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Thursday, August 31, 2006

Cruel Joke

Tonight as I was getting ready to head to bed for the night, I got my monthly Tony Robbins newletter and, right on its heels, my first business referral from HQ.

The referral gives the potential client's name, address, phone and e-mail address.

The name: bcbarnot cv zeful. (Can anyone translate this? Anagram? What?)

Now, I fully admit to being the service center clerk at Hannafords that took a call AND DID THE STORE-WIDE PAGE for Michael Hunt so when the name made absolutely no sense, my balloon lost some lift.

The address: 56 Dart Road which Mapquest says is not a road in town. Strike two.

The phone number: Using reverse look-up at Anywho, belongs to someone on Hall Road here in town but their name is nothing like what's "given" above.

The e-mail address: I sent a "thank you so much for contacting me, I'll be calling tomorrow to set up an appointment" e-mail only to have it bumped back to me.

It's not nice to play tricks on the girl fighting to get ahead in this business.


Question for the masses

Why is it that even when I click the "Remember Me" box when signing into my MySpace account, it never remembers me?


Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Click It

Even though I sought out the video below for Bam-Bam, the creator create it as a dedication to their friends so, click it.


Tuesday, August 29, 2006

And, he's off

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Monday, August 28, 2006

Dead Horse

Since tomorrow is, well, tomorrow and since getting medicated has been mentioned here in Hero's Abode at least once in the last week, I'm gonna beat it...

Will he remember that I spent over an hour mixing, baking, frosting and decorating strawberry cupcakes in heart-shaped tins for his first day?

Will he remember that I spent 6 hours and went through two print cartridges trying to print a picture of he and daddy and one of he and mommy to go into his lunch box, just in case he gets insecure or sad?

Will he remember that he only wore his sneakers on Mondays all summer and that his feet were dirty all day every day AND had grown two and a half (from a 12 1/2 to a 2) sizes?

Will he remember that the night before school started I sat in the driveway trying to inflate the tires on his bike, that we had his favorite, pancakes, for dinner or that I got choked up reading The Kissing Hand again?

Will he remember that I was the one that trimmed his hair using the clippers?

Will he remember that we didn't really get to go school shopping because we really don't have the money?

Will he be strong enough to not be influenced by A-Rod, his tablemate, but instead help A-Rod to be a kinder, gentler kind of soul like he is?

Will he remember that he rides the "brown" bus, that we live on Blankshore Drive and, if they can't reach me, they can call Grammy and Papa and they'll be there in a flash too?

Will he remember that it took all of my willpower not to follow the bus all the way to school?

Will he remember that I panicked at the thought of oversleeping or sleeping through the alarm clock and he'd miss said bus and/or be late for his most exciting day?

Will he remember that we sat together in the green recliner and watched Charlotte's Web on HBO only up to the point where she writes "Some Pig" in the web because I wanted him in bed early?

Will he remember that Grammy Honda called him and told him she hopes he has just the best time at school?

Will he remember the giggle fit he had in Walmart yesterday and how the woman passing by us told me to foster that and never squelch it, as if I ever have?

Will he remember what it was like to be home with me all day every day, just the two of us?

Will I?

Will I be replaced by kids named Dylan or Jacob?

Will I miss him so terribly that I drive by school several times throughout the day hoping to catch a glimpse of him at recess?

Will I ever be able to convince people that I'm not nearly this neurotic, that I have friends and a life and stuff but this, this THING called school has me frozen with sadness?

Will my credibility ever recover from confessing this all for the world to see?


Monday, August 21, 2006

Like a freight train bearing down on me

Next Tuesday Bam-Bam starts kindergarten.

My mouth is salivating with the gag that keeps recurring at the thought of it all. Riding the bus (hurl), trading lunch items, learning that all kids aren't always nice, possibly being bullied, having someone else tend to school yard injuries, AAAHHHHH STOP THE MADNESS!!

I distinctly remember the day when he was a mere six weeks old when I handed him over to Nana and flew off to work totally confident in the knowlege that someone else was going to care for and know my child more than I did. Back then, in my post-partum depressed haze, none of that phased me. I was totally cool with being a full-time working, part time mommy kind of gal. And, heck, I had secured a fantastic arrangement for us. His babysitter was a woman I'd known since I was 12, had considered a mom to me, and he was going to get one-on-one care. Awesome.

But, now? Now that the one-on-one care has been from ME directly for almost three years, the panic has set in. What if the few "little boy" things about him disappear? What if the other kids don't "get" his kindness, his wanting to be accepted, his easy-going way? What if his teacher forgets that he gets scared at loud noises and he gets lost in the shuffle during the fire drill? Or they aren't able to guide him out of other kid's personal space (something I've been trying to work on with him)? Or if he spends a whole day acting like a dog?

I want him to grow and learn and make all kinds of friends. I want him to be confident in his surroundings and learn to trust that the world is, for the most part, a safe place. I want him to expand his interests, try new things, have new experiences to come home and tell me about.

But at the same time, it makes me sad to know that I won't be able to see all those things happening for him first hand. It makes me sad to think that the world isn't fool-proof safe and that anyone he comes in contact with between the bus pick-up and the bus-drop off could harm him and it's just so hard to explain the threat without making him afraid.

The balance there makes me anxious yet, I don't want to pass that fearful anxiety on to him either. I don't want to rain on his parade. I WANT to be excited for him and with him. I do, I really do.

But, I want to stop time too.


Monday, August 14, 2006

Gotcha Last

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Battery recharge

How is it that I have Three Scumbusters, Three VersaPak batteries, Two Versapak chargers and One dirty tub but I can't get any of that equipment to work?


Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Came home from vacation to:

  • A quarter-gallon of sour milk.
  • No hazelnut coffee creamer.
  • Four new loads of laundry.
  • $80 for the week.
  • Inspiration from Dr. Shad Helmstetter.
  • A week old mopbucket of water.
  • A week old cereal bowl filled with water.
  • Moldy coffee grounds in the filter.
  • Moldy coffee in the pot.
  • Two areas of cat puke on the hardwood, one on the carpet.
  • Two toilets that lost half their water to evaporation.
  • One Arbonne shipment in the garage.
  • No pictures to share.
  • Several inspiring quotes from Erik Weihenmayer.
  • A house that smells like it was closed up for a week of 100 degree weather.
  • A peaceful easy feeling.
  • An even stronger family.


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