Happy Birthday to My Beautiful Son
Mamacita says: June is a busy month here, as both of my beautiful children have June birthdays. Last week was my daughter’s birthday, and today is my son’s birthday.
I remember so well the night he was born. Well, every parent remembers details, but his are unique. He was almost born in the car, because of the railroad track that goes right smack through the center of downtown. As we pulled up to the track, we heard the train. But let me start at the beginning.
I’ve posted this before, but it’s especially poignant today.
I woke up already in labor. When I tell you that I am a comatose sleeper, I am not exaggerating. It’s bizarre, really: alarms and radios and doorbells and conversation and labor? I’m unconscious. But let a child turn over in his/her bed, barely making a sound, and I’m wide awake and alert. Go figure.
We packed up the newly two-year-old Sara and ran for the car. Thankfully, it started.
We lived way out in the country then, and the hospital was on the opposite side of the county. We had a ways to drive.
When we got to town, we heard the train. Tim stopped, of course, and looked carefully at the approaching bright light.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Gun it,” I replied.
So we did.
We pulled up in front of my parents’ house, where Mom was waiting on the sidewalk. We literally tossed Sara out the window and raced towards the Medical Center.
Tim dropped me off at the emergency entrance and went to park the car.
When he came back a few minutes later, the doctor and I were standing out in the hallway admiring the baby.
Truthfully, I’ve had, um, “constipational disorders” that were worse than my son’s birth. He weighed a little over eight pounds and the whole evening had an aura of unreality to it, because it was so easy. The worst part of it was my whiny crybaby roommate.
Yes, my son’s birth was a cinch. The whole thing (after I woke up) lasted about twenty minutes. No problems, no sweat. He later made up for lost time but I digress.
His bright red hair shone like the red planet among stars in the hospital nursery. Visitors would comment about it.
“Hey, lookit the one with the red hair, did you ever see anything like that before?”
And of course, nobody ever had. And he was MINE.
My little son, who has brought joy and laughter to my life. My precious and beautiful boy-child, whose glowing red hair is now shoulder-length, which doesn’t bother me in the least as I am a former long-haired hippie-type myself. My freckle-faced smiley boy whose arms and legs and heaven knows what else are covered with tattoos.
My tiny loving little boy, who cried over sad stories and poems, who knows how to play Pan pipes and bagpipes and bassoons, cooks like a top chef, and who would win a philosophical debate with anyone on the planet.
My nearly-seven-feet-tall son, almost ready to graduate from college, living in a bachelor pad on the top floor of an old apartment complex, who hates to drive and takes the bus or walks wherever he goes. Well, sometimes young women drive him around; you know how it is. Young women with excellent taste, I might add.
My beautiful son, who is a computer expert and works in the IT department of the college where I teach. I love running into him in the hall, and watching him at work, helping people, doing complicated things with wires and plugs and stuff that would make Arthur Weasley pee his pants with excitement. When I look at my son, I feel a surge of love and pride combined that is so intense, there are no words yet invented to describe it.
His birth was easy. His journey to adulthood contained some serious trials, but he is now a cool and intelligent young man, and if you send me your resume and pass my rather lengthy interview process, I will consider introducing you.
And, of course, if you do marry my son, you will have ME as your mother- in- law. Talk about PERFECTION, right?
Right?
Things Nice People Already Know: Drive-Through Etiquette
Mamacita says: Oh, I know. I’ve ranted about this before. But after waiting behind some old man in the pharmacy drive-through for maybe six days? until I gave up, parked, and went inside, I decided to rant about it again. Or maybe it’s because I wasn’t able to get lunch all last week and this because the drive-through lines were so long and mainly full of families with all the time in the world who decided they were hungry right at prime-time working-people lunch times.
Yes, I should have packed a sandwich to eat on my 90 minute one-way commute, but I was counting on the milk of human kindness and common sense, neither of which was in evidence at the drive-throughs I had to pass by.
Drive-throughs are for convenience and SPEED, preferably both at once. If you are using it only for your personal convenience, I might be writing about you tonight.
Honest to boo, why is the concept of the drive-through so difficult for some people to comprehend? I don’t care if it’s a fast-food drive-through, the bank’s drive-through, the library drive-through, the pharmacy drive-through, or a bill-paying drive-through. Even those little islands at the post office where you drive up and drop your mail through the slot counts as a drive-through. And, every one of those drive-throughs has the same problem: some people don’t know how to use a drive-through.
Rule #1 – You are supposed to be ready before you pull up to the speaker. Sorry, kids, no changing-the-mind once the driver’s window is facing the speaker. Carved in stone. None of this pulling up to the speaker and THEN turning around to see what everybody wants. No, no, no, no, no. Period. Of course, if you’re the only car there, that’s different. It’s still rude, but at least you’re not trampling on anyone else’s time and patience. If you’re pulling up to the Post Office slot, don’t set the brake and commence writing checks and putting stamps on envelopes. Do that at home before you leave and have the whole pile ready to drop into the slot. Done right, you won’t even have to come to a full stop. The busy people behind you will love you. This holds true for the drive-in bank, too. Don’t pull up to the window and THEN start filling out deposit slips and signing checks. Do that before you leave the house, match everything together, and when you pull up to the window, smile at the harried teller who’s had to put up with all kinds of rude procrastinating customers today and hand her your completed bankwork. You’ll zip in and out in no time, and, again, the busy people behind you will try to describe you and your car to God when they’re at prayer that night, for extra blessings.
Rule #2 – No special orders at the drive-through window. They take longer and they hold up the line and that’s singularly unfair to the people behind you. If someone in your car must have mayonnaise and lettuce, hold the ketchup, you need to go inside. And if it’s rush hour, ie prime mealtime, you should just go home. A McDonald’s hamburger comes with certain things on it. If you don’t like McDonald’s hamburgers, go somewhere else. Or come back when there’s nobody in line.
Rule #3 – If it’s a work day for most people, and you’re off for whatever reason, don’t pile the kids in the van and go eat in a busy restaurant during prime lunch time. You’ve got all day, but the people behind you, frantically checking their watches, only have about twenty minutes. Step aside. If you’re not working that day, take the kids to lunch after prime lunch time is over. Working people with short lunch times will thank you, and what difference does it make if your kids’ nap and lunch time are a little weird a time or two a week? When I was home with my kids, I would NEVER have taken them to eat right when all the busy working people needed that time. I waited until after their rush was over. Inside or drive-through: let the people who have the least time go first.
Rule #4 – Don’t abuse the drive-through window. If you’re picking up prescription medicine at the pharmacy window, don’t ask the pharmacist to please run clear to the other side of the store and grab a gallon of 2% milk for you. Go inside.
Rule #5 – Most of these rules apply only to those busiest times of the day. If you’re pulling up to the drive-through at 2:30, a.m. or p.m., chances are there’s nobody waiting behind you. Do whatever you want.
Rule #6 – Because I said so. And, because it’s just basic human decency. Good manners. Etiquette. That’s why.
Rule #7 – If I’m in a drive-through line at 12:30 p.m., and that’s you in front of me with the four special burger orders, the Happy Meal Toy special requests, the french fries with no salt, and the chocolate shake split into five small cups, I probably loathe you. And rightfully so.
And now I’m hungry. It’s ten thirty p.m. so there probably won’t be a line. Not that it matters, because I NEVER go through the drive-through with a special order, even at ten thirty. The person behind me might really need to get somewhere.
As for the special orders, I do have one when we go to Burger King, but if it’s prime time I just suck it up. Because I have manners, and consideration for busy working people with short lunch times, and did I mention basic good MANNERS?
These are such small things to make so many people happy. And if you’re sitting there reading this all in a huff and thinking, “WELL. I’ll have her know that a drive-through is there for MY convenience!” then you’re probably a person in need of some drive-through etiquette.
P.S. If you’re in Indiana, where people are still allowed to stink up the whole place and give innocent people lung cancer smoke in restaurants, have the decency to NOT plop your fine self down beside or near children and present yourself as a bad example of humanity where they have to breathe in your stench.
P.P.S. The old guy who had decided to pitch a tent and live at the drive-through window was STILL THERE when I was leaving the parking lot. He had waited until it was his turn and everybody was waiting for him, to hunt through his wallet and his pockets for all of his insurance cards, checkbook, discount tag, coupon, etc. And yes, it took him that long to locate everything. Was he a sweet old man who was just confused? No. He was a rude beast. He should have been ready before he pulled up to the window, and when he realized he was going to be a while, he should have gone inside.
As nice, polite people do.
Reality TV vs. Education. And Testicles.
Mamacita says: With a universe full of wonders out there, at our fingertips and just a little bit beyond, how can so many people be content sitting around watching fake people’s lives on TV instead of getting up, walking out the door, and adding a few wonders to that universe, themselves?
I don’t get it.
Sure, there’s some great TV out there, but an awful lot of people spend an awful lot of time staring at crazy people: hoarders, teen whores, neighborhood slut conventions, adulterers, moochers, drunks, druggies, criminals, hillapes. . . . not but what the occasional peek through the insane asylum window isn’t a hoot sometimes, but regularly? Really?
Turn off the TV and go outside. Seriously. The kidnappers and murderers aren’t waiting out there to getcha, but the stars and planets are, and so is the moon. And on the nights when the moon can’t be there, the stars shine all that much brighter to make up for it.
Every star cluster – constellation – has a story for you. It’s not possible to talk about the night sky without talking about the ancient myths, and the people who believed in them. No TV show, however slutty and insane it might be, can begin to compare with the stories the night sky can tell you. Mythology is the best soap opera you could ever imagine.
Wake your kids in the middle of the night and take them outside. Encourage them to look up. Point out the difference between the stars and the planets. Talk to them about the moon and its phases, and how the word “moon” and the word “month” share the same root. Talk to them about the tides, because you can’t talk about the sea without talking about the moon.
Learning is about making connections. The more you know, the more you will be able to learn. Try to learn at least one new, cool word every day. Learn it thoroughly. Learn its history; many words, like many people, have fascinating histories.
Peninsula. Testimony. Um, you might want to wait until your kids are a little older before you encourage them to make THOSE connections. Then again, why not give ’em a giggle?
Admit it. You’re picturing a map of the United States right now, in your head, and you’re looking at Florida in a whole new way. And you will, for the rest of your life, associate it with the root (heh) word of peninsula. And also, you now know what that root word means. Got a pen in your hand? Pencil? Again, heh.
I’m not going to tell you anything about testimony. Look it up for yourself. It’ll be worth your time and trouble. Also? If you’re ever in court, you’ll probably be fined for contempt because you won’t be able to stop giggling.
Snookie is just slutty and stupid. The teen moms are quite possibly the worst role models EVER, and aimed at an audience that is, at least most of them, not yet able to distinguish pathetic losers from cool kids their age getting their 15 minutes in. As for shows featuring hoarders, swamp people, and bridezillas, well, I suppose it’s the modern equivalent of a circus freak show.
You know. Like a train wreck, which we’d give anything NOT to happen, but since it did, we can’t take our eyes off it.
Sad. But I wonder how many of these people would shape up a little if they weren’t experiencing their truckload of freebies and their 15 minutes. . . . .
Lights. Camera. Action. ATTENTION. MONEY. Not to mention sick, sad, horrible grammar.
I suppose reality TV is a kind of education. For some, it’s inspiration to get their own sick lives on camera, and for others, it’s proof that they really do need to stay in school lest they end up another bad example for the universe. Laughing stock doesn’t make nourishing soup.
