing to bet my mom was up at the VFW bar calming her nerves. My dad had to walk up to the school to get me and he was instructed to bring me a clean pair of underwear. He brought them in a see-through sandwich baggie! The humiliation never ends in this family let me tell you. We walked home happily together, although I still hear about the blisters he got on his feet from walking up to the school in new shoes. Sheesh!
So yesterday I was forced to have flashbacks of that fateful day when I pee'd myself again. This was not one of those little piddles that happen to a pregnant woman when she sneezes, or when she laughs too hard... not this was an all-out-can't-stop-the-flow pee. It was those DAMN draw-string pants! They did me in I tell you! My son and I had just gotten back from the grocery (another punishment to his much needed discipline from his weekly actions) and the moment I climbed out of the car I knew I needed to drop everything and run, not walk to the restroom. I get in and I start the dance of the pee bird-it is a special dance, one that demands music but alas, there is never music in a bathroom so I usually sing "I Will Survive" while I am unbuttoning and unzipping. Well... there appeared to be a knot in my draw string. With each tug and pull the knot was getting bigger and tighter until I started rummaging around in the drawer for a pair of nail scissors, nose clippers, nail file-ANYTHING! All I found was a comb so I started to try and pry the knot loose with the teeth of the comb (it should be said that this was a barbie comb, but I was desperate!) I could not even see if I was making any progress because I cannot see anything that is happening below this big pregnant belly so it was the blind leading the blind down there. I tried looking in the mirror, but I always get confused with the opposite affect that mirrors have and at this point I was panicking so nothing was going to calm me down in time to get the knot undone and the pants down in order to release the flood gates.
I ended up peeing... all the while crying and singing "I'll never survive... I'll never survive"
When all was said and done I had to cut my draw-string with scissors in order to get them off and I threw away the pants that I once loved, but now I hate. They turned on me and I just cannot forgive that kind of treason. Not only did I lose a pair of good maternity pants, but I had to wash the bathroom floor... and the bathroom rug... and that barbie comb as well. I have a Doctor's appointment on Monday and I am thinking of asking if they can just hook me up to a catheter now... life would be so much easier!
I have only pee'd my pants once before. I was in kindergarten and we were making mailboxes out of cartons of milk. Do you remember when milk came in gallon cardboard cartons-not the plastic gallons we have today? Those were so much better for crafts-I should write a letter to the president of milking and let him know that he is doing a disservice to little children everywhere by doing away with the craft friendly cardboard gallon cartons.
Anyway, I had to pee, but I was afraid of my teacher. I was afraid because a boy had just asked to go to the bathroom and she yelled at him because he did not go when the class went and so no, he could not go now. Now, I ask you, what kind of kindergarten teacher does this? As far as I know, 5 year olds are much like puppies. They do not have full control of their bladders yet and if you tickle them or give them lots to drink-they need to pee.
So, I decided to not let the teacher know I had to use the facilities and I went on making my mailbox. I suddenly started to cry. The girl next to me was very sympathetic and wanted to know what was wrong-I don't remember her name, but I do remember that she even hugged me. She was very kind until she realized that she was in fact standing in a warm puddle of pee... then she turned on me and yelled for the teacher bringing all the attention of the entire class upon me and my golden puddle I was standing in. It was humiliating... I don't know where this girl is now, but I bet she is a kindergarten teacher somewhere.
My dad was home recuperating from open heart surgery and my mom was off running errands with the car. We only had one vehicle back then-as most of Middle America did, and if my dad was hanging around the house recovering from surgery, I am willing to bet my mom was up at the VFW bar calming her nerves. My dad had to walk up to the school to get me and he was instructed to bring me a clean pair of underwear. He brought them in a see-through sandwich baggie! The humiliation never ends in this family let me tell you. We walked home happily together, although I still hear about the blisters he got on his feet from walking up to the school in new shoes. Sheesh!
So yesterday I was forced to have flashbacks of that fateful day when I pee'd myself again. This was not one of those little piddles that happen to a pregnant woman when she sneezes, or when she laughs too hard... not this was an all-out-can't-stop-the-flow pee. It was those DAMN draw-string pants! They did me in I tell you! My son and I had just gotten back from the grocery (another punishment to his much needed discipline from his weekly actions) and the moment I climbed out of the car I knew I needed to drop everything and run, not walk to the restroom. I get in and I start the dance of the pee bird-it is a special dance, one that demands music but alas, there is never music in a bathroom so I usually sing "I Will Survive" while I am unbuttoning and unzipping. Well... there appeared to be a knot in my draw string. With each tug and pull the knot was getting bigger and tighter until I started rummaging around in the drawer for a pair of nail scissors, nose clippers, nail file-ANYTHING! All I found was a comb so I started to try and pry the knot loose with the teeth of the comb (it should be said that this was a barbie comb, but I was desperate!) I could not even see if I was making any progress because I cannot see anything that is happening below this big pregnant belly so it was the blind leading the blind down there. I tried looking in the mirror, but I always get confused with the opposite affect that mirrors have and at this point I was panicking so nothing was going to calm me down in time to get the knot undone and the pants down in order to release the flood gates.
I ended up peeing... all the while crying and singing "I'll never survive... I'll never survive"
When all was said and done I had to cut my draw-string with scissors in order to get them off and I threw away the pants that I once loved, but now I hate. They turned on me and I just cannot forgive that kind of treason. Not only did I lose a pair of good maternity pants, but I had to wash the bathroom floor... and the bathroom rug... and that barbie comb as well. I have a Doctor's appointment on Monday and I am thinking of asking if they can just hook me up to a catheter now... life would be so much easier!
4.13.2007
Sometimes I Can't Help But Think Someone Is Out To Get Me~
Do you ever have those thoughts that something bad "might" happen? I have a problem with paranoia. I can't help it-it takes over my body and I start to panic. These are not typical panic attacks that would merit a trip to the Psychiatrist and a prescription to alleviate such paranoia... it is just your typical "I think too much" paranoia. Although, it would be nice to take a little medication to calm down now and then, maybe get a nap in... but I will never openly admit that!
This morning I had to take our van into the dealer because I could not get it into gear D2, D3 and so on. This really didn't bother me as I was able to put it in reverse and drive... what are D2 and D3 used for anyway? My husband thought it was something that needed to be fixed so that meant that I had to take the van in. I truly wonder some days if he just sits around and says "What can I do to make my wife crazy... I know! I'll tell her she has to take the van in for maintenance... she LOVES that kind of stuff!"
As I was laying in bed last night thinking of taking the car in, I started to panic at the thought that I would have to take the Courtesy Van back to our house. This meant that I would have to be in a vehicle with a person (probably a man) of whom I did not know. My children would be left at home for the hour that I would be away and so I started thinking "What if this is a maniac serial killer that is driving this Courtesy Van?" And so the paranoia began... I kept wondering what kind of background checks Honda does on their Courtesy Van drivers.
When my husband is out of town, I worry about an ax murderer coming into our house at night and will lay in bed listening intently to odd noises. "WHAT WAS THAT?" goes through my mind as I hear the house settle around me.
I don't fret over little things such as whether or not it will simply rain, no I worry that it will rain so much that the sewers will back up into our house. I worry not so much that I have a mosquito bite, but I do worry about the West Nile virus.
When we are on the second floor of the mall, or at a hospital and they have those stupid railings that are made out of glass so that you can see down to the level below, I worry that they will break or come lose and a person will go tumbling down. I can't help it-I worry, I am paranoid, and I panic.
The only good thing about my personality is that I am so laid back (read: lazy) that this paranoia is only in my head and by the time I think of doing something about it... it would entail just too much energy on my part so I just say "Ah, it'll be OK-if an ax murderer actually does make his way into my house, I will just deal with it then." Thankfully, this scenario has yet to play out so I have not had to open my Can O' Whoop Ass on an unsuspecting maniac in my home.
This morning as I was driving to the car dealer, I started thinking about the serial killer who would be driving me home in the Courtesy Van, but it was so early in the morning that I could no longer be bothered with my paranoia. I was tired (from laying awake worrying) and I was hungry (because I am pregnant and have to eat every 12.4 minutes). When I reached the dealership, the nice girl who took care of me simply informed me that I had been trying to get the car into gear in an improper fashion. She demonstrated to me how to do it correctly and I was on my way back home, in my own van within a matter of minutes.
The serial killers will have to go back to bed and wait for another day to hunt me down. Today I was saved!
This morning I had to take our van into the dealer because I could not get it into gear D2, D3 and so on. This really didn't bother me as I was able to put it in reverse and drive... what are D2 and D3 used for anyway? My husband thought it was something that needed to be fixed so that meant that I had to take the van in. I truly wonder some days if he just sits around and says "What can I do to make my wife crazy... I know! I'll tell her she has to take the van in for maintenance... she LOVES that kind of stuff!"
As I was laying in bed last night thinking of taking the car in, I started to panic at the thought that I would have to take the Courtesy Van back to our house. This meant that I would have to be in a vehicle with a person (probably a man) of whom I did not know. My children would be left at home for the hour that I would be away and so I started thinking "What if this is a maniac serial killer that is driving this Courtesy Van?" And so the paranoia began... I kept wondering what kind of background checks Honda does on their Courtesy Van drivers.
When my husband is out of town, I worry about an ax murderer coming into our house at night and will lay in bed listening intently to odd noises. "WHAT WAS THAT?" goes through my mind as I hear the house settle around me.
I don't fret over little things such as whether or not it will simply rain, no I worry that it will rain so much that the sewers will back up into our house. I worry not so much that I have a mosquito bite, but I do worry about the West Nile virus.
When we are on the second floor of the mall, or at a hospital and they have those stupid railings that are made out of glass so that you can see down to the level below, I worry that they will break or come lose and a person will go tumbling down. I can't help it-I worry, I am paranoid, and I panic.
The only good thing about my personality is that I am so laid back (read: lazy) that this paranoia is only in my head and by the time I think of doing something about it... it would entail just too much energy on my part so I just say "Ah, it'll be OK-if an ax murderer actually does make his way into my house, I will just deal with it then." Thankfully, this scenario has yet to play out so I have not had to open my Can O' Whoop Ass on an unsuspecting maniac in my home.
This morning as I was driving to the car dealer, I started thinking about the serial killer who would be driving me home in the Courtesy Van, but it was so early in the morning that I could no longer be bothered with my paranoia. I was tired (from laying awake worrying) and I was hungry (because I am pregnant and have to eat every 12.4 minutes). When I reached the dealership, the nice girl who took care of me simply informed me that I had been trying to get the car into gear in an improper fashion. She demonstrated to me how to do it correctly and I was on my way back home, in my own van within a matter of minutes.
The serial killers will have to go back to bed and wait for another day to hunt me down. Today I was saved!
4.12.2007
The Peasants Are Trying To Overthrow The Queen!
OK, ever have one of those moments, days, weeks, years when you feel your children are plotting against you? I truly think that my precious children-whom I have carried in my body, gave birth to and nursed, are trying to figure out how to destroy me.
My oldest had softball practice last night. My husband, who is the coach, is once again out of town so that meant I (full term pregnant and all) had to run the practice. Now, I don't know about you but the sight of me hitting a ball, throwing a ball, catching a ball, or even running (or should I say lumbering) after stray balls is enough to make any person cringe. I am sure that all of the moms on the bleachers were just waiting for a baby to come tumbling out of the bottom of my pant leg!
Thankfully I did not have to curse my husband too long for this obvious attempt on his part to make me crazy because one of the other coaches came to my rescue and took over practice for me. I happily went to sit in the dugout with another mom and we started up a conversation. It was the first adult conversation I had participated in all week (because as I said my husband is out of town and homeschooling keeps me locked up in our house with no outside stimulation... it is all part of the evil plan to overthrow the Queen) I was thoroughly enjoying this conversation when my son walked up and decided that he wanted to be a part of the conversation as well.
My son usually runs as far away from me as he can when we are at a ball field. There are usually other kids around for him to play with and it is like watching a Labrador retriever puppy wiggle out of his leash and run free with his ears whipping in the wind and his tongue hanging out in pure bliss that he is not longer attached to his owner. Last night however, my son decided to cling to me... and I was not in a clinging mood.
My week with my son has been a tough one. He has been disciplined to the highest degree for offenses that he was guilty of and his life is very very bleak right now. I am currently his arch enemy so I would have thought that he would have enjoyed a couple of hours of freedom. Apparently not.
The conversation was one where if I said one thing, he would say "No, it was not like that, it was like this..." and so on. He told this woman everything under the sun about our family-even pulling out the big guns such as "my mom got so drunk she threw up one Christmas" or "I play my video games for 6 hours every day!" and my favorite, "I am trying to figure out how to make gun powder in our back yard."
I wanted to strangle the boy-or rather, I wanted to run screaming from this conversation that I was trapped in with my 9 year old Nemesis.
Why does this happen? Why do kids divulge such secrets--ones that aren't even true (well, OK, I did get so drunk a couple of Christmases ago that I did end up throwing up and passing out in the bathroom of my brother-in-law's house--but the wine was good and the turkey was taking FOREVER to cook!) Now this woman thinks that my son should be on Homeland Security's "person of interest" list because of the lack of parental supervision (the hours of violent video games) and the apparent weapon making (the gunpowder in the backyard.)
I did not clear any of these misconceptions up with this mom. She told me she had a son who was in high school so I figured (hoped!) that she had once been in my shoes. I did not defend my parenting (my son does not play video games for hours on end-unless of course I am drunk and passed out on Christmas) and he is not making REAL gun powder, he is simply playing "civil war hero" in our back woods and he is "pretending" dirt is his gun powder.
I have been waiting all day for Child Protective Services to knock on my door... but so far it has been quiet. Eerily quiet actually... and the children are huddled in the corner whispering and cackling... peering at me with their sinister eyes. Maybe I should let them eat cake!
My oldest had softball practice last night. My husband, who is the coach, is once again out of town so that meant I (full term pregnant and all) had to run the practice. Now, I don't know about you but the sight of me hitting a ball, throwing a ball, catching a ball, or even running (or should I say lumbering) after stray balls is enough to make any person cringe. I am sure that all of the moms on the bleachers were just waiting for a baby to come tumbling out of the bottom of my pant leg!
Thankfully I did not have to curse my husband too long for this obvious attempt on his part to make me crazy because one of the other coaches came to my rescue and took over practice for me. I happily went to sit in the dugout with another mom and we started up a conversation. It was the first adult conversation I had participated in all week (because as I said my husband is out of town and homeschooling keeps me locked up in our house with no outside stimulation... it is all part of the evil plan to overthrow the Queen) I was thoroughly enjoying this conversation when my son walked up and decided that he wanted to be a part of the conversation as well.
My son usually runs as far away from me as he can when we are at a ball field. There are usually other kids around for him to play with and it is like watching a Labrador retriever puppy wiggle out of his leash and run free with his ears whipping in the wind and his tongue hanging out in pure bliss that he is not longer attached to his owner. Last night however, my son decided to cling to me... and I was not in a clinging mood.
My week with my son has been a tough one. He has been disciplined to the highest degree for offenses that he was guilty of and his life is very very bleak right now. I am currently his arch enemy so I would have thought that he would have enjoyed a couple of hours of freedom. Apparently not.
The conversation was one where if I said one thing, he would say "No, it was not like that, it was like this..." and so on. He told this woman everything under the sun about our family-even pulling out the big guns such as "my mom got so drunk she threw up one Christmas" or "I play my video games for 6 hours every day!" and my favorite, "I am trying to figure out how to make gun powder in our back yard."
I wanted to strangle the boy-or rather, I wanted to run screaming from this conversation that I was trapped in with my 9 year old Nemesis.
Why does this happen? Why do kids divulge such secrets--ones that aren't even true (well, OK, I did get so drunk a couple of Christmases ago that I did end up throwing up and passing out in the bathroom of my brother-in-law's house--but the wine was good and the turkey was taking FOREVER to cook!) Now this woman thinks that my son should be on Homeland Security's "person of interest" list because of the lack of parental supervision (the hours of violent video games) and the apparent weapon making (the gunpowder in the backyard.)
I did not clear any of these misconceptions up with this mom. She told me she had a son who was in high school so I figured (hoped!) that she had once been in my shoes. I did not defend my parenting (my son does not play video games for hours on end-unless of course I am drunk and passed out on Christmas) and he is not making REAL gun powder, he is simply playing "civil war hero" in our back woods and he is "pretending" dirt is his gun powder.
I have been waiting all day for Child Protective Services to knock on my door... but so far it has been quiet. Eerily quiet actually... and the children are huddled in the corner whispering and cackling... peering at me with their sinister eyes. Maybe I should let them eat cake!
4.11.2007
Please Send All Donations To The June Cleaver College Fund! Part Deux
As I was saying...
The price of an education is crazy! I mean, people go off to school to better their lives (or to be in a drunken stupor for 4 years) and when they leave school and are ready to face the world... they are drowning in debt. It just does not make sense to me.
I don't like debt-in fact, it makes me sick to my stomach. We live our financial lives the Dave Ramsey way (If you don't know who Dave is, than just Google him and you will be on the road to Financial Freedom!) Anyway, we don't like debt, we don't have debt (except for my student loans) and sometime soon we will be able to thumb our noses at Sallie Mae and pay off this mega monster.
I attended a small Catholic college that had a HUGE tuition. When I decided to go back and finish my degree I continued my education at the same college doing an "external" degree. That just means that I had no set schedule-it was flexible. I did not have to attend classes, just do the work on-line and get everything in by the end of semester date. Now, this is a brilliant plan for someone who is structured, but I am a procrastinator at heart. I will put off doing things until the very last moment. I only procrastinate when it comes to my own personal obligations. The obligations of my children and husband are always taken care of quickly and meticulously... my stuff gets shoved to the back of the line and sooner or later I freak out and remember that I need to turn in a 10 page report on the abnormal behavior of prison inmates who have lived among primates by tomorrow! I have even been known to start and finish an entire course in two-weeks. I would not recommend this-it is not very conducive to a happy stable home... basically it makes me a crazy woman for a couple of weeks and I retain nothing. Do not ask me anything on American History... all I know is that there were Native Americans, and now we all live here. Good enough-I got an "A"!
Actually, learning comes pretty easy to me. I can put it off, write a research paper in the span of 2 hours and come out of the course with an "A" or a "B". I am not bragging... I am just trying to make you feel inferior to my big brain and my savvy use of cliff notes. There were only two courses that I did not do well in. I received a "D" in both and I received those grades on principle alone so I have to say that I am very proud of those D's. One was in a course called "Woman Imaging God" I was very excited as I thought I was going to learn how to be more God-like (not in the "I am a GOD-worship ME sense, but more in the "I am a servant" sense). The instructor thought differently. It turned out to be a feminist view of God-referring to Him as "her" and "Goddess." Needless to say, the instructor soon thought of me as a thorn in her side and I am sure she even stopped reading my papers as they were along the lines of "What are you a crazy person to think such nonsense in a Catholic College?" I am sure she gave me my D just to get rid of me-and that was fine. The second "D" I received was from one of my psychology professors. He was an evolutionist and told me that humans are in fact the third chimpanzee. I made a remark about Michael Jackson and his Chimp and from then on I received low marks. I fought him on every discussion and challenged his teaching style. Again, I became a thorn in his side and I was glad to be done with that course! I even changed my double major of Human Services and Psychology to just a major in HS and a MINOR in psych so I would no longer have to be in contact with this professor.
Anyway, now I am finished, I is edjumacated! A person needs a college degree in order to deal with the banks in which they owe money to. One of my loans is from a small bank in Indiana. They no longer have a student loan department and do not know what the National Student Loan Database is. They reported my loan "paid in full" back in 2004-so when we consolidated in 2006, they did not get on the list. A few months ago we received a phone call from them saying "You owe us money! Pay up or have bad credit!" Well, after talking to the banker that was assigned my loan (who is a rickety old man who went to college back when women were not allowed to even think of higher education) it was apparent that I was in for a long penance with this bank.
Long story short-they have been paid, they have cashed the check... but they just called me last week and said they lost the check and therefore they feel they have not been paid! HUH? Crazypersonsayswhat? So it is back to the phone lines for me to Sallie Mae and back to the fax machine and back to the frustration of dealing with ignorant people (one of my pet peeves).
The moral of this long winded two day post? Save for your children's college! Give them a fighting chance in the world when they emerge from their 4 year stint of no responsibilities and endless toga parties! Let them get into debt with more fun things like overbuying shoes, or buying a Hummer on a 20K a year job! Those are the good mistakes to learn about debt from-not the monkey on your back that I call Sallie Mae. They will thank you one day as they drive up to your house in their BMW.
The price of an education is crazy! I mean, people go off to school to better their lives (or to be in a drunken stupor for 4 years) and when they leave school and are ready to face the world... they are drowning in debt. It just does not make sense to me.
I don't like debt-in fact, it makes me sick to my stomach. We live our financial lives the Dave Ramsey way (If you don't know who Dave is, than just Google him and you will be on the road to Financial Freedom!) Anyway, we don't like debt, we don't have debt (except for my student loans) and sometime soon we will be able to thumb our noses at Sallie Mae and pay off this mega monster.
I attended a small Catholic college that had a HUGE tuition. When I decided to go back and finish my degree I continued my education at the same college doing an "external" degree. That just means that I had no set schedule-it was flexible. I did not have to attend classes, just do the work on-line and get everything in by the end of semester date. Now, this is a brilliant plan for someone who is structured, but I am a procrastinator at heart. I will put off doing things until the very last moment. I only procrastinate when it comes to my own personal obligations. The obligations of my children and husband are always taken care of quickly and meticulously... my stuff gets shoved to the back of the line and sooner or later I freak out and remember that I need to turn in a 10 page report on the abnormal behavior of prison inmates who have lived among primates by tomorrow! I have even been known to start and finish an entire course in two-weeks. I would not recommend this-it is not very conducive to a happy stable home... basically it makes me a crazy woman for a couple of weeks and I retain nothing. Do not ask me anything on American History... all I know is that there were Native Americans, and now we all live here. Good enough-I got an "A"!
Actually, learning comes pretty easy to me. I can put it off, write a research paper in the span of 2 hours and come out of the course with an "A" or a "B". I am not bragging... I am just trying to make you feel inferior to my big brain and my savvy use of cliff notes. There were only two courses that I did not do well in. I received a "D" in both and I received those grades on principle alone so I have to say that I am very proud of those D's. One was in a course called "Woman Imaging God" I was very excited as I thought I was going to learn how to be more God-like (not in the "I am a GOD-worship ME sense, but more in the "I am a servant" sense). The instructor thought differently. It turned out to be a feminist view of God-referring to Him as "her" and "Goddess." Needless to say, the instructor soon thought of me as a thorn in her side and I am sure she even stopped reading my papers as they were along the lines of "What are you a crazy person to think such nonsense in a Catholic College?" I am sure she gave me my D just to get rid of me-and that was fine. The second "D" I received was from one of my psychology professors. He was an evolutionist and told me that humans are in fact the third chimpanzee. I made a remark about Michael Jackson and his Chimp and from then on I received low marks. I fought him on every discussion and challenged his teaching style. Again, I became a thorn in his side and I was glad to be done with that course! I even changed my double major of Human Services and Psychology to just a major in HS and a MINOR in psych so I would no longer have to be in contact with this professor.
Anyway, now I am finished, I is edjumacated! A person needs a college degree in order to deal with the banks in which they owe money to. One of my loans is from a small bank in Indiana. They no longer have a student loan department and do not know what the National Student Loan Database is. They reported my loan "paid in full" back in 2004-so when we consolidated in 2006, they did not get on the list. A few months ago we received a phone call from them saying "You owe us money! Pay up or have bad credit!" Well, after talking to the banker that was assigned my loan (who is a rickety old man who went to college back when women were not allowed to even think of higher education) it was apparent that I was in for a long penance with this bank.
Long story short-they have been paid, they have cashed the check... but they just called me last week and said they lost the check and therefore they feel they have not been paid! HUH? Crazypersonsayswhat? So it is back to the phone lines for me to Sallie Mae and back to the fax machine and back to the frustration of dealing with ignorant people (one of my pet peeves).
The moral of this long winded two day post? Save for your children's college! Give them a fighting chance in the world when they emerge from their 4 year stint of no responsibilities and endless toga parties! Let them get into debt with more fun things like overbuying shoes, or buying a Hummer on a 20K a year job! Those are the good mistakes to learn about debt from-not the monkey on your back that I call Sallie Mae. They will thank you one day as they drive up to your house in their BMW.
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