The Real Story: What I'm Thankful For

Of course I'm thankful for my husband, my children, my family and friends, my and their health, my home, yada yada yada.  Like the rest of you, what kind of jackass would I be if I weren't?  A pretty big one, I suppose.  Now, let's get real and talk about the other (simple) things we're thankful for.  Me first.

I'm thankful for those of you who won't read this post with red ink pen in hand.  I'm no punctuation guru; you're bound to find some inappropriately used commas, semicolons, etc.  Don't judge.

1. Pfizer.  I am convinced that OCD cannot be cured.  Instead, people with it trade it in for a lesser evil: anxiety.  I do not have, and never did have OCD; just a few behaviors associated with it.  Those behaviors have slacked up a good bit but have been replaced with anxiety.  These days, when I notice a piece of art hanging crooked in the pediatrician's office I choose not to straighten it because well, that would be crazy.  Instead I just look at it and feel anxious, albeit to a lesser degree, courtesy of Effexor.  So while Pfizer doesn't sign my paycheck they do manufacture Effexor XR and for that I am thankful.


2. Certain pharmacy technicians. Often times when I pick up my Effexor XR I am met by a pharmacy technician who wears a look of horror on her face as she says to me "This is $219.00 and isn't covered by your insurance."  I think to myself "Dear, you do realize that this is anxiety medicine, right?  You're causing me anxiety by telling me how much I'm having to spend to lessen my anxiety. Bitch."  So while it isn't often, every once in a while I'm met by a technician who glazes over during checkout, forgetting to remind how much my drugs are costing me before taking my debit card, and for that I am thankful. 


3. Airports and interstates.  A vast majority of my friends and family are very intelligent; the fact that they live far enough away to put some distance between us is a testament to that.  Airports and interstates make it easier to visit them when the distance between us has afforded us the opportunity to forget just how bat shit crazy we all make one another.  For that I am thankful.


4. Family Watchdog: The National Sex Offender Registry.  For that I am thankful.


5. Keurig.  As much as I depend on coffee to get me through the day I've never been able to master the coffee grind to water ratio that results in the perfect pot of coffee.  The brilliant folks at Keurig have taken the guess work out of the equation, allowing me to be my own barista and for that I am thankful.


6. DVR.  My two children couldn't care less about my undying obsession with a certain few weekly shows.  What they fail to realize is that these shows are my mental vacations; I take these vacations 30 - 60 minutes at a time.  My children have failed to see how vital these vacations are to their well-being; little do they know how crucial the DVR is to their survival.  One of these days the lightbulb will go on and they'll get it: my good mood Fridays are largely due to the Scandal episode I watched the night before.   My trusty DVR makes it all possible and for that I am thankful.


7. Caller ID.  Rarely am I able to talk when someone calls.  By "able to talk" I mean willing to talk.  Caller ID lets me know if it is my children's school calling or someone else; someone else can usually wait and so for caller ID, I am thankful.


8. Michelob Ultra.  While I don't much care for beer, my husband does and he drinks it often.   Michelob Ultra helps him tolerate me on my off days and for that I am thankful.


9. Sushi...of the cooked variety.  I feel fancy when I eat sushi.  I feel disgusted when I eat raw seafood.  I feel happy when I find sushi that contains cooked seafood; allowing me to feel fancy without feeling disgusted and for that I am thankful.


10. Yoga.  I do not take yoga on a regular basis.  In fact, I've only been to one yoga class in my life and  I spent the entire 60 minutes thinking about all the shit I had to do when I got out of that class.  I know, I know -  I missed the point of yoga.  Really though, see item #2; do you really think I'm ever going to be able to enjoy yoga?  Probably not BUT....I do enjoy yoga pants.  Were it not for yoga there would be no yoga pants so for yoga, I am thankful.


11.  Elastic.  I wear more and more of it as the years go by and the pounds add on.  Elastic makes it possible to me to clothe myself between now and the time I decide to get to the gym and say good-bye to these extra pounds and for that I am thankful.


12. Sara Blakely. Sara is the founder of Spanx and Spanx picks up the burden for events I must attend at which #11 is not acceptable.  In an effort to save a few bucks I've tried her lower priced line, Assets, but they didn't really do much to hide my liabilities.   Sara Blakely, you are a genius inventor and for that I am thankful.


11. My first husband.  There, I said it, I had one.  And let me tell you: my second one is better because of it.  You've all had a first car and I'll bet your second car was better.   You learned what you liked and didn't like and based your second buying decision on that knowledge.  You've all had your "first time" and by God, I sure hope the second one and most of the times since then have been better.  Following the same train of thought,  it only stands to reason that a second husband should be better than a first.  With your first, you learn what you like and don't like and you learn to target the more desirable ones in your second hunt.  First husbands and learning from mistakes; for that I am thankful.


12. Perfect people.  Maybe you've met some, maybe you haven't, but believe it or not, they do exist: perfect people.  When I meet them I just sit back and witness how majorly f&@ked up they are and thank God I'm not perfect.  Perfect people, in all their messed-up-edness help me appreciate that I am relatively normal and for that I am thankful.


13. The Superbowl.  Like most women, the fall and winter marks the beginning of the widow season. Be it hunting or football, many of us become widows for a short while as we lose our husbands to these obsessions.  The Superbowl marks the end of the football season and for that I am thankful.


14. Those of you who choose to share. I've nursed two children for a combined 14 months.  While I know there are women who have nursed far longer (kudos to you) I am not one of them.  Nonetheless, my breasts look a bit more like ski slopes than the perky little boobies they were when my husband first saw them.  If enough of you share this blog I may one day get sponsored and be able to afford the breast lift I so desperately need.  For you who share I am thankful.

NEVER POKE A MAMA BEAR!

For as long as anyone can remember word of mouth has been THE SINGLE MOST POWERFUL form of advertising.  Couple that with the social media craze that has taken over the world and you simply cannot afford to deliver poor customer service.  I experienced the worst customer service at Rooster's Antique Market in Lafayette, LA on 9/26 and 9/27 and was flat-out lied to by the owner.  Read on to learn more and by all means, avoid blessing this establishment with your patronage.  Service (that term is used extremely loosely) like this doesn't deserve your business. 

I found a piece I wanted from Refurnish on Sunday.  I posted a comment on the photo of the piece at Refurnish's FB page on Sunday and their owner got back to me; we spoke on Monday and I was told that I could see the piece at Rooster's Antique Market but that they did not open until Wednesday.  I was prepared to pay for the piece as soon as I saw it; was ready to see it Sunday but had to wait until Rooster's opened.  I went to Rooster's yesterday afternoon around 3:45, saw the piece, went to the counter to pay for it.  The worker put my name down for the sale, had me fill out a red "SOLD" tag with my name and phone number.  I proceeded to pay for it with my debit card but was told there would be a 3% fee for using a debit/credit card.  I told the worker I would be back with a check but that if I wasn't back by 5 (they close at 5pm) to please call me and would give my debit card over the phone and pay the 3% fee. 

At 4:42 the owner, Leslie, called me to ask who told me the piece was held for me.  I told that I had inquired about it over the weekend via Refurnish's FB page, etc.  She seemed confused about everything so I told her that this was getting out of hand and to ensure that I got the piece let me just give her my debit card right then and there so as to secure the piece.  She told me not to worry about it and that I could just bring the check by closing (5pm) on Tuesday. 

At 6:25pm last night, Leslie sent me a text that read:

"Hi Stacy.  This is Leslie at Roosters.  After all that concussion (think she meant discussion) before I hung up with you, another customer came in and purchased it.  I'm very sorry but we are bring (she meant bringing) in a lot of new items & we can paint another one for you.  Very sorry, Leslie." 

I texted her back:

"I am thoroughly confused; I filled out a SOLD tag and was prepared to give you my credit card information." 

She texted back:

"I must say I am 2 But before I could hang up w/u it sold to another customer  Very sorry." 

At this point I tried to call Leslie at the number from which I was receiving her texts; there was no answer. 

I texted Leslie the following: 

"How could it sell to another customer if there was a SOLD tag on it that was filled out with my name?  I was made aware that another customer was looking at the piece; your worker told me this when I was there today.  She wrote down the (my) sale in your log book and said I could either come back by closing with a check or call with credit card.  You then called me and told me I could bring a check tomorrow so naturally, I opted for that to avoid the 3% fee you pass on to your customers paying with debit cards.  Had I know your worker was lying to me I would have paid with my card when I was in the store.  This was a piece of furniture that my daughter selected and was her birthday gift."  (Quite a lengthy text, I know.)

Leslie then replied:

 "I can only text because of the area I'm in I'll call you first thing in the morning when I leave & get service I'm out of town picking up order & I had 2 people working for me today & that's where the concussion (again, I think she meant confusion) can n to play I apologize this has never happened before". 

Lie #1: She has yet to call me back this morning, as promised. 

Lie #2: I went in at 3:30ish and they close at 5pm, there was only 1 worker there so unless there was a shift change during the last 90 minutes of operation, I doubt confusion amongst worker is to blame. 

This morning I spoke with Martha, one of the owners of Refurnish and she told me that Rooster’s called her yesterday afternoon to say there was a customer that came in and saw the piece but did not buy it (she’s thought was me).  Then they told her another person came in/was there and wanted the piece but they wanted Refurnish to come down on the price.  After consulting with her business partner, Martha gave the approval for a price reduction.  Given that Martha is under the impression that  I was the one that came in earlier in the day and didn’t buy it she is no longer feeling obliged to “hold” it for me.  Martha tells me that Refurnish keeps items for about 2 weeks and tried to sell via Facebook; if after two weeks a piece doesn’t sell, they put it in their booth at Rooster’s and that once it’s there they (Refurnish) have no control over it’s sale.  Martha told me that the person that bought the piece after I “bought” the piece was a frequent customer.  So, I’m left to believe that Rooster’s plays favorites and choose to undercut their booth renters profit margin in favor of appeasing customers that are personal friends of the owner of Rooster’s.   Martha told me that they went to Rooster’s this morning to move the piece and that the red SOLD tag with my name was still on the piece.  Martha was very apologetic and was adamant about ensuring that they (Refurnish) had nothing to do with this.  I do not hold Refurnish responsible and wish them all the luck in the world; I hold Rooster’s owner, Leslie entirely responsible.

I went to Rooster’s this morning and spoke with the worker that was there yesterday (and yes, I recorded the conversation).  Here’s what I gathered from the conversation:

First, the worker told me that Leslie (Rooster’s owner) called her and said that they don’t “HOLD” things anymore.  This seems to have been before she called me at 4:42.  Then apparently, after she called me at 4:42 and told me I could wait until today to bring my check for the piece, the worker said that Leslie decided to sell it to someone that came into the store and was ready to pay.  This had to have been between 4:42 and 5pm.  Now, please remember that I was ready to pay as well during out phone conversation at 4:42.  I’m led to believe that this “someone else” is a personal friend of Leslie. 

The worker then told me that the piece sold this morning, that the customer paid for it this morning and that it was picked up this morning.  Lie #3 lies in there somewhere but I can’t quite figure it out. 

I’ll be posting the conversation to You Tube so you can get a sense of the calamity that is the communication skills beheld by Rooster’s workers. 

I’ll be calling Leslie, the owner of Rooster’s, shortly and will let you know how that goes.   

This is a piece of furniture that my 3 year old daughter is so excited about getting for her 4th birthday; next month. When we there yesterday she said as we were leaving "Mommy, why can't we take it home? No one else is going to take, right Mommy?" I said "No sweetie, we're going to come back with our check and we'll take it home on Friday." The shadiness and lies of Leslie at Rooster's has broken my daughter's heart.

Word to the wise: Don't ever poke a Mama Bear.

B.C. versus A.D.

B.C., "Before Christ". A.D., "Anno Domini".

If you ask someone about these abbreviations, there are likely (hopefully) going to tell you what they stand for and will also know that they are used to refer to a point in time either before or after the birth of Jesus Christ. However, if you ask a parent, more specifically, if you ask me about the abbreviations B.C. and A.D., you are entirely likely to hear something other than "Before Christ" and "Anno Domini"; you just might hear "Before Children" and "After Delivery". Because, let's be honest, just as the birth of Christ is a dividing point in our world history, the birth of children is a dividing point in life as it was once known.

So many things are different during the A.D. era than they were during the B.C. era. For instance, "Before Children" sleeping in meant sleeping until close to noon. "After Delivery", sleeping in means sleeping until 0830. I'm not saying one is better than the other; I am merely recognizing the differences in the two eras. Unless said "sleeping in" is on the heels of a night out with one or two or five too many drinks. Then, I am completely inclined to argue that B.C. is far superior to A.D.

There is no denying that the love you feel from and for your children is better than anything you have or will ever experience in life; however, the road that you quickly turn onto once you bring children into this world and into your life is astonishingly different from the one you were coasting down B.C.

To further illustrate my point, I'd like to retroactively invite you to dinner at my house last night; it was quite a peaceful one.

B.C., had you asked me what a nice, quiet, peaceful dinner would entail, I would have likely explained a quiet evening at home with something delectable served on nice plates, maybe some music playing in the background. And, if my husband was trying to get "lucky" that night, maybe even some candles on the table. Now, A.D., if you ask me same question, my answer would be nothing short of a narration of last night's dinner.

Having put dinner plans off until the eleventh hour, we opted for burgers on the grill and corn on the cob. Chris wanted stuffed potatoes as well, which we had, despite the carb overload that comes with carb A, corn served alongside carb b, potatoes. Whatever. The kids were thrilled and I managed to avoid the usual dinner consumption negotiation with Zach, our four year old. Consumption negotiations - that's something that's new with our generation's parenting, I believe. I cannot remember a time when my parents negotiated with me on this subject. I can, however, remember a time when I ate sweet peas, all the while fighting my gag reflex, out of fear of punishment. And it's not just my household that was like this - just ask my husband or mother-in-law about the timer on the stove. Ooohhh, that thing going off in their house at the close of dinnertime, coupled with food still on the children's plates, was nearly Apocalyptic. Okay, maybe not Apocalyptic, but almost.

So, here were are, or rather were, with burgers, corn on the cob and potatoes ready. This is where the difference in definitions begins. Remember those nice plates I spoke of in my description of a quiet, peaceful dinner in the B.C. era? Yes, well last night's dinner was served on paper plates - the kind that are adorned with Elmo, Abby, Big Bird and other Sesame Street characters. Why? Because as all parents know, dinnertime is the start of the nightly evening marathon that we all run - dinner, bath, bed, kitchen clean-up. And lessening the amount of kitchen clean-up by even a mere four plates is worth not being "green" for the moment. So many fancy shmancy things get pushed along the wayside in the A.D. era. Plates are but one.
Gone are the days when we would light up a torch in our kitchen to fire up a perfect creme brulee. Nope, we now resort to break 'n bake cookies; which, by the way, are quite tasty.

Back to our peaceful dinner...almost. Notice that I have dropped quiet and am now just going with peaceful. Why? Because for those of you without children, we parents can tell that quiet and peaceful do not necessarily coexist. Peaceful takes on a new meaning in the A.D. era. It comes to mean being able to do anything without interruption. And I mean anything: showering, checking the mail, using the restroom, you name it - once you have children, it can just as easily be peaceful as it can not.

A mere five minutes into dinner, Paige, our 15 1/2 month old "Firestarter" (refer to previous post titled "Fireman Sam") is waving her arms to relay to us that she is "all done". She likes to eat a little, get out of her chair, play and stop back at the table for a bite here and there. She's a fan of the drive-thru, I suppose. Zach is not too far behind her; however, thankfully he has outgrown the waving his arms stage and now asks if he may leave the table. Ah-ha! Some shred of proof that we just MIGHT be raising him right.

Chris and I are left at the table alone to finish our dinner in peace, and we do. However, let me tell what finishing your dinner in peace during the A.D. era looks like.

It looks like Nickolodeon blaring on the television versus the soft sounds of relaxing music. It looks like a four year old and a 15 1/2 month old having a screaming contest; one that I am sure, had I taken the time to check the crystal prior to typing this post, could cause me to report the discovery of shattered stemware. It looks like a one-eyed dog, named Frankie, barking and running around the house because the screaming contest is getting on his nerves and he is long overdue for a prescription of Prozac. Lastly, it looks like G.I. Joe figurines and used Kleenex strewn on the table versus the romantic candle or two.

So, while many a childless couples probably enjoyed quiet, peaceful dinners last night, we were thrilled to have had a peaceful one, albeit, not at all quiet, in this A.D. era home.

Fireman Sam

I do not consider myself an unfit mother. After all, my children ALWAYS wear shoes in public, RARELY does their lunch consist solely of Cheetos, and I am most proud to say, that ALL of their bruises are of their own doing. Now, that's not to say that they are covered in them, but the occasional leg bruise on our four-year old is always from him having run into something or horseplay. Our 15 month old, well, you know how new walkers are.

The events of last night, however, make me wonder about this unfit mother business...

And the story goes like this:

Chris was working until 10pm so I was home alone with the kids doing the dinnertime routine which consists of first bargaining on the menu, preparing it, and finally, bargaining again for its consumption. Alas, last night it was settled that they would feast on mac n' cheese and fried shrimp. Everything went very smoothly - Paige and Zach played while I whipped everything up.

A few minutes later, shrimp was fried, mac n' cheese was cooked and their plates were served. Time for them to eat...not quite. I noticed that the kitchen was a little smokey and figured it was the fry pan on the still-hot burner. I thought to myself "put this plate down in the sink then turn back to the stove and remove the fry pan to cool burner." Well, when I turned back around to face the stove, I caught a glimpse of a fire in the wall oven. My knee jerk reaction was "Holy Shit". While trying not to exude the panic I was feeling, I picked up Paige, grabbed the phone and said to both Zach and Paige "let's go outside for a few minutes guys". Of course, by this time, Zach was wanting to know what was going on.

I made the call to 911 explaining that there was a fire in my wall oven, was patched through to the fire dispatch and was told that a fire truck was being sent out. In those quick moments, I could not recall whether we had a gas or electric wall oven and my fear was that if it was gas, it may well explode. Hoping that I could get our neighbors to watch the kids while this all went down, we walked over. Quickly though, our neighbor ran from his house to ours, opened the oven, pulled out the pizza box that was ablaze and poured water over it. Fire out and no fire extinguisher mess to clean up (yes, we do have a fire extinguisher in the kitchen pantry). Only thing was that I'd already called the fire department and could faintly hear the sirens.

Minutes later, there was not just one, nor two, but THREE fire trucks at our home. One right in front, one blocking the road to the left and the third blocking the road to the right. Oh, and the fire marshall - he came out as well. What a little party, right?

Two firefighters from the first fire truck make their way up to the driveway where I explain everything. Our dog, Frankie, is going apeshit at this point because they are in their suits with tanks and masks on. He's ready to eat them and seriously starts considering it as they enter our house. I am left outside to apologize profusely to the fire marshall for what I feel is gross overkill. He assures me that it was certainly not overkill and that I did exactly what I was supposed to do. That made me feel a bit better. But really, you're supposed to call 911 and receive three firetrucks on your doorstep in minutes for a pizza box that has caught on fire in your oven? Apparently so.

Now granted, this could have been a much different story had the wall oven been gas. Luckily, it is an electric unit. This, I remembered after I made the 911 call. You see, we are about 2 weeks away from the demo phase of our kitchen remodel and I recalled our contractor saying that relocating the wall ovens would not be a major undertaking as they are electric and would not require the running of new gas lines. Now, can you imagine that flags that would have went up at the insurance company when they discovered that the kitchen that burned to ashes was about to be remodeled. Hmmm....that has insurance fraud written all over it, does it not?

So, how did this all happen? My dear, sweet 15 1/2 month old was the culprit. To say that she gets into everything is a massive understatement. "Curious", some people call it - "Holy Terror", I say. Anyhow, it would seem as though little missy here, waltzed right up to the oven and began pressing buttons, hit the right combination and voila', the oven is on at 400 degrees.
I can vaguely remember her being by the oven for a second or two before I told her to play with her kitchen.

So, while some events teach you to slow down and take time to smell the roses, not this one. This event has taught me to check my oven every once in a while to make sure my little spitfire firestarter has not turned the damn thing on and to use the lock controls.

And now, you know the rest of the story...

WTB? Why the blog?

"Never a dull moment"...something you hear people say when they are trying to relay the absolute chaos that is their world. Well, since becoming the mother of two, I am one of those people, because trust me, there is never a dull moment in the Lawrence home. It seems that each and every day something happens that is, at the very least, worthy of a reality tv-show episode. Perhaps even, the basis for an episode of Modern Family. So, I've decided to start a blog to chronicle this crazy (excuse me) shit. At my expense, I hope you enjoy a hearty chuckle as you read along.

A final caveat...I'm not always the best at punctuation, but I think you'll be caught up enough in the content that you'll not notice my absence of a comma here and there. If it gets to the point that it absolutely bothers you, please take the opportunity to edumacate me a bit more.