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Wednesday, June 13, 2007Tell Me a Story While I'm Away....It's true. The Write Way Home is going dark for two weeks while my family and I enjoy a much needed vacation. I hate inactive blogs, though...don't you? So rather than let my poor blog wither away to nothing, I thought it would be fun if you'd all contribute to a "you write the next part" story in the comments box. (Well, what did you expect -- Whisper Down the Alley? I mean, I'm a writer. Stories are what I do!) Jumping with glee? Oh, good! I'll start, and then you just keep it going in the comments box until I get back on July 1. Just imagine the possibilities! Just one request: Keep it clean. Weirdness allowed. (Dave is breathing a sigh of relief.) And, oh yes, naturally it's got to have a fantasy flavor. Much easier to break rules that way. I'll be back with beach stories and, if you're incredibly lucky, a pregnant photo or two. It all depends on whether or not the photos evoke the response, "You mean there was a beached whale at Cape May? No kidding!" So, here you go. Have fun, and I'll see you when I get back! A Group Story, happily authored by the Mad Commenters at The Write Way Home: Zane knew it wasn't an ordinary "thud," the kind that signaled something boring, like a book falling off a shelf or a carelessly slammed cabinet door. He knew because he didn't just hear the thud. He felt it. It was the same "inside his head" feeling that always accompanied the unexplainable. Like the music that came from the fire in his grandmother's hearth, or the eyes embedded in the craggy bark of the trees on the western edge of the forest that only he could see. And like every other time, Zane couldn't remain still. So he quietly folded back the rough blanket and slipped from his bed, careful not to step on the sleeping cat as he made his way across the floor. Tuesday, June 12, 2007Update on Walgreens "Profiling"I've got to tell you, the response yesterday to my "Rabid Mama" situation was overwhelming, and I thank you for your support and advice. I'm dripping with hormones right now, and it feels good to know that this wasn't a byproduct of them. So I went to the Walgreens web site last night and found a very impressive "Contact Us" page. It gave me the impression that they wanted to hear from me (unlike web sites of, say, book publishers, who hide the link to their submissions page in a teeny-tiny font on some obscure corner of a non-intuitive page). I clicked on "Employees: praise/complaint" and filled out the form, giving a detailed account of what had occurred, according to Jonathan's report. I did not include the employee's name. I didn't feel it was fair to paste her name onto a web form, you know? Shortly after lunch today, I got a phone call from the manager of our local store. He apologized profusely for what had happened, stating that he has four children and would not want any of them to go through what Jonathan had experienced. And even without my having mentioned any names, he knew which employee had been involved -- and apologized on her behalf as well. He admitted that she had acted outside of her authority, and said he would speak with her. The store has had lots of trouble with teen theft recently, now that school's out, and he apologized for son's having been lumped in with the "bad kids." He even went so far as to say that, should Jonathan experience this kind of treatment in the future, he should immediately ask to see a manager, and not display the contents of his pockets. Finally, he asked me to please extend his apology to my son, and expressed his hope that Jonathan would continue to ride his bike to Walgreens as he has always done. This guy gets an A-plus for customer service. His response was speedy and he took full responsibility for the situation. No passing the buck (he did not make any negative comments toward "Suki") or trying to blame me (he took all the blame). I'm impressed. It's hard to find good management anywhere these days. Frankly, I didn't know what to expect. Walgreens is a huge corporation. Eric claims they're taking over the world (or at least every other street corner). Yet I was taken care of. And as such, I will continue to shop in their store. So there you have it. Thank you for your input; it was invaluable. Labels: life Monday, June 11, 2007Okay, Tell Me If I'm OverreactingThis is one of those posts-that-need-reader-comments, so I'm counting on you. The other night, my fifteen-year-old mentioned that the lady at the Walgreen's counter had annoyed him earlier that day. When I asked him the reason, he told me the following: Jonathan rode his bike to Walgreens like he often does. After shopping around for a little while, he didn't find what he wanted. As he was walking toward the exit, which is right next to the check-out counter, the woman behind the counter (we'll call her Suki) called out to him, "Not buying anything today?" "No, not today," Jonathan answered. Not satisfied, Suki called Jonathan back into the store. Perplexed, Jonathan came back. "Empty your pockets," Suki said. Jonathan pulled his cell phone out of his front pocket and showed it to Suki. There wasn't anything else in his pockets, so Suki told him he could leave. So I ask you: Is this right?? I find myself feeling fairly irate over this. Weren't his rights just trampled on? Wasn't he just profiled? Jonathan spends a lot of his pocket money at Walgreens. You could call him a "regular customer." The way he was treated the other day is, in my opinion, a slap in the face. There was no evidence that my son had taken something without having paid for it. Frankly, that's something he'd never do. He's not The Perfect Kid, but he has a strong sense of justice, and stealing something from a store wouldn't cross his mind. He's a good boy. And he was practically accused of having stolen something simply because.....well, because why? Because he didn't buy anything? Because he's a boy? Because he's a teenager? Because he wears his hair a little long? I'm annoyed. And I'm not sure if I should do something or let it go. So if I'm responding out of the raging storm of Pregnancy Hormones, please tell me. If Suki was well within her rights to ask my son to empty his pockets before leaving the store, tell me so. I need to hear it. Shoot it to me straight. Because I'm ready to march down there and smile sweetly while asking to see the manager. And I don't want to embarrass myself. My son has already been embarrassed enough for the two of us. Grrr. Friday, June 08, 2007Comfort"I'm going to miss you until I get to heaven," Spencer wistfully announced the other day. "Because when I'm old, you'll be dead." Well. Comforting to know that I'll be missed, at any rate. Also to know that my demise is foreseen as taking place when Spencer is old. That's a good thing. I can't look into his comment too deeply. His mind, after all, is an endlessly spinning vortex of bottomless thought. I can never be sure what he's thinking or what's going to pop out of his mouth at any given moment. And I'm not sure why he was pondering Life After Mommy. In all, I'm sure it's healthy. I want my children to grow into mature, confident, kind-hearted adults, completely free of tangled "mommy strings" around their hearts. And, frankly, it's my job to see that those "mommy strings" don't exist -- by letting my children go. Ouch. A step-by-step process, to be sure. So there's my dose of comfort for the weekend: Spencer will miss me when I'm in heaven. Well, there's my brand new pair of Crocs flip-flops, too. "Comfort," as least where my feet are concerned, has been permanently redefined. Have a comfortable weekend. Wednesday, June 06, 2007On Endodontists and JellybeansIt's true. Yesterday morning, I had a root canal. Not that I couldn't think of anything more enjoyable to do on a lovely Tuesday. It's just that, over the weekend, this horrendous abscess appeared in my mouth. It was...alien. And dreadfully painful. I'll spare you the details. So when I saw my kindly dentist on Monday, he took an X-ray and immediately referred me to an endodontist. Okay, I'll admit it -- I'd never heard the word before yesterday. "Periodontist" and "orthodontist," yes. But endodontist was new to me. I'm not sure who in their right mind would choose to make a living by performing root canals all day, but there you have it. So I had the procedure done, no big deal. Well, yes, it was a big deal, financially speaking. Insurance only pays half. And suffice it to say that I could buy six weeks of groceries for the full price of one root canal. I feel awful about that. But I digress. So there I was, all numbed up on one side, hopping into the van for my next appointment, which was to see my midwife. That's not a big deal either, except for the fact that I had to eat eighteen jellybeans on the way. My glucose tolerance test was scheduled for 1:00, and those delightful jellybeans were my own preference, instead of the nasty, thick, orange, gaggy stuff they usually make you drink. I was very happy when my midwife okayed the jellybeans. That, of course, was before I knew I was going to have a root canal right before the blood draw. I opened the pre-counted bag of jellybeans, placed it on my lap, and reached in for the first jellybean. Chew. Chew. Chew. Careful only to chew on the left side, as far away from the fresh root canal as possible. Chew. Chew. Check for drool. Chew. Swallow. Reach for bean number two. All the way through the bag, all eighteen jellybeans. Yep. I did it. I ate eighteen jellybeans less than an hour after a root canal. And nothing broke or fell off or produced a searing pain in my skull. I checked in five minutes early for my appointment. No one was at the window when I arrived, so I was unable to remind them that I was all tanked up on jellybeans and ready for the needle. You guessed it. Within the next ten minutes, the office suddenly became crowded. I was called back twenty one minutes past my scheduled appointment time. "Were you given some orange drink when you got here?" said the nurse-who-left-her-personality-at-home. "No, I ate eighteen jellybeans before I got here." "Urr, what time did you eat them?" She was already looking as though she were ready to accuse me of something. I wasn't going to let her go there. "Urr, you all are running a little late. I finished eating them at 12:05." "What time is it?" (Why was it suddenly my responsibility to know what time it was?) "It's 1:21," Eric piped. Handy, those cell phones. "Oh, it's too late now," said the dispassionate nurse. "If it's more than ten minutes past an hour, the test will be inaccurate." Right. I had just left-side-chewed eighteen jellybeans while driving a van after a root canal, and now she was telling me that I couldn't have the blood test. Fortunately, I adore my midwife and was able to make light of it the moment she entered the room. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to eat eighteen jellybeans all over again before my next visit, scheduled for the first week of July. Hopefully, it won't be after another root canal. And that was my Tuesday. And no, I'm not particularly fond of jellybeans. Especially now. Monday, June 04, 2007Eating Crow Two Years LaterWow. I just came across this article, written a little over two years ago for my MOMMY! Ezine. Things change. I mean, really change. How could I have known? How could I have foreseen what my life would be like two short years later? All the things I was delighting in, gloating over, crowing about. They've just... No. There are no words. You simply have to read it yourself to see what I'm talking about. Then, come on back and leave your comments. Laugh at me. Chortle. Shake your head. Be amused. You're allowed to. Meanwhile, I'm just going to slink on over to the nearest dark corner with my pregnant belly in tow and...cower. Friday, June 01, 2007What the Heck's a DOULA??That's what Eric said to me the first time I mentioned the word "doula." To be honest, I wasn't sure at the time that I wanted one, anyway. I mean, bare myself to another woman? Be vulnerable, in pain, and naked in front of a woman I hardly knew? Let's just say the thought made me feel...stretched. Well, I now officially have one. Nicole, my wonderful Bradley instructor and an amazing mom of five children ages seven and under (yes, you read that correctly), is going to be doulaing for me. And I couldn't be more thrilled. (Still wondering what the heck a doula is? Read Nicole's post to learn all about it.) Nicole has the gift of making people feel comfortable with her immediately. She's highly knowledgeable in her field and she's an excellent instructor. So excellent, in fact, that I am able to wholeheartedly forgive her for being so much younger than I am. That's no small feat, I assure you. So while Eric is going to continue in his role as Birth Coach Extraordinaire, Nicole is going to be there to support both of us as we labor the natural way, offering me massage, acupressure, massage, photo-taking, massage, emotional support, massage, help and suggestions on labor and pushing positions, and...did I mention massage? Heck, if I'd have known that doulas offered massage during labor, I would have hotly pursued a doula from the moment the stick turned pink. Seriously, I'm beyond excited about giving birth without medical intervention. I really do trust my body to do what it was divinely intended to do. I really do believe that Eric is going to be fabulous in supporting me. And I am completely convinced that Nicole is yet another gift from the Lord in my life. So. That's the scoop from the pregnant woman this Friday. D-minus-fourteen-weeks and counting. Happy weekend! Labels: pregnancy |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
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