One, five, ten, crap, where was I?

Look, I am all for teaching our kiddies the value of a dollar and capitalism and commercialism and materialism and how the Target checkout line works and all, but seriously, must we do it on a busy Saturday morning with all FOUR of your children who happen to be under the age of five?

I set out today to exchange a gift that was no longer useful (you know, cause the kid I bought it for is no longer a newborn....yeah, Sheri that would be your kid....and I better give you the new gift before I have to go exchange it!). After that, I really wanted a book or magazine or something to pass the day. Since I was headed the opposite direction from the bookstore, I settled for Target for my book. By the time I made it there, I was slightly in a hurry. I thought it was good luck when there were only two people in line in front of me, despite the fact that only one lane was open at a busy time. By the time I plunked my purchases down, a line had already formed behind me. Thank goodness the family in front of me only had four little animal figurines to purchase.

The checker scans the first animal, and reaches for the second. The mother stops her.

"Oh, they will each be paying individually." She waves her hand in the direction of her four children. Her four children who are all under the age of five. Her four children who are all under the age of five, each with their own bag of coins.

As the screen flashes the total of $1.57, the oldest of the children begins counting out coins. "Five, ten, fifteen, twenty....uh...oh no I lost my place. Five, ten fifteen..."

After a few tries, he finally gets it correct. The line seemed to grow with each coin he counted. The people in line behind me begin to shift uncomfortably. This really can't go on much longer. Surely the mother will speed the next one up.

But no. Child number two, slowly counts out two nickels, then I watch as if in slow motion, as the bag of coins drops from her hands. Coins scatter. She bends to pick up the coins, while mom stands there, watching. Watching, while the line grows longer.

I begin to fume. The cashier loses patience. She turns to the other two children.

"All of your animals will be $1.57. Start counting now!"

Mom gets mad. This is not how she wants to work it. She doesn't want them to have their money ready. She wants them to each see the damn screen, and each take their sweet ass time counting out the coins. And miscounting coins. And dropping coins.

Finally the guy behind me says, "Hey lady. I'd like to teach your children a lesson in generosity. I am going to pay for those animals." And with that, he hands over his debit card, and the grateful cashier swipes it before the mother can protest.

And probably it was wrong that everyone in the line started to giggle, because this mom was just trying to teach her kids a lesson.

At a horribly busy time on a Saturday morning when only one line was open.

A little side note, I myself have done the same thing with Jill. I took her to a Starbucks at two in the afternoon, when I knew there would not likely be a line. When there was another customer, I had them go in front of us. I had called ahead to find out the exact costs of the item she would order, and had her practice counting out the amount (which was not all coins when it was OVER a dollar). I did all of this because I know that not everyone finds my kids counting out change as adorable as I do. There are ways to do things while being considerate of others.

How to spot a HO.

I can't wait until Jill is old enough to understand inappropriate jokes. Especially the ones she inadvertently makes.

Her obsession with the word "Ho" began shortly after Christmas. It started with a piece of Christmas scrapbook paper with "Ho, Ho, Ho" printed across it over and over. She cut the paper into small pieces, and handed one to me.

"That's for you, mama." She slipped me a piece of paper that simply said, "Ho." She giggled. "It's funny, huh?"

I was a little taken aback. How did she know that was funny? She is seven! But alas, she had no clue. She went on to explain how it was funny, 'cause it was no longer Christmas. I still got called a ho several more times that day, and the paper is proudly tucked into the corner of our dry erase board by the desk. I imagine that I will frame it, and give it to her for graduation or some such with something along the lines of "As you go out into the world, don't be a Ho." It would be a little joke between us, but for now, it is just her favorite thing to say and incorporate into games.

Today, Kenny came home with the trailer instead of going to the shop. I walked out front with him while he unloaded some tools. Meanwhile, inside the house the girls got involved in some game that somewhat resembled leapfrog. One person crawled under the other person's legs. They were mid-turn when I walked back into the house.

"Hey mama! Watch us! We are playing Limbo Hos!"

I giggled. This only egged her on. "One person is the limbo-er and the other is the ho. The person with their legs spread is the ho!"

No! Really?! At least I won't have to teach her that lesson when she gets older.

Google. Offering stalkers better ways to stalk.

Does this scare the shit out of anyone else?



Google Offers New Program To Track People
Latitude Software Released Today
POSTED: Wednesday, February 4, 2009



Google
SAN FRANCISCO -- There's a new people tracker out there.
Google Latitude
A software program being released by Google on Wednesday will let just about anybody with a cell phone or other wireless device find out instantly where they are. Other people can find out where they are too -- say, parents who want to keep tabs on junior.
The program is an upgrade to Google's mobile maps. It's being marketed as a way to know exactly where you are and share your whereabouts with family and friends. Google's product manager said it "adds a social flavor" to Google maps and makes them "more fun."
In a concession to snooping concerns, it's easy for the user to switch off the tracking device. It's also possible to set it up so it will identify only the city where you are, not the exact location.
And Google promises it won't be retaining information on users' movements.
Copyright 2009 by The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Cupcakes

You know I am obsessed with cupcakes? Or really anything that contains chocolate. And coffee. Although, not the two combined. I like to keep my coffee and my cupcakes seperate. Except, Starbucks now sells cupcakes, and they are the shit. I might have had two today. I might eat two more later.

Strippers and hos, I mean, holes.

The kids were both gone this weekend, and I woke up Sunday morning craving donuts. Kenny obliged by driving me to Shipley's. Mmmm...Bullseyes. The best donut ever invented. It was packed in the donut store, as usual. I waited patiently for my turn to order my pile of donuts and donut holes. Meanwhile, I dug through my purse seeing what cash I could find, because I was sure I had spotted a dollar or two in there. Somehow, I managed to find about fifteen dollar bills. Odd, because I never have cash. I pulled them all out, and showed Kenny.

"Where did all these dollars come from," I asked him.

He matter-of-factly and loudly replied, "Well, you did work last night."

Several people turn around.

He keeps going. "I told you to trade those dollar bills in at the end of the night, but you never listen to me."

If I had thought quicker, I would have replied with something like, "Well, if you would pay for my boob job, then I would make more than single dollar bills." But I hadn't had coffee yet.

Instead, I giggled, ordered my donuts, and playfully smacked Kenny on the way out the door cause some old lady now thinks I am a stripper.

Did you say "anything else?"

Emmi has an appointment with a plastic surgeon in February to discuss correcting her soft palate. The last appointment we had with him did not go well. The guy was an ass. I know, I know. You want to know why I am going back to him. Well, simple. 'Cause he happens to be the best pediatric cranio-facial doc around. Good surgery skills trump bedside manners when you are cutting into my kid's head. Anyway, not only am I making Kenny come with me, but the therapist that diagnosed Emmi is attended the appointment, as well. Except, she realized today that Emmi's appointment was scheduled for a day she would be out of town. She called the surgeon's office to have them reschedule with me for the following week. I told her that I had not taken the first available appointment purely because it was at 9am, so I wanted her to make sure they did not try to give me a 9am appointment. We live on the outskirts of Houston. Driving into town at 9am, would mean we have to leave the house before 7am. It also means one of my parents would have to come to town to get Jill on the bus. And? Emmi acts like a fool in doctor's offices after she has been trapped in the car for two hours. The therapist laughed. She told me she would have the scheduler call me.

My phone rings.

"Tricia? Hi. We have a 9:15 available for Emmi on the 23rd."

"Do you have anything else?" Seriously? 9:15 is no better than 9.

"No ma'am. There is nothing else."

"Okay, well. What about another day, because I can't get there by 9." I explain the bus thing and the two hour drive thing.

"Oh, well, he can see you at 10:45 instead."

Ummm. Apparently we have differing definitions of "anything else."

Priorities.

We swore in a new president yesterday. There are so many things this could mean, so many things we could talk about yet....

Four different news reports have come on in the past twenty minutes all discussing Michelle Obama's outfit choice. Really?