Picking up where I left off last night, my MS wrangled a consent from me to spend the night with friend #2. There is a house rule that she will not spend the night away from home on school nights, but I cave easily. So, she arrived at the house in a whirlwind to pick up her clothes for school and her book bag. With a hasty kiss and an "I love you MiMi" she was out the door again and off. I turned out the lights, walked the dogs one last time and retired to my bedroom. I finished off Deathly Hallows, tucked myself in and began the drift method of slipping into sleep. At 10:30, the phone rang. "Hello". "Granmme, I am sooooo sorry. I am so sorry," she sobbed onto the phone. At once my overactive imagination kicked into high gear, trying to imagine what she could be soooo sorry for? Maybe it was my half asleep self that rendered me to draw a complete blank. Hadn't I just seen her a mere hour earlier? She was fine then. Finally, between sobs, she tells me that she has lost her cell phone at the fair. The same cell phone that has previously cost me $294.32 worth of text messages. The cell phone that is stuck like glue to her hand every minute of every day. Bummer. She was so upset that I didn't have it in me to get mad at that point. I gave that a small amount of consideration when she called me again at 11:30 to report that she was still "soooooo sorry" and that she had not been able to find it. Friend #2's mother - an angel among us - even took her back to the Fair and helped her search for it, retracing their steps and digging through the trash. That conjured up images of Templeton the rat on his food forage through the fair in Charlotte's Web.
Every hour or so today I called her phone, only to hear her sweet little voice say, "I can't get to the phone right now, please leave a message". I pondered every idea I could of how to remedy this problem with Verizon, planning to make a visit to the store on Friday. Suspending service tomorrow. I watched usage all day today on the website, trying to determine if someone was using it. (The $5.00 limits charge that I added last month kept me from obsessing about another 2000+ texts or worse). She called late this afternoon, having received another invitation to attend the fair tonite. Begging to be able to go on a reduced budget just to afford her another chance of looking for the beloved cell phone. I finally succumbed to her pleas. Friend #3's mother was working a booth tonight and she didn't need a lot of money.
As I drove her to her friend's house I asked her to please be on the listen for her "ringtone" as I would be calling the phone from time to time so that she might hear it. I also encouraged her to check with the ticket seller's booth to see if by chance it had been turned in, though I didn't hold much hope for that. I said a little prayer after I dropped her off. "Please Lord, let her find it".
At 6:35 the phone rang. It was another friend #1 from last night. "I found Elexia's cell phone". I was speechless. "It was at the ticket booth, but they won't give it to me. Elexia has to claim it herself". I told her that my MS was there again tonight, so off she went to track her down. When my phone rang again a few minutes later and "Elexia" appeared on the screen, I said a quick "thank you" to St. Sandoval de Samsung.
Who'da thought that miracles can happen, even among the carny-folk.
oh... I really have no idea what Mr. Samsung's first name is. I just figured if I was going to make him a Saint there should be a fancy sounding name.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Carny Fun
It's September and the quiet little town of Social Circle, Georgia has two long standing traditions for the month. The tour of homes which showcases several of the beautiful antebellum mansions in our town. The second is the arrival of the Fall Carnival at the Middle / High School. I'm guessing that it is a fund raiser for the school system, though I'm really not sure. They hang a huge banner across Main Street about a month ahead of its arrival - just to make sure that all the kids in town have plenty of time to amply badger their parents or MiMi's to death about it. You might think or pumpkins and candied apples and scarecrows and crafts. Maybe even funnel cakes or fried snicker bars when "fall carnival" is mentioned. Do not be deceived!
Social Circle Fall Carnival is actually the well traveled McNair Fair. Anyone within the state of Georgia is familiar with the site of it set up in shopping center parking lots. It travels the state year round draws large crowds nightly. I pose this question to you though. Why would a school system engage a carnival for school nights? What about homework? Getting sufficient rest?
I had made it clear to my MS that I had no desire to go to the Carnival. She was welcome to go with a friend and I would see to it that she had money to attend. So, of course, she had it all arranged for the first night it was open. Home from school and off to the friend's house with assurances that she would be home by 7:30pm in plenty of time to do her homework and get to bed by 9:30.
Let me pause and ask myself, "did you really believe that was going to happen??" At 7:30 she called to say that she had met up with friend #2 and her mother and was switching to them so she could stay longer. So now it is 9:30 and still no sign of my MS. Homework not done. I'm ready to go to bed.
My idea of a good time is absolutely not standing by the giant swing, singing "Wildfire" and yucking it up with the carny folk! :-)
Social Circle Fall Carnival is actually the well traveled McNair Fair. Anyone within the state of Georgia is familiar with the site of it set up in shopping center parking lots. It travels the state year round draws large crowds nightly. I pose this question to you though. Why would a school system engage a carnival for school nights? What about homework? Getting sufficient rest?
I had made it clear to my MS that I had no desire to go to the Carnival. She was welcome to go with a friend and I would see to it that she had money to attend. So, of course, she had it all arranged for the first night it was open. Home from school and off to the friend's house with assurances that she would be home by 7:30pm in plenty of time to do her homework and get to bed by 9:30.
Let me pause and ask myself, "did you really believe that was going to happen??" At 7:30 she called to say that she had met up with friend #2 and her mother and was switching to them so she could stay longer. So now it is 9:30 and still no sign of my MS. Homework not done. I'm ready to go to bed.
My idea of a good time is absolutely not standing by the giant swing, singing "Wildfire" and yucking it up with the carny folk! :-)
Sunday, September 5, 2010
A Mimi Labors on Labor Day
Labor Day, a holiday devoted to honoring all of the hard working Janes and Joes of this nation by giving them a Holiday from their regular work-a-days. Also a day to mark the end of a long, hot summer as the hints of Fall start to appear in cooler nights and days. A time to take a last vacation to a warm, sandy spot on a pool of blue water somewhere.
Or.....
Accept the offer to keep the newly turned three year old twin grandsons while the mother and father figures go to the beach for the week. Hmmmmmm....
I know, I know. A grandmother should accept with grace the position she holds at this point of her life and embrace all opportunities to dote on the little ones. And I do. Though a picture perfect Granmama I do not claim to be. I have to admit that my energy level saps much more quickly than it did 30 years ago. Watching the twins is like watching an instant replay of every instant. They say the same things, think the same thoughts and of course do the same do-s. They fall together, cry together, scream together and happily go to sleep together.
In short, they wear me out. I succomb to stress and frustration just as easily as the best of you. So now, into that mix add my MS and her friend, a big dog and a little dog, and now my 1st grader granddaughter. It's a full house and a house full of noise, laughter and of course a lot of love.The dogs are terrorized, the neighbors have probably debated calling DFACS by now and I had one good nerve left and by cracky.... they got on it this afternoon.
They wanted to wash the car. My immediate impulse was NO, but the word that came out of my mouth was OKAY. What can it hurt I mused. They get wet, have a little fun and I get a clean car out of the deal. So they donned their bathing suits and drug the water hose around to the car. I supplied them with wash cloths, dish soap and a bucket and went back inside.
At first there were the expected squeals of joy and laughter. I took my Harry Potter book out onto the porch to watch the merriment - just in time for twin #1 to slip in the garage and start screaming. My MS, in her bikini with far too many curves to suit me, jumped up from her station at the rear right tire and took off running to her brother's rescue.... only to slip on the same slick spot and hit the conrete hard. So, to recap: Twin #1 is screaming in pain... twin #2 who repeats every word and shadows every move it screaming in commiseration. My MS is sprawled (in the bikini) on the garage floor insisting that she has mortal wounds. Granddaughter #2 is sucking her thumb and the Best friend once dated George Washington. (where did that come from you might ask? - exaggeration is her middle name)
Drawing from parenthood 101, I pretended not to be overly alarmed. Though, I must admit having visions of ER's all night long dancing in my head. I said, "everybody up and go get into the shower". And believe it or not, they did it.
Now I sit here, blocking all external sounds out and typing this account of just a one hour period of this MiMi's Labor Day. I have labored, I have practiced meditation to get through and I have enjoyed several bottle of a nice Cab-Shiraz blend :-)
It's 5:40 PM. One hour and twenty minutes til bedtime!! And they go home tomorrow.
Or.....
Accept the offer to keep the newly turned three year old twin grandsons while the mother and father figures go to the beach for the week. Hmmmmmm....
I know, I know. A grandmother should accept with grace the position she holds at this point of her life and embrace all opportunities to dote on the little ones. And I do. Though a picture perfect Granmama I do not claim to be. I have to admit that my energy level saps much more quickly than it did 30 years ago. Watching the twins is like watching an instant replay of every instant. They say the same things, think the same thoughts and of course do the same do-s. They fall together, cry together, scream together and happily go to sleep together.
In short, they wear me out. I succomb to stress and frustration just as easily as the best of you. So now, into that mix add my MS and her friend, a big dog and a little dog, and now my 1st grader granddaughter. It's a full house and a house full of noise, laughter and of course a lot of love.The dogs are terrorized, the neighbors have probably debated calling DFACS by now and I had one good nerve left and by cracky.... they got on it this afternoon.
They wanted to wash the car. My immediate impulse was NO, but the word that came out of my mouth was OKAY. What can it hurt I mused. They get wet, have a little fun and I get a clean car out of the deal. So they donned their bathing suits and drug the water hose around to the car. I supplied them with wash cloths, dish soap and a bucket and went back inside.
At first there were the expected squeals of joy and laughter. I took my Harry Potter book out onto the porch to watch the merriment - just in time for twin #1 to slip in the garage and start screaming. My MS, in her bikini with far too many curves to suit me, jumped up from her station at the rear right tire and took off running to her brother's rescue.... only to slip on the same slick spot and hit the conrete hard. So, to recap: Twin #1 is screaming in pain... twin #2 who repeats every word and shadows every move it screaming in commiseration. My MS is sprawled (in the bikini) on the garage floor insisting that she has mortal wounds. Granddaughter #2 is sucking her thumb and the Best friend once dated George Washington. (where did that come from you might ask? - exaggeration is her middle name)
Drawing from parenthood 101, I pretended not to be overly alarmed. Though, I must admit having visions of ER's all night long dancing in my head. I said, "everybody up and go get into the shower". And believe it or not, they did it.
Now I sit here, blocking all external sounds out and typing this account of just a one hour period of this MiMi's Labor Day. I have labored, I have practiced meditation to get through and I have enjoyed several bottle of a nice Cab-Shiraz blend :-)
It's 5:40 PM. One hour and twenty minutes til bedtime!! And they go home tomorrow.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
8/22/10
The day to day experience of living with my MS remains pretty much the same. She gets readily gets up in the morning and donning the t-shirt of the day, cut offs and flip flops, gathering her book bag she heads off to the bus stop.
Technically, the bus is supposed to come around the corner and to our cul-de-sac, picking her up at our driveway. Bowing to the advancement of her ascent of the academic ladder to Middle School, I acquiesced to her walking to next street over for the bus. It's been just peachy up to now. I wait with baited breath to see how that works the first day it is raining... or cold. For now, she waits with her minions on the next corner.
I wave to her as I pass by, beginning my trek into work each morning. And that's the start of our day. She calls me at 3:45 each afternoon. The dialog is always the same. "Hi honey", I say. "Hi Grammie", she replies. "How was your day?", I query. "Fine". "Do you have any homework"? "No" - or sometimes "Yes". Depending on that answer, I determine if she is able to a) go play now or b) go play now or c) go play now. I rarely make her do the homework before I arrive home. She plays with the minions and then I summon her home for dinner and the aforementioned homework.
My MS is bright...very bright. She is filled with potential that could take her to high places. She doesn't particularly like to apply herself. I have tried to help her see how important theses MS days are to her future. She looks at me like Sigourney Weaver's alien. The future? What the heck is that? Her future of course exists in the present and at most in the next 24 hours.
As I have mentioned, she is living with me at the moment for a multitude of reasons. Her mother lives about an hour and a half away. My MS goes to see her with her six year old sister every other weekend for about 36 hours. A smidge of a moment in time to spend with your mother. This weekend was to be a "mom" weekend. Selfishly, I admit to enjoying a bit of "MiMi" time to myself. Earlier on this past week, my MS announces that she is spending with night with "Kenzie" on Friday and she has already called and ok's it with her Mom that she go to her house on Saturday. "Okay....", I say. Knowing that it will hurt my daughter and not having control over that, I drop the subject. An 11 y/o MS doesn't have any feeling of what it is like to be a mother. To love your children and hope and pray that you are doing what is best for them. So, she spent the night - not with "Kenzie" who had other plans after all, but with "Macie", and came home at 8:00 on Saturday morning and went to be with her mother. I picked her up this afternoon at 4:00. Back to start a new week.
I confess to loneliness when she is gone. It seems that my life is her life. I revolve around her, yet I am lonely.
Technically, the bus is supposed to come around the corner and to our cul-de-sac, picking her up at our driveway. Bowing to the advancement of her ascent of the academic ladder to Middle School, I acquiesced to her walking to next street over for the bus. It's been just peachy up to now. I wait with baited breath to see how that works the first day it is raining... or cold. For now, she waits with her minions on the next corner.
I wave to her as I pass by, beginning my trek into work each morning. And that's the start of our day. She calls me at 3:45 each afternoon. The dialog is always the same. "Hi honey", I say. "Hi Grammie", she replies. "How was your day?", I query. "Fine". "Do you have any homework"? "No" - or sometimes "Yes". Depending on that answer, I determine if she is able to a) go play now or b) go play now or c) go play now. I rarely make her do the homework before I arrive home. She plays with the minions and then I summon her home for dinner and the aforementioned homework.
My MS is bright...very bright. She is filled with potential that could take her to high places. She doesn't particularly like to apply herself. I have tried to help her see how important theses MS days are to her future. She looks at me like Sigourney Weaver's alien. The future? What the heck is that? Her future of course exists in the present and at most in the next 24 hours.
As I have mentioned, she is living with me at the moment for a multitude of reasons. Her mother lives about an hour and a half away. My MS goes to see her with her six year old sister every other weekend for about 36 hours. A smidge of a moment in time to spend with your mother. This weekend was to be a "mom" weekend. Selfishly, I admit to enjoying a bit of "MiMi" time to myself. Earlier on this past week, my MS announces that she is spending with night with "Kenzie" on Friday and she has already called and ok's it with her Mom that she go to her house on Saturday. "Okay....", I say. Knowing that it will hurt my daughter and not having control over that, I drop the subject. An 11 y/o MS doesn't have any feeling of what it is like to be a mother. To love your children and hope and pray that you are doing what is best for them. So, she spent the night - not with "Kenzie" who had other plans after all, but with "Macie", and came home at 8:00 on Saturday morning and went to be with her mother. I picked her up this afternoon at 4:00. Back to start a new week.
I confess to loneliness when she is gone. It seems that my life is her life. I revolve around her, yet I am lonely.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Attitude
One day in and the attitude has begun. I'd like to say I'm shocked and surprised, but I'm not. Miss Sassy mouth MS has a lot of hard lessons to learn ahead of her. Mimi isn't playing around this year. She's home from school and off and running after vowing there was no homework and announcing that she liked 6th grade.
I've spent the last hour filling out various forms that are repetitive and pointless. Does anyone ever buy the school insurance? I can remember bringing home that little envelope form when I was in grade school. My parents never signed my siblings and I up for it. I suppose if you don't have any insurance at all it would be a good thing. I put on my stern MiMi face and made sure she understood the discipline policy. I confiscated her cell phone (they most definitely are NOT allowed on campus) and attached the $5.00 for her locker.
Finally, I wrote the note to the teacher that explained that she will not be in school on Monday. Please give her all assignments so that she can complete them while she is on a trip to North Carolina over the weekend. Why, you might ask would she be permitted to miss the third day of school? I ask you to think back with me for a moment.
It's the week of February 16, 1964. I was barely 10 years old and over the top for a mop top rock and roll singer from Liverpool, England. I was living in Miami, Florida that winter week when the Beatles descended upon Miami Beach - more specifically the Deauville Hotel on Collins Avenue. I didn't get to go to the concert. My family didn't have the means to afford tickets to the Ed Sullivan Show that was being taped there featuring the Beatles. But, I slept with my aqua blue transistor radio with the faux leather case under my pillow listening to "I Wanna Hold Your Hand", "She Loves You" and "I Saw Her Standing There". I wrote many letters and addressed them to Paul McCartney, Liverpool, England and gave them to my dad to mail for me. I stood at the raffle desk in Burdines at Dadeland Mall and filled out hundreds of tickets to win a "Meet the Beatles" album - which I won. That Sunday afternoon my dad suggested that we take a family ride. We sometimes did that and ended up at the Dairy Queen for a vanilla ice cream cone. This Sunday afternoon he had another destination in mind. He drove us to Miami Beach, right up to the front door of the Deauville Hotel, stopping and letting me get out and kiss the sidewalk. Even today, I still have a hard time believing that happened. It was very out of character for my dad to do something as wild and crazy as that was. There is a country song on the radio today by Bucky Covington that tells of his dad saying "I love you" the only way he knew how. That was a huge expression of his love for me and obviously one I've never forgotten.
My MS'ers idol of the moment is a mop top pop singer from Canada. Justin Bieber. She has CD's, tshirts, poster and fan magazines featuring this cute little YouTube phenom. She's "in love" with him. Silly?....I can't say that it is. It may have been many years ago, but I still remember how it felt. So, when her best friend called this afternoon and invited her to take her own afternoon drive, this time to North Carolina to go to a sold out Justin Bieber concert with her, what to YOU think my answer was?
Baby Baby Baby Ohhhh like.... Baby Baby Baby Ohhhhhh like..... Baby Baby Baby I thought you'd always be mine!
I've spent the last hour filling out various forms that are repetitive and pointless. Does anyone ever buy the school insurance? I can remember bringing home that little envelope form when I was in grade school. My parents never signed my siblings and I up for it. I suppose if you don't have any insurance at all it would be a good thing. I put on my stern MiMi face and made sure she understood the discipline policy. I confiscated her cell phone (they most definitely are NOT allowed on campus) and attached the $5.00 for her locker.
Finally, I wrote the note to the teacher that explained that she will not be in school on Monday. Please give her all assignments so that she can complete them while she is on a trip to North Carolina over the weekend. Why, you might ask would she be permitted to miss the third day of school? I ask you to think back with me for a moment.
It's the week of February 16, 1964. I was barely 10 years old and over the top for a mop top rock and roll singer from Liverpool, England. I was living in Miami, Florida that winter week when the Beatles descended upon Miami Beach - more specifically the Deauville Hotel on Collins Avenue. I didn't get to go to the concert. My family didn't have the means to afford tickets to the Ed Sullivan Show that was being taped there featuring the Beatles. But, I slept with my aqua blue transistor radio with the faux leather case under my pillow listening to "I Wanna Hold Your Hand", "She Loves You" and "I Saw Her Standing There". I wrote many letters and addressed them to Paul McCartney, Liverpool, England and gave them to my dad to mail for me. I stood at the raffle desk in Burdines at Dadeland Mall and filled out hundreds of tickets to win a "Meet the Beatles" album - which I won. That Sunday afternoon my dad suggested that we take a family ride. We sometimes did that and ended up at the Dairy Queen for a vanilla ice cream cone. This Sunday afternoon he had another destination in mind. He drove us to Miami Beach, right up to the front door of the Deauville Hotel, stopping and letting me get out and kiss the sidewalk. Even today, I still have a hard time believing that happened. It was very out of character for my dad to do something as wild and crazy as that was. There is a country song on the radio today by Bucky Covington that tells of his dad saying "I love you" the only way he knew how. That was a huge expression of his love for me and obviously one I've never forgotten.
My MS'ers idol of the moment is a mop top pop singer from Canada. Justin Bieber. She has CD's, tshirts, poster and fan magazines featuring this cute little YouTube phenom. She's "in love" with him. Silly?....I can't say that it is. It may have been many years ago, but I still remember how it felt. So, when her best friend called this afternoon and invited her to take her own afternoon drive, this time to North Carolina to go to a sold out Justin Bieber concert with her, what to YOU think my answer was?
Baby Baby Baby Ohhhh like.... Baby Baby Baby Ohhhhhh like..... Baby Baby Baby I thought you'd always be mine!
Indentured Servitude
As previously stated, I live with my 11 year middle school granddaughter, known here as my MS. It's just the two of us, she and I. I kicked the deadbeat husband/pretend grandfather back to California last summer. That was in some ways exhilarating and in other ways scary as you know what. We've survived though. Things are just a smidge tight money wise, but I found out that I have a multitude of wonderful and supportive friends and family there for me.
The former hubby left me with no bed and my baby sister bought me the mattress and box springs. My oldest son and his wife gave me their old bedroom suite! Sweet! My other sister and her husband helped me get a car from my parents. My middle son put new tires on my car when I had a blow out recently and my daughter paid a major AC repair bill for me so I wouldn't have to suffer in the horrible heat we're having this summer.
I felt that I needed after school care for my MS last year and one of my neighbors volunteered for her to get off of the bus at her house in the afternoons. Another neighbor has graciously offered to help me with my yard work. An offer that I am eternally grateful for!
Mid year my MS decided that she was old enough to ride the bus to our house after school and then rip and snort her way throughout the neighborhood all afternoon until I arrived home after a work day. I had a house key made and one of the aforementioned sisters gave her a prepaid cell phone so that she would have a way to be in touch even when she was out being the Queen of Laurel Lane. A wonderful idea, however a trac phone's coverage area is limited at best and there were more dead zones in Social Circle than in a Stephen King novel. So began the campaign for a real cell phone. One like mine. Meaning one with a keyboard. Most assuredly, I needed a reliable way to keep in touch with her after school before I got home from work, but I didn't feel quite ready to take on that added expense. One evening, she bursts into the house with one of her BFF's and demands to know what she can't have a real cell phone like her?!?!?!?
I folded. Buckled. Gave up. Knuckled under. Wimped out. Was suckered punched yet again.
Reaching for my laptop and calling up Verizon.com. Falling for the "add a line for only $9.00/month" promotion. Of course they don't immediately tell you that you must increase your monthly minutes to a minimum of 700. So my nice little adequate cell phone plan increases exponentially with every click I make. I balk when it suggests that for only $4.99 a month I can add the "Usage Controls" to limit the number of minutes for each line, texts allowed per month, ban numbers and premium services, mark certain numbers safe. Nahhhhh...... I don't need that. I can't afford another $4.99 on the bill. Click - order - and the phone is on the way.
There is the requisite "be responsible" talk. She looked like she was hearing me. Her eyes weren't glazed over. She nodded her head at the appropriate times and parroted key phrases back to me on cue. Little did I realize that the "lights were on but no one was home".
First months bill was a little high. Attributed it to the activation fee that I had agreed to. Second months bill arrived last week. I was only unconsciousness for a little bit, and came to without ammonia ampules. How does one medium size MS accrue upwards of 2200 text messages on a 2 line plan that allows 250 in 30 days. If that isn't higher math I don't know what is!
Confession is good for the soul, and I do confess that a small part of a gasket blew. Phone confiscated. Parental controls added to the plan for the paltry $4.99 a month. Most importantly though, I now have a cute little servant girl for a long, long time. It will take more that a month of Sundays for her to work off that $300.
Bless my little MS's heart.
The former hubby left me with no bed and my baby sister bought me the mattress and box springs. My oldest son and his wife gave me their old bedroom suite! Sweet! My other sister and her husband helped me get a car from my parents. My middle son put new tires on my car when I had a blow out recently and my daughter paid a major AC repair bill for me so I wouldn't have to suffer in the horrible heat we're having this summer.
I felt that I needed after school care for my MS last year and one of my neighbors volunteered for her to get off of the bus at her house in the afternoons. Another neighbor has graciously offered to help me with my yard work. An offer that I am eternally grateful for!
Mid year my MS decided that she was old enough to ride the bus to our house after school and then rip and snort her way throughout the neighborhood all afternoon until I arrived home after a work day. I had a house key made and one of the aforementioned sisters gave her a prepaid cell phone so that she would have a way to be in touch even when she was out being the Queen of Laurel Lane. A wonderful idea, however a trac phone's coverage area is limited at best and there were more dead zones in Social Circle than in a Stephen King novel. So began the campaign for a real cell phone. One like mine. Meaning one with a keyboard. Most assuredly, I needed a reliable way to keep in touch with her after school before I got home from work, but I didn't feel quite ready to take on that added expense. One evening, she bursts into the house with one of her BFF's and demands to know what she can't have a real cell phone like her?!?!?!?
I folded. Buckled. Gave up. Knuckled under. Wimped out. Was suckered punched yet again.
Reaching for my laptop and calling up Verizon.com. Falling for the "add a line for only $9.00/month" promotion. Of course they don't immediately tell you that you must increase your monthly minutes to a minimum of 700. So my nice little adequate cell phone plan increases exponentially with every click I make. I balk when it suggests that for only $4.99 a month I can add the "Usage Controls" to limit the number of minutes for each line, texts allowed per month, ban numbers and premium services, mark certain numbers safe. Nahhhhh...... I don't need that. I can't afford another $4.99 on the bill. Click - order - and the phone is on the way.
There is the requisite "be responsible" talk. She looked like she was hearing me. Her eyes weren't glazed over. She nodded her head at the appropriate times and parroted key phrases back to me on cue. Little did I realize that the "lights were on but no one was home".
First months bill was a little high. Attributed it to the activation fee that I had agreed to. Second months bill arrived last week. I was only unconsciousness for a little bit, and came to without ammonia ampules. How does one medium size MS accrue upwards of 2200 text messages on a 2 line plan that allows 250 in 30 days. If that isn't higher math I don't know what is!
Confession is good for the soul, and I do confess that a small part of a gasket blew. Phone confiscated. Parental controls added to the plan for the paltry $4.99 a month. Most importantly though, I now have a cute little servant girl for a long, long time. It will take more that a month of Sundays for her to work off that $300.
Bless my little MS's heart.
Back in the Day...
Back in the day - that would be my day - we said "back in the olden days". You know the ones I mean. The days when the grandmother and grandfather walked 10 miles uphill in the snow to school and back and then chopped a cord of firewood before dinnertime. So, back in the day when I was in what amounted to middle school we had a band. A real band with sousaphones and trombones and saxophones and flutes and or course the clarinet. I had looked forward to playing in the band for years before I was finally offered the opportunity during the summer between sixth and seventh grades. I had interviewed anyone and everyone I knew about what might be the perfect instrument for me when in reality I had know forever that I wanted to play that long sleek black woodwind known as a clarinet. The licorice stick.
On the first day of summer band, the eager almost 7th graders met in the band room and were introduced to Mr. Keene. Mr. Keene was our band director. He was a stout little round man who stuck one hand halfway into the waistband of his sans-a-belt pants and held a director's baton in the other. Looking back, it couldn't have been an ordinary baton. I believe it must have been purchased from Olivander's Wand Shoppe, located of course on Daigon Alley. How else did he manage to take a room full of musically illiterate pre-teens and transform them into a band. Perhaps he had studied under the tutelage of Prof. Harold Hill of Gary, Indiana. Everyone knows that Prof. Hill perfected the "think" method of learning a musical instrument.
I recall him demonstrating the finer points in sucking on a bamboo reed (#1) to make it pliable enough for a clarinet newby to elicit anything other that the dreaded squeaks and squeals. He patiently showed us how to grease the cork, pull the cleaning rag through to soak up moisture and other ways of taking care of our beloved instruments. If not for Mr. Keene I would have never been ready for Mr. Bragg. My days in the Junior High School Scottie Band prepared me for the transition in to the Mighty Panther Marching Band.
Band has been offered as an option to my MS. Naturally, I assumed that she would embrace my well aged Buffet Crampon clarinet and carry on her Mimi's legacy. Sadly, I don't think there is much interest there. It may have been influenced by the fact that they don't actually have access to real instruments. Again with Prof. Hill's method. They begin their musical education with recorders. Kind of clarinetish if you squint your eyes and hold your head just right. Similar, yet not the same. They had recorder lessons in Elementary school and it's time for the real deal. No real instruments = no real interest. Little does she know the fun and memories she will be missing out on.
Ask any member of Kazoo's of America.
On the first day of summer band, the eager almost 7th graders met in the band room and were introduced to Mr. Keene. Mr. Keene was our band director. He was a stout little round man who stuck one hand halfway into the waistband of his sans-a-belt pants and held a director's baton in the other. Looking back, it couldn't have been an ordinary baton. I believe it must have been purchased from Olivander's Wand Shoppe, located of course on Daigon Alley. How else did he manage to take a room full of musically illiterate pre-teens and transform them into a band. Perhaps he had studied under the tutelage of Prof. Harold Hill of Gary, Indiana. Everyone knows that Prof. Hill perfected the "think" method of learning a musical instrument.
I recall him demonstrating the finer points in sucking on a bamboo reed (#1) to make it pliable enough for a clarinet newby to elicit anything other that the dreaded squeaks and squeals. He patiently showed us how to grease the cork, pull the cleaning rag through to soak up moisture and other ways of taking care of our beloved instruments. If not for Mr. Keene I would have never been ready for Mr. Bragg. My days in the Junior High School Scottie Band prepared me for the transition in to the Mighty Panther Marching Band.
Band has been offered as an option to my MS. Naturally, I assumed that she would embrace my well aged Buffet Crampon clarinet and carry on her Mimi's legacy. Sadly, I don't think there is much interest there. It may have been influenced by the fact that they don't actually have access to real instruments. Again with Prof. Hill's method. They begin their musical education with recorders. Kind of clarinetish if you squint your eyes and hold your head just right. Similar, yet not the same. They had recorder lessons in Elementary school and it's time for the real deal. No real instruments = no real interest. Little does she know the fun and memories she will be missing out on.
Ask any member of Kazoo's of America.
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