The Duchess is a picky eater - no surprise, she's four and Daddy (WoWguy) eats like a teenager - pizza, tacos, burgers, etc - so when she started eating regular sandwiches, specifically peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cheese sandwiches, naturally Turtle and WoWguy were thrilled.
One day last week, the Duchess and her daddy had a PB&J for lunch. After she finished, she said, "Ok, now I'm ready for my cheese sandwich."
Just then the phone rang. "Ok, baby, but Daddy needs to take this phone call from work first, then I'll get you a cheese sandwich."
A few minutes later, she said again, "Daddy, I'm ready for my cheese sandwich."
"Sure, ok, I'll just finish this and get a cheese sandwich for you."
Little while later, "Daddy, where's my cheese sandwich?"
"Oh yeah, I need to do one more thing here, then I'll get it."
Then, while she waited patiently, spinning around his office chair, a song on the radio and caught his attention:
"Duchess, come here! Listen to this! It's Daddy's favorite song!"
Stopping the chair, she put the full Duchess mode on:
"NO IT'S NOT!! Your favorite song is GET. ME. MY. CHEESE. SANDWICH."
She got her sandwich.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
We all have special needs
Reading an old guest post on Rants from Mommy Land on "Special Needs Mommies" led me to think about Pooh Bear and the Dancer and their relationship.
The Dancer is the oldest but still, she was only three and a half when the Pooh was born. At first, we didn't know that Pooh had special needs, but it was really apparent by the time the Dancer had her 4th birthday. Especially since, if I am not mistaken, the birthday party had to be postponed because Pooh was in the hospital - again.
The point being that the Dancer probably does not remember a time when Pooh's special needs didn't come before anything else. Special needs kids are DEMANDING. Like 24/7/365 demanding. Because the moment you stop paying attention for JUST ONE SECOND JUST LET ME PEE FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, disaster strikes.
Pooh was in a wheelchair when she was four - mostly in a stroller before that, because by the time she was adept at sitting up by herself she was dangerously top-heavy in like a shopping cart or whatever. But being in a wheelchair brings stares and inconveniences and heaven help us, comments and questions.
"Why is she in a wheelchair?"
"Can she talk?"
"What's her name?"
"How old is she?"
etc ad nauseum
I had to grow a thick skin quickly if I wanted to live a normal life and teach my girls to treat Pooh like a human being and not something to be hidden.
The thick skin did not grow well on the Dancer. Really, still hasn't. It still bugs her.
First time I realized that it bugged her is when she verbally attacked another kid her age, maybe 9 years old?, in a department store that was asking all the regular questions. I was trying to both shop and answer as honestly and as simply as I could without going into too much personal, when the Dancer rounded on them:
"WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT? Didn't your mother teach you that's rude? Why are you asking so many questions? Is it REALLY any of your business?" and so on until I nearly had to drag her away.
"The way you behaved was as rude as what they were doing," I lectured her. "Pooh does not need you to defend her from stares and rude questions. And besides, I'd really rather them ask the questions than walk away with the wrong idea about her."
This has had mixed outcomes: On the one hand, Dancer and her other siblings, and for that matter, cousins, tend to see the person before they see the handicap in almost everyone they meet. They accommodate handicaps without thinking. Opening doors, opting for the table that's easiest for the wheelchair to pull up to, talking to disabled people like PEOPLE and not like the handicap, if you know what I mean. It's given them a perspective that I'm sure they would not have had without Pooh Bear. On the other hand, they are hypercritical of the starers, the commenters, and have developed strange strategies to cope with them. Especially Dancer.
This was obvious when Pooh Bear and I went to visit Dancer and her husband one weekend. There was a street fair going on a few blocks from her house so, it being a gorgeous day, we decided it would be nice to walk down there and wander around.
Occasionally, Dancer would, out of the blue, speak to someone: "Hi, how ya doin'? Great day for a festival, yeah? Y'all here from out of town...?" At which point I realized that she didn't know these people.
"What are you doing? Do you know those people?" I hissed.
"No. They were just staring at Pooh."
At least she doesn't tackle them any longer.
The Dancer is the oldest but still, she was only three and a half when the Pooh was born. At first, we didn't know that Pooh had special needs, but it was really apparent by the time the Dancer had her 4th birthday. Especially since, if I am not mistaken, the birthday party had to be postponed because Pooh was in the hospital - again.
The point being that the Dancer probably does not remember a time when Pooh's special needs didn't come before anything else. Special needs kids are DEMANDING. Like 24/7/365 demanding. Because the moment you stop paying attention for JUST ONE SECOND JUST LET ME PEE FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, disaster strikes.
Pooh was in a wheelchair when she was four - mostly in a stroller before that, because by the time she was adept at sitting up by herself she was dangerously top-heavy in like a shopping cart or whatever. But being in a wheelchair brings stares and inconveniences and heaven help us, comments and questions.
"Why is she in a wheelchair?"
"Can she talk?"
"What's her name?"
"How old is she?"
etc ad nauseum
I had to grow a thick skin quickly if I wanted to live a normal life and teach my girls to treat Pooh like a human being and not something to be hidden.
The thick skin did not grow well on the Dancer. Really, still hasn't. It still bugs her.
First time I realized that it bugged her is when she verbally attacked another kid her age, maybe 9 years old?, in a department store that was asking all the regular questions. I was trying to both shop and answer as honestly and as simply as I could without going into too much personal, when the Dancer rounded on them:
"WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT? Didn't your mother teach you that's rude? Why are you asking so many questions? Is it REALLY any of your business?" and so on until I nearly had to drag her away.
"The way you behaved was as rude as what they were doing," I lectured her. "Pooh does not need you to defend her from stares and rude questions. And besides, I'd really rather them ask the questions than walk away with the wrong idea about her."
This has had mixed outcomes: On the one hand, Dancer and her other siblings, and for that matter, cousins, tend to see the person before they see the handicap in almost everyone they meet. They accommodate handicaps without thinking. Opening doors, opting for the table that's easiest for the wheelchair to pull up to, talking to disabled people like PEOPLE and not like the handicap, if you know what I mean. It's given them a perspective that I'm sure they would not have had without Pooh Bear. On the other hand, they are hypercritical of the starers, the commenters, and have developed strange strategies to cope with them. Especially Dancer.
This was obvious when Pooh Bear and I went to visit Dancer and her husband one weekend. There was a street fair going on a few blocks from her house so, it being a gorgeous day, we decided it would be nice to walk down there and wander around.
Occasionally, Dancer would, out of the blue, speak to someone: "Hi, how ya doin'? Great day for a festival, yeah? Y'all here from out of town...?" At which point I realized that she didn't know these people.
"What are you doing? Do you know those people?" I hissed.
"No. They were just staring at Pooh."
At least she doesn't tackle them any longer.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
I never thought I'd hear...
List of things I never thought I would hear:
- Oldest daughter, Dancer. She's uber-independent, I-can-do-it-myself, DON'T GIVE ME ADVICE. She called to ask, "Mom, how do you take a baby to the store if you don't have the stroller?"
- Turtle, second daughter, uses my computer to check her bank balance. Does The Happy Dance. Why? "My raise came through and now I have enough to buy CLEANING SUPPLIES!" Wow. Who was that?
- My daughter-in-law, who hated school, who has always hated to read, has started BORROWING BOOKS! I know RIGHT? Anyway, she said, "I was so happy when the kids went to bed early and Baby Boy (her hubs) was not home yet, I thought, 'Great! Maybe I can finish this book before he gets home!'"
- Grandson Boogah, spending the night last weekend. "Lovey, what time is it?" "Nearly 8oclock, why?" "It's WAY past my bedtime!"
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Our Lucky Penny
Well, the new baby did indeed arrive January 20, 2011 at 2:48pm. Stats: 5 pounds 8 ounces, 18 1/2 inches long, lotsa black hair, already loved by all. Just gorgeous!
There was some excitement, but nothing like the first one. She was born before I got there and that suited Mama Turtle and Daddy WowGuy just fine. They are both uber-private people - Dancer says anti-social, but whatever - and to have the baby with only the doctor, a couple of nurses, and the anesthesiologist (spelling? don't care enough to check) in the room was pretty much heaven for them. One big push once the time came and it was done. Baby here. I walked in the room moments after they handed new baby to Mama.
Since one of the names they thought about - although they ultimately named her something else - was Penelope, and since several good things have already happened since her birth, I think she will be Lucky Penny here - Lucky for short.
So here she is - Lucky Penny:
There was some excitement, but nothing like the first one. She was born before I got there and that suited Mama Turtle and Daddy WowGuy just fine. They are both uber-private people - Dancer says anti-social, but whatever - and to have the baby with only the doctor, a couple of nurses, and the anesthesiologist (spelling? don't care enough to check) in the room was pretty much heaven for them. One big push once the time came and it was done. Baby here. I walked in the room moments after they handed new baby to Mama.
Since one of the names they thought about - although they ultimately named her something else - was Penelope, and since several good things have already happened since her birth, I think she will be Lucky Penny here - Lucky for short.
So here she is - Lucky Penny:
UPDATE: there are no pictures, but there is, on a phone somewhere, a video of the first meeting of Duchess and Lucky. Big sister, is ENTHRALLED in a good way, with her new baby. She met me at the door last night, top volume, "The baby is HERE! The baby Lucky is here!" (Although she called her by her proper name, not "Lucky". That's just here, for me.) It was reported, and I saw for myself, that Duchess is rather unwilling to share new baby Lucky with anyone else. It's always her turn to hold the baby (on a pillow in her lap, as her hands forget that they are supposed to be holding a baby). Just precious!
Hopefully, video (or pictures) soon.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Plus One - Today may be the day
Meaning that Turtle is on her way to the hospital to get checked. We may have a new baby on the way.
She called me at 3:30am - proving that when you can't call anyone else, you can call Mama.
"I've already called the doctor and he told me to go to hospital [note: it's 45minutes away from her house] but I wanted to know what you think I should do."
Her water was "leaking" but she was not having contractions. Water hadn't actually broken - just leaking. We discussed her condition, her memories of the birth of Duchess, my memories of her own birth.
With a smile in my voice, I told her, "Don't leave it too long - you were born less than two hours after we called the doctor, and you know, I've told you he didn't make it."
"Mama, don't tell me that!" she exclaims in (maybe mock) horror.
In the end, she decided to listen to her body and wait until contractions started. The baby was not due to be here until February 9th. But that's another thing with babies - sometimes they have their own schedule.
Now here it is, 7:30am. She called an hour ago to say that contractions had started, slow contractions, possibly first stage of labor. Timed 45 minutes apart. She called for babysitter advice - can't take the Duchess, of course she could, but if today isn't The Day, there would be disruption and confusion for no reason. I can't - Pooh Bear still sleeping and her schedule is pretty much king around here. So they were going to call WowGuy's mom to come stay with Duchess. If today is The Day, then she can bring the Duchess here and stay with Pooh and Dilly, who should be here by the time we know whether it's really time or not. Or if this is a false alarm.
And now - Birth of Turtle:
Dancer was nearly two. Pretty much a Duchess in her own right, oldest grandchild on both paternal and maternal side. On daddy's side, there had since been another baby, but she was rarely there the same time Dancer was at MawMaw's, so she still pretty much ruled.
Two months before Turtle's due date, a drunk driver had pulled on the highway right in front of me, night before Thanksgiving, roads crazy, I'm trying to get home. I could not avoid him. Seatbelts saved our lives, drunkenness apparently saved his. Long story short, Dancer was traumatized, I was bruised mightily on pregnant belly and legs, car was totalled.
Subsequent checkups showed baby was fine, I was fine. But. I stopped gaining weight. Baby stopped gaining weight. Which, let's be honest ME not gaining weight was not a bad thing to me - baby not gaining weight was a little troublesome.
Time marches on, and due date was approaching - January 16th? maybe? was the due date. It passed, doctor started getting a little bit worried, but tests showed nothing out of whack.
12:30am January 18, 1980. I wake up gasping for breath. Unmistakable contraction. I don't wake hubby up, but choose to watch the contractions. For the next three contractions, they are about 30 minutes apart, lasting about 1 1/2 - 2 minutes. Breathe. May not be it. Long pause - no fourth contraction. Start drifting back to sleep when - BAM! - hard contraction. Next two are every 15 minutes. Wake hubby. We start timing together. He's concerned, goes to call the doctor, I call my mom who comes to stay with Dancer.
2:30am January 18, 1980. On the road to hospital. Contractions have stepped up, harder and longer. Hubs is making an effort to concentrate on driving. Fortunately, the roads are nearly empty.
3:00am January 18, 1980. We get to the hospital safely, nurses do their examination quickly, glance at each other and ask, Have you called the doctor? Yes, we say. With a (maybe panicked?) glance one nurse leaves to go call him again.
By this time, contractions are coming in earnest, moving quickly from 5 minutes apart to 2 1/2 minutes apart. They've moved me already to a delivery table (back in the day, they still had a separate delivery room). Hubby had not been through the hospital "Daddy Training" so he was banished to the hall, to watch from the daddy window.
3:30am January 18,1980. Two nurses now, trying to be encouraging, but I still hear the sort-of panic in their voices.
Breathe, they say.
Here have some nitrous oxide, they say.
DON'T PUSH, they say.
The doctor is on his way, they say.
PLEASE, they say.
4:10am January 18, 1980. My body and my baby have other plans. Pushing almost against my will, Turtle is caught by two nurses who had had no plans to deliver a baby tonight. As they lay her across my now nearly empty abdomen (doesn't that word look like it needs to be "abdoman"? If it's just one?) and she looks at me with huge eyes, fist - no, maybe it was already her thumb - in her mouth studying me quietly, for just a moment.
The doctor runs in delivery, hair dripping wet still from an apparently hurried shower (to wake up? because he thought he had all the time in the world?), just in time to finish with cutting the cord, repairing a little tear from the birth, delivery the yucky stuff. They whisk Turtle away.
It turns out that, yes, she had stopped growing about six weeks ago. The placenta was scarred from the accident. Everything had matured normally, but her birth weight was less than six pounds: 5 lbs, 12 oz. Not only was her weight a bit under normal, but she was tiny all over. Like I said, completely normal (they watched her like a hawk for two years), but tiny. Her head was small, but not microcephalic, her shoulders were small, her hips were small. She had to wear preemie diapers and clothes for about a month.
And now this tiny baby girl is on her way - possibly - to have a (second) daughter of her own.
The wheel keeps turning.
She called me at 3:30am - proving that when you can't call anyone else, you can call Mama.
"I've already called the doctor and he told me to go to hospital [note: it's 45minutes away from her house] but I wanted to know what you think I should do."
Her water was "leaking" but she was not having contractions. Water hadn't actually broken - just leaking. We discussed her condition, her memories of the birth of Duchess, my memories of her own birth.
With a smile in my voice, I told her, "Don't leave it too long - you were born less than two hours after we called the doctor, and you know, I've told you he didn't make it."
"Mama, don't tell me that!" she exclaims in (maybe mock) horror.
In the end, she decided to listen to her body and wait until contractions started. The baby was not due to be here until February 9th. But that's another thing with babies - sometimes they have their own schedule.
Now here it is, 7:30am. She called an hour ago to say that contractions had started, slow contractions, possibly first stage of labor. Timed 45 minutes apart. She called for babysitter advice - can't take the Duchess, of course she could, but if today isn't The Day, there would be disruption and confusion for no reason. I can't - Pooh Bear still sleeping and her schedule is pretty much king around here. So they were going to call WowGuy's mom to come stay with Duchess. If today is The Day, then she can bring the Duchess here and stay with Pooh and Dilly, who should be here by the time we know whether it's really time or not. Or if this is a false alarm.
And now - Birth of Turtle:
Dancer was nearly two. Pretty much a Duchess in her own right, oldest grandchild on both paternal and maternal side. On daddy's side, there had since been another baby, but she was rarely there the same time Dancer was at MawMaw's, so she still pretty much ruled.
Two months before Turtle's due date, a drunk driver had pulled on the highway right in front of me, night before Thanksgiving, roads crazy, I'm trying to get home. I could not avoid him. Seatbelts saved our lives, drunkenness apparently saved his. Long story short, Dancer was traumatized, I was bruised mightily on pregnant belly and legs, car was totalled.
Subsequent checkups showed baby was fine, I was fine. But. I stopped gaining weight. Baby stopped gaining weight. Which, let's be honest ME not gaining weight was not a bad thing to me - baby not gaining weight was a little troublesome.
Time marches on, and due date was approaching - January 16th? maybe? was the due date. It passed, doctor started getting a little bit worried, but tests showed nothing out of whack.
12:30am January 18, 1980. I wake up gasping for breath. Unmistakable contraction. I don't wake hubby up, but choose to watch the contractions. For the next three contractions, they are about 30 minutes apart, lasting about 1 1/2 - 2 minutes. Breathe. May not be it. Long pause - no fourth contraction. Start drifting back to sleep when - BAM! - hard contraction. Next two are every 15 minutes. Wake hubby. We start timing together. He's concerned, goes to call the doctor, I call my mom who comes to stay with Dancer.
2:30am January 18, 1980. On the road to hospital. Contractions have stepped up, harder and longer. Hubs is making an effort to concentrate on driving. Fortunately, the roads are nearly empty.
3:00am January 18, 1980. We get to the hospital safely, nurses do their examination quickly, glance at each other and ask, Have you called the doctor? Yes, we say. With a (maybe panicked?) glance one nurse leaves to go call him again.
By this time, contractions are coming in earnest, moving quickly from 5 minutes apart to 2 1/2 minutes apart. They've moved me already to a delivery table (back in the day, they still had a separate delivery room). Hubby had not been through the hospital "Daddy Training" so he was banished to the hall, to watch from the daddy window.
3:30am January 18,1980. Two nurses now, trying to be encouraging, but I still hear the sort-of panic in their voices.
Breathe, they say.
Here have some nitrous oxide, they say.
DON'T PUSH, they say.
The doctor is on his way, they say.
PLEASE, they say.
4:10am January 18, 1980. My body and my baby have other plans. Pushing almost against my will, Turtle is caught by two nurses who had had no plans to deliver a baby tonight. As they lay her across my now nearly empty abdomen (doesn't that word look like it needs to be "abdoman"? If it's just one?) and she looks at me with huge eyes, fist - no, maybe it was already her thumb - in her mouth studying me quietly, for just a moment.
The doctor runs in delivery, hair dripping wet still from an apparently hurried shower (to wake up? because he thought he had all the time in the world?), just in time to finish with cutting the cord, repairing a little tear from the birth, delivery the yucky stuff. They whisk Turtle away.
It turns out that, yes, she had stopped growing about six weeks ago. The placenta was scarred from the accident. Everything had matured normally, but her birth weight was less than six pounds: 5 lbs, 12 oz. Not only was her weight a bit under normal, but she was tiny all over. Like I said, completely normal (they watched her like a hawk for two years), but tiny. Her head was small, but not microcephalic, her shoulders were small, her hips were small. She had to wear preemie diapers and clothes for about a month.
And now this tiny baby girl is on her way - possibly - to have a (second) daughter of her own.
The wheel keeps turning.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Sick Day - and Gratuitous Baby Cuteness
Well. I guess the flu got me anyway.
By the time I went to bed two days ago, I was running a pretty good temp. I went ahead and emailed work - not coming in.
Crashed - kinda in and out all night - kept getting up and checking temp and taking ibuprofen all night.
Morning. Drag myself through getting Pooh Bear out of bed. One of those days when I wish there was someone else. But there isn't. Crash on the couch where she can see me if she needs me.
HOURS later I stumble around and get her lunch. Managed to get a load of laundry in the washer after mouldering on the floor all day. *ewwww* So. Crash again on the couch.
Suddenly, about 4pm it seems to be over. I'm up. I still have a bit of a runny nose and a HUGE headache. But the worst is suddenly gone.
**************
I got a packet of pictures in the mail of the new baby. A-DOR-A-BLE!! He's in a little elf outfit. Too cute!
There were a bunch more. But this is Oots. Maybe one day his nickname will make more sense.
By the time I went to bed two days ago, I was running a pretty good temp. I went ahead and emailed work - not coming in.
Crashed - kinda in and out all night - kept getting up and checking temp and taking ibuprofen all night.
Morning. Drag myself through getting Pooh Bear out of bed. One of those days when I wish there was someone else. But there isn't. Crash on the couch where she can see me if she needs me.
HOURS later I stumble around and get her lunch. Managed to get a load of laundry in the washer after mouldering on the floor all day. *ewwww* So. Crash again on the couch.
Suddenly, about 4pm it seems to be over. I'm up. I still have a bit of a runny nose and a HUGE headache. But the worst is suddenly gone.
**************
There were a bunch more. But this is Oots. Maybe one day his nickname will make more sense.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The bane of winter
All Baby Boy's babies have the flu. I woke up about 4am burning up and stuffy. So. Either the flu or a cold. Doesn't matter. I'm currently miserable.
Papaw left sometime during the night to have a "minor" outpatient spinal surgery. They would not do it unless he had a driver. I'm glad it wasn't me. Driving that is. Or having "minor" surgery. Or going to B'ham.
Ok, I did have a story, but you know what? Feeling crappy enough that I am not in the mood to tell.
Let this be an effort towards writing daily. Good luck with that. Crap had to spell "that" three times. Best to let it goooooo.
Papaw left sometime during the night to have a "minor" outpatient spinal surgery. They would not do it unless he had a driver. I'm glad it wasn't me. Driving that is. Or having "minor" surgery. Or going to B'ham.
Ok, I did have a story, but you know what? Feeling crappy enough that I am not in the mood to tell.
Let this be an effort towards writing daily. Good luck with that. Crap had to spell "that" three times. Best to let it goooooo.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Undermining Parental Authority - Lovey's Sacred Duty
"Mom. You are undermining my parental authority."
This is a phrase so oft repeated by my son that I no longer feel the need to respond. The daughters and Dilly (Daughter in law - DIL get it?) don't even bother. They have all learned the "mom" look, the one that - when the child in question looks from mom to Lovey - the look that clearly says, "You will continue on this path at risk of grave bodily harm to your person." Kids KNOW that look. They respect it.
They love to go up and down the stairs. I'm all for it. Sort of. I think they need the practice. Also, I DON'T want to go up and down the stairs, so I can send them up there to fetch and retrieve things. Mostly. Sometimes they forget to bring me what I sent them for.
The parents - MY KIDS - do NOT like to let them go up and down the stairs. They are terrified. As a matter of fact, my son and his wife moved out of a two-story townhouse because they were afraid Lulu would fall. I keep telling them that it would take only one time and they would learn to be careful. Probably.
Doodle had - maybe she still has, I just haven't seen it recently - a really bad habit of climbing the chairs to the kitchen table and running from one end to the other. That was mostly this summer. She was maybe 15 months old when she started, about the time she learned how to climb. She was/is QUICK, scary quick, as well. She could be in the living room, you walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, turn and she's running on the table. Less than 5 seconds.
One time I was babysitting Doodle when Turtle and Duchess came for a visit. Doodle was maybe 18 months, Duchess was three and a half. Thinking that with Turtle there, there was little risk of Doodle doing her table dancing act, I turned my back for just a second. Next thing I know, Doodle is doing laps on the table. (I think she must like it because it's big enough to seat ten - takes up the whole dining room. And I keep it bare - mostly because she is able to climb.)
Turtle and I both rushed to grab her, Doodle thinks we're playing KeepAway. After we've got her contained - again - and move all the chairs out of range (not that that will stop her, but it's a hurdle), Duchess remarks, clearly holding back a giggle, "That's very, very dangerous!" then ruins it by bursting into laughter.
Duchess, you are undermining Lovey's authority as well.
This is a phrase so oft repeated by my son that I no longer feel the need to respond. The daughters and Dilly (Daughter in law - DIL get it?) don't even bother. They have all learned the "mom" look, the one that - when the child in question looks from mom to Lovey - the look that clearly says, "You will continue on this path at risk of grave bodily harm to your person." Kids KNOW that look. They respect it.
They love to go up and down the stairs. I'm all for it. Sort of. I think they need the practice. Also, I DON'T want to go up and down the stairs, so I can send them up there to fetch and retrieve things. Mostly. Sometimes they forget to bring me what I sent them for.
The parents - MY KIDS - do NOT like to let them go up and down the stairs. They are terrified. As a matter of fact, my son and his wife moved out of a two-story townhouse because they were afraid Lulu would fall. I keep telling them that it would take only one time and they would learn to be careful. Probably.
Doodle had - maybe she still has, I just haven't seen it recently - a really bad habit of climbing the chairs to the kitchen table and running from one end to the other. That was mostly this summer. She was maybe 15 months old when she started, about the time she learned how to climb. She was/is QUICK, scary quick, as well. She could be in the living room, you walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, turn and she's running on the table. Less than 5 seconds.
One time I was babysitting Doodle when Turtle and Duchess came for a visit. Doodle was maybe 18 months, Duchess was three and a half. Thinking that with Turtle there, there was little risk of Doodle doing her table dancing act, I turned my back for just a second. Next thing I know, Doodle is doing laps on the table. (I think she must like it because it's big enough to seat ten - takes up the whole dining room. And I keep it bare - mostly because she is able to climb.)
Turtle and I both rushed to grab her, Doodle thinks we're playing KeepAway. After we've got her contained - again - and move all the chairs out of range (not that that will stop her, but it's a hurdle), Duchess remarks, clearly holding back a giggle, "That's very, very dangerous!" then ruins it by bursting into laughter.
Duchess, you are undermining Lovey's authority as well.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Aaaaand we're back at work..
Now I get it. Hard to find ANYthing positive to write about, much less have the time, when I'm back at work. I think of a thousand things a day to write about but by the time I get home and have a moment, I've lost interest. I guess that's why some people update their blogs on their cell phones and whatnot.
Happy New Year to all! Yesterday was the first time in years I totally broke with all my New Year's traditions. No resolutions. Didn't create or eat the annual "good luck" meal. Yeah, I'm probably going to burn for that one. I did laundry - my husband would not let me do laundry on New Year's Day, some kind of bad luck thing, I don't know what for sure. Maybe it was just a tradition born of his mother or grandmother wanting to have a day off, way back when. Whatever the case, laundry needed to be done so I did it.
Turtle and the Duchess came for a visit. Really very nice. Duchess kept telling me, "We will have a party and I am almost four years old!" and "Lovey, you are my best friend!" Really, can a New Year start better than that?
Turtle told me a little heartwarmer that happened on the way to Lovey's house. Duchess had been chattering about parties and Christmas and fun at Lovey's house. When she grew quiet, Turtle got a little alarmed (Duchess has a tendency to get carsick) and asked, "Sweetie, are you okay?"
Duchess turned to her with a look of serenity and contentment and said on a sigh, "I'm just so happy.."
Rare moment.
And now for the bad news: I'm on call for the weekend. The co-worker who was SUPPOSED to be on-call for the weekend had some phone issues (Turtle was calling BULL! but *sigh* what could I do?) so I agreed to take it for him. The calls have not been that bad but people, PEOPLE, sometimes I hate dealing with people - unreasonable, snarly, snide.
For example, I had two calls yesterday, back-to-back, with nearly the same issue. Phone line problems, or could be a bad phone. I am only required to dispatch a field tech if the phone doesn't work at all, but in both cases it was an issue with house wiring, and the phone was working if it was directly connected.
CALL ONE:
Me: Connect the phone directly to the device. Do you have dial tone?
Nice Customer: Yes, it's working now.
Me: If you would like for us to come out and check your house wiring, please call the office Monday morning and schedule an appointment.
Nice Customer: Thank you! We'll do that. At least we have a working phone!
CALL TWO:
Me: Connect the phone directly to the device. Do you have dial tone?
Bitchy Customer: No.
Me: (Looking at the diagnostics, I can tell she hasn't made any changes) You need to disconnect the line on the device and connect a phone directly to it.
BC: I can't do that, you need to send someone.
Me: (I know she CAN disconnect the line, we had already been through that step) If I send a tech on a holiday, you will be charged. I'm just trying to help you avoid any additional charges.
BC: There better not be any charges on my account! This phone been like this since I got it!
Me: (Checking records, I see that she has had the service for over three years and this is the first time there is a record of a bad phone line call) *SIGH* I understand, but I do have to warn you. I am not responsible for charges but accounting will put charges on your account if they see that I've sent a tech out there. Now, please connect a phone directly to the device and let's check for dial tone.
BC: But then I won't have a phone in my livin' room!
The fact that you have a cheap crap cordless phone that is messing up the internal lines is NOT an emergency. Just saying.
Also, the fact that a customer has TIME on a holiday that he normally doesn't, does NOT mean I want to hang out and chat. If I ask, what can I do to help you? Do not ask if I'm having a happy new year. Duh! I'm WORKING what do you think? I'm also not going to take an extended amount of time to help you set up the XBox/Playstation/IPad you got for Christmas. Not when you've had an entire week to call during business hours and didn't.
One last thing: If you call me on Saturday night at 9pm and open with, "It's been doing this for a couple of weeks now...." Guess what? It's probably going to have to suffer until Monday. Really? Couple of weeks? And you don't want to troubleshoot, you want me to send someone on a rainy Saturday night JUST BECAUSE you just now have time to deal with it? I think not.
I hate being on call.
Happy New Year to all! Yesterday was the first time in years I totally broke with all my New Year's traditions. No resolutions. Didn't create or eat the annual "good luck" meal. Yeah, I'm probably going to burn for that one. I did laundry - my husband would not let me do laundry on New Year's Day, some kind of bad luck thing, I don't know what for sure. Maybe it was just a tradition born of his mother or grandmother wanting to have a day off, way back when. Whatever the case, laundry needed to be done so I did it.
*********************************
Turtle and the Duchess came for a visit. Really very nice. Duchess kept telling me, "We will have a party and I am almost four years old!" and "Lovey, you are my best friend!" Really, can a New Year start better than that?
Turtle told me a little heartwarmer that happened on the way to Lovey's house. Duchess had been chattering about parties and Christmas and fun at Lovey's house. When she grew quiet, Turtle got a little alarmed (Duchess has a tendency to get carsick) and asked, "Sweetie, are you okay?"
Duchess turned to her with a look of serenity and contentment and said on a sigh, "I'm just so happy.."
Rare moment.
***********************
And now for the bad news: I'm on call for the weekend. The co-worker who was SUPPOSED to be on-call for the weekend had some phone issues (Turtle was calling BULL! but *sigh* what could I do?) so I agreed to take it for him. The calls have not been that bad but people, PEOPLE, sometimes I hate dealing with people - unreasonable, snarly, snide.
For example, I had two calls yesterday, back-to-back, with nearly the same issue. Phone line problems, or could be a bad phone. I am only required to dispatch a field tech if the phone doesn't work at all, but in both cases it was an issue with house wiring, and the phone was working if it was directly connected.
CALL ONE:
Me: Connect the phone directly to the device. Do you have dial tone?
Nice Customer: Yes, it's working now.
Me: If you would like for us to come out and check your house wiring, please call the office Monday morning and schedule an appointment.
Nice Customer: Thank you! We'll do that. At least we have a working phone!
CALL TWO:
Me: Connect the phone directly to the device. Do you have dial tone?
Bitchy Customer: No.
Me: (Looking at the diagnostics, I can tell she hasn't made any changes) You need to disconnect the line on the device and connect a phone directly to it.
BC: I can't do that, you need to send someone.
Me: (I know she CAN disconnect the line, we had already been through that step) If I send a tech on a holiday, you will be charged. I'm just trying to help you avoid any additional charges.
BC: There better not be any charges on my account! This phone been like this since I got it!
Me: (Checking records, I see that she has had the service for over three years and this is the first time there is a record of a bad phone line call) *SIGH* I understand, but I do have to warn you. I am not responsible for charges but accounting will put charges on your account if they see that I've sent a tech out there. Now, please connect a phone directly to the device and let's check for dial tone.
BC: But then I won't have a phone in my livin' room!
The fact that you have a cheap crap cordless phone that is messing up the internal lines is NOT an emergency. Just saying.
Also, the fact that a customer has TIME on a holiday that he normally doesn't, does NOT mean I want to hang out and chat. If I ask, what can I do to help you? Do not ask if I'm having a happy new year. Duh! I'm WORKING what do you think? I'm also not going to take an extended amount of time to help you set up the XBox/Playstation/IPad you got for Christmas. Not when you've had an entire week to call during business hours and didn't.
One last thing: If you call me on Saturday night at 9pm and open with, "It's been doing this for a couple of weeks now...." Guess what? It's probably going to have to suffer until Monday. Really? Couple of weeks? And you don't want to troubleshoot, you want me to send someone on a rainy Saturday night JUST BECAUSE you just now have time to deal with it? I think not.
I hate being on call.
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