Enjoy Your Milk

It’s a small but significant life lesson: Enjoy your milk.

I recently attended a class at work based on the book Crucial Conversations (Kerry Patterson, et al). It seems like we always have some sort of education or training seminar to go to. Usually it’s annoying and there are never any snacks. My employer really does make a good effort, though, to make sure that the company’s standards of excellence for patient care are never compromised. This particular class was actually interesting.

It was taught by one of our staff psychologists and she was a ball of hilarity and entertainment while also informative. At one point in her presentation she drew a line on the white board with three ‘Xs’ on it. She wrote her birth day on the first one, the current date on the middle one, and a question mark on the third one. You see where I’m going with this.

Her whole point was that you have no idea what to write on that third X. It could be fifty years from now. You might have to slide it a little closer to that middle X and put tomorrow’s date on it. You just don’t know. Here’s where the profound part comes in.

One day she saw her 10 year old daughter standing in front of the fridge just staring. (The Captain does this, drives me nuts). She, like me and every other mom, griped at her “get what you want and close the door!” Her daughter replied, “I’m thinking.” Ok. Think with the door closed.

She went on to say she was thinking about the expiration date on the milk. Mom was confused because she knew that milk was still good, she just bought it. What was there to think about? But then she, at ten years old, looked at her mom and said that people should have expiration dates on their foreheads. At first this seems really morbid. Do you really want to know exactly when you’re going to die? Or when your loved ones will? “Why?” she asked her daughter. “So people can enjoy their milk.”

What would you do differently if you knew your “expiration date?” How would you treat people differently if you knew theirs? And is it a sell by date or a use by date? Does the smell test still work?

Thursday Rant: Toddler Naps

Ok. I know it’s Friday. I’m not a perfect person.

I took Mister grocery shopping which I thought was going to be a disaster. He didn’t nap until we got in the car to go to the store and he woke up as soon as we got there. Fail. Good thing there is a Starbucks right next to the commissary. Coffee for me and chocolate milk for Mister (which he rarely gets). He was so stinking happy. But he sucked it down so fast that it didn’t even last through the produce department and he was crabby again. I broke down and gave him a binkie. Sometimes you need to break your own rules in order to keep your sanity.

I was sure he would take a nap when we got home. No dice. He didn’t fall asleep again until we got back in the car to go to my parent’s house for dinner. He promptly woke up when I tried to lay him down inside.

Now, if I am overly tired I just want to take out my contacts and crawl into bed. All I want is my pillow and a maybe a blanket to curl up with. My eyes close and I’m done. Toddlers? No. The more tired they are the more they fight to sleep. Mister can take a solid 3 hour nap during the day and go to bed with ease that night. If he misses a nap I can expect bedtime to involve nuclear missile threats. I don’t get it.

Where’s my nap?

It Isn't Even Grass

We got a letter in the mail today from our property management company stating that they had done a drive by assessment of the property. They said our lawn was dry and we have two weeks to make it better. The Captain was livid. Let’s discuss this.

He called to inquire what they suggest we do about the dry lawn since we live in a near desert climate. He explained that our sprinkler system goes off automatically and regularly and we’ve used fertilizers and weed-n-feed but nothing seems to help. I’m not sure what else we can do. Their response? “Well you need to get it back to the condition it was in when you moved in.” Oh you mean thigh high weeds? He actually said that.

They offered to contact a landscaper for us, at our expense. No thanks. The Captain went on to explain that the problem isn’t that the grass is dry. It’s that we’ve tried to kill the weeds and the whole yard is weeds.

This house was trash when we moved in and the yard was literally thigh high weeds and hadn’t been taken care of in probably months. We’ve done so much to make the whole property better and all they care about is dry grass. Screw you American Heritage Properties. You want it watered more? You pay the outrageous water bill. You want new sod? You hire a landscaper. This is your house, I’m just borrowing it. If you don’t like that Southern California summers are hot, dry, and brutal on vegetation perhaps you shouldn’t rent property here.

My Universe Will Never.... So Call Me Maybe

I have radio ADD. I can’t remember when I actually listened to a whole song on the radio. Most often I hit every single one of my pre-programmed station buttons until I find one that isn’t a commercial. It doesn’t matter what the song is, I’ll leave it on if it’s got a good beat. Then I sing through a verse and a chorus and I’m over it. Back to hitting buttons.

More often than that I just hit the “scan” button and let the radio filter through every single station. And just let it scan the entire commute to work. The 8 seconds that it stays on any given station are more than enough before I get bored. Sometimes the lyrics run together as it changes from one station to the next and create amusing lines. Like those poetry magnets we all had in college, but on my radio.

I remember driving my dad to the airport years ago and my radio was scanning. He finally just lost it and said “Would you just pick a station?! Any station, I don’t care, but pick ONE!”

Since doing this while I’ve lived so close to the border I’ve picked up a little Spanish. Sea la persona que llama y la décima victoria de entradas!

Thursday Rant: PMS

It’s time for another Thursday rant. As is my nature I procrastinated and didn’t think about what I was going to rant about before today. I started of this morning as Super-Crab so I figured it would be easy enough. Pick something. Anything. This whole day was a menagerie of things that made me want to swear.

Turns out I’m really just PMSing and irritable.

I’m fine now and, looking back on my day, nothing was really as bad as my hypersensitive emotions made it all out to be. I even slept in until 7:30. That’s AMAZING. But that just couldn’t make me happy.

So, despite my constant ranting all day long, the only thing rant worthy is the PMS itself. Why does it turn us into monsters? I understand how the female body works and I think I know more about the hormones and what exactly they do each month than the average person. What I don’t know is why we become irrational lunatics for 3-5 days before our body finally says “Go! Be gone evilness!” and our period starts. In medieval times it was actually believed that the menstrual cycle was poison leaving a woman’s body and a “sinister time” in which she should be kept in solitude until she was clean.

Gee, I wonder why anyone would ever think that. I’m surprised they didn’t perform more exorcisms.

Two Year Old Socialite

It had occurred to be before and became apparent again today that I would not have a social life were it not for my child. My only friends are the people I know at work and I only see them at work. They’re great but no one wants to hang out with the lady with the baby. So when they get together to go to a baseball game or happy hour (yeah, they really do that) and weekend parties I’m not invited. I’m sure I wouldn’t be turned away if I showed up and the non-invite is not malicious. I’m just not part of that after-work crowd.

Mister has friends, though, which means I have mommy friends by default. We’ve been to two birthday parties this summer and if it weren’t for them I don’t think I would have done anything but work all summer. But the parties, although they were for two year olds, were fun for me and The Captain, too. There are so many parents and other kids there that Mister is entertained and there is always an adult with an eye on him. Birthday parties are like a break for parents (unless it’s your kid’s birthday).

The Captain and I spent three hours talking with other adults that we know and get along with. We laughed, we ate, and no one cared when we excused ourselves to change a diaper or wipe a cake filled face. Dare I say we have friends? Was this as much a social event for us as it was for Mister? Absolutely. The Captain even called me at work to ask me what to wear.

Thank you, son, for sharing your friends’ parents.

Thursday Rant: Oversized Vehicles and the Idiots That Drive Them

Parking lots have designated spaces for lots of people; handicapped, expectant mother, and where I shop colonels and generals have privileged parking as well. These people all have a reason to park closer to the front of the store and I’m ok with it.

Occasionally I come across a spot or a row that is stamped “compact.” There’s a reason for this too. Sometimes those spots are actually smaller than the surrounding spaces and sometimes the lane is just narrower and harder to navigate and back out of.

Whatever the case, get your SUV and full size truck out of my parking space. I drive a Focus. I’m allowed to park in a “compact” space. Why? Because my car FITS in a compact space. Your quad cab Silverado does not.

If you purchase a vehicle this large you have to understand that you lose out on certain privileges. Accept it. And when you know you drive a monster please pull forward at the gas pump. When you use the first pump your front end is actually blocking the pump in front of you so everyone has to wait while you take forever to fill up your 5,862 gallon tank.

Also, if you purchase said large vehicle please be able to DRIVE it. If you don’t know how to use your side mirrors and you have no depth perception you should have gotten a smart car. Backing up can be tricky. So if you have to inch out of a parking space, if you can’t tell how much room is left between your bumper and the car on the other side of the aisle, if your lack of turning radius combined with lack of brains makes you pull forward and adjust 4 times then do us all a favor. Get out of my compact space and drive yourself over to the Kia dealership.