Houseboy

Originally written January 9, 2004:

Since my brother has been deployed in Afghanistan, I have had a new interest in the country. I'm reading a book called, "Letters from Afghanistan" about an American couple who lived there in the 1960s. The afghan people have something that we have not yet discovered in our advanced, high-tech society: houseboys.

A houseboy is a teenage boy who comes to your home and is at your beck and call. In exchange for meager wages, he is basically your estate manager/maid/cook/gardener/butler/whatever else. If you're lucky, you might even have two. The author of the book actually complains at one point that she doesn't have enough to do because her houseboy does everything for her--including making her bed--and seems to know what she wants done before she says it. That sounds rough.

I told my husband that I needed a houseboy and he said, "You already have one...me." I have to admit, he is great at doing housework. Better than me most of the time. But he's at work all day earning that darn stuff you can't do without: money.

As a homemaker in the 21st century and with all of the modern conveniences that are available to me, I would still trade it all (well, at least my toaster) to have an extra set of hands attached to someone who could read my mind. Know any teenage boys that are up for the job?

Lungs

This was originally written 1/8/2004 when my daughter was 8 months old:

Rachel has a new tooth! It was a major turning point in my life when we found that first little pearly white peeking up from her gums. Wow, she's going to look different now with her little toothy grin...this is a whole new level of cute. This should also make nursing somewhat more interesting.

The last week or so of teething combined with a nasty bout of diaper rash has brought our communication to a new height. My baby has found her lungs. She can now sing soprano with the best of them. She has been such a mild, calm baby that I have almost taken it for granted. Once she discovered that screaming gets reaction and results, a whole new dimension opens up and the battle begins. I read somewhere recently that by this age, babies are already excellent mommy manipulators and I'm discovering this to be true. This morning she was in the other room playing and talking to herself, and as soon as I walked in, she started crying, screaming, and chewing me out.

This has come on so sudden that it has thrown me for a loop. Since she has been so good and so easy, I envisioned her growing up as this angelic child that was always sweet and polite, with built-in manners and only pure, innocent instincts. When my husband and I were searching for baby names before she was born, we found an Internet site that let you search names by meaning. I never found anything that meant "perfect child" or "well-behaved." Rachel's name means "lamb" and she fits it to a T. Little lambs do grow up, however, and learn to kick up their heels and butt their heads.

I've done my own share of heel-kicking and head-butting myself. I think many of us who are faced with new, unexpected, and misunderstood pain lash back with some screaming and crying of our own. When the pain is all through, however, we've grown in some way. Sometimes the result is a new tooth; sometimes it's a soul that's that much more refined and purified. I guess the key is to learn from the pain...let it be your teacher. Or better yet, let the Lord be your teacher during the experience that He has let you go through.

Eyebrows & Worms

My 16-month old daughter's latest hobbies are eyebrows and worms. When we give her a bottle before bed, she loves to snuggle in our arms and pet our eyebrows while she drinks. She discovered worms a week ago after a heavy rain. A day or so later, we found a picture of a worm in a book and she went nuts. She stood up and pointed to her hand (where she held the worm) and pointed to the door. She did a little wiggle to imitate the worm's movements. Finally, I had to take her outside to show her that the worms were gone; that they had crawled back inside the dirt. Well, she wanted us to dig them back up. I bought some bait worms from the store and keep them in the fridge so I can produce something next time she asks about it.

Isn't it refreshing to see children explore their world and learn about such fascinating subjects? If we could strip away all of our daily worries and adult concerns, maybe we'd be enthralled with eyebrows and worms too. Her interests change now and then as she makes new discoveries. A few months ago it was all about elbows and clocks.

Don't you hate that question, "What are your hobbies and interests?" I usually have to wrack my brain to think of something to say that doesn't sound too stupid. Maybe next time I have to answer that on a form I'll put, "Painted toenails and things that are fuzzy."

This Mosquito Bites

Ok, here's my pet peeve about mosquitos. When they bite you, they do two things. 1) They take some of your blood, and 2) they leave an irritating agent that causes you to itch. You know, I don't care if you take my blood. Go on, have it. I won't miss such a minute amount. But why in the heck do they have to leave the other and leave me miserable? What's the point? It's one of those unfair things about nature.

Speaking of unfair...I just had a showdown with a mosquito in my dining room and I have to say the odds were heavily in my favor. You see, I have a Chinese bug zapper. If you can put your hands on one of these things they are great fun. They have replaced fly swatters in my house and have become something of a sport around here--sometimes we let flies in just for a good time. Instead of whacking and smashing the fly to smithereens (and spreading his pesky little guts all over your kitchen counter), the zapper works in a much more hygienic fashion. You push a button that activates a little electrical field across a panel of metal spokes and you're ready to go. All you have to do is make contact with the fly and

ZAP!

he's toast...literally. You can even get him in mid air if you're that good--which I am. Then all you have to do is pick up your fried fly with a tissue and toss him. Every once in awhile, you get a little bugger who is strong enough to withstand the shock and will keep flying or buzzing around in circles on the floor, but another jolt or two and he's a goner. So, if you're looking for some good, clean bug-zapping fun, head on down to your local Asian market and see if you can pick one up. Just don't make the same mistake that I did when I first saw it. Oh, what's this? Hmmm, I think I'll push the little button. Doesn't do anything...hmmm, I think I'll touch these little metal bars. BZZZZZT!!! I just about jumped out of my skin...but I was hooked.

To the Point

My 15-month old daughter's vocabulary consists mainly of one word exclamations. Besides calling her beloved parents by name, her main commentary on the world is:

"That"

"Done!"

and

"Wow!"

That (Dat). This is an all-encompassing word--usually accompanied by a pointed finger--meaning anything she doesn't know how to name. It can mean, "What is that?" or it can mean, "Give me that." She will also use it when something is to difficult to say. For example, I might ask her, can you say elephant? and she responds with the word "That", meaning, "Yeah, that...what you said, Mom."

Done! (DONNNNNNNE!!!!) This word is usually said with as much baby passion and emphasis as she can muster. I originally taught her how to say it in hopes that it would replace flinging food on the floor when she was finished with a meal. Well, now it accentuates her movement as she pitches her scrambled eggs across the room. She also uses it to let us know that it's time to move on to the next activity. It's usually the first thing we hear to indicate that her nap is over, and she often says it as she tries to roll over in the middle of a diaper change, exclaiming that she's through with the whole process. A few weeks ago, she stood up on my lap in the middle of her dad's Sunday School lesson and announced to the class that she had had enough: "DONNNNNNE!"

Wow! This is the newest addition to her repertoire. She seems to have an uncanny sense of when to use it. Yesterday, she was was helping me with the laundry. She picked up my pants on a hanger and began carrying it across the room. Well, it was a bit long for her short frame and soon she tripped over it and did a somersault as the pants went flying through the air, the hanger still in her baby grip. She landed on her back, looked up at me with a surprised look and said, "Wow!"

Soon, I'm sure, she'll begin to add many more new words and eventually sentences to her vocabulary, but for now, it's amazing how much she can communicate to us with her one-word lingo.

Fuming

I was recently given a proverbial slap in the face by a company that we have done business with for many years. Here's a copy of the letter that I wrote to them:

Dear GEICO,

I am writing to thank you. Last month we accidentally let our auto policy lapse. We had received a warning and subsequently made a payment on May 4, 2004. We received another email bill notice on May 19, 2004, and then were dropped only a few days later.

Even though we have been with your company for 11 years, when I realized the mistake and called to reinstate the policy, you skyrocketed the 6-month premium from $477.60 to $826.80. At first I was shocked, disgusted, and furious. I was within two weeks of the lapse and was willing to set up automatic payment to avoid the same mishap in the future, but you still wouldn't budge. We had been totally satisfied in the past with Geico service through two accidents, including one out of state.

Then, after comparing quotes with other companies, I realized that I could get a better quote with State Farm. We had tried in the past to get a lower quote, but no one could ever come close to beating your prices. Well, now they have and have beaten your price by about $90.00.

So, I want to thank you for snubbing a long-time customer, because it forced us to take our business elsewhere and find better pricing and better service.

Sincerely,

[Me]

Isn't there a website where I can report this kind of thing and warn other potential customers?

Chicken scratch

It's so much easier to write with a keyboard--I can type so much faster than I can write. When the thoughts come tumbling out, I can't get them out fast enough on paper. My pen trips over itself trying to spill it all out. This is what it looks like:


Bock, bock, bock...b'gock!

How did this happen?

All I wanted to do was make a comment on Chad's blog. I had to sign in to do so and now here I am with my very own blog.

Hmmm...this might be kinda fun.