Thursday, July 29, 2010

So the doorbell rang a few hours ago and a really sweaty middle aged guy was standing on my porch with his bike laying on my lawn. He said he had been out of work for 6 months and was going door to door asking people if he could paint their house numbers on the curb in front of their houses. He asked if he could do that for me for a little money. By this time both my 16 year old son and my 11 year old daughter had come up behind me to see what was going on. "Sure" I said. "How much?" "Whatever you think is fair" he said. I agreed to pay him $10 and he went to work. After I shut the door to let him work my daughter was worried. She wanted to know who the man was and what he was doing here. Was he coming to live with us?? She was very nervous. I asked my son to run a cold bottle of water and a granola bar out to the man while he was working. "Why?" he asked. I am batting a thousand here. I am looking at my off spring wondering at what point in their lives they were raised by wolves. "Because he looks like he is very hot and needs a cold drink and maybe something to eat. Just to be kind." I look at both children now, "We are moving away from this house, do you think I really need my house numbers painted on the curb? Not really, but this man doesn't have a job. He is riding his bike around the streets asking to do a little work for a little money. I have a job and I have a little money to spare today. So I am doing a little kindness for some one else. I want both of you to do a little kindness for others when you can. You have more than many children do." They stare at me as if I have grown another head. "Okay" mumbles my son (he is a mumbler by nature) as he walks out the door to deliver the water and granola bar. "So the man is not going to live with us, right?" asks my daughter again. "Nope, he is not going to live with us, he is just going to paint our curb today." And with that, the man is done. "Come look!" he says. I do and it looks fabulous and I tell him so and thank him profusely. Then I pay him $15.00 instead of $10.00. "Are you sure he asks?" "Absolutely positive!" I say, "God bless you." Now he thanks me profusely and I am a little teary as I walk back in the house to my little wolves. Paying it forward rocks. Later.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

So we closed on our house last week. Hooray...I think. Now I am consumed with thoughts of when the new tile and carpet will be installed and if the paint nazi will be done in time and when can I order new furniture. But I can't be consumed for long because I have a fabulous 11 year old daughter that is consumed with something else. This means I too must be consumed with it. Everyone knows kids can get obsessed with certain things but my little one is autistic, mildly autistic and considered high functioning, but autistic all the same. When an autistic person gets consumed with something...well, everyone in the house is consumed with that something too. My daughter is currently obsessed with collecting Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. These are tiny little Barbies that come in their own plastic "bubble" with all their tiny accessories inside. About a week ago I told her she could go to Walmart and pick a reward if she cleaned her piggy room. She did it and we went to Walmart and she found the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. The world as we knew it was over. She picked Lydia from London (Lydia came in a little plastic globe) and inside with all the other tiny stuff was a little brochure with ALL the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys available for collection. I have not heard the end of it since the moment she opened Lydia's package. In the next day or two my daughter organized her closet and we went back to Walmart to get Maria from Mexico and Jamika from Johannisberg (she came with a tiny giraffe...mezmerizing). I hear about the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys everyday, many, many times a day. We sit and look at the brochure, going over each and every dolly with my daughter pointing out which ones she likes the best and which ones she wants next and deciding what chores she can do to earn another trip to Walmart or Target to buy another Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly. Here's the catch. The stores only carry one or two Barbie Peekaboo Petite dollys. We now have the few they carry. My daughter was showing her CC (my mother) the fabulous Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly brochure for probably the sixth time in a few hours last Saturday and mentioned that we couldn't find all the dollys she wanted in the stores and my wise mother, bless her heart, said "Well why don't you ask your Mom to check on the internet for you?" I was making sandwiches a few feet away. I stopped what I was doing and stared at her. She looked back at me and I gave her a sarcastic thumbs up. "Sorry" she mouthed back at me. "Mom! Can you look on the internet for the Peekaboo dollys I want? Please?" Just when I thought we had exhausted the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly collection in our area, the world wide web opens up an endless sea of hope for my daughter. So the Barbie Peekaboo Petite dolly obsession lives to haunt me another eternal day. When am I ever going to find time to obsess over my new carpet and tile and furniture...hmmm...when it comes down to it, I guess we are all a little bit autistic...later.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Family. Especially in laws. What do you think when you hear these words? Good things for the most part I hope. But then...well...so we had a birthday party at my in laws for my neice who turned 17. So we went over for dinner and cake. First off, my husband is the only sibling not living back with his parents right now. So there are not a lot of happy campers over there at the moment but it's a birthday party, so everyone is on their best behavior...well not everyone. I'm sitting there minding my own business when my brother in law, an out of work hairdresser who is significantly older than I am, plops down in front of me and says "So, it's time for me to tell you the honest truth." With that he proceeds to tell me how horrible my hair looks. It's too blonde, it looks damaged and the cut makes my face look fatter. He goes on and on telling me that my current stylist is ruining my hair and that every body is talking about how bad my hair is looking. I look at him. He is bald on the top and wears the rest of his sparse hair bleached blonde and about shoulder length. Most of the time he, thankfully, wears a bandana like Brett Michaels but unfortunately for me he is not wearing one now and he is so worked up over the state of my hair-do that he is sweating profusely. Nice. My mother in law is shushing him loudly. Finally I say, "Well, first of all, I like the color, it covers my gray. Secondly, my face looks fat because I am fat and if you think there is a product that will help my hair look healthier, please write it down for me." and I walked away!! I was so freaking proud of myself! I NEVER walk away for crying out loud! But I did this time. I did because it was a party, for my 17 year old neice and everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior. And it feels good to take the high road. Does it feel as good as it would have felt to come apart at my brother in law? I don't know for sure. This morning I looked at my hair very objectively in the mirror. I decided I look fine. Besides, I have bigger fish to fry...later.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

I'm moving. We bought a new home and we are finally closing on it next week (after two delays...not the plan but...) and so now the work begins. Not only are we packing 16 years of accumulated, I'll just say it, crap and deciding what crap goes to the new house and what crap does not go to the new house but we also have decided to paint, carpet and tile before we move everything IN the house. The house has pink carpet throughout and this fabulous faux green marble paint job that we have decided to change. No offense, just anyone that knows me knows I am not a "pink" gal. My husband has a plan. We'll call it "Plan A". I could be really naughty and call it "Plan ADD" but I won't...yet. He wants to rip out all the existing carpet and linoleum and paint first while the new carpet and tile is being ordered. On the face of it, this is a very good plan. But I have been married to this person for 22 years, he actually has ADD. Plus, he has a little OCD when it comes to home improvement, especially painting. He is a meticulous painter. Once we had a professional paint our downstairs bathroom. After it was done, I came home to find my husband painting the downstairs bathroom. When I asked him what he was doing he said he could see brush marks so he was painting it again. You get my drift here. So we have about two weeks to paint before the carpet and tile are installed. Our new house is about 3500 sq. feet and we are painting most of the interior. Here is my issue, what do you do when you can see the need for a Plan B, but it's not really your plan? I pretty much know the painting nazi is not going to make the deadline, but the painting nazi doesn't know it. I can try to help him, but I am not a perfect enough painter you see, he will just have to paint over my shoddy work. I have thought about this and the answer my friends, I'm afraid, is blowing in the wind. I'm going to have to let him do his thing and just wait and see what happens. This is not easy for me to do. I'm usually a "take charge" kind of girl. I'm all ready for Plan B, let's get to it and all that. This is where my prozac kicks in for me. The fact is that I will probably have the painting nazi painting after I have new carpet and tile installed. THAT IS Plan B. And there it is. Later.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

...another typo...that's two for two...
So here I am again. I have two funerals in a week's time. The ultimate change in plans for all involved. This morning I went in to pay a traffic ticket I got at..get this...the airport! So bugged. About a two weeks ago my parents came home after living abroad for 3 years so of course we all went out to the airport to meet them. After the big hoo ha inside we all pulled our cars around to the pick up curb to load them in with their luggage. My sisters were in front of me as I manuvered my way through the zillion cars in the pick up lanes and pulled to the curb when a police car pulled in behind me flashing it's lights. Fabulous. My two young nephews in the back seat started yelling "Dee Dee, you're going to the jail!" This clearly was not in my plan. My poor mother was standing on the curb looking like homeland security had just descended upon her family. I smiled at her and waved, "no worries" I mouthed. So a cop that looked about 15 years old came up to my window. I rolled it down and looked at him. "Did you know your registration is expired?" For a moment a didn't know what to say, which is unusual for me. Then all I could muster was "Really?". "Yep" he said, "your sticker says April of 2010." "Really" I said again. Now I'm not one to use feminine assets to get out of a ticket or to get much of anything. It's just not me. So I said, and I kid you not, a line from a movie I'd seen, "Well, put it on my tab then." "What?" he said. "Look" I said, "There is not one thing I can do about this now. I need to get my parents picked up here so write me up the ticket and let's get on with it." So he did and that night my husband (who is in charge of taking care of the cars, because I take care of the finances...another story) registered my car online and this morning I paid the damn ticket. Not in my original plan but oh well. Not it is all just a happy memory right! Moving on! Later!

Thursday, July 8, 2010

...and on my very first post I have a typo...fabulous.
So I have created a blog. Every one said I should do it and now I have done it. Why did I do it? Why did I call it Plan B? Because I need to write things down that happen, I need to keep some kind of journal. Every time I have tried to write a journal in the past I end up recording everything I ate that day and how fat I feel. "I ate two wheat thins and an orange all day and I gained two pounds!" That's not so much what I want to remember...I'm calling my blog Plan B because I am always on Plan B, or C or D or Y. Have you noticed that not much in life goes according to plan? You have to switch hit almost all day long. Today I have a meeting with a business partner from out of town later this afternoon. At lunch I was squirting some sour cream on my burrito and there was a little hole in the container and sour cream squirted down the from of my top. Nice. I had not planned to wear a dirty shirt to the meeting but...plan B I guess. See how that works? I used to think I had bad luck...now I know it's just the "Plan B effect". It makes me feel happier in my life to look at it that way rather than bad luck. Maybe you relate. If so, feel free to share. Later.