Painting and Mowing

I'm taking a break from painting and remodeling to rest my tired, old bones for a bit.  Painting two rooms with a 2-mile run in between is no easy task.  I'm feeling every one of my 37 years.

I actually just finished up the second coat in the girls' room, waiting til it dries to check for missed spots.  I'm very unsure about the color.  Taking a photo of it will not help because it looks a totally color in pictures.  I was aiming for a Tiffany blue, but it's much bolder than I planned.  I should have gone one shade lighter on the paint card.  But when I was making this decision alone, with 3 kids running through the hardware store, the shade lighter looked barely more colored than white.  Even in this photo, the paint looks barely blue.

I wanted pink.  The girls did not.  They don't like pink any more.  It's all about blue now.  I dislike blue, yet I can live with Tiffany blue.  It has just a speck of green to make it interesting.  I am not repainting because I'm tired.  My hands and shoulders are crampy.  We'll have to live with it.  Maybe I'll hang a lot of stuff on the walls to mask the boldness.

A funny thing happened to a friend of mine the other day and I wanted to get an outsider's opinion about the ridiculousness of it all.  He's a hard-working man with a full time job.  He lives in the nice area of town with the manicured lawns and brick homes of the local doctors.  Some of the people up there are very hoity-toity.  They act like they are paying thousands in association fees, which they are not.  Anyhow, my friend was mowing one evening when his neighbor came over.
The guy nicely said, "OK, let's wrap it up...I'm ready to relax for the evening."
My confused friend answered, "What???"
"It's 8:30 at night and I'm ready to relax.  Shut the mower down."
"Ha ha...yeah right," my friend thought he was kidding.
"No, I'm serious.  It's 8:30.  Time to turn that off."

My friend is not shy in any way and nearly got into a fist fight with the man.  My cousin recently purchased a house in the same development, a mere 1/4 mile away.  His neighbor tromped through the yard, not as calmly, and started yelling at my cousin.  He informed my cousin that he's mowing all wrong.  He is not allowed to shoot any grass clippings into the neighbor's yard.  I'm not a landscaper, but I imagine that might be a difficult thing to do.  The man claimed that his entire yard is full of weeds because of how my cousin mows his grass.  He's never had weeds before and now his yard is covered in them.  Let me go ahead and mention that my cousin pays to have his grass treated and has no weeds himself.

I find is unreal that people think they can tell their neighbors when and how to mow their grass.  I've never really had "real" neighbors, since everyone I live by is related.  We have strangers across the street, but they've only caused such problems as barking dogs and a loud argument here and there.  Are most neighbors this picky?

My other cousin, who lives in between these other two men got yelled at by his neighbor for planting the wrong kind of grass when he built his house.  Let me state again that this is not a gated community full of $10 million homes.  It's an mid-upper scale allotment with teachers, policemen, and bankers.

I'd rather live in a less desirable neighborhood and be able to manage my grass however I want.

Complaining in the Rain

I encountered a woman yesterday who is so very bitter about her lack of "stuff" in life.  She's a woman I stand next to every day on the sidewalk of the school.  We wait together for our kids to be dismissed.  We've exchanged the basic pleasantries, but I don't even know her name.  I know she's a single mom who walks to school every day.  During bad weather, I notice she often catches a ride with a neighbor.

Yesterday, it was raining cats and dogs (and elephants and hippopotamuses).  I had to pick up Son #1 and his tuba first, then go directly to Big Sis' school.  When I parked, I realized I didn't have an umbrella.  Growling, I realized that Hubby probably had at least three in his car.  I couldn't see the pickup spot from my car to know if it was time yet.  So I threw my coat over my head and ran to the sidewalk.  I noticed The Woman had a huge umbrella and I planned to ask if I could stand underneath with her.  As soon as I approached, the wind took her umbrella and demolished it.  She cursed and threw the umbrella down.  I muttered something halfway funny about us both being in bad shape, but she wasn't amused.  Realizing that the teacher wasn't there with her class yet, I ran back to wait in my car.

When the students finally arrived, I ran back through the flooded parking lot and picked up Big Sis.  I still had to pick up my little cousin on the other side of the parking lot, so I walked Big Sis back to the car.  It was then that I saw The Woman getting ready to walk home with her daughter.  "Do you guys want a ride?" I asked.  She exuberantly accepted and I pointed out my car to her.  "Go get in my van while I pick up my cousin," I told her.  "My kids are in there."

I splish-sploshed to the other end of the line, retrieved my cousin, and ran back to the car.  The Woman was in the front while my kids sat in the back.  I knew about where The Woman lived, which was on the way to my cousin's house.  I surely didn't mind giving her a lift.

We engaged in small talk on the ride, discussing the weather and other things.  She wondered if we would get a snow day this week.  I replied that a snow day would be nice.  She said she hoped not tomorrow, because she had a work appointment.  "Oh, where do you work?" was the natural response.  "I don't work," she replied.  I said something breezy in response and then asked if she was still in school.  She mentioned school once before to me.  No, she's not in school either.  That's when my problem began.

This woman does not work.  She does not take classes.  She has one child who is in school most of the day.  Yet she complains.  She complains about her junky phone.  She complains about having to walk to school.  She complains about not having a car.  I'm not sure what she does all day, but now I know that it's not work.

Pardon me for my frankness, but I was raised with the belief that you had to lie in the bed you made for yourself.  In other words, if you don't have a job, you can't expect to have nice things.  Am I alone in this?  This woman apparently lives totally on the government.  She has no live-in boyfriend supporting her. She has a home, food, nice clothes, and a cell phone.  Who is paying for these things?  She's not disabled.

I am getting sick and tired of this lazy society that expects someone else to take care of their needs.  I will continue to be nice to The Woman, as I am a nice person.  I will offer her rides home on rainy days because I believe in lending a hand to the less fortunate.  I can't say that I'm happy with the situation though.

Maybe I'm the only one who has these thoughts and I'm sure I'll hear from those who don't share my opinion.  I'm just getting fed up and needed to vent about it.  It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to!

I am Not a Germaphobe

Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld where David Puddy is a Germaphobe?  I find it to be hilarious but I don't think I fit into that category.  Maybe I'm wrong.

There have been several events lately that have made me wonder, Am I actually a Germaphobe?  I wash my hands before I eat.  If I'm in a place where that's not possible, I use Purell.  I wash my hands after I blow my nose, sneeze, or use the restroom. When I cook, I'm even more compulsive.  I wash my hands before I start cooking, after answering the phone, after looking up something on the computer, or after assisting the kids with something.  If people are going to be eating my cooking, I want to make sure they don't get any of my germs.  Does that make me a Germaphobe?

Many years ago, I was in the restroom at a store nursing my baby.  I exited the stall at the same time as another woman.  She noticed that I had my hands full and jumped to politely open the door for me.  "No, that's OK," I said.  "I'm going to wash my hands."  She smiled sweetly, opened the door, and left.  I was totally grossed out and have never forgotten that incident.

On occasion, I find myself in a handicapped restroom stall that has its own sink.  When I use the sink, I'm always worried that someone in the restroom will think I didn't wash my hands.  So if I have Baby Girl with me, I will say to her (for everyone else's benefit), "We already washed our hands in the stall.  We don't have to do it again."  I just want to make sure they all know.

I was with a friend in a restroom recently.  After using the bathroom, she turned on the water, quickly rinsed off her hands, and left.  That's better, I guess, but it still bothered me that she didn't use soap.

So you tell me.  Am I the odd one?  Am I a Germaphobe?  It seems to me like I am no longer the norm because I wash my hands often.

Face Addicted to the Book

Do you know someone whose Face is addicted to the Book?  Facebook, that is.  Are you the one I'm talking about?  Let me describe this person for you.

• You can't have a conversation over five minutes when the person does not mention the word Facebook.
• Any story you try to tell, any news you begin to share is met with the response, "Yeah, I saw it on Facebook."
• This person tells you things about your immediately family that you didn't know yet because they saw it on Facebook.
• This person has friends in different states and countries that they don't even know; they're just Facebook friends.
• Feeding their Farmville animals takes precedence over feeding their children.
• This person knows where everyone is, what everyone is doing, who is vacationing where, and what everyone had for dinner. 
• This person has seemingly no life outside of Facebook.

I have more than one person in my life who fits every one of these examples.  I'm sure you know more than a couple too.  I am finding that I have less and less in common with these people because I don't want to sit around and talk about Facebook all day.  I still value the art of communication. There's nothing quite like sitting down for a cup of coffee with a friend, shooting the breeze and discussing life.  I remember when I used to have hour long phone conversations with my friends.  That ship has sailed.  All conversation is now taking place on Facebook.

Yes, I have a Facebook account.  Sure, I have more than a couple hundred friends.  Still, I rarely sign on.  It's gotten to the point where Facebook totally drives me crazy.  I can't stand the addiction that certain people have to it.  They are neglecting their families and ruining their marriages over it.  I get sick to death of hearing what people are cooking for dinner, what movie they are watching, how their toenail clipping went, and how bored they are. 

Oh my, and then there are the people who reveal way too much personal information on Facebook.  Just the other day, an acquaintance posted, "I wish I was dead."  Now really, what were you trying to achieve by posting that?  Lemme guess, attention?  There would be no other reason to say that.  I would rather people be honest and post, "I'm having a rough day.  Would you all please give me some attention right now?"  This same person posts personal information about her kids running away from home and committing crimes.  Lovely.

When I first joined Facebook, the majority of the posts were funny.  People didn't say anything unless it was worth saying.  That's not the case any more.  It's too handy.  It's right there.  It's too easy.  Whatever you're feeling, whatever you're thinking is so easy to post on Facebook to be shared with your 800 closest friends.

If you find that you can't go more than five minutes in a day without mentioning the word Facebook, you might have a problem.  My suggestion to you is to take a breather.  Take a break.  See if you can survive life in the real world without Facebook.  Try it for a week.  If you don't explode, you've been successful.  See if you suddenly find more time on your hands for important things.  See if your relationships with those closest to you suddenly improves.

If you couldn't finish this post without checking your Facebook page, you are beyond help.  Well, at least beyond help from me.  I'm just a mom, a wife, an ex-teacher, and a blogger.  What do I know?

I think this is a great time to send out a request to follow me on Facebook!  Ha!  How is that for irony???

America, Stuff Your Faces!

What is it about a pizza buffet that lets you see the true colors of different folks?  We stopped in at a local pizza restaurant for lunch over the weekend.  It's a chain restaurant, independently owned.  They recently added a buffet so we thought we'd give it a try.  For some reason, Hubby chose a table right next to the buffet table.  That wouldn't have been my choice because we were then forced to watch middle-class America overindulge in an All You Can Eat special. People behaved as if they hadn't eaten in weeks.  (And judging by their appearance, I can pretty confidently say that wasn't the case.)  Plates were filled so high with salad, then garlic bread, and topped off with a couple slices of pizza.  And no, this wasn't a one trip only buffet.

I had to stand in line and wait behind a woman who used the (probably filthy) spatula to obtain the center two pieces of  the round garlic bread pie.  She turned to me, smiled, and said "I like the middle pieces."  All I could reply was, "Oh yeah?"  I would have rather said, "Looks to me like you like an awful lot of things here.  Your plate is piled so high that one more item might cause the entire structure to crash to the ground!"  But I didn't.

And then halfway through our meal, a door on the side of the dining room opened and the manager's family emerged.  (We've seen them before at different events so knew who they were.)  They were dirty, unkempt, and half asleep.  Looking through the door, we saw a mildewy basement where this family apparently lived.  It was quite a sad sight.  I wondered about the three pudgy little girls whose hair hadn't been combed in a while.  Was pizza their primary food staple in life?  Is that all they ever ate?  Come to think of it, the family has been there every time we've eaten there.  Now it makes sense- they live there!  I really felt sorry for the kids...what a life!

By the end of the meal, I think we determined to never dine there again.  Very few things about the experience were enjoyable.  Good thing I don't write restaurant reviews!

We left the restuarant to see the most enjoyable part of the meal.  Parked outside was one of those huge stationwagons you know your parents drove in the 70s or 80s.  The vanity license plate read "GRSWOLD."  If you know me well enough to know how big of a Christmas Vacation (and Wally World) fan I am, you will understand why this tickled me to the point of laughing out loud.  Good ending to a not-so-good afternoon.

Has Me Confused

My new neighbor is someone I just can't quite figure out.  She and her husband moved into the neighborhood about a year ago.  He was a upper-management businessman recovering from a horrific injury.  He was in a coma for 3 months after having the living daylights beat out of him.  Hearing their story, we were quick to go over and welcome them to the neighborhood.  I took cookies and a plant.  The wife was cooking dinner at the time so was obviously somewhat domesticated.  I described her as a 50-something feminist who probably went to Berkeley.  She was wearing a sweater and khakis and resembled Annette Benning. 

Time passed and I didn't see her for a while.  Her son was home from college for the summer and must have brought his girlfriend home with him.  I saw the two of them in the driveway several times.  Then one day, it hit me...the girlfriend is actually the mother!  She abandoned her classy college professor look for Alicia Keys' weave.  And she didn't look a day over 22 in her spandex workout clothes.  OK, whatever. 

This weekend, I saw an unusual looking black woman with Mr. Neighbor.  She actually resembled Prince or a man in drag.  Unfortunate.  But you probably guessed it...it was again my same neighbor.  I just don't understand how a woman can progress from Annette Benning to Prince over the course of a year.  And to appear to change races and gender?  I'm stumped on this one.

Have you ever known someone to drastically change their look, leaving you scratching your head?

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

People-watching is one of my favorite activities. I love it when I have the time to just sit on a bench and observe the crowd as it passes by. As a mom of 4, I don't have much time for people-watching any more. Actually, people are probably watching me. But sometimes you observe things even when you aren't looking for them. I've seen the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The Good - I was overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers at the hospital yesterday. I was managing my crutches like a 12-month-old who is just learning to walk. People offered to give me their place in line, they opened car doors for me, asked if I needed help, and I even had one offer of a ride home by a kind nurse. It restores your faith in humanity.

The Bad - The day before my debilitating injury, we had an unseasonal rainstorm. It amazes me how cars will not pause to let a woman in high heels, carrying a baby and an umbrella pass. They would prefer, instead, to continue at a normal pace, not worrying about splashing mud puddles on pedestrians.

The Ugly - Alone at the mall food court, I was able to observe the mother and young son ahead of me in line. He couldn't have been older than five and was a total sweetheart. The mother only stopped texting long enough to place her order. She ignored her son and yelled at him for bothering her. When he questioned where the straws were located, she coldly answered, "Right there," without looking up. "Where?" he asked. "Right in front of your face!" she yelled. I calmly picked up a straw and handed it to him. His innocent big brown eyes looked up at me and he smiled. Precious. Then the mother demanded that he move the tray and drink along the line. She texted. He commented on how the bars on the counter were like train tracks. No response. She had no clue how sweet of a child she was blessed to have. I pray that I don't take my children for granted, yelling at them for no reason (in public, especially) because I have a lot on my mind. Sometimes I try to be thankful for the lessons I learn just by watching others make the wrong decisions. It was 4 days ago and I still think about the boy. I hope he has a good Christmas.