Best Time Ever At the Drive Thru...

The original plan for this morning was to go to church, then grab lunch out and hit the commissary on the way home. Turns out the church was having a baked potato lunch fundraiser, which sounded good to me, but His Highness is not so much into the baked taters, so we were back to the lunch-&-the-commy plan, until the Littler One decided to scream incessantly, and then it became pick-up-lunch-on-the-way-home-and-where-is-that-baby's-mother-for-heaven's-sake?? plan.

So I hightailed it to Wendy's. I told His Highness where we were going, and was met with blissful cheers of "Nuggets!!!" Yes, buddy, you can have nuggets for lunch. "YAY!!!!"

The Littler One is what Dr. Sears would call a high-needs baby. Synonyms for this include, "fussy," "grumpy," and "demanding." Basically, he has a lot of feelings. Very strong feelings. Even when we're in the drive thru.

So while the Littler One continued his screams of protest over the fact that he was not nursing at that very moment, I went ahead & ordered loudly, only to be joined by a naughty little boy who unbuckled himself to come up behind my seat and yell out my window to make sure his request for "nuggets, pwease!!" was heard. And heard again. And again. And one more time before I said "They heard you, you're getting nuggets, and you asked very nicely, but I need you in your seat right now, because you're in trouble for unbuckling without asking first."

I was a little bummed to have to discipline such cuteness, but when it comes to the law and issues of safety, well, those are a big deal, so we had to have a talk. But first I had to get thru the drive thru, so I pulled forward to pay & get our food. The girl at the window gave me a somewhat sympathetic and slightly fearful look, and it dawned on me that my screaming baby was, in fact, still screaming. I felt like telling her "don't worry, you should still have kids when you're older," but screaming babies make it hard to hear anything other than "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." So I erred on the side of silently looking as cheerful as possible while driving off with my screaming kiddo...

She Wore A...

I've decided I just can't do a blog name containing "Prince." It makes me think of raspberry berets, and partying like it's 1999, and platform shoes, before it somehow morphs into visions of the late Michael Jackson moonwalking, probably 'cuz "Prince" is part of a couple of his kids' names.

All that to say I'm still working on a blog name for the Littler One. I'm this close to breaking down & using real names, but I feel like before too long I would want to start up again with the nicknames, but then there'd be no point. Whatever.

Just bear with me, OK?

These Days...

...are full of mom things. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks...songs & naps, time-outs, & sometimes spanks on the bottom. Gwam cwackwers, gubblegum toopase to brush-a-teese, gummy Mee-mo vine-ins (Nemo vitamins). Attempts to keep up with the clutter, with occasional momentary success. Runny noses, well-baby visits, play groups, storytime at the library. Lots of nursing. Lots and lots of nursing. Tiny baby turning into bigger baby...long & lean like his older brother at this age. Good weight gain makes me hopeful to avoid supplementing this time around. Why do I care? I don't know, but I do...

...watching TV with His Highness is slowly becoming playing & going places with His Highness--with the Prince in tow...gradually picking up with the jogging again...occasional pajama days...trying new recipes, trying to eat more veggies, baking yummy treats for the fam...finding Matchbox cars in the oven mitts, among other places...fun at home with the yeh-wee (yellow) ball & blue slide, walking to the pwaygwound...

..definitely a season of life...

Listen!

I have to remember to listen. I get all amped up about what I'm feeling, and nervous that people won't "get" me. Then I jumble my words and have a hard time conveying my thoughts, thereby making it hard for people to "get" me.

When I take a deep breath and take the time to listen it always goes so much better. I find more common ground with people. I also find that most people don't, in fact, judge me, even if they think differently than I do. And they "get" me, even better than I get myself sometimes.

I have to remember to listen...

Kid Snippets...

--I'm still deciding on the younger one's blog name. One of my favorite nicknames is "Buster Brown," but I use it with both kids, so it's not unique to him. "Prince Charming" is another possibility. This is what the midwife's assistant called him shortly after he was born. It's easily shortened to "The Prince" if I'm so inclined, and is a nice little pick-me-up during his decidedly un-charming times...

--Today at naptime His Highness decided that, instead of Raffi, he wanted to listen to "Shut Your Eyes" by Snow Patrol. This is definitely a product of the Cat Daddy's influence, which is fine with me since I think Snow Patrol is pretty groovy. My kid is cool, which I can't take credit for, but I think it's cool that he's cool...

--The Cat Daddy is the one who keeps up with music in our house. Usually I am riding the coat tails of his musical knowledge and tastes. I really should get out on my own though, because I know there's lots of stuff that would be right up my alley, but he doesn't know about it because it's probably more folksy than he prefers...

--I've also been considering checking in with the Christian music scene, especially worship stuff. I've been on a drumming hiatus for over a year now and if I plan to get back into it, it would be nice to be somewhat familiar with what I might encounter so I'm not all, "What, no one's doing 'Lord I Lift Your Name On High' anymore??" or "Check out this nifty groove I found for 'Awesome God'" (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Plus, Christian music has made great strides in the past decade or so with the coolness factor. It used to be that "about God" and "cool" were mutually exclusive terms, but I'm told there's plenty of good God-music to choose from these days. I mean, God is cool, so why not make music that is cool, too? Playing faster for the Master, and all that...

Picking Up the Fleece...

It's been cold in Cheyenne lately, especially for June. Not freezing, per se, but chilly. And hail-y.

Last week, His Highness and I attended an SHS event (moms' group) and we left our fleece sweatshirts there. OK I left our fleece sweatshirts there; can't really blame the 2-year-old for that one. A friend very kindly picked them up for us and called to inform me that she was holding them for ransom, so I gave her what-for. I was all, "I have skills, man. You don't even want to know the kinds of skills I have," and she was all, "You'd better listen carefully if you ever want to see your fleeces again," and I was all, "I'll use my bowstaff on you," and she was all, "Fine, how about I bring them to the dairy farm outing in a couple weeks and you can get them then," and I was all, "Sounds good. We shouldn't need them unless we have another freak cold front before then."

Well, the dairy farm trip isn't for another 2 1/2 weeks but we're having another freak cold front. In June. So I'm going to pick them up...

The Phone and I...

I think I've mentioned before that I have a love/hate relationship with speaking on the phone. Actually it's more of a phobia. Have I told the story of how it developed?

When I was young--probably 8 or less, I dialed the phone to talk to my grandparents. I say "Hi Grandpa," and he replies, "Jane?"

"No, it's Skerrib."

"Skerrib?"

"Put Grandma on the phone."

Lady's voice: "Hello?"

"Hi Grandma it's Skerrib."

"Skerrib??"

Long story short, they were someone's grandparents, but not mine. Not sure if it was a wrong number or what, but my mom got on the phone & helped sort it out, and they all laughed about it. I would probably laugh if it happened today, but combine my age at the time and my nervous-type-ness, and I was mortified. Suffice to say it was a while before I wanted to talk on the phone, and I think several years before I actually dialed a call for myself (Pizza Hut).

Ironically enough, I worked in a call center for most of my college years. I worked for Bank of America, and I actually started out as an Outbound rep, calling customers to get them to apply for home equity lines of credit. Now that I think about it I'm wondering how I got through without blowing a fuse. That's, like, daily anxiety for me. Anyway, I was terrible at it, but before too terribly long we Outbound folks merged with the Inbound folks, and instead of waking people up on Saturday mornings I was soon helping to open accounts for people who called me. This was heaven in comparison. My numbers (and consequently my commission checks) weren't fantastic, but my customers liked me because I wasn't pushy. I'd listen to their needs and upsell when a particular product would benefit them, but mostly I just helped them do what they'd called in to do--open an account.

This is why I suck at sales. Over the years I've done a surprising amount of sales work. There was the bank for 3 years--still one of my longest-held jobs. There was selling cell phones, in Circuit City, for Cingular, over the holiday season of 2001. They gave me all the crappy shifts--like Monday mornings--but I didn't care. I didn't have a cell, so why would I try to push one on anyone else? I don't think I sold even one phone. My brother sells phones now, and he's really good at it. He also has a kick-ass phone, and when I call him I get to hear music instead of ringing. So he can show off for the people who come into the store, and make them want all the same cool tricks & stuff as he has.

Let's see, I know there's more in there somewhere...well, whatever. I think to do sales well you must be able to separate work from your real self. I never fully believed in the stuff I was selling, and I could never quite compartmentalize it like that, so I always felt a bit disingenuous. I was saying "Hey you should buy this, it's good," but really I was thinking, "Please I hope you don't hate me for trying to sell you this, but I do hope you buy it 'cuz then I get some commission." Sales is inherently about getting you to spend money on stuff you may or may not need or use. Problem is, I am inherently for saving money and not piling on the stuff, so it's a fundamental difference in philosophy.

Once I got into grad school and secured my co-op job doing nerd work, I decided that, as much as was within my power, I would never do sales again. No retail, no foods (upselling shakes & grilled onions at Fuddrucker's), no home-based marketing stuff. None. I don't even go to many of the home-based marketing parties. It's nothing personal, I just get nervous about anything sales-y, even as a consumer.

So yeah, phones...sales...phone sales...not my gig. These days I function somewhat-reasonably when it comes to the phone, but for the tougher calls I often have to wait for a day or moment when I feel particularly brave. Then I make the call and accomplish whatever it is that needed to be done, and then I give myself a congratulatory lecture: "Hey, you did it--good job! But honestly Skerrib, must you really make these things so difficult? Go eat a piece of fruit [or ice cream, depending on the difficulty of the call]."

So no, I won't sign up for your awesomely-awesome opportunity, no matter how low-key and sure-fire it sounds. I might go to your home party, but only if there's food, and even then I'll have to think about it. And I won't do street witnessing, no matter how much you guilt me about getting out of my comfort zone. But that's another post...

An Exciting Week...

Bit of an exciting week here in the Skerrib house. The Cat Daddy is "out in the field" all week, which is a specifically technical Air Force term meaning "gone." Missiles is one of those career fields where they tell you how good you are in hopes that you won't notice all the crap-work they pile on. This is not to diminish the good work that the Cat Daddy and his cohorts do; because they do their job well. In fact it's because they do their job well that they get picked for the important jobs that take them away from home for a week, which is one of those hard ironies in life. Sort of in the same vein as "no good deed goes unpunished."

I've decided that I don't have to learn to like the Cat Daddy's frequently being out in the field. Granted it would not be a healthy thing for me to go around complaining all the time, especially since the "frequently out in the field" thing will likely continue for a couple of years or more, and making myself miserable about it won't make that time go any faster. There's a whole lot to be said about making the best of things, taking lemons and making lemonade, and all that, but it seems to me that many people try to skip over the bad aspects on their way to making the best of things. They don't talk about the lemons. That, or people don't want to hear about the lemons. Lemonade is much more palatable, I guess.

But then again you have the people who can't seem to stop fixating on the bad, and are determined to be miserable, no matter what good there is to be found. Then it's more like "Gosh, I get it, you have a lot of lemons. Have you considered making some lemonade?"

My catharsis is saying "I hate this job" whenever I feel particularly annoyed by the crap-parts. This might sound incredibly negative, but it helps me to keep perspective. It's easy to get mad at the Cat Daddy when he has to be gone yet again, but the truth is that the Cat Daddy is home whenever possible. "I hate this job," as opposed to "The Cat Daddy sucks" (or any of the varied and extremely unfair phrases that pop into my mind when I'm weary), reminds me of that. And I'm grateful that he has a job, and a fairly secure one at that. I don't want him to quit, or anything. I just don't like the bad parts of it, that's all...