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Coming To A Rainbow Near You….
Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig!
An Irish Blessing
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
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Simply Joyful
School’s out and summer’s on!
When I sat down Saturday afternoon to collect my thoughts and start writing, I realized after having been away all week, I hadn’t given the content of this week’s post much thought. Oddly enough, I wasn’t panicked either. It also occurred to me that even though there is still so much going on around me and so much to do, there is nothing pressing, nothing special, nothing terrible and nothing wrong, to write about.
It’s kind of nice when that happens. It doesn’t happen often but when it does, it really is kind of nice. Fishing for something would be foolish. I truly appreciate being able to step off of life’s roller coaster every once in a while, for a while. Recharge. Regroup. Rejoice!
In searching my heart for what was tugging, I kept falling back to thoughts of this past week and smiling to myself.
Nothing brings more joy to my heart than seeing children happy.
Helping the 2-yr old fill up the water tank on the rescue jeep. Get ready to get wet!
And having a rather playful heart myself, I’m keen to the sound of mischievous giggles. When the laughter has an 11-year span in childhood and includes kids ages 2 to 13, conspiring in harmony, even better! Catching the moment on camera? Well, priceless!
This week was simple. It was joyful. It was Simply Joyful.
What brings joy to your heart?
Photo Credit #1 The Gift of Joy
Photo Credit #2 & #3 ©2012 Karen Szczuka Teich & Takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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It Smells Like Updog!
It smells like updog in here!
Updog?
Yes. Updog.
What’s-Up-Dog?
Oh, not much!
Come on, you know you’re laughing. Let’s face it, that’s funny!
That’s also the kind of humor you get subjected treated to when you spend a long weekend with two teenage boys, a 10-year old girl and her 9-year old comrade. Oh, and there’s the girlfriend of the thirteen-year-old (yes, I said, girlfriend) who makes her presence known with the constant text-ing that is revealed through his ringtone which loudly and annoyingly announces:
“Excuse me boss, you have a text message.”
Every 5 to 10 minutes.
I truly feel like she came with us.
It started with a simple statement. Me, telling my kids I was taking them up to our place in the woods for this President’s Day long weekend. Before I could be consulted, a cousin was quickly added to the mix and then a friend.
It became the perfect blend of a very unlikely pairing of people.
It takes two-hours by car to go through the Catskills to get to our destination, a place I usually go to for serenity. The car-load spent their time partly singing Katy Perry’s Fireworks (over and over again) and partly playing Truth or Dare.
I love kids. They’re so honest, especially when they’re playing a game like Truth or Dare. They feel completely obligated to tell the truth.
It was basketball on the driveway. Tacos for dinner. A game of Striker on the ancient but still functional game-cube. Ice-cream at the Penguin. Man-hunt in the dark with flashlights, in the middle of winter, while it was snowing. Hot cocoa with whipped cream. Playing monopoly while watching Jeremy Lin magically maneuver the ball on the court against the Hornets and tea and cookies before bed.
These are the things kids’ dreams are made of.
It’s good to take a break from life, if you can. I’m extremely fortunate to have the place to escape to and these fabulous children to escape away with. I’ve been laughing-out-loud now for nearly three days straight. It’s a privilege to be the fly-on-the-wall, allowed to listen in to the lively conversations that span the wit and humor of the seven-year-age-difference between the youngest and oldest in this motley but most-loveable crew, thrown together by chance and circumstance. They’re truly making the best of it.
Sometimes, the best times are had with the least amount of planning.
It’s been an incredibly difficult time for my kids, in particular these past two years. There’s been lots of upheaval and turmoil and change and it has been a very long time since they’ve been in a relaxed enough environment where they can just have fun. It’s a joy to witness.
But it’s the never-ending laughter that I am so grateful to hear.
Seeing your kids laughing and happy is what parents’ dreams are made of.
It’s the middle of a strangely warm winter but nothing warms a mother’s heart more than to hear the echoing of her child’s laughter.
Photo Credit #1: What’s Up Dog Hat
Photo Credit #3, 4 & 5: Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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Drinking Hot Chocolate Takes Skill
Everybody has their limits.
After all the build up and anticipation, it’s hard to believe that another year of fancy-feasts and holiday-hoopla with friends and family, attending parties and opening presents have come and gone inside the span of just about two weeks. Throw moving from one house to another into the mix of merriment-making and you may find yourself like me, teetering on the fringe of insanity because even though I am truly 100% exhausted, like that crazy “Energizer Bunny” I seem to push myself to just keep “going and going” until my body refuses to go any further, rendering me motionless, forced to stop and (gasp!) relax. That’s exactly what put me in my PJs and drove me to my bed just shy of 6pm a few nights ago. I couldn’t go on for one-more-minute. With my daughter in tow, we set ourselves up to catch up on all of the Once Upon A Time TV-episodes from the new ABC series that we missed, by being away and being busy.
Just after the first episode, Hannah asked me for “hot chocolate”. Rarely do I indulge in drinking hot chocolate myself, let alone drinking it in my bed but since I had no intention or strength left for making dinner, I figured, it was the least I could do and did what any good mother in my weary position would have and said, “sure”. I put the TV on pause, dragged myself out of the comfort I had just settled into and made us each a cup, the only way I know how; piping hot and piled high with whipped cream.
Toward the end of the 2nd of 4 episodes, I began to feel a lot better, in a jittery-caffeinated sort of way and realized we had both sipped through the white mound of sweetness that lead to the pure-chocolate-heaven that filled our mugs.
“Pause it!” I said unexpectedly, and she did.
With a burst of sugar-ized spontaneity and false energy, I jumped off the bed and ran out of the room to retrieve the red-topped can of Reddi Wip from the fridge in the kitchen.
“Mom, what are you doing?” she called from the bedroom.
Ignoring her, I made a mad-dash from the fridge, back to the bedroom and apparently, in my crazy, creamy, sugar-filled stupor, I forgot just how exhausted I really was. With can in hand, just as I rounded the corner from the kitchen to the hallway, my slippery, sock-covered feet hit the hardwood flooring at a speeding angle that sent me crashing into the wall and smashing my whole-self down, breaking the skin of my elbow and jamming my ankle awkwardly into the point where plaster meets wood. It was a ridiculous effort to break my fall without letting go of the chemical-laden can containing “REAL Cream” that I couldn’t seem to live without. 
Success! The can was saved but my body ached as I lay there moaning for a minute, hoping there was no blood and that nothing was broken. Hannah poked her head out of the bedroom, barely holding back her laughter at the sight of me sprawled out on the floor holding the can up in the air.
“Mom, are you okay? What the heck are you doing?” she asked before bursting into uncontrollable laughter; the kind that makes you snort and sends liquid squirting out of each of your nostrils if you’ve just taken a sip of something, which she had.
In the throes of pain and hysterics, I feebly got myself back up, limped my way back into the bedroom and wordlessly poured clouds of dairy whipped topping back into our mugs until they were over-filled and the can sputtered, forcing out its last drop of “REAL Cream”. I resumed my position on the left side of the bed and with a great sigh, started licking my Reddi Wip. I was the power of example as Hannah proceeded to do the same and we sat, pleasantly making our way through another mountain of sweet, white fluff, once again, warming our bellies with chocolate goodness.
Silence ensued.
Three-quarters of the way into the third episode of Once Upon A Time, Hannah looked over at me with a huge smile on her face and said with confidence,
“Drinking hot chocolate takes a lot of skill, mom.”
Yes, it does, my dear. Yes-it-does.
I always try to be cognizant of moments like this, ones that end up meaning so much. Had I not been so exhausted that my body forced myself to stop, I’m not so sure we would have found that precious time to spend together. I wouldn’t have shared that hilarious laughter with my girl and I could tell it meant as much to her as it did to me.
It was the true magic of the season showing itself. I got it. I’m grateful.
And it was very simple.
This past year has been chock-full of complicated, unexpected occurrences and while many of the events of the days behind me are a bit of a blur now, the future, even with all it’s imperfection and uncertainty really does look a little brighter, a little clearer and feels a little calmer.
I don’t think I’ll be making any elaborate New Year’s resolutions this year. I think I might drink a little more hot chocolate than I usually do and run a little less in my socks on hardwood floors but mostly, I think I’ll just try my best to simply, keep it simple.
How about you?
May your year be filled with lots of peace, love and joy!
Photo Credit #1 Energizer Bunny
Photo Credit #2: Hot Chocolate
Photo Credit #3 & #4: Reddi Wip Google Images
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Kids Really Do Say The Darndest Things!
This week I’m taking a cue from a blog I follow where the genius mom actually documents her kids’ quotes! Brilliant, cause kids really do say the darndest things!
If you follow my blog, you probably know I have two kids (that I love and adore) but I will only be quoting one today, my 10-year old daughter. Besides, if I were lucky enough to even overhear a conversation, let alone have one, with my 13-year old son, the entire quote would most likely consist of these three words:
Um, Yeah and Nah.
There.
I’m a good mom and have just documented my boy’s quotes for the past six months.
My girl on the other hand, is a non-stop chatterbox. (I think it’s a gender thing.) Ever see the Volvo commercial where the Dad puts his 5-year old daughter in her car seat, closes the door, gets into the driver’s seat and takes her to school, all the while, she is non-stop chatter, going on and on about who knows what?
That’s my Hannah and at age ten, not only do I get the non-stop chatter about who knows what, I get the added bonus of her opinion!
Here are a few recent ones….
On The World’s Status
My daughter goes to a progressive school and we do not practice any formal religion. I of course went to Catholic school and was a practicing catholic until I went to college, receiving many of the sacraments up until that age, including confession of my sins.
Not too long ago, my girl came home from school and asked,
Mom, what’s a sin?
Me, in freak-out mode responded, “A sin? Why? Why do you want to know what a sin is?”
I heard it was bad. My teacher doesn’t teach us about sins or war or anything. She pretty much teaches us that the world is perfect but I know it’s not perfect.
You’re a super sleuth, Hannah and you’re right, the world is not perfect.
On Getting A New Car
At the onset of having to get new wheels, I admit, I had a brief moment of panic at the thought of having to bring the car I loved so dearly back to the dealership it was leased from, knowing, now, there would be no way I could afford to lease the same car again. Myself and my girl were driving around town when it hit me and without really thinking about it or looking for a response, I tugged at the steering wheel and said,
“Hannah, how am I going to keep this car?”
Not a full minute passed before my girls’ wheels started turning and she sprung into solution mode……
Here's my Billboard Baby scooter-ing throughout the neighborhood, drumming up sales for our yard-sale earlier this year.
Mom, I got it! From tomorrow to the end of the summer, I say, we go out in the middle of the median and sell like there’s no tomorrow!
Sell? Sell what, Hannah? Lemonade?
Lemonade AND ice-pops mom, lemonade AND ice-pops!
Turns out, I LOVE my new car but Thank you, Hannah!!
On Edward
A year and a half ago, I brought Edward home. My Edward is a creepy but important part of me being able to live life on life’s terms and while we sometimes bring him out to participate in various family activities, his primary function is to keep a watchful eye on my 22-year old punk neighbor.
Edward does an excellent job!
My Edward. Doing his job.
In a few weeks we will begin the process of moving from the only home my daughter has ever known.
Mom I think we have to leave Edward here.
Why?
At least until we get to meet our new neighbors.
Why, Hannah?
Well, if we put him in the window before we meet them, they’re going to think we’re freaks and they won’t bring us cookies or cupcakes (cause we’re the new neighbors) and I want the cookies and cupcakes.
Point well taken, Hannah. I want the cookies and cupcakes too but Edward comes with us.
Hannah & Edward, just hanging around.
Besides, we both know you love him just as much as I do!
Aside from the funny stuff, there are also great pearls of wisdom and insight, as well as profound statements that often come from this blessing of a child, leaving me stunned but mostly, extremely grateful for the gift of her life in mine.
Those I’ll save for another day.
Meanwhile, for more adept quotes from other skilled and clever kids, visit the Young American Wisdom blog — the inspiration for this post!
For happy thoughts from a happy kid, visit Hannah’s blog, I’m Thinking Happy!
If you have an endearing or humorous kid quote, feel free to leave it with me!
Photo Credit #1: Sin
Photo Credit #2: Super Sleuth
Photo Credit# 3-5: Karen Szczuka Teich & http://www.takingtheworldonwithasmile.com
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The Devil Made Him Do It!
Either that, or it was his funny bone!
©2007 NHT Noah Henry Teich (My son’s hand drawn picture that became an art-card for Christmas gifts and Thank-You cards. I think it’s probably a good thing he didn’t go to Catholic school.)
Some people are just naturally funny. They don’t have to try hard. The joke just kind of flows out of them, or their PowerPoint presentation.
I ask you, what’s life without a little humor?
Seriously. I know this 15-year old sophomore who happens to be a funny guy and who happens to go to a Catholic school. I went to Catholic school from Kindergarten to 12th grade. Anyone who has ever gone to Catholic school knows, funny and religion do-not-mix-well. Do one “funny” thing and you’re immediately slapped with the “class clown” label for as long as you go to that school. Being the class clown in Catholic school can mean countless hours of detention, clapping the erasers (cause they still have erasers) or worse; points taken off grades. It can mean being called out of class and calls made home, to parents; not to mention purposeful, public scoldings designed to put you in the position of becoming the “example” for any other student who might be thinking humor belongs in school. Thus, the funny guy becomes the fall guy.
In short, Catholic School is 99.9% serious business. Recently, my funny little sophomore friend, fell.
Here’s what happened:
The Religious Assignment
Make a PowerPoint presentation talking about the story of Our Lady of Guadalupe.
The Back Story
Saint Juan Diego
According to tradition, on December 9, 1531 Juan Diego, a young, simple indigenous peasant, had a vision of a young woman while he was on a hill in the Tepeyac desert, near Mexico City. The lady told him to build a church exactly on the spot where they were standing. He told the local bishop, who asked for some proof. He went back and had the vision again. He told the lady that the bishop wanted proof, and she said “Bring the roses behind you.” Turning to look, he found a rose bush growing behind him.He cut the roses, placed them in his poncho and returned to the bishop, saying he had brought proof. When he opened his poncho, instead of roses, there was an image of the young lady in the vision. (Manga Hero)
St. Juan Diego is proof that God uses those who are most humble to do His work. By all accounts, Juan Diego, was a humble and young man.
Serious stuff.
My young, sophomore friend, who also happens to be an honor student, put all of this serious information into his Power Point presentation, only when it came time to reveal Juan Diego’s likeness, my funny friend flashed this image to his class instead of the one above:
Saint Juan Diego – maybe
Come on, now THAT is funny!
Needless to say, this startling, daring, depiction of the young, blessed Saint Juan Diego in my friend’s Power Point presentation brought the class to well, pandemonium to put it mildly; uncontrollable laughter burst onto the scene, requiring the teacher to admonish the class several times before order was restored. And if you’ve ever gone to Catholic school, you know, order MUST be restored.
The Consequence
Being called out of the next class. The “call” home to the parents. 18 points taken off the final grade, giving this slacker an 82 out of 100% on the report and a mandatory apology letter to the teacher (at the teacher’s request, of course).
Inside information from the mom: apology letter number one, had to be scratched when the boy, after saying he was sorry to the teacher, said he only did it to try to keep the rest of the students from falling asleep in class. “Kudos”, I say for at least being truthful.
Was it worth the laugh? I asked him.
Yes. It was totally worth the laugh. I thought these Power Points could use some funny moments.
There you have it and again, there’s got to be something said for the honesty here, not to mention, you are witnessing a comedian in the making. I sent the boy $10 in the mail along with a note telling him not to be disrespectful but never to lose his sense of humor.
The world needs more levity if you will; more laughter.
The Result
Not only will every student in that religion class remember the story of Our Lady of Guadeloupe, always and forever, they will remember it, with a smile on their face.
The Disclaimer
While the views expressed by this student do in fact reflect those of this author, ABSOLUTELY NO DISRESPECT is meant toward the Catholic church, its teachers or teachings.
I’m Catholic. I went to Catholic school and I only WISH some kid had the moxie to do something–anything to cause the type of uproar and uncontrollable laughter in class that this boy did.
It would have made the whole experience so much more human,
with a little more humor.
Photo Credit #1 ©2007 
Noah Henry Teich
(All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced.)
Photo Credit #2 Saint Juan Diego
Photo Credit #3 Forwarded From The Nameless Catholic Boy
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Billboard Baby
“Yard sale! Yard sale! Come check out the yard sale!”
Forget the PennySaver. Who needs the classifieds in the newspaper?
Why even bother to advertise on Craig’s List when you can have this??
That’s right, for the price of a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a croissant, this willing and able 10-year old will happily take your idea, event or function on the road! She comes complete with borrowed wings, a friend’s home-made shield, soccer shoes, red knee-high soccer socks, a Tinkerbell birthday hat and her very own pink-wheeled scooter!
Let this Billboard Baby loose in your neighborhood and customers will be clambering at your door, yard sale or lemonade stand. Satisfaction guaranteed!
But wait! Don’t just let these pictures alone convince you…. here is an actual client testimonial:
“No one came to our yard sale for HOURS. Finally, we agreed to give Hannah’s approach a try. It was amazing! A miracle! She literally stopped traffic! As soon as Hannah hit the pavement, customers started coming out of the woodwork (or at least their homes, to see what all the commotion was) and over to our yard sale. I’ll never have another yard sale — without her!” ~ Karen Szczuka Teich
Okay, so while everything at my Everything Must Go yard sale eventually went, unfortunately, most of it went to the Goodwill. Not exactly the money-maker I had hoped it would be, despite the literally months of planning and preparation. Who knew the biggest flea market venue in the county was holding their annual “public” yard sale the same day I was having my little “private” one? Apparently everyone. Except me of course.
Oh well, I guess we never would have discovered Hannah’s new knack for advertising if our sale was such a success in the first place, right? It’s all in the way you choose to look at things and honestly, watching Hannah scooter through the neighborhood while hollering her heart out about our “sale” was worth every idle hour!
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (mostly to remind myself),
It’s not what happens but what you do– how you deal with — what happens, that really matters.
It may not have been a profitable day but it was a great day, nonetheless.
Photo credits: © Karen Szczuka Teich.
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Better Late Than Never
I was slightly preoccupied last week, what with having to break into my house and all. 
I didn’t get a chance to really acknowledge Mother’s Day or the millions of moms out there that make their children feel as special as my mom still makes me feel, even at 46-years of age. Maybe it’s because she used to tell me that all the time when I was growing up.
“You’re special you know.”
I believed her too, ’cause well, she’s my mom and everything your mom tells you is true. It wasn’t until well into my adulthood that I learned she used to tell my brother and sister the same thing. I wasn’t upset. I was glad they grew up feeling the same way; special.
When I had my son twelve years ago, I was ill prepared. After all, what did I know about how to take care of a baby, let alone a boy? Enter, Nana. My mom only lives 20-minutes away but after Noah’s birth, she slept at my house for two weeks anyway. When she left, I cried, even though I knew I was going to see her the very next day. She had just retired from the bank. How lucky, for me! For the next two-and-a-half years, we went from Fishkill to Redhook and everywhere in-between, in search of the best places for lunch and the best playgrounds for my boy to explore in. Precious, happy times.
When Hannah was born, my mom was in the delivery room. They share a unique, unbreakable bond and have been partners in crime ever since. Nana is the first person Hannah calls when she’s sick.
“Can you come and watch me today?”
“Of course, love.”
is the reply, 99.9% of the time, no matter what she has planned that day.
Selfless. She never makes you feel like it’s a bother or an imposition. She operates from the purest point of unconditional love. A gift she gives freely, a quality I strive to emulate.
She’s an awesome babysitter for sure but truth be told, day or evening, the chances of you coming home to find her asleep and your child wide-awake, “shh-shing” you as you come through the door, are more than high.
“”How long has Nana been asleep for?”
is usually my first question.
Nana is famous for accidentally, “letting the cat out of the bag”, realizing it in the moment and immediately trying to take it back. For example, she once left a message on my answering machine that went something like this…..
“Hi love, I guess you’re not home. Okay, well, I’ll see you at the surprise party on Saturday. (pause) Oh, wait! I didn’t mean that! (pause) I don’t know what I’m talking about, there is no party. I don’t know when I’ll see you again. Bye. It’s mom.”
One of my favorite things about Nana is how much she loves to laugh. Seriously, my kids and I purposefully try to make her laugh because once you get her going, it’s very contagious and really hard for her to stop. If you take her to a funny movie, be prepared for all eyes to be on you, when she literally doubles over in laughter. Take her to any other kind of movie and chances are, all eyes will still be on you when she starts snoring after she’s fallen asleep.
For a time, mom had a German Shepard named Schatzie who was abandoned on a highway, 
picked up by my brother and left at mom’s house for an extended “weekend”, that lasted several years. People often joked about how she must have given birth to Schatzie because she treated her like she was her fourth child. People also joked about how Schatzie used to “walk” my mom, rather than vice-versa. Schatzie was huge, carefully eye-ing anyone who approached my mom or came too close to her; often trapping me in my car while barking ferociously, when I’d come to visit.
They loved each other dearly.
Nana’s 74 now and while she’s adamant about NOT having a face book page, she does read my “block” faithfully, when she can get to it, that is. Even though she subscribes to it, for some reason, she can never “open” it from her computer. I finally told her,
“Mom, just google my name and it will come up.”
So, the other day she went to Google and typed in: “google Karen Szczuka…” Guess what? It came up.
I was able to visit my mom for a while on Mother’s Day and it occurred to me, as it often does, just what a blessing it is to have her around. I don’t take her for granted. I’m grateful. I love that my kids love her and I love that she loves them as much as she loves me. She makes them feel just as special. I know this to be true and I guess that’s because she’s so special.
She’s kind and thoughtful and she’s my mom.
She’s been a wonderful power of example in so many ways, I suppose it’s better late than never that I say,
“Thanks for being my mom, Mom! I love you.”
I hope you and the millions of moms out there who make their kids feel special, had a very Happy Mother’s Day!
Please, tell me something special about your mom.
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The Mother of All Ironies
There’s no doubt life is hard and riddled with uncertainty and while I really do try to “take the world on with a smile”, sometimes it takes everything I’ve got.
I live at the beginning of a cul-de-sac, the first of nine homes that make a horseshoe. A few weeks ago my neighbor who lives two houses down on the left came to our door and asked me to step outside for a private conversation. She recently discovered that someone had been trying to break into her house — again. She also informed me that the alarm went off in the home of the family that lives directly across from her the same week. The police responded but found nothing.
Honestly, I can’t say I was surprised. I’ve had a feeling for a while now that something was weird in the neighborhood–again.
My neighbor was visibly upset when delivering this news. Who wouldn’t be? It’s unsettling to say the least, especially, if it’s happened before. If you’ve read my posts: My Edward, Life’s Terms – Not Mine or Everything Must Go, Including Me!, you know that my home was burglarized a year ago this past winter at least eight times that we know of.
She too was repeatedly burglarized during that time and sandwiched in-between our two homes, lives the 21-year old perpetrator.
Similar to the over $10,500 worth of items taken from my house, nearly $13,000 worth of jewelry and cash went missing from her house. Unfortunately, the two detectives assigned to her case were unable to connect the dots to my case and closed hers. Interestingly enough, these are the same two detectives that were convinced my then newly turned 11-year old son was the culprit.
I at least, receive monthly restitution checks from this bad boy living next door. And, in addition to the 6-month house arrest sentence he served (silly really) there is also an order of protection against him for each member of my family, for 5 years. Not that this is remotely comforting, the boy violates this order every day, simply by living next door. Indeed, we share grass.
The story of our burglaries from start to capture and arrest is undoubtedly a fascinating one that I hope to put on paper one day but for now, I’m simply mind–boggled by the twisted sense of humor the universe seems to have and its reluctance to let me, let this craziness go!
Tell me, what do you think the universe is trying to say when I come home with my children after a late dinner out, only to find that my house key, when inserted into the front door lock, goes round and round in an endless loop, prohibiting our entry? This being the new lock we had installed just over a year ago, after break-in number five and the first sign of a violent act in our home.
Seriously, how many times has your dead-bolt failed and what are the chances of something like this, happening to us?
Unfortunately, it was 10:00 pm on a Saturday night and although the locksmith has a 24-hour emergency number, that “mailbox” was full.
The good news is that for the most part, our house is now like Fort Knox. The bad news is that after an hour of brainstorming, trying a variety of things including the unsuccessful removal of a window air-conditioner and a desperate plea from my 10-year old daughter……
“Mom, please, it’s cold out, can’t we knock on their door and ask BBQ to help us?”
…we were literally forced to use one of the same methods my neighbor used, to break into our house.
BBQ is the pet name my kids and I have affectionately given the convicted felon living next door. The first B stands for BAD the second B is the first letter of his first name and the Q is the first letter of his last name, hence, B-B-Q. It’s an attempt to interject levity into an otherwise somber situation. It’s similar to our use of the endearing term we have for the police, which is “po- po“, as in,
“Hannah, the “po-po” are here to see you again.”
(See 1-9-1-4 for clarification of that reference.)
Anyway, I’ve purposefully tried to defuse the fear my kids have had of BBQ with humor and emphasize instead, just how pathetic he was to steal such things as tooth-fairy, birthday and Halloween money from children. It’s a coping skill. My kids get it. I’m sorry that they have to.
Clearly by the way, BBQ had to have heard us (through his open windows) last Saturday night, walking around our house in the dark, trying to break-in.
Is this not bizarre? Truly, for me, this was the mother of all ironies.
We broke in, by cutting the screen door to the porch with the house key that was no longer of use to us. We slipped a few fingers through the tear and unhinged the latch. Once inside the porch, we removed a screen to an unlocked window. I was elected and with the help of my two kids, climbed through.
It’s befitting that on Mother’s Day I would express how proud I am of the way my kids handled themselves; without panicking and working together to come up with a solution. They’re thinkers and have learned how to appreciate the power of humor in a tight spot. My daughter giggled her way through taking pictures, while my son took great delight in pushing my leg through the window.
For us, the situation was surreal. We laughed our hearts out.
Don’t get me wrong, even though we laughed, smiling about this really is difficult and it’s taking everything I’ve got, NOT to rationalize why I’d like to see the boy next door receive a good old fashioned “butt-kick’n”.
But I won’t go there, here.
Back to the universe. Within a three-week time period, we received news of new robbery attempts, our new dead-bolt went, non-functional and we were forced to break-into our own home.
For me, the message is clear: It’s time to leave.
And to that end, the wheels (and there are many of them) are all in motion. Slow motion perhaps but in motion none the less. In the meantime, I am grateful for how resilient my children continue to be while the universe continues to play with uncertainty.
To all the other grateful and proud moms out there, Happy Mother’s Day!
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Spring Break: Blizzards, Blossoms And A Belly-Busting Belch!
Sometimes, life has a way of throwing you a curve ball (or snow ball) when you least expect it.
I left a mini-blizzard behind in 
Buffalo, NY after visiting for a few days, right before heading out to meet my children in Washington, D.C. to see the blossoms for Spring Break last Monday. Yes, that would be April 18th and yes, I said blizzard, as in snow. A good friend of mine who lives in Buffalo text-ed me while I waited for my plane to be de-iced, and I quote:
“Even the locals are dumbfounded!”
It felt like winter was literally smacking me in the rear as I flew from it.
Luckily, I was sitting in the first row and had no checked baggage. We arrived in Boston 12-minutes before my connecting flight to D.C. was due to take off. I was the first one standing behind the stewardess when she lifted the plane door to the gateway. I was off!
Think O.J. Simpson, running through the airport years ago wearing a three-piece suit and carrying a brief case while hawking Hertz rental cars. That was me, strategically racing through the airport looking ahead, planning my next maneuver so as not to knock into or over, anyone. Only I’m a 5-foot tall, Caucasian female who was wearing 3-inch heeled boots and instead of a brief case, I had my computer in my backpack and a rolling carry-on to deal with. I sailed through just as they were shutting the cabin door. I was out of breath for the next 20-minutes, but I made it!
I’ve always wanted to see the Cherry Blossoms in Washington D.C. and I have a penchant for all things political. My kids are old enough to appreciate both. It seemed like a good fit and it was. Our country’s capitol has much to offer, for free! Although if you plan on having lunch in any of the free museums, be prepared to spend nearly $20 per person. Air and Space, Native American and American History were our top three. I was particularly impressed with the African American exhibit and the First Lady exhibit in the American History Museum. An over-all favorite find, was stumbling upon Carmine’s Restaurant in downtown D.C, which is related to the two Carmines in NYC that I love so dearly. Other than soft rigatoni, the food was delicious!
We drove back to New York but I’m not a night driver so when the lights begin to blare and I can’t see the horizon, we need to pull over and get a hotel room.
“The restaurant closes at 9pm.” the hotel clerk said upon check-in. It was 8:20. We dashed up to our room, dropped off our bags and arrived back down at the entrance to the eatery by 8:30. With no one there to greet us, the bar tender glanced our way and said, “Go ahead, sit anywhere, she’ll be right with you.” Only two other tables were occupied so we pretty much had the pick of the place. We hadn’t eaten since 2pm and that was three states ago so I chose a far-enough-away-from-the-other-patrons table to make sure we gave them their space. My 10 and 12-year old kids were hungry and punchy. If you’re a parent, you know how that can go. After realizing we’d been sitting at our table for nearly 15-minutes with no sign of service, I asked my daughter to go find us menus in an effort to be prepared for when the waitress finally did get to our table. Hannah came back with one menu.
“That’s all there was, mom,” she said.
Pork Chops and Penne alla Vodka were their dinner choices. But having worked as a waitress all through college, and knowing how fickle each kitchen’s cook can be around closing-time, I knew enough to advise them to pick something from the sandwich menu too. Plan B. We were becoming impatient and just as I uttered the words, “Jeez, Sistah needs to put the move on it”, under my breath, “Sistah” came out of the kitchen and it was clear why it was taking her so long in the first place. With no disrespect intended here, Sistah, was probably 75-years old and while she seemed surprised to see us, she was pleasant and not in any rush at all. After several minutes, she took our drink order and found us another menu to share. Then she vanished again. At five to nine, she took our food order and at 9:05 she came back to say, the cook wouldn’t do it.
“You’re too late.” she informed us. “He stops making dinners at 8:30. Snack foods only.”
(Um, okay, it would have been helpful to know that ten minutes ago.) We revised Plan B and ordered a few appetizers although when it came to Hannah’s turn, before she could speak, the waitress said,
“You can have chicken fingers.”
After writing, repeating and re-writing our order, she once again disappeared behind the swinging kitchen doors. There are two ways you can handle a situation like this. We chose to take the humorous route and laughed at our silly circumstances. Still no drinks. One calamity seemed to follow the other from that point on, interspersed by short, uncontrollable fits of laughter. Several times, Sistah came out of the kitchen looked around and went back in. A couple of times she walked over to the other two tables to check on them and finally at around 9:15 she brought us our drinks. From the moment Hannah got her diet-coke she kept complaining that it just didn’t taste right. We all took a sip and agreed there was something off about it. We concluded a mix-up of sorts, possibly root-beer and coke combined. Another ten minutes passed before Sistah re-appeared with our food. The loaded nachos were loaded indeed, with processed Cheese Whiz and remained for the most part, un-eaten. Our mozzarella sticks never showed up. We all shared Hannah’s chicken fingers.
For dessert our waitress said we could have ice-cream only — even though we saw a variety of cakes listed on the menu. We settled on one chocolate, the rest vanilla. Fifteen minutes later Sistah emerged with one very large bowl of chocolate ice-cream hidden under a mound of whipped cream and topped with a cherry for Noah. She turned to Hannah and said, “Sorry, no vanilla but we have cake,” and proceeded to list the cake options we saw earlier on the menu. After that bizarre exchange and before Sistah came back with Hannah’s carrot cake and the remaining ice-cream, Hannah took another sip from her soda. I watched her as she set her glass down and began to open her mouth, I thought to complain again, but this time something completely unexpected happened.
A small explosion seemed to occur within her little body.
Similar to that of a volcanic eruption, a loud, growling BELCH blasted from her throat filling the room, startling everyone in the restaurant, including herself.
Honestly, it was a monster burp of epic proportions. 
Even the bartender and the three men who came in to watch the hockey game, all turned in our direction. The elderly couple in the booth looked affronted. The middle-aged man dining by himself simply gaped at us with his mouth hung open in disbelief at what came from my sweet little 10-year old daughter’s body. Under ordinary circumstances, I would be mortified. I would admonish her for burping at the table but I can’t even be certain that was a burp! Clearly it was not something she could control and neither was the laughter that ensued. There was no reprimand, instead we nearly fell to the floor doubled-over in bellyaching hysterics. Really the timing was impeccable. It was truly a price-less moment.
After dessert (and regaining our composure) came the bill.
“I took $4 off because you had to wait so long at the beginning,” said Sistah.
Upon further scrutiny, I saw that she also gave us $4 in coupons for our next meal and we were not charged for the mozzarella sticks that never came.We were also not charged for our drinks. Nor were we charged for the ice-creams and carrot cake. Our bill came to $21 and change. It was 10pm.
I can’t remember the last time we laughed so much together as a family. I left a $15 tip. Thank you, Sistah!
Tell me, what curve balls has life thrown you lately?
Photo Credit #1: Jet Photos
Photo Credit #2 & #3: Me
Photo Credit #4: Google Images
Photo Credit #5: Brian Gray -Monster Burp
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Ode To A Friend – It’s Not My Fault!
Do you know who Nellie Olsen is? She was the mean, bossy, rich girl with blond hair and big ringlets that hung on the side of her face who tormented poor little Laura Ingalls on Little House On the Prairie in the mid-seventies. (Yes, I know I just dated myself but it does say “middle-aged mom” above!) Well, it’s not my fault that my sister cut my best friend’s hair and made her look just like Nellie when we were in the 4th grade. Really. She could have said no. And it wasn’t that bad!
“It will grow out.” I reassured her.
It wasn’t my fault either that the bike we were on sped recklessly out of control while we flew down hill at what felt like 55 miles an hour that same summer. Yes, it was me that lost control of the two-wheeler but it was because she was sitting on the handle-bars and I couldn’t see! I’ll admit, that more than a few bruises were had that day and lots of blood marked the occasion, but we survived. And come to think of it, I am not going to take the blame for having to stop short at the entrance-way from the street to the parking lot at the Mamaroneck Diner. There were cars coming in for crying out loud! Surely, she could see them? But no, instead she continued on, ramming her bike into the back of my mine causing me to fall and smack my head against the concrete. I was left in a semi-conscious state, only coherent enough to tell her to “get help” after she knelt down beside me and asked,
“Are you okay? What should I do?”
It would be 34-years (and another story later) before I found myself riding in the back of a “cop” car again. We left our bikes at the diner to be retrieved that evening by my dad and his Volks-Wagon bus while a police officer drove us to the emergency room to get checked out.
It is also not my fault, that we both ended up, tied up, while babysitting her crazy boy cousins in Yonkers one New Year’s Eve.
Come, on! She didn’t know they were wild and out-of-control? Puh-leeze!
And, well, I don’t think it’s my fault either that when we went back to retrieve the pink box of treasures we buried some 25-years earlier, it was gone. Hopefully, someone who loves Wacky-Packages is enjoying them now as much as we did then.
I suppose it’s neither of our faults or both of our faults, depending on how you choose to look at it, that after cutting ourselves and mixing our blood to become blood-sisters, we both ended up being RH-Negative as adults. RH-Negative is the blood type that can create all kinds of problems when you’re pregnant by producing antibodies that can attack the blood of your fetus. It requires shots as soon as you know you are pregnant and necessitates that you carry an ID Card stating your type. Not that I had any clue what my blood type was before becoming blood sisters with her at age 11 but somehow I doubt it was RH-Negative and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we both ended up being this type.
None of this is my fault. That really is true and it’s not hers either. No one is at fault here. Fate will take responsibility for the predicaments that paired us. And even though we’ve been physically separated by miles and states across the country, fate has sealed a friendship that’s lasted over 35 years. And it’s fate I thank, when I think back to all the silly and serious things we did together, the happiness, tears and secrets that we’ve shared and kept over these years. So, thank you, fate, for my forever friend.
Tell me, has fate found friendship for you?
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That Sneaky, Slithering Snake!
I prefer easing into technology. My cell phone doesn’t get the Internet or email. There are no Facebook or Skyping “apps”. I can talk and text. That’s it. It’s not that I’m technologically challenged, on the contrary, I love all forms of communication and am fascinated by the whole new social media arena. I recently took a blogging class and managed to set up this blog site myself. A few months ago I set up a Twitter account. (Follow me @midmomlife!) I’ve been tweeting a teaser or two of my upcoming blog each week and have, to my great astonishment and satisfaction, figured out how to connect my blog to my Twitter so that my blog automatically appears as a tweet on Twitter. Phew! As a part-time working, soccer and tennis practice shuttling mom, my free time is late at night, time. And while I’m totally on board with 45 being the new 35, this 46 year-old mama, gets tired by midnight! It’s a lot of work reading, creating, tweaking, uploading and embedding; teaching myself the ins and outs of all these new formats, trying to find my niche and knack!
Needless to say, I had a moment of pure discouragement earlier this week when I heard about the Bronx Zoo’s missing, Egyptian cobra and all of her instantaneous social media success.
Ironically, if there is one animal that really gets under my skin, it’s the snake. A snake nearly ruined a barbecue celebration I was having in my backyard once by blatantly slithering right up to the party.
When I saw it, I jumped onto the nearest chair and screamed bloody murder! My then, 60-year old aunt, God bless her, started screaming also, in German, but not because of the snake. She was screaming at the snake! She had sprung into rambo style action, grabbing a loose brick from an outdoor grill and proceeded to bash it, mercilessly, to bits, in a matter of seconds, in front of family and friends. The woman is truly, FEARLESS. For many years she owned a bakery and has often been likened to Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi, only she’s a woman, blond and instead of soup, it’s chocolate torts and apple strudels that people lined up for while she made the snap determination as to whether or not they were worthy. A few weeks after the barbecue incident, my aunt’s son, was sitting in my backyard when he spotted yet another snake, this time, it was swimming in my pool! Like a repeating nightmare with a new twist, he followed the snake along the perimeter of the pool until the moment was just right, reached in bare-handed, pulled it out and smashed it on a rock! Ohh-kaay. Dare I say, something truly unique runs through the blood-veins of that side of the family.
I am scarred and I digress. Back to my moment of discouragement.
Have you heard? The missing snake from the Bronx Zoo not only setup her own Twitter account hours after her escape but gained thousands of followers, literally overnight!
According to Mediabistro’s FishBowlNY….
In its first tweet, @BronxZoosCobra wrote: “I want to thank those animals from the movie ‘Madagascar.’ They were a real inspiration.” (“Madagascar” is the 2005 film where animals escape the Central Park zoo). The cobra now has over 43,000 followers, and under location it writes: “Not at the Bronx Zoo.”
That was Tuesday. According to oObly, as of Friday, @BronxzoosCobra had over 200,000 followers. How does this happen? Here I am plugging away, hour after hour, night after night, week and month after month, tweaking and tweeting since November and I have a whopping 5, that’s right, count-em, 5, followers on Twitter! One of my faithful 5 (and you can follow me on twitter @midmomlife to verify this) doesn’t even speak English! I have no idea what language she speaks or why she follows me!
This sneaky, snake slithers onto the scene and three days later, BOOM over 200,000 followers!
I totally get being trounced on Twitter by that actor whose drug usage recently took him to new heights of insanity but a snake? Seriously? Alas, as of yesterday, that sneaky, slithering, snake is back in its cage! And according to Jim Breheny, the Director of the Bronx Zoo, “…the snake has been found well and alive.”
Ahem…um, yep, we knew that. She’s pretty much been saying that all week!
What we want to know is, will she keep tweeting?
Tell me, do you Twitter?
Photo Credit #1: © Technorati, Inc Photo Credit #2: Twitter via Mediabistro
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I’m Out-ing My Book Club
Maybe I shouldn’t do this but I’m about to OUT my Book Club.
Like most other Book Clubs (I suppose) we meet once a month. We just read Just Kids by Patti Smith. It was an inspirational book about an artist’s quest to be true to herself.
This month there were six of us. There could be anywhere from two to twelve of us. Sometimes our lives don’t afford the leisure time needed to read a whole book in one month, so it’s okay when one of us doesn’t have the mindset for whatever reason, to have finished the book. We are still invited to come and we often do. We meet at one of our houses and everyone brings something really good to eat.
We are a diverse group of women ranging in age from our early thirties to our mid forties. We have a lot going on in our lives and while we do discuss each book, inevitably, one of us strays “off topic” and we find ourselves talking about other things. Last Monday, it started with our pets; the dog that licked the furry inside of a pair of UGG moccasins, the chickens that come up to the porch every day and “call” for their food, the cat that carries the toy kitty in its mouth like a baby all through the house.
I’m sure every Club has its unique qualities, ours however, is very special. Okay, here is where I start the OUT-ing.
One of the six of us recently plunged back into “commute-mode”, making the hour-and-a-half train trek that it takes to get into the City, each day. She just took an editor’s position at a well known comic book company. She talked about how her family life is being affected by this new venture, how she gets home late and has less time to spend with her kids now.
We do what we have to do, yes. Some of us do it better than others. She, is showing us how to “do it” with grace.
Another one of us took on the daunting task of home-schooling her two children this year. She spoke of the struggles and triumphs she experiences while teaching her children, herself. She inspires awe. She is also the same wise, young mom who reminded me a few years ago that you need to set a good example for your “daughters” by showing them that as a woman, being a mom is awesome but that doesn’t mean you have to give up being an individual who pursues her own interests, hobbies and friendships. The travel writer in our group is on her way to Ghana this week. She has been collecting money for toilets to be built at a school there that doesn’t have any. She is a giving soul whose generous nature and fearless spirit is an example to us all.
Our musician has gone back to school for nursing. She is kind and caring and seems to be able to juggle her music, her part-time job, being a mom and being a student, all while her musician husband is away on tour in Europe, with mind-blowing ease. There is now the adventurer who came for the first time this month. She bought but didn’t read the book. She actually went to Spain and saw Patti Smith perform last month. She shared that fantastic experience with us, along with the tale of riding an airport bus the day after the concert with the cellist who was hired to play for Patti. This woman is unwavering in her dedication as an educator and her commitment to learning for all children. And then there was the one of us whose life is not where she expected it to be right now. She is exploring all of her new, scary, exciting options and drawing strength from each of these women who reassure her efforts and gently point her in directions they think will help her secure the independence she’s seeking.
This month, Book Club began with Patti Smith’s incredible life adventure. From there we went to pets, to jobs, then math, travels, astrological charts and finally, to one of our daughter’s who’s recently been bullied at school. This topic in particular infuriated all of us as we offered empathy and suggestions to our friend.
Hell hath no fury like a mom whose kid is being “messed” with — let alone six of us.
Book Club met this past Monday. It was a round table of support, advice, laughter, good food and good friends.
And although it’s our love for books that brought us together, it’s the encouragement that we continue to receive from each other as we journey on our own quests, to be true to ourselves and the love that we have for one another, that keeps us coming back, month after month, whether we’ve read the book or not.
There. It’s done. We’re OUT-ed.
Tell me, are you in a Book Club and do you love yours as much as I love mine?
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1-9-1-4
Did you know that dialing any combination of 9-1-1 connects you to a 911 operator? It’s true.
For instance, if, let’s say, you are a nine year-old kid and your mom has a cell phone that has a 914 area code and you live in an 845 area code, when calling her from your home phone, you have to dial 1 (for long distance) 9-1-4… to reach her. At nine years-old, you may not be too land-line savvy. You might be a little slow on the dialing or you don’t always remember the “4” fast enough because you have to remember the 1 at the beginning. If there is any hesitation in getting to the 4, just dialing the 1-9-1 combination connects you to 911. And if you’re nine, no matter how many times this happens, you just think the call isn’t going through so you hang up and try again. While you’re trying again, the 911 operator is calling you back to make sure everything is “Okay” but you’re not answering the second line because you are calling your mom again on the first line, remember?
Did you also know, that when you don’t answer a 911 operator’s call back, in New York at least, they automatically send law enforcement to your house. And when they come to your house, in addition to making sure everything is “Okay“, they request to see and speak with the 911 caller.
How do I know this?
They’ve been coming to my house for years. It used to be once or twice a year since the time my son was a toddler and would find his way into our basement office and “play” with the fax machine. I never heard the return call on the fax machine from the 911 operator so, a police officer would be dispatched to our house. It took three visits before we figured out it was the toddler and the fax machine. I used to think it was only local police that responded to 911 calls but lately, it’s been a NYS Trooper. And over the past several months, the Troopers have come to our home so often, that last month when the Trooper pulled up in front of our house and my son saw him from the bay window in our living room, he simply called out:
“Hannah! Someone’s here to see you!”
Yes, it’s my nine year-old Hannah, who is responsible for our more recent meet and greets. It seems that nearly every time she tries to call my 9-1-4 cell phone, a NYS Trooper ends up at our door. No kidding!
And as of this month, it’s not just our door either!
A few weeks ago, when I went to pick up Hannah at school, I noticed a State Trooper pulling out of the parking lot as I was pulling in. I’d say that would raise a curious eye brow for any parent picking up their kid but it was me who the “porch” teacher met at my car. He came bearing the news that after trying to call me from the school phone unsuccessfully, 911 was accidentally called by my daughter. Hence the State Trooper, who apparently had a “nice little chat” with Hannah. This, was so not surprising. And it’s probably a really good thing that I work there three days a week.
I think it’s important to nurture a sense of independence in children. I think they should feel they can be trusted and shown that you have confidence in them. And it’s only in the past several months that we’ve felt comfortable enough to resume moving forward in this effort. So, I was pleased when Hannah opted to stay home alone for the 6 minutes it would take me to drive my son to his tennis lessons and come back, about a week ago.
Ah, I should have known. I hadn’t even shut the door behind me after returning when I glanced over my shoulder and saw the all too familiar, navy blue vehicle with yellow lettering pull up onto my front lawn.
“Hannah?”, I called inside the door, “Any idea why the State Troopers would be coming to our house?”
“Oh, um, yeah” she said, “that could be me.”
Between the tennis run last Friday and a quick jaunt to the post office a little later this week, the Troopers were at my house, twice. Yes, that’s twice in one week’s time.
I wonder if calls from our house are somewhat expected now or have become part of the training program for the new guys? A different Trooper comes every time. The last fellow that came was awfully, young. I suspect it’s also possible that our address has been “red flagged” for other reasons. Either way, it is always a State Trooper and, they come fast!
I never get rattled though, when I see a Trooper pull up to my house. In fact, I don’t think it’s the worst thing for my neighbors to see the company I keep. Besides, I find things like a 6ft cardboard cut-out of a vampire and NYS Troopers at my front door, comforting these days.
I also happen to be a bit partial to NYS Troopers and to one in particular, whom I will forever be indebted.
To all the other Troopers that are perhaps, taking turns coming to my house, meeting and speaking to my Hannah, I thank you for your service to our community and most especially, to my family.
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Help! I’m “Elaine” and I’m Afraid I’m Difficult!
Elaine: I was looking at my chart [at the doctor’s office], and it said that I was difficult. Why would they write that?
Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode, where Elaine can’t get medical treatment for her rash because it’s been noted in her “chart” that she’s a “difficult” patient? Well I think I’m having a similar experience!
I had an “incident” at the drive-thru window at my bank, a while ago and ever since then, I’ve noticed a change in how they treat me!
After waiting nearly 20-minutes in my car behind someone who was having coin counted, (even though there is a huge sign on the window that clearly states, “Please, No Coin!”) naturally, I was a wee bit perturbed by the time it came for me to put my checks in the drawer for deposit. When the teller returned with my receipts, I realized she had mistakenly put the checks into the wrong accounts. After pointing this out to her, she asked me to park my car and come inside so she could resolve the issue and I wouldn’t hold up the line any longer. Annoyed, I refused and asked to see the branch manager (thus rendering my fait accompli?). I explained to the manager that after having just waited 20-minutes in my car behind someone who was having coin counted, I didn’t think I should have to park and expected the error to be taken care of while I was still at the window. The teller was completely flustered, the manager reluctantly complied. Ten minutes later, I was on my way. Over? I am afraid not.
I’m not a suspicious person by nature but ever since “the incident”, I get the feeling that, like Elaine in Seinfeld’s episode of The Package, I may have been branded a “difficult” customer. I mean, is that possible at a bank? Seriously, weird things happen when I go to the bank now. First, I realized that the flustered teller was gone. Haven’t seen her since that day. Then, no matter who the teller was at the window when I got there, they knew me, by name, even if I’d never seen them before and despite the fact that most of the time I’m depositing company checks into a business account that doesn’t have my name on it. Also, regardless of who’s taking care of me, I noticed they’re, overly friendly to me, some even talking loudly and very s-l-o-w-l-y to me and while I know this may sound very superficial, they all seem to have the same kind of “a deer in head-lights” stare and similar frozen-like smile on their faces when they see me. The kind that doesn’t move at all, even when they’re talking to me!
It makes me want to scream out, “Hey, you don’t have to pretend to be friendly toward me. I am not going to do anything! I really am a nice person! I had to wait for COIN TO BE COUNTED!”
A few weeks later, my bank got a new branch manager. So now, the flustered teller and the old manager are gone. From the time the new manager started, it occurred to me that no matter who was at the window when I drove up, she always ended up “taking care” of me. She too, has been freakishly, friendly and again, referred to me by name, the very first time she saw me.
If I were paranoid, I might think there’s a picture of me somewhere, with my name on it and a notation about the incident (perhaps taped to a counter or on a screen that I can’t see) alerting the tellers to a potential problem or line hold up customer, alerting them, to me!
The clincher came two weeks ago when my branch actually closed and the accounts were “moved” to another branch. When I went there for the first time, I decided I’d go inside to check it out. I suppose it could be my imagination but when I went inside, I actually thought I saw a security camera following me! Scratch that. I know what I saw, when I moved, the camera moved!
There were two lines open, one clearly being run by a newbie teller and the other being serviced by the new, now old, manager from the closed branch. I got on the newbie’s line because there wasn’t anyone else on it but when the new, now old manager looked up and saw me she said, “Oh, hello, Karen…” and quickly waved me over to her line while looking at the newbie teller. She invoked the deer stare and frozen smile and said, “I’ll take care of her.”
What The Heck? And what do you think? Is it possible I’m on some kind of list now that will forever be forwarded from branch to branch?
Help! I’m Elaine and I’m afraid I’m difficult!
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Striving to live life on life's terms while taking the world on with a smile.
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Taking The World On With A Smile! 