Homework: Weeping, Wailing & Nashing of the Teeth



The fifth circle (Anger) by Stradanus via Wikipedia

I like helping.  I enjoy helping.  I derive satisfaction from helping.  However, seldom does homework fall under this category for me.  One would think it would.  It does not.  In our house it's often a knock-down, drag-out fight involving a lot of shouting--sometimes from me.  Lots of weeping and wailing and spinning of the wheels--I also gnash my teeth.  The amount of resistance I encounter on some nights could power a small village and still have reserves.  Afterschool in our house can be compared to a scene from The Inferno.  Did I mention that I feel like weeping, wailing and gnashing my teeth?   

Then, there are those nights where all goes well and the collective "we" enjoy working together and cooperation is the word of the night.  Tonight is not one of those nights.  Apparently Little Man thinks that Chief is easier to work with than me...if I were a person who ran out and tatted myself for every life event, homework would get a special tat.  For the record I do not have any tatoos, but I have a post in mind about them.  Maybe I'd write "The Inferno" on the inside of my arm so that when it is time to do homework I'd stroke that spot on my arm and say a little mantra or prayer to myself to banish thoughts of running a butter knife into my carotid. 

I find homework a low point of the evening--not every day but some of them.  It's a battle that I try not to engage in and somehow the emotional current of homework sweeps me away with it.  Homework can be fun and there are many times that it actually is--I look forward to more of those kind of nights.  I'm not one to do or to compulsively check their homework--I facilitate and even that knocks the spirit out of me. 

Tonight I walk away from the battlefield with a bruised ego, feeling like a shell of my former self.  I'm ready for bed, my friends.  Am I the only one who feels like this?

Tomorrow, homework will be better--it can't get any worse...

A trip to the gas station

I went to Costco this morning to get gas.  As I was paying the man on the other side of the pump and I exchanged greetings and continued about our business.  Since I was driving the boat this morning, filling up took a little bit.  When I fill the Mini, even when it's really low, it just sips the gas and then we're out of there
--although I try not to get it down really low and Chief razzes me for it because he thinks I get panicky when (according to him) there is plenty of gas in the tank.  Getting gas for the Mini is like a race car pit stop--well, not that fast but it seems like it when I'm surrounded by such large vehicles.  It's like the Mini has a quick shot of espresso and is on its way while all the cars and trucks are having big gulps and super big gulps.  At any rate, I'm standing there as the numbers on the money portion of the pump roll over and over (and over and over, since I have the boat) at a quick rate and I hear all sorts of squeaking and kind of bumping noises.  I turn around and all I can see is the little pickup truck next to me shaking--if I couldn't see the bed of the truck I might think there was some funny business going on, if you know what I mean.  So I lean to look around the pump and the man next to me is leaning against his truck, making it shake from side to side as he agitates the pump in the gas tank...again, sounds and looks a little iffy.  I said to the guy, are you trying to wring every last drop out of it? (or something to that effect)  He laughed and told me he was because he had a long way to go.  I kind of figured he was driving a ways away because he had a "border patrol" cap on the dash, but that was just my guess.  Then he told me it was his 80th birthday and he was going to Tucson to see his grandsons, 15, 12 and 10--a wild bunch, but all honor students.  They are just like their mom, he proudly tells me.  He said, "I thought I was a redneck but my daughter was born and raised here and she coined the term redneck--and I'm from Kentucky.  Her sons are just like her." 

What a funny encounter at the gas station.  He was a very nice man and I wished him a happy birthday and we were on our way.  I wish you, too, a happy day.

More Shadows and a Brain Hat!

If I only had a brain hat, like Stella here, I would've found my shadow pics yesterday.

That's a picture of a brain that Little Man colored for school last year and then the class made "hats" out of them--they were studying anatomy.  In case you're wondering, Stella is a "boy."  There'll be a post about Stella in the future.

So, here's the real deal--my dog's shadow.  Did you figure out what made robot dog's shadow yesterday?  It was a bike carrier on the back of a car.  The boys actually saw that shadow and told me to take a pic, because I take a pic of practically everything. 

This is Big Monkey's shadow.  Yes, he really is skinny and tall. 

As I was pulling out of the carport this afternoon, I noticed that all of the birds were standing in the shade.  They weren't chattering or eating, just standing.  Our yard, especially in the evening, sounds like a scene from The Birds--lots of bird chatter, chirping and squawking.  It was eerily silent today and I attribute it to the death-heat.  Even though I promised to lay off the heat grumbling, I felt compelled to add that observation.  It was kind of like driving down a busy road when there is no traffic--eerie, not normal and mildly apocalypic. 

Shadows & Sun

We're in a "heat advisory" here in Phoenix and it really stinks.  The school is even keeping the children inside because it's too hot to play.  Since I'm a little fried, here is a shadow pic to entertain you.  Since I can be technically challenged and can't seem to find the others, you only get one today.  But, you get a bonus "one" backstory below.

Can you guess what this is a shadow of?  What do you think it looks like?

The boys thought it looked like a robot dog.  I agree with them.  But right now it also looks like a bat or a gargoyle of sorts, too.  I took that earlier in the month.

The backstory of the day is about Chief and Big Monkey, when he was about 1 year old.  In the car I always give the boys snacks in little bags or containers and let them handle them on their own.  Chief is a little neatnic about his cars, so usually the boys do not eat in them when he's around.  But, when Big Monkey was little he grew like crazy and seemed to be constantly hungry, so Chief did feed him snacks while running errands.  However, he'd dole them out one-by-one.  Apparently Big Monkey tired very quickly of that and insisted he have "mo" (more).  Chief responds with, "No, one."  Big Monkey firmly says, "Two."  So, we learned two things that day.  1) No one likes Chief's control-freak car anticks (although we love him anyway).  2) Big Monkey could count.



http://www.graphicsfairy.com/

A successful trip to Michaels this weekend.  I promised the monkeys we'd "look" at the Halloween decorations.  Ever since that cursed Halloween costume catalogue arrived it's been nothing but Halloween talk, especially from Little Man.  Actually, that's not true.  He's been talking about Santa, a lot.  He actually drew a picture of our house with Santa on the roof--this is a picture for Santa.  He even insisted I get a Christmas ribbon out so he could wrap it around the picture.  Little Man thought it'd be nice to give Santa something because he's always giving us stuff.  To interrupt my own story I have to say that I was touched he was being so thoughtful; this, despite the fact that he was so annoyingly insistent that this whole picture, ribbon, Santa thing had to be done RIGHT NOW because he might forget.  Little Man also "knew" that Santa would love the picture and put it in his workshop.  It's now sitting on the hearth in the living room, waiting for Santa's arrival...but back to Halloween. 

We came home with cobwebs, stickers, a skeleton to be painted by Little Man, a spider to be painted by Big Monkey and a skull garden stake using a votive to light the eye sockets (cute not scary), which is where it is right now.  At the last minute I added glow in the dark paint.  Big Monkey has let the Halloween thing rest for now but Little Man keeps telling us all of the "plans" for Halloween and decorating.  I wonder how long this enthusiasm will last with this intensity? 

Embracing the aging process

One would not think I would be so excited to see a pair of readers.  This morning I was.  It was as if I found a long, lost cousin or something.  Actually Big Monkey found the readers, they had rolled into the back seat of the SUV.  Handing them to me, he asked, “What are these?”  I answer, “Yeah!  Those are my readers.  You have totally made my day—thank you!”  Then Little Man went into a big spiel how he hadn’t seen me wear them since "Monday"…had to get his 2 cents in, I suppose. 

It’s not that I’m excited about aging, especially with regards to the obvious signs of it—failing eyesight, occasional grey hairs and the creeping middle-age spread, it’s that when I finally needed readers on a more regular basis I bought some good ones.  (As an aside, my eye doctor is a hoot because he seems so gleeful that I finally use them, if only occasionally.  It’s as if he were waiting for this day for a long time.)  I embraced my teetering eyesight by getting some readers I actually liked and wouldn’t be embarrassed to wear.  I had a cheap pair I liked and somehow managed to lose those—I don’t lose things like that so I was frustrated.  Then, I “lost” the good ones and I was a little agitated about that—attachment and perfectionism at its best.  I just couldn’t imagine how I could lose my readers because I carry around a handbag the size of a carry-on—things go in there and don’t come out (until I switch to another unusually large handbag).  I must’ve taken an erratic turn in the truck and my bag tipped over—the readers running for their life.  At any rate, that’s what I’m grateful for today: found readers.  I know it’s a silly thing and I’m most certainly grateful for a lot of things that are more substantial and serious, but right now my eyes thank Big Monkey and my lovely, lovely readers. 

New Coke and My Big Mouth

en.wikipedia.org

http://www.mindthegp.wordpress/

both via google images

Quite a few years back Chief and I were at Target running a quick errand when we saw Pepsi Zero on sale and he picked some up.  The cashier asked us if we liked it and we told her we had never heard of it and knew nothing about it.  After a pause (and a moment of knowing better) I said you’d think they (Pepsi) would learn a lesson from the New Coke debacle.  Mind you, the cashier is all of 18 maybe 19—wasn’t even born when New Coke came out.  She’s never heard of it.  I continue trying to give her prompts or hints hoping maybe a light bulb will go off—drawing out the words with my pitch rising towards the end of the sentence (which seems to be teen/kid speak these days anyway—everything’s a question? when they speak).  I say, you know, that’s where “Classic Coke” comes from?  They reformulated it in the 80’s and called it “New Coke”?  Made everyone angry???  Crickets and a very blank stare.  Maybe her eyes were glazed over—at that point I didn’t really care to be honest. 

I think that everyone should know quite a few things about the years that predate their birth—hello, does anyone take history anymore?  What about pop culture references?  They’re everywhere!  How do you "get" things without knowing some stuff?  Without a thought and much to Chief’s dismay (although he’s pretty used to it by now, we’ve been together for 20 years) I launched into the whole New Coke/Classic Coke debacle and decline in sales, etc., pretty much knowing this girl a) probably didn’t care and b) was too young to “remember.”  Again, I reiterate the point about pop culture references and suggest the wealth of useful as well as useless information on the internet…deep breath.  I was hoping that something would ring a bell for her.  I think "ding dong" was all she was hearing.  We walked away from the counter and I told Chief that I was sorry but I just couldn’t help myself.  Sometimes, I can kind of be like dogs who like to chase squirrels: can’t—let—it—go!  At least we had a good laugh about it.  Then, I suddenly felt a little bit older. 

http://www.retroist.com/  via google images

For the record, I was being nice about it--I didn't get mad--I was trying to edify :)  I pretty much knew that would  fall on deaf ears! 



The Other "Woman"

We used to have a running joke in our family that Chief's cell was his "girlfriend."  Sometimes he's more connected to that piece of equipment than he is to anything else.  It is his lifeline to everyone, most especially work and he works a lot of hours;  however, his cell phone use/addiction can get out of hand at times.  There was a particularly rough patch at work for Chief a few years back--lots of long, long calls and they seemed to roll in one after another.  I finally became fed up with the constant chatter, ringing and beeping that came even when he wasn't on call and the sundry "emergencies" that I took to calling his beloved cell his girlfriend.  It was funny for a while until one of the boys heard Chief's cell singing and brought it to him, saying, "It's your girlfriend."  This was all said matter of fact and made me pause--part of me thought it was pretty funny and part of me was appalled.  My sarcasm came back to bite me and it was a good thing it wasn't in public!  Lesson learned.  The cell is no longer called the girlfriend--at least not within earshot of small children.

As a kind of prequel to that story, Little Man used to put his hand over his ear a lot when he was about 1 year old and I was concerned he was getting an ear infection.  No, it took me weeks to figure out that he was holding an imaginary cell to his ear.  What threw me was he was holding his hand flat to his ear and shaking his head a little.  One night Chief came walking into the room, talking on his cell.  I watched him as he held his hand flat over the entire cell and as he was talking he did these little head nods.  Monkey see monkey do.

http://www.thegraphicsfairy.com/



Cooking Strike

I’ve been on a cooking strike for quite some time now.  I don’t know what I really feel like eating which seems to make shopping for ingredients and cooking them nearly impossible.  I even tried to trick myself into thinking that if I went to the store something would “grab” me.  I haven’t been grabbed or even remotely groped by an idea or food item—not even at the store where food items are lurking about.  My story has now very much so bored me and I still have a fairly bare fridge and no dinner plans in sight.  I feed the children lots of good foods from the fridge but nothing that constitutes a proper cooked meal.  I justify not cooking because of the heat--still here in case you’re wondering but probably not.  But that, too, will get so old that I’ll have to either break down and make an actual meal or find another paltry excuse.  Right this second I’m searching my mind for excuses…any ideas (meals, not excuses)?  Eating out doesn’t count because we’ve done that a plenty.

http://www.thegraphicsfairy.com/ 

Halloween already?



http://www.thegraphicsfairy.com/



My kids love Halloween--so do I.  I'm not sure where they get their need and desire to decorate for every Tom, Dick and Harry holiday and celebration but in some ways it's kind of cool.  I grew up in a home where we didn't really decorate for the holidays.  In fact, Christmas was really the only holiday we did up and my mom (the Shinto Buddhist) was more excited than my dad (of the very German & Lutheran upbringing).  I like decorations and simultaneously dislike them.  We have a friend who spends weeks setting up for Christmas and that sounds like a nightmare to me.  She actually has a special storage space rented for just Christmas stuff.  It gives me pause thinking about her dedication as well as lunacy.  Going to her house between Thanksgiving and New Year is like visiting a Hallmark special.

I have a few things I've collected--but not much, because I'm essentially lazy.  (I'm not talking Christmas--that holiday is different because Chief loves Christmas, as did his mom, and it's very important to him for many reasons.)  Putting up decorations means taking them down and properly storing them which = lots-of-work.  Not to mention keeping decorations safe from small children and animals and vice versa--safe to say everyone is older and wiser and much more responsible these days, dog(s) included.  Every year the boys ask to decorate more and more and I resist.  This year I actually told them we could start looking at decorations this weekend and see what's out--you know they are out there and it's only August!  I made it very clear that we are looking and there is no promise of purchases.  There will definitely be no costume purchases.  I have to state this very clearly because the first of many costume catalogues arrived this weekend and there's been non-stop chatter about costumes.  It's like living in a hen house, except these hens are actually little boys.  The heat must be getting to Little Man because he asked what would happen if it rained on Halloween, forgetting that we live where it barely ever rains, let alone on Halloween.  I come from the land of rain and have spent many a chilly and wet Halloween growing up so the question perplexed me on so many levels.  At any rate, Little Man has his umbrella ready, as well as his treat bag (random tote bag from his room).  When I reiterated that we were looking this weekend I actually got the "air quotes" from Little Man and they were used in the proper context!  I about passed out--apparently he has been listening and applying.

I'll keep you posted on what we acquire and how the costume battle goes.  We've already decided that we'll put fake cobwebs on the front gate and perhaps a large spider--Big Monkey offered to hang on the gate as a decoration, too.  So helpful.  Labor day weekend I'll bring out the four little harvest jack-o-lanterns I bought at Frances a few years ago.  They are so darn cute that I don't totally put them away and they manage to make appearances throughout the year.  In anticipation of Halloween, we spent 45 minutes reading Halloween stories after school today for our reading time.  Let's see how long this enthusiasm lasts...

What holiday or celebration do you get excited for?

Cruel Summer

When I checked in this morning I noticed that all of the blogs I had listed as "following" had disappeared.  Momentary gasp!  Oh, well, I thought.  I can fix that, anyway there are some that need to be purged.  Later in the day I tried to post.  I had pics, an actual story and then I didn't.  I went to post and "Poof!" it, too, disappeared.  Time to pick up children.  I get in the car and what is playing?  Cruel Summer, by Bananarama.  The irony wasn't lost on me, especially since I felt like I spent most of last week ranting about the heat and how I was "done" with the summer.  Since then, my followed blogs have reappeared and the children are in bed--no more pop-up appearances and heroic efforts to wrangle more time away from their beds and keep themselves away from much-needed sleep.  We'll see how this works for me, which it did if you are now reading this.

Soon, Starbucks--a place (ahem) I frequently visit--will be serving up their delicious Pumpkin Spice Lattes.  For me that signals fall (I use that term loosely around here) is just around the corner, which is extremely exciting for me.  It's my favorite season, even if it's almost an apparition here.  While it's still hotter than the hubs of Hell during most days, the mornings and evenings are winding down and there is an end to sight.  Here's a shot representing my love of (addiction to) Starbucks:

Keep in mind that these represent some of the visits I had recently made--I usually try to get my coffee without a sleeve.  I won't say anything to the baristas, but it's really irritating when I'm served a lukewarm coffee with a sleeve--what's the point?  Seriously.  I've only said something once--and that was when the milk was nearly cold and I wasn't able to head right home to heat it up.  I even hesitated then because I don't like to make a ruckus about stuff like that.  I made Chief taste it before I took it back--he's the one who said it was pretty gross and that I should say something and he's usually quieter than I am about stuff like that.  When I finally made myself go back, I got the what for from the barista and how it was prepared to some exact temperature, blah, blah, blah.  After he was done with his indignant rant I told him I wasn't doubting him but I just need the poor drink "reheated or something."  I politely asked him to feel the cup or just stick his finger in my drink because it was not even lukewarm--boy, was he embarassed when he realized I wasn't being a pill and that it was pretty darn cold for a hot drink!  Sadly, I had to listen to his preparation method, again.  I told him it was alright and I wasn't upset but if he could just make it warmer that would be great and I would really appreciate it.  It was great--I got my hot drink while still remaining calm in the face of that storm.  It will soon be great because Pumpkin Spice will return and so will the cooler weather and beloved sweaters and scarves.  I may even get this to post.  Fancy that!

Good times.

Nicknames

Everyone has a nickname in our family.  Most of us have multiple nicknames.  Even When I was pregnant the unborn babies were subjected to my odd sense of humor--and a nickname.  Chief wasn't being helpful with the names when I was pregnant with Big Monkey, so I told him that I'd call the baby "Frank" until he decided to cooperate.  It's a good thing we had boys because those were the only names we could agree on--with girl names we didn't even come close.  I called Big Monkey Frank so much that a couple of people thought that was his name--kind of.  It was more of a hesistant, "I think they are calling him Frank..."  Little Man's nickname was "Wally."  I don't know where I came up with these--they just came to me.  They seemed to fit, too.

The dogs have multiple nicknames and songs that go with these nicknames.  My recent favorite nickname is "Flavia"--who razzed me on my blog-slacking.  She's right--slacker!  I've been in the cave of self-despair and gloom.  It's been difficult to climb out of it.  I'll blame it on the weather and my dry, dry, dry skin.  Flavia--I didn't even come up with that one--my friend who misread the cell came up with that one.  I was so indecisive about a potential post yesterday that I just blew it off.  It was a post about a commode, in case you're wondering.

I was thinking about nicknames the other day because Big Monkey loves the story (I'm not sure why--maybe because it's about him when he didn't know himself?) about how I was really craving a Costco hotdog when I was pregnant with him and it gave me the stomachache of a lifetime.  No joke--I felt like I was walking doubled over for the rest of the afternoon and night.  We had a work-dinner meeting to go to, too, that night.  Awful.  Pure humor to Big Monkey.  Go figure. 

Sadly, it's not the only time I've fallen victim to my digestive indiscretions, but just like the commode story--it'll have to wait for another day!

My Black Heart and Summer

This is a sore subject with Chief--black heart.  He was giving me a hard time about something--a long time ago--and said that I had a black heart.  I seem to remind him of that a lot (me and my black heart, etc.) and sometimes it makes him feel bad.  I feel bad about that but earlier today, I really felt a little bit of the black heart coming on.  I'm hot, tired and cranky.  I've done pretty well this summer but today I've had enough.  It doesn't help that I haven't slept much for the past couples of weeks.  I don't have the energy for much and I find myself staring out the window for extended periods of time.  I snap out of it when I realize that our grass is dying and that gives my black heart heartburn.  Bermuda grass should rock in the summer and ours is floundering.  Then, big sigh and attempt to go back to work...



google images: posters.ws

No, I don't think clowns will eat me and they aren't the reason for my lack of sleep but I do find them freaky.  I'm not sure why they are associated with parties (generally happy occasions) and children (generally happy people).  Most of the google images of clowns were either frightening or completely horrific.  Since my day was wasted with a wandering mind, lack of motivation and general crankiness (or black heartedness) I decided to add clowns to my post--I can't stand clowns. 

Tomorrow will be a better day--at least it'll be a new day and clownless.

A rhino drives better than me

From the back seat of the SUV I hear word that an imaginary rhinoceros drives better than me (said rhino is a "friend" of Ephali, the elephant hand puppet who's a lovey).  Little Man's reasoning?--the rhino has a horn and tail and can do more things with them, like text.  Where he came up with this--I don't know.  I have neither the desire nor the dexterity for that kind of nonsense. 

Thanks to these two, I may be developing a little complex...

Of course one of them is wearing socks on his feet and his head...oh, yeah, and he's not real!  Or is he?

As a side note, Big Monkey defended my driving.  He said that I'd win a driving contest (contests are big in our house--but only if you're male).  Little Man countered with, "And where are we going to find a little animal to drive a truck?!"  He seemed a little indignant, as if Big Monkey had said the stupidist thing he had ever heard.

Gung ho! Not so!

Sometimes I wonder if it’s bad that when I’m done with something, I’m done.  I decide that I no longer want anything to do with it and I will ignore what ever “it” is or just let it expire, as in all my yoga cards. 

I’m so into yoga.  I enjoy practicing and it makes me feel physically and mentally well—but there are some other things about yoga, such as the posturing (not the poses themselves, some people's attitudes!) and elitism that I could live without.  That is another rant--I  mean--post.  Currently, I have cards at 3 different places and they all expire within pretty close proximity of each other.  I hurt my knee this summer and the boys have had wacky camp/home/vacation schedules so that I haven’t been able to sustain a regular practice.  I haven’t disciplined myself to create a home practice, either.   So here I am—flexible in body and inflexible in practice.  I haven’t been to yoga for a long while (month) and it’ll feel like “starting over” because of this knee issue and my general couch potato-ness—and, now, I’m just done. 

I’ve had time to go this week as the tick, tick, tick of the clock marches towards expiration dates.  Have I gone?  No.  Why?  Not sure, plenty of excuses and ailments—some real, some not.  I go through phases with this kind of behavior.  Gung ho to accomplish, do or sustain something and then the screeching halt of my brakes stopping me—oftentimes for no good reason.  I throw myself under the proverbial bus.  That’s bad because I usually like to reserve that kind of blame for my family—ha, ha, they won’t think that’s so funny but I had to add it. 

Do you ever have those kinds of moments/days/weeks/months?

Time for me to invoke Ganesh, remover of obstacles, because the kids go back to school on Monday and I’ll have no excuses!  In case you’re wondering, I’m my own obstacle…



crystalinks.com  via google images

If I don't go back to yoga soon, I may end up looking a little roundy like Ganesh, too.  No offense, Ganesh!



Silent Screams



Image from Wikipedia, Edvard Munch's "The Scream" (Skrik)

I wrote an entire post that I liked and was cathartic to write, but I just can't bring myself to post it.  This is the image that was to go with it--it's the way I felt.  I suppose I still feel a little bit like that but I feel better putting the feelings on paper and putting it away.  Kind of like shouting problems to the ocean I wrote about in "The Venting Machine" post.  I had one friend who knows the parties involved read it.  She agreed with what I wrote (hello, Validation!) and asked if I felt better writing about it--surprisingly, I did!  We agreed that while said person was vain, he was not stupid--he'd know it was about him.  I then put it to bed, so to speak.  Maybe the next time I have to go to that place I might have to write another "secret" post--maybe it won't be so secret.  Who knows.  While it was all observation, I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings so away it went. 

Night, night crummy appointment.

Night, night egocentric lackeys.

Night, night angry observations.

Who knows whether or not we'll meet again.

If we do, the playing field has just changed.

"Deservatation"

http://www.graphicsfairy.blogspot.com/



A little birdie told me Tuesday—“deservatation”

I don’t know how this came up, exactly, but the word of the day is “deservatation.”  Big Monkey made that one up once when he wanted some sort of treat or desert--he blended "deserve" and "dessert" somehow.  We’ve decided that the definition is: the state of earning one’s dessert and the accompanying recognition. 

Big Monkey wanted his deservatation.  

This goes without saying...

This really should go without saying but people do it anyway:

I'm not sure why everyone feels the need to publicly share their "business" with everyone.  The worst offenders are usually chatting and not on a serious call.  Are they that busy?  Do they feel they're more important?  Do they need to feel important?

It would be nice if everyone tried to show others some courtesy--use your polite words; make eye contact; and give your service person your (full) attention.  They are people, too!  Talking on your cell while being served is essentially telling your server/cashier that they are invisible.  We expect courtesy from our children yet many adults don't bother to attempt it themselves.  We all fall off the wagon (frazzled, bad day, etc.) but being polite (even moderately polite) is not that hard once you get the hang of it. It could totally change someone's day for the better.