Foster's Basket



via Google images

I scribble notes to myself on a pad, actually multiple pads and scraps of paper, & sometimes they don't always make sense to me or it takes a moment for the word or words to form a connection in my mind.  The other day it was "Arian Foster."  It was the last name that got me because I remembered about the basket--for a few days I kept referring to "Foster's Basket."  I don't know why I clicked on the link about a football player signing with Houston.  I suppose I wanted to know why he was overcome with emotions at his press conference.  Watching the clip, I was crying along with him. 

The story is that when he was little he was going to buy something specific for each of his family members, when he made it big in football.  He told everyone what he was going to get them and then they all asked, "What about your mom?"  He replied, "A fruit basket."  I have to chuckle because I think kids either get the ideal gift spot on or they have some crazy (to us, not them) idea come to them.  He was 7 when he made these statements and it became a running joke in his family.  They'd say to him, "When are you going to make good on the fruit basket?"  But, what really got me was when he was talking about how hard he saw his mom work and how she pawned her wedding ring one night to put food on the table.  He didn't want to have to do that to his children.  He went on to say that's why he works hard and doesn't complain too much (the article mentioned all that he had accomplished for the team but he wasn't really compensated for it, mentioning his salary ).  He said, "At the end of the day we are all people and all we want to do is smile...even when we were growing up and things were tough that's what he had, what kept my family going is that we smile through it all."  He was grateful for what had come his way and hearing him say that was so profound for me.  Here's a man who, at that particular moment, could demand more and probably get it but he was happy to have a job.  He came to that job and gave it his all and was satisfied with that.  He didn't have to worry about the lights being turned off or putting food on the table and, in part, that defined "success" for him.  That's food for thought (couldn't help myself)--but, seriously, it's something to really reflect on. 

So, every once in a while I remind myself of Foster's Basket.

(As a side note, he did have a fruit basket delivered to his mom at her work place!)

Strangeness at Costco

The boys & I were talking to a sample lady about these delicious little pizza-like items when a pushy woman came up and said to the sales lady, "Ahhm...do you have any fresh samples?  These look a little old."  No, they didn't--they were just the smaller pieces because they came from the outer part of the circle.  The sales lady was really nice and said some were just about done grilling and that's when we said "thank you" and went over to the case to pick up some up for ourselves. 

We finished our shopping, checked out and headed for the truck.  That probably took about 30 or so minutes, because there was a potty stop and a "venting machine" stop (see my post from last summer about the "venting machine"  http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=5685134614121762039#editor/target=post;postID=374885236268043931).  When we got outside there were two police cars and officers talking to the same woman who needed "freshness."  At first it wasn't apparent what was going on.  Was she robbed?  Was there an accident?  As we got closer I noticed she was in an handicap spot.  I wondered why they would come to ticket someone in a handicap spot without a hanger or decal, not that I minded because someone who doesn't need that kind of spot but still uses it involves big kahunas and bad kharma.  As we drew closer I saw she had a hanger on her rearview--she gets around really very well and is about my age, not that appearances are always a good indicator as to why one has an hanger--but, she also had two gigantic dogs in the truck!  I'm talking Mastiffs.  It was at least 100 degrees on Saturday, the day this happened.  I can't imagine tooling around town, stopping for errands, with any kind of animal in the car.  It makes me think of the woman who left her ex-husband's dog in the car while she shopped in Costco and when she came out the dog had died a heat-related death.  She had the nerve to go back into Costco (after seeing the dog she fought her ex tooth and nail for lying dead) to return the dog food because she no longer needed it!  She even told the employee what had happened, that person then notified the authorities.  A friend posted that story on Facebook a while back and it really stuck with me.  Apparently, she didn't love the dog but her ex really did and somehow she won that battle (I cried like a fiend reading that sad story and the ex-husband's side of it).  Of course Facebook being the medium there were a lot of strange comments and a really heated discussion. 

I like to observe and I find people interesting, even the annoying ones.  I wonder what they are all about and why.  I classify and sometimes "label" (like I just did above), but I try not to judge--I try to discern.  However, in both cases I judge.  Both women have demonstrated self-centered actions, it's just in the Facebook case things did not turn out so well.  At least some Good Samaritan noticed "fresh" lady's dogs and called it in before it was too late.  At least she made it back to her car before it was too late.  We often say that's never too late, but this one of the rare instances where it potentially could be.

An Unintentional Dog Fest!

Yesterday, the boys & I were out running errands, one of which was going to Michael's.  Since we had to pick up stuff for the "Loving Pet Basket" for Max's class, we decided to go to the Colonade where we could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.  Could you really see me killing a bird, or anything for that matter?  It was hot yesterday--it hit the 100 degree mark--and Stuart was whining about not wanting to do anymore errands.  Michael's was our first errand, so you can see where the day might head if I didn't go for a save right then and there.  I said to him, "Maybe we'll get to pet some dogs while we are there."  We love that & I was hoping to motivate him enough so we could check this to-do off our list.  As we round the corner, I see a sandwich board with the most wonderful three words on it--Pet Adoptions Today!  Squeal with delight--we'll be able to say "hi" to dogs and get it out of our system.  The thing is, we fell in absolute love with three of the dogs.  One, however, wasn't for adoption.  He was being fostered until his mom got out of rehab and found a place to live.  That dog was a taller version of Trigger.  When I went to pet him he was all lovey.  At one point he slipped his head under my arm and laid his head on my chest while I petted him.  I about died.

However, the first dog we saw was a pure bred white and tan pitbull.  Max was in love with that one, Parker.  He was so loving and easy-going.  Max was one the floor with him, petting him and Parker was practically snuggling with him.  He rolled over on his belly and used Stuart's foot as a pillow, while telling Stuart & me to rub his head, while Max rubbed his belly.

Since we were at Petsmart to shop, we looked and talked some more with the adoption people and then went off to get things for the basket.  But, when we came back there was another dog who had just come back from being outside.  I asked about her & we got to pet her and hear her story.  Her name is Sweetness and she is even more mellow than Parker!    She just had pups who were all adopted.  Both dogs are in foster homes with multiple dogs and do well with them.  In fact Parker was attacked by another dog and didn't fight back.

Since Jon was on call I wasn't going to bring home a dog--Surprise!--without having him meet it first.  When we got home and the boys were doing crafts, I ran to their website http://www.valleydogs.org/ and looked up these fine animals.  I also read Sirius's story and fell in love with him, too.

Those of you who know us, weigh in.  What do you think?  Read their stories!

http://www.valleydogs.org/parker.html



http://www.valleydogs.org/sweetness.html

http://www.valleydogs.org/sirius.html



I Dreamt of an Housekeeper...



I used to have very vivid dreams, but, for the past few years I really haven't.  This morning, however, I had a dream that I had an housekeeper!  She was in her late teens/early twenties and her rates were unbelievably cheap.  She cleaned my entire house and when it was time to pay her she gave me some ridiculously low rate, like $50.  I think people pay $50 to have their yurts cleaned these days.  I was dumbfounded and didn't say anything.  Then she said $50 for each of us, because she had brought a friend to help.  I was actually relieved but confused.  Confused, because how did she manage to clean the house with her friend without me noticing and relieved that I wasn't ripping her off, even though she set the rate.  How's that for you?  I'm sure this has something to do with my FBI post http://throughabirdseye.blogspot.com/2012/04/dont-be-cheap.html.  It may also have something to do with me wanting my house magically cleaned, without actually having to do it myself or find someone. 

Little Red Shoes



Dorothy's Red Slippers, via Google images

We all have that favorite article of clothing or an accessory that we just can't seem to part with or perhaps we wear it until it's worn out, right?  When I was between 4-5 years old I had a little red pair of shoes that I absolutely loved.  We had bought them in Japan before we moved stateside, so there was no finding them in Seattle.  I think my mom even asked relatives to look for another pair and they couldn't find them.  Before we moved my mom even offered to buy another pair, exactly the same, and I still refused--because, after all, they weren't the same pair of shoes.  End of story.  We did that dance for a long time. 

Finally, my mom drug me to Nordstrom and made me find another pair of shoes.  (I'm pretty sure you wouldn't hear me say that now...)  The salesperson was horrified at my shoes.  They probably looked worse for the wear.  More importantly, they were 2 sizes too small.  He must've thought my mom was a horrible person (perhaps one of my mom's worst fears being a foreigner).  The salesman asked if my feet hurt and I said not much.  His response?  "How can that be?  Your toes are curled up so your feet can fit into those shoes!"  He asked why I wore those shoes and I flat out told him I liked them and didn't want another pair.  He badgered me into wearing the new pair home, much to my mom's relief. 

This is family folklore--proving that I'm a "stubborn" person and "difficult" to deal with.  Proof, you know?  I think my husband would like it if I clung to the things I have and "refuse" to buy anything new...but that's a whole different story, isn't it?

Don't Be Cheap!

These days, I get my news from MSN.  If I want to know more, which usually I don't, I go somewhere else and do more investigating.  In case you think I'm shallow, it's really self-preservation.  The news can easily become a black hole for me or I turn into Chicken Little watching and reading it.  At any rate, I took the time to see what the recent hub-bub was all about with the FBI and prostitutes.  I was pretty sure this isn't the first time those two groups have had interactions...however, I wonder if any one else thinks it's funny and ironic that these powerful men were brought down not necessarily by prostitutes, but by the fact that they were being cheap?  The article I read said that two of the men were both "serviced" (not my word, felt I had to add that) by one woman; they brought her to their room, (it was also mentioned in the article that they were supposed to pay a $25 guest fee which, clearly, they didn't) but wanted to split the prostitute's one person rate between the two of them.  I'm pretty sure they aren't math challenged and that one woman still did the work for two--so what were they thinking?

Kind of makes me think of when you go out with a group of people and you split the bill between the number of diners, regardless of what was ordered.  You do that when the portions are roughly equal and/or when you are good friends with your meal mates.  That's good for everyone because that kind of action (generally) comes out in wash.  There will be a time when your portion will cost more; besides, it's best not to quibble over an extra two dollars.  I tried to find the article again, because what these two agents were arguing over was a mere forty dollars.  It was either they wanted to pay forty each or the total (which I find hard to believe, but what do I know about latin American prostitute's rates?) was forty.  No matter how you slice it, it's chump change for them.  If it's not, then don't play!  Certainly don't think you're king of the hill.  Now these agents who were involved are stripped of security clearance and probably all out of jobs, just because two of the, I believe, twelve wanted to play but not pay (or at least not full price, which I'm also pretty sure there isn't a a buy one get one free sort of deal--if there is, the prostitutes are just shifting the full cost to the paying end).  We'll ignore all the other problems with this event and just leave the moral of this story as don't be cheap! 

If you didn't read it, the prostitutes went back to the lobby and complained to the police who there--I'm sure for this kind of nonsense, at a minimum for the $25 "guest" fee.  The police went to the agents' room and banged on the door.  The agents wouldn't let them in, initially.  That's when everything went to hell in the proverbially handbasket.

Think back to times when you or someone else was being "cheap" and how well that worked (remember I said "cheap" and not "frugal"--they have different connotations). 

Being Heard, Heeded and Creating a Lasting Mark

Being a parent is incredibly hard.  There are many days where the task is thankless and you feel as if you are not being heard.  As I've said to chief many a time--it's not that I want to be in control, necessarily, or the "master" of my universe, but I would like to be heeded, occasionally.  Ideally, you'd like your children to think for themselves and for that to happen, they can't always do what you say.  This is a frustrating fact.  They are their own people and they won't always agree with what you have to say or how you view the world.  As well it should be (although that's not what I'm thinking when I want something done, right now.  What you tell your children isn't always necessarily "right," either.  Try as you might.  But, that's not my point.  This thought really started with storytelling.

I'm reading a book entitled, Storytelling, in which Christina Baldwin writes, since the beginning of time we all want to leave a lasting mark (paraphrased).  My immediate reaction was, not me.  I just want to be heard (hence the reference to children/parenting above).  Really heard and listened to--choose to argue with me or ignore my words afterwards, but give me the chance to say my piece and have you hear it.  That's all and I don't really think it's that big of a request.  It'd be a bonus if you wanted to have deep dialogue about it, but that's another story, too.  Being heard or truly listened to applies to more people than we care to acknowledge.  Think about lawsuits.  All most victims want is an apology or some sort of acknowledgement.  Not so difficult when you think about it.  There might be less lawsuits if people apologized first and tried to work it out.  I know that sounds so PollyAnna, but I don't think it's too far from the truth.  Deep down you know when you are wrong--it's the ego that won't let you admit it.  If you've done something really wrong it's the additional fear of punishment, perhaps a denial cocktail mixed in, but that's also a different story. 

Isn't it great to have a conversation with someone who actually listens?  Not with someone who has to answer his/her cell or texts or interrupts with his/her own exploits.  I have conversations with girlfriends and we interrupt each other but that's not the interruption I'm talking about; mostly, because that kind of conversation is more of a stream of consciousness and all of the thoughts and ideas (which are sometimes interrupted by the person speaking) are eventually finished.  That's more of a magical snowglobe of thoughts, ideas and feelings.  I'm referring to the one-upmanship or the "let's talk about me" sort of interruption, which is very different from henhouse Hattie catching up with her best girls.  You don't even have to catch up with the girls to have that feel-good sensation of being listened to or appreciated (hint--sometimes in being a good listener you will be listened to and heard in return).  Make eye contact with someone and smile--sometimes that alone will tell its own story.  If we'd all slow down and see, feel and listen to our environments we might be pleasantly suprised by what we find.  You might actually learn something or make someone's day.

http://www.thegraphicsfairy.com/



Egg Collecting and Cooperation

http://www.thegraphicsfairy.com/

I have to chuckle at the varying strategies the boys have used over the years to collect the Easter Bunny's eggs.  I still have a very vivid picture of Little Man when he was 2 years old, shoving as much candy as possible in his mouth while searching for eggs.  He looked like a chipmunk his cheeks were so packed. 

As expected, in the earlier years it was every man for himself.  I'm sure a young child can barely think straight when thoughts of candy laying around the yard have entered the brain.  They didn't have a search plan, they just ran out into the yard and looked.  As they grew older, you could see them searching more systematically.  For example, they seemed to start at opposite ends of the yard and work their way in.  Of course there's the Squirrel effect and they would get distracted, leaving their system behind. 

This year, the entire week before Easter, they discussed and plotted how they were going to search the yard.  They even put an old basket on a makeshift pulley system in their fort for collecting the eggs.  While I was impressed and perhaps a little dismayed (because their plotting meant they were going to get up really early on Easter morning) their planning went out the window when they hit the ground.  I think mostly due to the fact that it was so elaborate and didn't mesh with their actual tendencies.  Plus, there is always their age and the Squirrel factor. 

Banjos, Mullets (sort of) and a TLC Rant

As we were driving past Bagby the Barber the boys remarked on going there and the first thing Max said was, "He cut my hair too short."  We went once and it took an incredibly long time--both the wait and the cut.  The boys were really fairly young--so you can do the math; we didn't go back despite the nice barber and the big screen TV.  And, yes, we didn't go back because Max's hair was a little too short and that seems to be seared into his brain.  He likes it short, but it was really short.  It might've been because Uncle Alex asked for his hair nearly bald--my phrase not his.  At any rate, we were talking about how we liked their hair cut.  I said I liked Max's on the shorter side, tight around the neck and ears with a little length on top.  I like Stuart's longer on top and shorter around the neck and ears but not as tight.  Max had a few comments about his and then Stuart busts out with, "I like mine shorter in the front and longer in the back."  You can imagine the look on my face and luckily I was driving so I didn't have to look directly at anyone.  Yes, it sounds exactly like a Mullet.  He even said, "If I could just move my whole hair back (taking his hand on the top of his head, pretending to slide his hair back like a wig which made his forehead taut) then it'd be better.  Sigh.  He's fascinated with hockey, too...

We were talking about instruments one day and Max kept saying he wanted to learn how to play the banjo.  Yes, you heard correctly the banjo.  My selection isn't that far off either (ukulele) and, of course, Stuart wants to learn the electric guitar.  Go figure.  That's a story in itself. At any rate, I forgot that Max is studying the Civil War and he's totally interested in it and wants to share things about it with us.  I think that's great.  The banjo, not so much.  But, at least it makes sense within the context of what he's learning.  I'm still curious about the faux mullet.

http://www.thegraphicsfairy.com/

I've deleted the rest of the story because it veered off into the TLC shows featuring 2 different families with 19+ children.  Oh, I have a lot to say about that and it's just not my place.  Plus, I originally titled this post, "Banjos, Mullets and Hillbilly Miscellanea" and I didn't want people to think I was calling these tremendously large families hillbillies.  That's really not where I was going with this, but I was so sidetracked by my thought about this picture.  The pic reminded me of a scene where all the girls were playing instruments and singing together.  The boys were fascinated by this ginormous family.  I didn't know that TLC featured more than one of these families and I really didn't think another one existed.  That almost sounds wrong in writing it, on so many levels.  I'm not sure what it was about that particular show that mesmerized them.  I even said to them you get an half hour and then it's bed time, so change the channel to the show you want to watch and that's it--time starts now...no response, so I asked if this is what they wanted to watch and they did.  Painfully, I sat with them and watched it.  I can say that won't happen, again.  One day I caught them watching Kate +8, which also fascinated them.  That time I think they were curious about all the brothers and sisters who were the same age.  It is really difficult explaining to children who understand babies grow in their mommies' "tummies" that all 6 of those younger children lived there at the same time.  I think it's difficult for many adults to fathom.  With that said, they don't go looking for these shows but sometimes the channel is on TLC and these shows "magically" appear.  It's like roadkill because they can't seem to look away.  Sometimes I can't look away.  The horror.  I think TLC is supposed to stand for "The Learning Channel" (could be wrong)--these days it seems to stand for "The Looney Channel."  Every sort of freakish human oddity seems to have a home and a show on that channel.  I won't even go into it--the boys know they aren't to look at the other shows and very quickly change it to something else.  Somehow, the shows about these large families momentarily slipped through the cracks.  Perhaps it's just fascination about other families.  We'll leave it at that. 

So, with one picture I've veered away from the odd (kind of hillbilly-ish) things about my children to odd families or people in general.  Odd doesn't necessarily mean bad--I actually enjoy a little odd from time to time--but TLC really makes me wonder what we are thinking at times and I'm not talking about What Not To Wear.

A Bunch of Bad Hair Days

Yesterday, I was feeling like a Cocker Spaniel. 



via Google images

Look how sad and droopy.  It was all about my hair.  My hair was flattened to my head, with a wavy mess trailing down.  It's a good look for this dog, but not for me.  Actually, the dog is very beautiful--I wasn't feeling beautiful, however.  No, my hair wasn't the silken and shinyVeronica Lake waves, either.  So, well after 10 years of not blow drying my own hair (the hair stylist does but not me) I decided to buy a fancy, schmancy blow dryer.  You know, shake things up a bit.  I thought it might give my hair a little lift and solve the occasional frizzy issue--you know, all the ionic talk.  The hairdryer arrived yesterday and I used it today...

Today, I feel like a Puli who has had a blow dry with a diffuser.



via Google images

I'm afraid I'm not winning this battle.

Easter Bunny Disaster and What Won't Happen This Year

http://www.thegraphicsfairy.com/

So, this is the first Easter where we do not have to let the dogs out at the crack of dawn, hoping they won't wake up the kids and that they take care of their business quickly--coming right back in so we can "hide" Easter eggs.  It'll be easier, yet strange.  It's also the first Easter where we don't have to keep an hairy eyeball on Buddy so that he doesn't get into the Easter baskets, either.  Again, easier but strange.  I'm just now getting over the fact that I don't have to push food back on the counters and put things up when I leave the house or even walk away from food for a moment.

Last Easter we came home from spending the afternoon at our friends' house to find Buddy sprawled across the foyer floor, unmoving.  (Yet another odd thing about Easter this year--we don't get to spend it with the two families we've spent Easter with for the past two or so years.  Sad and strange--we miss you Sarah & family!)  Usually, Buddy gets up to greet us or at least has something to say about it.  I started my usual chatter about his being too lazy to greet us and what's going on with you, when I noticed the foil wrapper on the floor, nearby.  I realized that it belonged to a large chocolate Easter bunny and I asked the boys who forgot to put up their bunny.  There was a moment of someone starting to get upset over the loss of a delicious chocolate treat, when I reminded them that chocolate is poisonous to dogs.  They know this because I'm very serious about it and, generally, they are very good about keeping chocolate away from the dogs.  We all get quiet and peer at Buddy.  He looked miserable.  In fact, it's the one time (prior to his final scare) that I was seriously worried about him.  His belly was bloated and he looked uncomfortable and then there's that poisonous factor, too.  As I'm rubbing his tummy and looking into his eyes, I decided I'd watch him for a little bit and see what happens--he's eaten chocolate before (counter surfing) and it didn't phase him.  This time the quantity was a lot larger and, honestly, frightening.  So we left him there and he rallied after about an half hour, albeit slowly.  He's way too curious about what we are up to after being out then to take it laying down.  After that he was back to his old self and so were we.

This all came up for me when Sharon asked me last Wednesday what we were going to do for Easter and all I could think of was what we weren't going to do.  Isn't that odd?