NBO have just been incredibly sweet little angels the past couple of days, which means I have nothing to write about! (Hmmm, guess I'd better start feeding them more sugar, or start buying syrup again, or do something very brave, like take them out in public). So since I didn't have anything to write about them today, I thought I would share a recent post from my other blog, The Family Matters Mom. If you haven't, I would love for you to check it out, and maybe even become a follower. As always, thanks for reading!
familymattersmom.blogspot.com
Showing posts with label syrup and peanut butter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label syrup and peanut butter. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Customer Service...anyone?
Don't you just love a good customer service experience? It seems like it doesn't happen as often as it used to. In one of my first jobs, I had wonderful bosses named Ted and Deb. Ted and Deb taught us, by example, that it was important to keep the service in customer service, since after all, that's what we were providing (well, through the sales of ice cream, lobster rolls, and chicken patty sandwiches). At the same time, they also taught us by example that the customer did not always have to be right. If a customer was being rude or completely unreasonable, it was OK to get one of your bosses so that they could diplomatically tell the customer where to go to, um, find what it was they were looking for. Over twenty years later, I still find this to be an incredibly valuable life skill.
These days, my time for making phone calls is limited. In fact, I only call customer service numbers when there is absolutely no other way to resolve an issue, since I know that it's close to impossible to resolve something over the phone with two or three kidsscreaming, fighting, repeatedly calling my name, or having a syrup and peanut butter party happily playing in the background. Recently, though, I called the cable company and made changes to save money on our monthly bill. They were so amazing over the phone and were more than happy to save us money. But then I got my bill, and it wasn't exactly what they said it would be. There were some undisclosed charges to make these changes, as well as a difference in the amount that they had told me. So, I did something very brave and called them, with the kids screaming happily playing in the background. I explained the issue, and the first person I spoke to said that, while all of those charges were, according to them, valid, they would give me a twenty-five dollar credit "to resolve the issue". Now, some days I would take the twenty-five dollar credit and be done. But the actual amount in question was thirty-five, and that particular day, I just wasn't going to take the twenty-five dollar credit. Plus, I know when I am being paid to go away--something I would happily do if they were actually paying me the amount in question. But they weren't. So I asked nicely to speak with a manager, who was, I'm pretty sure, sixteen.
The sixteen-year-old manager clearly never had anyone like Ted or Deb as a boss, because he was, among other things, incredibly rude. He told me that all of the charges were valid and that I didn't get the information about additional charges because I didn't ask for that information. But after going around and around with him, with B and Oscreaming and tearing the house apart happily playing around me, I realized that it felt like, well, arguing with a teenager, and that I just did not have one more second to waste on this. I nicely said "I don't agree with this, but just go ahead and give me the twenty-five dollar credit and we'll call it a day". And sixteen-year-old manager boy on a power trip said "Well, I can't do that. That was to resolve the problem. Once you asked to speak with a manager, that offer no longer stood."
I can't really explain what happened after that, other than that I decided that I was done being nice to rude sixteen-year-old manager boy on a power trip. I told him his customer service skills were a joke. I told him we would be switching to another company. I told him his lack of professionalism was appalling. And then, because in a moment of weakness I apparently decided to stoop to his sixteen-year-old level, I told him, rather loudly, that his cable company and their so called customer service sucked. Then there was a pause. A really long pause. I was about to hang up, when he said "Ma'am, um, I can't close your account over the phone today. If you call back, we can handle that in our customer service department". I hung up. I did not call back. I sent a rather pointed e-mailwhere I may have happened to mention a blog I have where I write about these types of things and I may have implied that said blog has a much larger readership than it actually does and explained the issue, did not get a satisfactory response, and eventually I got over it.
Today, in the mail, I got a cable bill. Low and behold, it has a twenty five dollar credit. Huh. I wonder how that happened. Who knows what conversation took place before someone decided to issue that credit, but I'm guessing it was along the lines of, "Give her the credit. She's crazy".
Yesterday, I had a slightly different kind of experience-- one where I was floored by how helpful the company was trying to be. After our refrigerator motor caught on fire a few weeks ago, I sent an email to the manufacturer, making them aware that a fridge we bought in 2001, a two door model with a top freezer, had caught on fire a week earlier. I wanted to make them aware in case they needed to notify other customers, especially since the man who delivered our new fridge mentioned that he had seen this happen before. Here is part of the response from them:
Thank you for contacting our Customer Experience Center. We regret the incident described in your email. Please provide the information requested below, retain the refrigerator, and disconnect the power to the appliance (unplug or flip the circuit breaker off), do not attempt to operate the unit, and advise all household users not to attempt to operate the unit until it is inspected and deemed safe to operate or repaired/restored to safe operating condition.We appreciate your taking time to write. Please return this email and provide the following: address where appliance is located,
model number from appliance model/serial tag, date of purchase from purchase receipt, dealer (name only) where purchased.
Wow! How helpful are they?! And they even told me to unplug the fridge. Thank God for that. Otherwise, I might still be sitting here with a burned out refrigerator STILL PLUGGED IN...while my home was in ashes around it. If only I had retained the refrigerator, so they could have come and examined it. Darn, wish I would have known. I would have just kept it next to the new one. Of course, I'd have to tell my three children to NOT OPERATE THE UNIT UNTIL IT CAN BE RESTORED TO SAFE OPERATING CONDITION. And by the way kids, don't worry about the fact that the motor caught on fire. I'm sure they can just fix that. They were trying to be helpful though, so I thought the least I could do was respond to their email. So I did:
Hi-
I bought the refrigerator from (XYZ Dept Store) 10 yrs ago. Since it was ten years ago, I do not have the rest of the info on the model, nor do I have the receipt, since, after all, it was ten years ago. While I appreciate your specific instructions, we decided that we should probably unplug the model when it caught on fire. Actually, the fire department helped us with that decision. And, since it caught on fire, we decided it was probably just a good idea to get a new one. I would love to give you the address of its current location, but it is now gone from our home since, you know, it caught on fire. We had it sitting out front for a few days, but the neighbors weren't really liking that, so it's gone now. Thanks for your interest in helping us.
I don't know if that was the right email to send. I mean, I could have at least included the address of the local dump in case they want to go look for it. I guess I could have been a little nicer and not so sarcastic. But really, I think I handled it well. It's not like I told them their appliances suck.
Give me some credit. That would have been crazy.
These days, my time for making phone calls is limited. In fact, I only call customer service numbers when there is absolutely no other way to resolve an issue, since I know that it's close to impossible to resolve something over the phone with two or three kids
The sixteen-year-old manager clearly never had anyone like Ted or Deb as a boss, because he was, among other things, incredibly rude. He told me that all of the charges were valid and that I didn't get the information about additional charges because I didn't ask for that information. But after going around and around with him, with B and O
I can't really explain what happened after that, other than that I decided that I was done being nice to rude sixteen-year-old manager boy on a power trip. I told him his customer service skills were a joke. I told him we would be switching to another company. I told him his lack of professionalism was appalling. And then, because in a moment of weakness I apparently decided to stoop to his sixteen-year-old level, I told him, rather loudly, that his cable company and their so called customer service sucked. Then there was a pause. A really long pause. I was about to hang up, when he said "Ma'am, um, I can't close your account over the phone today. If you call back, we can handle that in our customer service department". I hung up. I did not call back. I sent a rather pointed e-mail
Today, in the mail, I got a cable bill. Low and behold, it has a twenty five dollar credit. Huh. I wonder how that happened. Who knows what conversation took place before someone decided to issue that credit, but I'm guessing it was along the lines of, "Give her the credit. She's crazy".
Yesterday, I had a slightly different kind of experience-- one where I was floored by how helpful the company was trying to be. After our refrigerator motor caught on fire a few weeks ago, I sent an email to the manufacturer, making them aware that a fridge we bought in 2001, a two door model with a top freezer, had caught on fire a week earlier. I wanted to make them aware in case they needed to notify other customers, especially since the man who delivered our new fridge mentioned that he had seen this happen before. Here is part of the response from them:
Thank you for contacting our Customer Experience Center. We regret the incident described in your email. Please provide the information requested below, retain the refrigerator, and disconnect the power to the appliance (unplug or flip the circuit breaker off), do not attempt to operate the unit, and advise all household users not to attempt to operate the unit until it is inspected and deemed safe to operate or repaired/restored to safe operating condition.We appreciate your taking time to write. Please return this email and provide the following: address where appliance is located,
model number from appliance model/serial tag, date of purchase from purchase receipt, dealer (name only) where purchased.
Wow! How helpful are they?! And they even told me to unplug the fridge. Thank God for that. Otherwise, I might still be sitting here with a burned out refrigerator STILL PLUGGED IN...while my home was in ashes around it. If only I had retained the refrigerator, so they could have come and examined it. Darn, wish I would have known. I would have just kept it next to the new one. Of course, I'd have to tell my three children to NOT OPERATE THE UNIT UNTIL IT CAN BE RESTORED TO SAFE OPERATING CONDITION. And by the way kids, don't worry about the fact that the motor caught on fire. I'm sure they can just fix that. They were trying to be helpful though, so I thought the least I could do was respond to their email. So I did:
Hi-
I bought the refrigerator from (XYZ Dept Store) 10 yrs ago. Since it was ten years ago, I do not have the rest of the info on the model, nor do I have the receipt, since, after all, it was ten years ago. While I appreciate your specific instructions, we decided that we should probably unplug the model when it caught on fire. Actually, the fire department helped us with that decision. And, since it caught on fire, we decided it was probably just a good idea to get a new one. I would love to give you the address of its current location, but it is now gone from our home since, you know, it caught on fire. We had it sitting out front for a few days, but the neighbors weren't really liking that, so it's gone now. Thanks for your interest in helping us.
I don't know if that was the right email to send. I mean, I could have at least included the address of the local dump in case they want to go look for it. I guess I could have been a little nicer and not so sarcastic. But really, I think I handled it well. It's not like I told them their appliances suck.
Give me some credit. That would have been crazy.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Don't be a Leader...Be a Follower!
"I have found the paradox that, if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."
Mother Teresa said that. I love Mother Teresa., Who doesn't? I mean, she's Mother Teresa. I love that quote, too, and I often think that's what I should be aspiring to. And some days, I do. Aspire to it, that is. Usually I fail miserably. I am too focused on other things to think about how I should be loving people more. I should probably work on that. Speaking of the other things I am focused on, we have our own version of this quote in our house. It goes like this:
"I have found that, if you scrub syrup off the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling, until you think there can't possibly be more syrup, there will still be more syrup."
There's another quote I think about alot. It's this one:
"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow.
Don't walk behind me, I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend".
I've always loved that quote. With NBO, though, it's a little different. In our house, it's more like this:
"Don't walk in front of me, I'm likely to push you down the stairs.
Don't walk behind me, you're likely to step in the pieces of banana I just dropped.
And, come to think of it, don't walk beside me either, cause I'm gonna hit you and tell you to get away from me".
In spite of this, or maybe because of it, I hope my kids won't be followers, unless they are following something or someone good. And I hope that, if they are leaders, they will lead in a good direction. N, as the oldest, already shows great leadership potential. I'm just a little afraid of what might happen to the people who have the audacity not to follow her. And B, well, I think he's probably a good leader, too. I'm just nervous about what exactly he will lead people into. O, as the youngest, may very well be a follower, at least until he comes into his own. He's pretty used to following N and B. Sometimes this is good, and sometimes it is very,very frightening. My guess is, like most of us, they will each have times of being leaders and times of being followers. Hopefully, though, whether they are at the front of the line, or the back, or somewhere in the middle, they will be going in the right direction.
And that brings me to you. Yes, YOU! I would love for you to be a follower--it's not always a bad thing! So, if you like what you read here, please consider clicking on that "join this site" button on the right hand side of my page. You don't even have to use your real name! I can't promise that I will always lead you in the right direction, but I can promise that you will smile, laugh, or at least breathe a sigh of relief that you are only reading about my life, and not living it. At some point, I may stop linking this from facebook, as I sometimes wonder if I am being annoying to the people who don't want to read this. And, selfishly, I like to know that people are reading. Either way, as always, thanks for reading!
The decision, of course, is yours.
After all, you can lead a camel to water, but you can't make him drink.
Or, in this case, I can lead you to tequila, but I can't make you lick it off the floor.
Mother Teresa said that. I love Mother Teresa., Who doesn't? I mean, she's Mother Teresa. I love that quote, too, and I often think that's what I should be aspiring to. And some days, I do. Aspire to it, that is. Usually I fail miserably. I am too focused on other things to think about how I should be loving people more. I should probably work on that. Speaking of the other things I am focused on, we have our own version of this quote in our house. It goes like this:
"I have found that, if you scrub syrup off the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling, until you think there can't possibly be more syrup, there will still be more syrup."
There's another quote I think about alot. It's this one:
"Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow.
Don't walk behind me, I may not lead.
Just walk beside me and be my friend".
I've always loved that quote. With NBO, though, it's a little different. In our house, it's more like this:
"Don't walk in front of me, I'm likely to push you down the stairs.
Don't walk behind me, you're likely to step in the pieces of banana I just dropped.
And, come to think of it, don't walk beside me either, cause I'm gonna hit you and tell you to get away from me".
In spite of this, or maybe because of it, I hope my kids won't be followers, unless they are following something or someone good. And I hope that, if they are leaders, they will lead in a good direction. N, as the oldest, already shows great leadership potential. I'm just a little afraid of what might happen to the people who have the audacity not to follow her. And B, well, I think he's probably a good leader, too. I'm just nervous about what exactly he will lead people into. O, as the youngest, may very well be a follower, at least until he comes into his own. He's pretty used to following N and B. Sometimes this is good, and sometimes it is very,very frightening. My guess is, like most of us, they will each have times of being leaders and times of being followers. Hopefully, though, whether they are at the front of the line, or the back, or somewhere in the middle, they will be going in the right direction.
And that brings me to you. Yes, YOU! I would love for you to be a follower--it's not always a bad thing! So, if you like what you read here, please consider clicking on that "join this site" button on the right hand side of my page. You don't even have to use your real name! I can't promise that I will always lead you in the right direction, but I can promise that you will smile, laugh, or at least breathe a sigh of relief that you are only reading about my life, and not living it. At some point, I may stop linking this from facebook, as I sometimes wonder if I am being annoying to the people who don't want to read this. And, selfishly, I like to know that people are reading. Either way, as always, thanks for reading!
The decision, of course, is yours.
After all, you can lead a camel to water, but you can't make him drink.
Or, in this case, I can lead you to tequila, but I can't make you lick it off the floor.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Judgement Day
Sometimes it feels like every day is judgement day when you're a mom....
When N was three, she started taking dance. B was an infant, and, for most of the first year at least, I would take her to class and sit in the waiting room, rocking B in his carrier, drinking coffee, and talking to other moms. I remember thinking , "Well this isn't bad. I can do this". This week, as I took N to dance, B and O were with me, as they always are unless Jimmy happens to get home from work early that day. This week, as I thought back to how it was that first year that N took dance, I realized that this was one of those occasions where a previous thought comes back to bite you in the...um, arm.
N goes to a great dance studio, that is just a little on the small side. There's not a lot of room in the waiting area. This is sometimes difficult for B and O, because while N is doing something that she loves just in the other room, they don't really get to do the things that they love. For example, jumping from chair to chair is not encouraged. Standing at the door watching the dancers and doing your own dance while screaming "Hi N!!" is not encouraged. Running and screaming in the waiting room-- not encouraged. Continually filling up and pouring out cups of water from the water cooler--also not encouraged. All of this is, of course, completely understandable, but as you can see, some of B and O's favorite activities are highly frowned upon. That does not, however, prevent them from participating in them anyway. Usually, though, we manage to keep the disruption to a minimum. This week, for some reason, we did not. B was restless. O was restless. I was tired from spending much of the previous day cleaning up syrup and peanut butter. Although I read to them, distracted them with toys, and took frequent breaksto the bar next door to let them run around outside, it was clearly not enough.
When we came in from outside toward the end of the class, B decided he was fascinated with the long vertical blinds in the picture window. I asked him nicely not to touch. He ignored me. I told him firmly not to touch. He ignored me. I did the best mean mommy voice I could, considering we were in a small waiting room surrounded by other people. He ignored me. Instead, he gave the blinds a yank. I didn't see or hear anything fall, though it's possible that something did fall and I missed it because, after all, I was also chasing O during this time. After a moment, when we had moved on to other things, an older woman who was there with her grand-daughter came over, started fidgeting with the blinds, and said, "Oh here, let me help you fix that". Help me fix that? Hmmmm. While I appreciated the, um, helpfulness, I had to wonder... are you sure the word for this is helpful? Cause it just didn't feel all that helpful from my end. It felt like...something other than helpfulness. Several thoughts went through my mind, but I decided that maybe, like beauty, helpfulness is in the eye of the beholder, and I put a smile on my face that clearly said, "Whatever".
B eventually settled down and even shared his cars from home with another little boy. As N's class ended, I asked B to nicely ask for his car back since we were leaving soon. He did--very nicely- and the little boy looked at him and said ,"NO". B came back to me to report. "Mom, he said he's not giving it back.". "It's OK, B, " I told him. "Just ask him again nicely", I said a little louder this time, just in case his mom had missed the first exchange. And B walked calmly back to him, and said in his loudest three-year-old tough guy voice, "HEY! YOU GIVE ME MY CAR BACK RIGHT NOW!". "B, not like that". I told him. The little boy's mom glared at me. Maybe I'm supposed to make B apologize, I thought. That might be the right thing to do. But he did ask nicely the first time. I no longer knew what the right thing to do was. What I did know was that it was hot, crowded, my kids were out of control, we were all getting hungry, and I wanted to leave. More than anything. I also knew that trying to make B apologize for yelling at someone who just refused to give him back his own toy was not going to end well. So I just smiled. Whatever.
We finallyescaped left with some shred of our dignity in tact, though I'm quite sure we were the talk of several dinner tables that night. I was feeling somewhat defeated as I took NBO to the grocery store to pick up a few things. O started grabbing everything out of the cart and throwing it. I put it in. He took it out. I told him to put it back. He ignored me and threw it. N would pick it up, unless B got it first, in which case it turned into a game of catch in the frozen food aisle. I would then tell B to put it back in the cart. He would ignore me. You get the picture.
We had been playing this game for fifteen minutes or so and I knew it was time to get out of there, when O threw a pint ofBen and Jerrys frozen broccoli onto the floor, and B grabbed it before N could. B ran to the opposite end of the aisle, and threw that ice cream broccoli back to us as hard as he could. Wow. What a great arm that child has. He's clearly picked something up from watching football with daddy.
I don't think the couple that turned the corner at that exact moment appreciated what a great arm B has, though. No, theice cream broccoli didn't hit them. However, their disdain was pretty apparent. It was quite obvious that they were appalled by the scene they had stumbled upon: a toddler emptying the contents of our cart onto the floor, his three-year-old brother using the frozen food aisle as his personal football field, and their sister and now nearly deranged mother watching, laughing, and doing absolutely nothing about it.
OK--maybe it wasn't entirely appropriate for me to give B a high five and tell him what a great throw that was. Whatever.
When N was three, she started taking dance. B was an infant, and, for most of the first year at least, I would take her to class and sit in the waiting room, rocking B in his carrier, drinking coffee, and talking to other moms. I remember thinking , "Well this isn't bad. I can do this". This week, as I took N to dance, B and O were with me, as they always are unless Jimmy happens to get home from work early that day. This week, as I thought back to how it was that first year that N took dance, I realized that this was one of those occasions where a previous thought comes back to bite you in the...um, arm.
N goes to a great dance studio, that is just a little on the small side. There's not a lot of room in the waiting area. This is sometimes difficult for B and O, because while N is doing something that she loves just in the other room, they don't really get to do the things that they love. For example, jumping from chair to chair is not encouraged. Standing at the door watching the dancers and doing your own dance while screaming "Hi N!!" is not encouraged. Running and screaming in the waiting room-- not encouraged. Continually filling up and pouring out cups of water from the water cooler--also not encouraged. All of this is, of course, completely understandable, but as you can see, some of B and O's favorite activities are highly frowned upon. That does not, however, prevent them from participating in them anyway. Usually, though, we manage to keep the disruption to a minimum. This week, for some reason, we did not. B was restless. O was restless. I was tired from spending much of the previous day cleaning up syrup and peanut butter. Although I read to them, distracted them with toys, and took frequent breaks
When we came in from outside toward the end of the class, B decided he was fascinated with the long vertical blinds in the picture window. I asked him nicely not to touch. He ignored me. I told him firmly not to touch. He ignored me. I did the best mean mommy voice I could, considering we were in a small waiting room surrounded by other people. He ignored me. Instead, he gave the blinds a yank. I didn't see or hear anything fall, though it's possible that something did fall and I missed it because, after all, I was also chasing O during this time. After a moment, when we had moved on to other things, an older woman who was there with her grand-daughter came over, started fidgeting with the blinds, and said, "Oh here, let me help you fix that". Help me fix that? Hmmmm. While I appreciated the, um, helpfulness, I had to wonder... are you sure the word for this is helpful? Cause it just didn't feel all that helpful from my end. It felt like...something other than helpfulness. Several thoughts went through my mind, but I decided that maybe, like beauty, helpfulness is in the eye of the beholder, and I put a smile on my face that clearly said, "Whatever".
B eventually settled down and even shared his cars from home with another little boy. As N's class ended, I asked B to nicely ask for his car back since we were leaving soon. He did--very nicely- and the little boy looked at him and said ,"NO". B came back to me to report. "Mom, he said he's not giving it back.". "It's OK, B, " I told him. "Just ask him again nicely", I said a little louder this time, just in case his mom had missed the first exchange. And B walked calmly back to him, and said in his loudest three-year-old tough guy voice, "HEY! YOU GIVE ME MY CAR BACK RIGHT NOW!". "B, not like that". I told him. The little boy's mom glared at me. Maybe I'm supposed to make B apologize, I thought. That might be the right thing to do. But he did ask nicely the first time. I no longer knew what the right thing to do was. What I did know was that it was hot, crowded, my kids were out of control, we were all getting hungry, and I wanted to leave. More than anything. I also knew that trying to make B apologize for yelling at someone who just refused to give him back his own toy was not going to end well. So I just smiled. Whatever.
We finally
We had been playing this game for fifteen minutes or so and I knew it was time to get out of there, when O threw a pint of
I don't think the couple that turned the corner at that exact moment appreciated what a great arm B has, though. No, the
OK--maybe it wasn't entirely appropriate for me to give B a high five and tell him what a great throw that was. Whatever.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Sticky Situation
There's not much I miss about my life before kids. Yesterday, though, I was reminded of something that I do miss. I really miss being allowed to be sick.
There is no good time to be sick, but at least before kids, I was allowed to be sick once in a while. Call in sick, and back to bed with tea and Jerry Springer. Oh wait, this is one of those tricky grammatical situations where one or two words changes the whole meaning. Let me clarify: I actually have an extremely low tolerance for Jerry Springer. It depresses me and makes me sad for the future of our country. But before kids, I at least had the option of watching Jerry Springer. Not anymore. So when I woke up yesterday with every part of my body aching, I knew it probably wasn't going to be a great day. (For the record: I admire those of you whose motto is "Make it a Great Day!". However, I am a realist. Some days are just not going to be all that great. On these days, my personal mottos include: "Make it a Survivable Day", "Make it a Day Where No One Gets Hurt", and "Make it a Day Where I Don't Want to Drown Myself in a Vat of Whiskey.")
I struggled through breakfast, wondering if I could somehow make waffles and lay on the couch at the same time. When everyone had eaten, I retired to the couch with the new comforter that my sister gave me for Christmas. I love this comforter. It is my new best friend. And yes, she gave it to me. I do not have to share it with anyone. And I don't. Not even Jimmy. And yesterday, I really loved it. If I didn't have the option of watching mindless grown-up TV, at least I had my new, warm, incredibly fluffy comforter.
I was vaguely aware that there was chaos going on around me, but I felt powerless to stop it. So, I encouraged lots of mindless kid TV and fortunately, N was off school and could alert me when her brothers' antics were turning dangerous by screaming "MMMMOOOOOOOOMMMMM" loud enough to burst my eardrums, which were already aching like every other part of my body.
I struggled through lunch. I can't tell you what they had for lunch, but it was something edible, and I know that preparing it required me to leave my couch and comforter for some period of time. I struggled through diaper changes--struggled really being the key word here--and I think one of my three children may have gotten dressed at some point yesterday.
I finally decided that a shower was in order, though I wasn't really sure I could make myself leave my couch and comforter again. Eventually, I made my way upstairs and discovered that the hot water made things stop aching. This caused me to take a longer shower than usual. Well, that, and the fact that I think I may have briefly fallen asleep in there. When I heard N say in a very controlled, yet very angry voice "You...Had...Better..Put...That...Down...Now.", I thought I should probably get out. Wow. She does a really good angry voice. This is not good. I make a mental note to watch my tone and/or start taking xanax. When I heard her add a not so controlled "NOW!", I was afraid of what I was going to find. And I should have been.
I threw on clothes--well, as much as you can "throw" on clothes when everything is starting to ache again--and was looking forward to returning to my couch and comforter. As I came downstairs, I immediately noticed a strong smell of....something sweet. I couldn't place it immediately. But as I stepped in something sticky, I realized that it was syrup. N and B love syrup. N and B love it so much in fact, that they lick it off of their plates. (No, I don't LET them do this. I let them do very little. That doesn't mean they don't do it). Until yesterday, O hadn't had syrup. I'm pretty sure he loves it now, too.
Although I was now standing in a puddle of syrup, I still couldn't figure out why the smell was so strong. Until I looked around. And realized that there was syrup everywhere. Living Room floor: syrup. Kitchen Floor: Syrup. Kitchen walls: syrup. kitchen door: cap from bottle of syrup. Stuck to door with...syrup. O: syrup (I had remembered to put him in his pack and play. But if you can't go to the syrup, apparently the syrup comes to you). B's hair: syrup...and something else. I smell his head and realize that peanut butter had also been involved. There has been a peanut butter and syrup party while I was in the shower. N is trying to fill me in on B's escapades while I am walking around, finding more puddles of syrup. I want to cry. And then I remember my comforter, and pray that the syrup hasn't made it that far. To my shock, there isn't a drop. Thank you God.
So, while I really wanted--needed-- to be on the couch with my new syrup-free comforter, I was scrubbing syrup and peanut butter off the floors, the walls, the doors, and my children, while I was also sweating, wondering if I was going to pass out, and thinking that syrup and peanut butter really smell pretty gross together. As I found a puddle next to the trash can, I thought of N and B's love for syrup, and hoped no one had licked any off the floor. And then, when I thought I was done and found yet another puddle, I thought, why would that have been a bad thing, exactly?
Come to find out, yesterday was National Peanut Butter Day. They were just celebrating! And National Maple Syrup Day was December 17th, but we didn't know that then. Thus the joint celebration yesterday. I briefly thought of banning all future celebrations, but that just wouldn't be right. In fact, we should celebrate more.
National Margarita Day is February 22nd, but I'm just going to start a little early. If you're looking for me, I'll be licking the tequila off the floor.
There is no good time to be sick, but at least before kids, I was allowed to be sick once in a while. Call in sick, and back to bed with tea and Jerry Springer. Oh wait, this is one of those tricky grammatical situations where one or two words changes the whole meaning. Let me clarify: I actually have an extremely low tolerance for Jerry Springer. It depresses me and makes me sad for the future of our country. But before kids, I at least had the option of watching Jerry Springer. Not anymore. So when I woke up yesterday with every part of my body aching, I knew it probably wasn't going to be a great day. (For the record: I admire those of you whose motto is "Make it a Great Day!". However, I am a realist. Some days are just not going to be all that great. On these days, my personal mottos include: "Make it a Survivable Day", "Make it a Day Where No One Gets Hurt", and "Make it a Day Where I Don't Want to Drown Myself in a Vat of Whiskey.")
I struggled through breakfast, wondering if I could somehow make waffles and lay on the couch at the same time. When everyone had eaten, I retired to the couch with the new comforter that my sister gave me for Christmas. I love this comforter. It is my new best friend. And yes, she gave it to me. I do not have to share it with anyone. And I don't. Not even Jimmy. And yesterday, I really loved it. If I didn't have the option of watching mindless grown-up TV, at least I had my new, warm, incredibly fluffy comforter.
I was vaguely aware that there was chaos going on around me, but I felt powerless to stop it. So, I encouraged lots of mindless kid TV and fortunately, N was off school and could alert me when her brothers' antics were turning dangerous by screaming "MMMMOOOOOOOOMMMMM" loud enough to burst my eardrums, which were already aching like every other part of my body.
I struggled through lunch. I can't tell you what they had for lunch, but it was something edible, and I know that preparing it required me to leave my couch and comforter for some period of time. I struggled through diaper changes--struggled really being the key word here--and I think one of my three children may have gotten dressed at some point yesterday.
I finally decided that a shower was in order, though I wasn't really sure I could make myself leave my couch and comforter again. Eventually, I made my way upstairs and discovered that the hot water made things stop aching. This caused me to take a longer shower than usual. Well, that, and the fact that I think I may have briefly fallen asleep in there. When I heard N say in a very controlled, yet very angry voice "You...Had...Better..Put...That...Down...Now.", I thought I should probably get out. Wow. She does a really good angry voice. This is not good. I make a mental note to watch my tone and/or start taking xanax. When I heard her add a not so controlled "NOW!", I was afraid of what I was going to find. And I should have been.
I threw on clothes--well, as much as you can "throw" on clothes when everything is starting to ache again--and was looking forward to returning to my couch and comforter. As I came downstairs, I immediately noticed a strong smell of....something sweet. I couldn't place it immediately. But as I stepped in something sticky, I realized that it was syrup. N and B love syrup. N and B love it so much in fact, that they lick it off of their plates. (No, I don't LET them do this. I let them do very little. That doesn't mean they don't do it). Until yesterday, O hadn't had syrup. I'm pretty sure he loves it now, too.
Although I was now standing in a puddle of syrup, I still couldn't figure out why the smell was so strong. Until I looked around. And realized that there was syrup everywhere. Living Room floor: syrup. Kitchen Floor: Syrup. Kitchen walls: syrup. kitchen door: cap from bottle of syrup. Stuck to door with...syrup. O: syrup (I had remembered to put him in his pack and play. But if you can't go to the syrup, apparently the syrup comes to you). B's hair: syrup...and something else. I smell his head and realize that peanut butter had also been involved. There has been a peanut butter and syrup party while I was in the shower. N is trying to fill me in on B's escapades while I am walking around, finding more puddles of syrup. I want to cry. And then I remember my comforter, and pray that the syrup hasn't made it that far. To my shock, there isn't a drop. Thank you God.
So, while I really wanted--needed-- to be on the couch with my new syrup-free comforter, I was scrubbing syrup and peanut butter off the floors, the walls, the doors, and my children, while I was also sweating, wondering if I was going to pass out, and thinking that syrup and peanut butter really smell pretty gross together. As I found a puddle next to the trash can, I thought of N and B's love for syrup, and hoped no one had licked any off the floor. And then, when I thought I was done and found yet another puddle, I thought, why would that have been a bad thing, exactly?
Come to find out, yesterday was National Peanut Butter Day. They were just celebrating! And National Maple Syrup Day was December 17th, but we didn't know that then. Thus the joint celebration yesterday. I briefly thought of banning all future celebrations, but that just wouldn't be right. In fact, we should celebrate more.
National Margarita Day is February 22nd, but I'm just going to start a little early. If you're looking for me, I'll be licking the tequila off the floor.
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