Yesterday we had no internet service. That's akin to no life line, but we managed until the tech showed up this afternoon to reconnect us to the wide, wide world of internet again. I must say the experience dealing with Comcast was less than pleasant.
When Paul got home yesterday and discovered there was no internet, he did what all married men do....call the wife! I didn't have my magic wand with me, and it wasn't at home, so he had to call Comcast. Needless to say....it didn't go well, because the automated system automatically increases the callers blood pressure, which makes all systems related kick into angry overdrive.
After much button pushing, yelling into the phone, etc., we had a tech scheduled to arrive here today between 1 and 5. At midnight last night, my cell phone rang. Now I doubt anyone hears their phone ring at midnight and thinks, "Hmm, that must be Comcast calling to confirm the tech's arrival tomorrow between 1pm and 5pm." NO! The average person hears their phone ring at midnight and wonders what is wrong with one of the kids, or did that ailing relative die, or........something other than COMCAST calling.
I answered the phone to hear the automated system, with instructions to press 1 for something, 2 for something else, and 3 for something else. I hung up the phone. At 6:30 this morning, the phone rang. What now? I wondered if Julie got stuck in a snow drift. NOPE, it's Comcast again! Same automated system, so I punched all the right numbers, and low and behold a living person came on the line. I'm sure she regretted the connection, because I told her what I thought of calls from their automated system at midnight, and again at 6:30, and I had already confirmed the appt three times, not to mention that Paul had confirmed it as well!
Thirty minutes later the phone rang. Yep, you guessed it....the automated system wanting me to confirm the appt. I called back, punched in the many, many buttons, and connected to a person who spoke broken English at best. I told her that they needed to work on their automated system, and make sure it wasn't calling customers at midnight. She said, "Ma'am, I am noting on your account that you do not want the automated system to call you in the wee hours of the morning." I wish I wasn't quoting that word for word, but I am. THEN, then she had the nerve to tell me that I could have signed onto my account at www.comcast.net and confirmed the appointment there. I hung up!
Thirty minutes later.....sure enough, the automated system, and each time you are asked if you would like to complete a brief survey after the call. Oh my! They do not want to hear what I would say. I called again, and once again, I pressed one (if your first born is blond and lives in the USA). I pressed two, (if your middle child has blue eyes), and I pressed three when asked if I had ever considered blowing up an automated phone system, and then I heard........Your call cannot be completed as dialed. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try your call again. KABOOM!
I called back, and after all the button pushing, and frustration, I connected with a live being, and of course, she spoke very broken English as well. I told her that I had already confirmed the appt more than once, and how about 7 times, and surely they had that in their system now, and would she please make sure the tech didn't show up before 1pm, because I would not be home. Of course, it was all noted in my account.
At 11:30 I rec'd a phone call from the Comcast tech, and he would be at my house in ten minutes. Noted on my account, huh? In which language, and which account? I told him I wasn't home, would not be home until 1pm. He graciously said he would come back. Lucky for him, he was a nice guy! He reconnected us, replaced the broken equipment, and went on his way. Happy Thanksgiving, and all that jazz.
Oh wouldn't you know it. Comcast just called wanting to know how I would rate my experience with the service provided. I can't answer that by pushing buttons. I just can't!
I'm thinking about calling the automated system back and seeing if I can wreak havoc with it.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Mothers
If there were a way to measure love, think of the explosive measurement that would result from the first time a mother holds her newborn baby. It's a love that is immeasurable. It's also a love that is indescribable. It's just there. It's powerful, it's explosive, and it's forever.
When we hold our babies for the first time, it's a feeling that will stay with us forever. We gaze into those squinty little eyes, and we are lost forever. It doesn't matter if the baby is the ugliest human ever born, it's a beautiful baby to it's mother.
We have no idea of what lies ahead, we just know we love. We know we will always love, and that's all we think of at the time. It's good that's all we can think of at the time. If we could see the future, we could not enjoy the present.
The future often holds things for us, and for that baby, who will become an adult, that we could not cope with, if we knew what was ahead. Life trains us, even though we think it doesn't, it trains us for those moments in time that if we knew were coming, we would just give up. When those days come, and we are living them, we often think we will not survive them, but we do. We survive them because we loved that baby from the moment we first held them, and we will love them until forever. We don't have to like what they do, or the choices that they make, or the trials they put us though, but we will always love them.
The love of a mother is powerful. A mother would rather die herself, than to lose her child in death. A mother would rather take on all of her child's pain, than to see her child suffer. For a mother to practice tough love is costly. Mothers heal, mothers fix, mothers kiss and make things better, and when a mother can't heal, or fix, or kiss away the pain, it's costly to the mother.
A mother's love cannot be measured on any scale made by man. For all those who have a mom, a mom who loves them, just understand, she will always love you, even when she doesn't like you, she will love you. When she makes you furious, or you make her furious, you feel like you can't understand her, or she doesn't understand you, you feel like she is too involved, just know this, she loves you. She loves you without measure, because that's what a mother's love is. A love without measure.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
The Empty of the Nest
Two years ago when my youngest left home, so many of my friends told me that I would not really like the empty nest syndrome. I, of course, said that I had plans, and I would enjoy the peace and quiet. That has been true to a certain extent, but there are the grandsons filling up the space and the quiet, and most of the things I had planned have not come to be.
The empty of the nest is sometimes echoingly empty. I realize that I raised my three kids to leave home. It's the process of life. Being home wasn't always a fun place to be, and having me for a mom was always just a little bit on the crazy side. I admit it, they will tell you it, and so it is. There are times though, when the empty is a cavern that seems too huge to fill.
My oldest, Sarah, is 1476.75 miles from home. If I were to drive to her house, Mapquest tells me that it would take me 22 hours and 11 minutes. In other words, it's a long drive. I go there often, in my mind. I think of what it would be like to visit her, to eat at the restaurant where she works, to see her new home, to meet Sean's parents, and all her friends. I've yet to make the actual trip, but I visit often in my hopes, and dreams, and schemes. She thinks I will never come to visit her, but she is wrong.
Sarah's room was a work of art. She drew on her walls, and even though it was hard to do, I eventually painted over all that work, and teenage emotion, and turned her room into a guest room. It's a guest room, but it's still Sarah's room. It's an empty part of the nest.
Julia lives just about nine miles from me, but there are times when it seems like she is a thousand miles from home as well. Her dad will often say, "She could at least stop in, and she could bring Greyson with her. It's a long time from Friday to Friday." Some of Julie's things are still here, but her room is empty of Julie, and is an empty part of the nest. I have plans to make that room into another guest room, and to paint it something other than shades of green. No matter the color, or that it's another guest room, it's still Julie's room.
Jacob lives 257.81 miles from home, and though he is much closer than Sarah, there are times it seems he is so much farther. Boys just don't call as often, don't share as much of their lives, operate on a need to know basis, and there is so much a mom does not need to know. In his room there are many echoes of Jacob. The hole in the wall, the scuffed up wall from his easy chair, that rubbed across the wall while he swiveled it back and forth while playing his Xbox 360. I stand in there at times, and I hear his sister yelling at him to turn down the stereo, or to stop thunking the golf club on the floor. I think I hear him lumbering down the hall, and am disappointed when it's not him, just my imagination. I have plans for his room too. Plans that involve wall repair, and paint, but no matter the repairs, of the color involved, it's still Jacob's room, and a part of the emptiness of the nest.
As August approaches, and school begins, I think of the parents who will be sending their little ones to kindergarten, and remember the tears, all mine, not theirs, as I left them there at school. School, that new world of adventure, and learning, and growing! I think of the parents who will have children, who think they are grownups, entering into middle school. I think of the parents with children in high school and remember thinking, I'm almost done. Then I think of the college kids, who are adults, but still kids. Ah what a journey.
From that first moment of conception, to the last of the apron string being snipped, it's a journey filled with joy, with sorrow, with aches and pains, the tooth fairy that forgot to show up, the agony of early school mornings, the broken hearts, drivers ed, finals, dances, homecomings, prom, cell phones, forgetting to call home, curfews, moving out, moving on, and so much more. It's a house that becomes a home filled with memories, some good, some bad, some awesome, and with all that, it remains the place called home, though empty of little ones that filled the nest, it's still home.
The empty of the nest is sometimes echoingly empty. I realize that I raised my three kids to leave home. It's the process of life. Being home wasn't always a fun place to be, and having me for a mom was always just a little bit on the crazy side. I admit it, they will tell you it, and so it is. There are times though, when the empty is a cavern that seems too huge to fill.
My oldest, Sarah, is 1476.75 miles from home. If I were to drive to her house, Mapquest tells me that it would take me 22 hours and 11 minutes. In other words, it's a long drive. I go there often, in my mind. I think of what it would be like to visit her, to eat at the restaurant where she works, to see her new home, to meet Sean's parents, and all her friends. I've yet to make the actual trip, but I visit often in my hopes, and dreams, and schemes. She thinks I will never come to visit her, but she is wrong.
Sarah's room was a work of art. She drew on her walls, and even though it was hard to do, I eventually painted over all that work, and teenage emotion, and turned her room into a guest room. It's a guest room, but it's still Sarah's room. It's an empty part of the nest.
Julia lives just about nine miles from me, but there are times when it seems like she is a thousand miles from home as well. Her dad will often say, "She could at least stop in, and she could bring Greyson with her. It's a long time from Friday to Friday." Some of Julie's things are still here, but her room is empty of Julie, and is an empty part of the nest. I have plans to make that room into another guest room, and to paint it something other than shades of green. No matter the color, or that it's another guest room, it's still Julie's room.
Jacob lives 257.81 miles from home, and though he is much closer than Sarah, there are times it seems he is so much farther. Boys just don't call as often, don't share as much of their lives, operate on a need to know basis, and there is so much a mom does not need to know. In his room there are many echoes of Jacob. The hole in the wall, the scuffed up wall from his easy chair, that rubbed across the wall while he swiveled it back and forth while playing his Xbox 360. I stand in there at times, and I hear his sister yelling at him to turn down the stereo, or to stop thunking the golf club on the floor. I think I hear him lumbering down the hall, and am disappointed when it's not him, just my imagination. I have plans for his room too. Plans that involve wall repair, and paint, but no matter the repairs, of the color involved, it's still Jacob's room, and a part of the emptiness of the nest.
As August approaches, and school begins, I think of the parents who will be sending their little ones to kindergarten, and remember the tears, all mine, not theirs, as I left them there at school. School, that new world of adventure, and learning, and growing! I think of the parents who will have children, who think they are grownups, entering into middle school. I think of the parents with children in high school and remember thinking, I'm almost done. Then I think of the college kids, who are adults, but still kids. Ah what a journey.
From that first moment of conception, to the last of the apron string being snipped, it's a journey filled with joy, with sorrow, with aches and pains, the tooth fairy that forgot to show up, the agony of early school mornings, the broken hearts, drivers ed, finals, dances, homecomings, prom, cell phones, forgetting to call home, curfews, moving out, moving on, and so much more. It's a house that becomes a home filled with memories, some good, some bad, some awesome, and with all that, it remains the place called home, though empty of little ones that filled the nest, it's still home.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Goodbye, Sadie Girl
Some goodbyes are just painful, very painful. Even when you know it's best, and the suffering will end, it's still painful. It's painful, and I'm a wuss. The day has come that we must take our faithful old dog, Sadie to be put to sleep. She's 14 years old, she's in pain, she's deaf, and it's so hard to see her suffer.
She was the cutest, fuzziest little puppy. She was a good mama to her litters, and I always marveled that such a pretty dog as she was, could produce such a hilarious offspring as one little pup whom we named Blue.
Sadie was gentle, yet fiercely protective of us. No one got near the kids if Sadie thought they were being a threat. She was a regular Houdini of an escape artist. Countless times we would come home to find her outside the fence and enjoying her freedom. She was as fast as a race dog when she saw us coming, and she was through the fence, and in the pen, sitting there looking so innocent.
She could hear us coming down the road, and if she was in the fence, she met us at the gate. Now she can't hear when we go outside, and as she lays there by the back door, she won't even budge until she sees us. Then she struggles to get up, and she cries in pain. She no longer barks, because her world is quiet.
Goodbye, Sadie girl. You've been a great dog. You loved us unconditionally, even when we were unworthy of your love.
She was the cutest, fuzziest little puppy. She was a good mama to her litters, and I always marveled that such a pretty dog as she was, could produce such a hilarious offspring as one little pup whom we named Blue.
Sadie was gentle, yet fiercely protective of us. No one got near the kids if Sadie thought they were being a threat. She was a regular Houdini of an escape artist. Countless times we would come home to find her outside the fence and enjoying her freedom. She was as fast as a race dog when she saw us coming, and she was through the fence, and in the pen, sitting there looking so innocent.
She could hear us coming down the road, and if she was in the fence, she met us at the gate. Now she can't hear when we go outside, and as she lays there by the back door, she won't even budge until she sees us. Then she struggles to get up, and she cries in pain. She no longer barks, because her world is quiet.
Goodbye, Sadie girl. You've been a great dog. You loved us unconditionally, even when we were unworthy of your love.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Life's Moments
I enjoy watching and listening to young mother's these days. It takes me back to when my three were little, and I was struggling to cope with all that life was throwing at me. There were moments, and sometimes even days, when I thought none of us would survive. I watch these young moms and I know that they will make it, but sometimes they just aren't too sure.
Today I was cleaning out a drawer in the filing cabinet, and I came across my youngest child's graduation cards, and a few keepsakes from school. Among the treasures was a paper he had to write for one of his classes. I think it might have been his senior speech. He wrote of memories from kindergarten through his senior year. How much he enjoyed his friends, and some funny things that had happened through the years, but the ending is what touched my heart, and made me cry. It's also what made me think of all the young moms that I know. It's so worth it to survive the childhood encounters with your children. They do hear what you are saying to them. They are watching you and learning from you, and they do appreciate you.
Here is how he finished up the paper:
My parents are the people who have shown me how to best live in this world, and I thank them for everything they have given me. The one thing I am the most thankful for is the laughter they brought into my life. I couldn't imagine going through life without a sense of humor. My mom's stories about my life, and her own have taught me how to be humble, even though sometimes I forget. My dad taught me how to be a man, and I hope that I can grow to be every bit the man that he is, and has shown me to be. My parents are the greatest influence in my life, and that is what I am most grateful for.
Now it is only fair I mention my sisters, and all the ways they have made my life interesting. I love both of them, and I am glad that they were always there for me. Julie was there for the deep talks, and Sarah was always pushing me to try new things. Now I hope to return the favor to Julie, by being the best uncle to her soon to be born son, Greyson.
It's moments in life like this that make you feel like it was worth it after all. So go change one more diaper, clean up one more spilled drink, put the toys away, and then take the time to snuggle, to laugh, and to enjoy, because sooner than you think, those little ones will be grown and gone from home.
Today I was cleaning out a drawer in the filing cabinet, and I came across my youngest child's graduation cards, and a few keepsakes from school. Among the treasures was a paper he had to write for one of his classes. I think it might have been his senior speech. He wrote of memories from kindergarten through his senior year. How much he enjoyed his friends, and some funny things that had happened through the years, but the ending is what touched my heart, and made me cry. It's also what made me think of all the young moms that I know. It's so worth it to survive the childhood encounters with your children. They do hear what you are saying to them. They are watching you and learning from you, and they do appreciate you.
Here is how he finished up the paper:
My parents are the people who have shown me how to best live in this world, and I thank them for everything they have given me. The one thing I am the most thankful for is the laughter they brought into my life. I couldn't imagine going through life without a sense of humor. My mom's stories about my life, and her own have taught me how to be humble, even though sometimes I forget. My dad taught me how to be a man, and I hope that I can grow to be every bit the man that he is, and has shown me to be. My parents are the greatest influence in my life, and that is what I am most grateful for.
Now it is only fair I mention my sisters, and all the ways they have made my life interesting. I love both of them, and I am glad that they were always there for me. Julie was there for the deep talks, and Sarah was always pushing me to try new things. Now I hope to return the favor to Julie, by being the best uncle to her soon to be born son, Greyson.
It's moments in life like this that make you feel like it was worth it after all. So go change one more diaper, clean up one more spilled drink, put the toys away, and then take the time to snuggle, to laugh, and to enjoy, because sooner than you think, those little ones will be grown and gone from home.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Don't Bring a Snake in the House
Don't pick up snakes, don't tell me about snakes,don't show me pictures of snakes, don't bring snakes into the house. NO SNAKES ALLOWED!
Those were the strict instructions at our house, still are. Did my kids listen? HA! Julie and Jacob abided by the rules, but Sarah struggled with them. So guess who brought a snake into the house? I think it should be genetically correct that all girls fear snakes.
We once lived next door to an older couple who adopted our three kids as their grandkids. Now that was really nice, at least it was at times. There were those times when Jeff gave them ideas that were less than favorable to their parents. But the snake and Sarah were all Wilma's idea. Unbelievable as that might seem, it was all Wilma's idea, and she enjoyed the outcome of her idea a lot more than I did for sure. She found the snake, gave it to Sarah, and said, "Go show this to your mom."
One fine summer day, the three kids were next door at Jeff and Wilma's. I made use of the free time, and was sitting in the bathroom taking care of business, when in walked Sarah. And with Sarah, came a snake. A SNAKE! A snake in her hands, and there I am on the pot.
Where to go! What to do! How will I get past the snake without touching it? How will I manage to exit the bathroom without killing Sarah, without touching the snake, and leaving all the walls and doors intact? All of these thoughts are running frantically through my mind, while my mouth is open, and I'm screaming a blood curdling scream. Plus, it's kind of hard to run with clothes around your ankles.
Sarah has realized this might not be a good idea to bring a snake to mom after all, especially in such a confined space. In reaction to my reaction, she feels compelled to tell me that it's just a plastic snake. To stress the point, she is waving it at me, and saying...it's plastic...it's plastic. Well guess what, the snake might be plastic, but I'm already spastic.
Once I realize the snake is plastic, and my brain manages to calm down my spastic body, I recover my ability to speak without screaming, I tell her to take the snake and herself out of the bathroom. Wilma is in her yard laughing hysterically, because she heard me screaming even with all the house around me.
Sarah and I both survived, the plastic snake went into the garbage, and I tried to laugh about it all. The rules are still the same. NO SNAKES ALLOWED, of any kind!
Those were the strict instructions at our house, still are. Did my kids listen? HA! Julie and Jacob abided by the rules, but Sarah struggled with them. So guess who brought a snake into the house? I think it should be genetically correct that all girls fear snakes.
We once lived next door to an older couple who adopted our three kids as their grandkids. Now that was really nice, at least it was at times. There were those times when Jeff gave them ideas that were less than favorable to their parents. But the snake and Sarah were all Wilma's idea. Unbelievable as that might seem, it was all Wilma's idea, and she enjoyed the outcome of her idea a lot more than I did for sure. She found the snake, gave it to Sarah, and said, "Go show this to your mom."
One fine summer day, the three kids were next door at Jeff and Wilma's. I made use of the free time, and was sitting in the bathroom taking care of business, when in walked Sarah. And with Sarah, came a snake. A SNAKE! A snake in her hands, and there I am on the pot.
Where to go! What to do! How will I get past the snake without touching it? How will I manage to exit the bathroom without killing Sarah, without touching the snake, and leaving all the walls and doors intact? All of these thoughts are running frantically through my mind, while my mouth is open, and I'm screaming a blood curdling scream. Plus, it's kind of hard to run with clothes around your ankles.
Sarah has realized this might not be a good idea to bring a snake to mom after all, especially in such a confined space. In reaction to my reaction, she feels compelled to tell me that it's just a plastic snake. To stress the point, she is waving it at me, and saying...it's plastic...it's plastic. Well guess what, the snake might be plastic, but I'm already spastic.
Once I realize the snake is plastic, and my brain manages to calm down my spastic body, I recover my ability to speak without screaming, I tell her to take the snake and herself out of the bathroom. Wilma is in her yard laughing hysterically, because she heard me screaming even with all the house around me.
Sarah and I both survived, the plastic snake went into the garbage, and I tried to laugh about it all. The rules are still the same. NO SNAKES ALLOWED, of any kind!
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Interesting: That Would Be Life
I think life is very interesting. There is not a day goes by that there is not something that I find interesting. People, the mainstay of life, are the most interesting beings. I love to observe them, to think about their actions, beliefs, listen to their hopes, share their dreams, laugh at their antics, enjoy the humans in the race of life.
The other night I went out to the side yard to take a picture of the sunset. My neighbor was out in his yard, so we had a little chat. It's so interesting what you find out about people when you take the time to listen. It's also a learning experience. You learn about them, and you learn about yourself in your reactions to their experiences.
I'm thankful for my three kids, for more than one reason, but especially for what they have taught me about acceptance, and looking beyond the surface. Granted, I am often a slow learner, and I have to be reminded, but I think I've made some progress. Often when we take the time to stop, to listen, to observe, our first impression of someone will change, and we will be softer and more generous in our care for them.
The other night I went out to the side yard to take a picture of the sunset. My neighbor was out in his yard, so we had a little chat. It's so interesting what you find out about people when you take the time to listen. It's also a learning experience. You learn about them, and you learn about yourself in your reactions to their experiences.
I'm thankful for my three kids, for more than one reason, but especially for what they have taught me about acceptance, and looking beyond the surface. Granted, I am often a slow learner, and I have to be reminded, but I think I've made some progress. Often when we take the time to stop, to listen, to observe, our first impression of someone will change, and we will be softer and more generous in our care for them.
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