it's beginning to look a lot like christmas.

This latest vaguely patronizing email really sums up exactly why I always try to shop local, unfortunately there is no great locally made e-reader, or any locally made e-reader for that matter.  

Dear Miss Charlie,

We have received your email and very sorry to know that you have not
located the $25 eGift Card which was sent to you as part of the NOOK
MasterCard Promotional Offer.  Please note that we have canceled the
original $25 eGift Card and sent you a replacement eGift Card which you
should receive shortly. 

Sincerely,

Shahida
Customer Service Support
Barnes & Noble



To which I, in a bit of a temper, wrote back. . .

I did receive the 'replacement' card, as for the missing first card, I could not have located it because it was never received, and your tone which clearly implies that I am to blame for this issue is not appreciated.  Having a top rated e-reader does not give your company carte blanche to disregard the concept of customer service.  During the ridiculous process, which has taken over a month and several emails and phone calls to resolve, I have encountered three customer service reps who were shocked that the gift card was meant to be a gift, and couldn't understand why I could not give it after Christmas.  I have spent 20 minutes with a rep who insisted that the card was not supposed to be sent until Jan. 3rd.  He was equally adamant that I had somehow been informed of this during the purchasing process, although he could find not record on his end that those terms had ever been outlined.  I have received several emails implying that my inability to use firewalls or check my spam folder are somehow to blame for the missing card.

At no time did anyone even conceive that my card could have simply slip through the cracks of technology, nor did anyone seem even remotely sorry that this issue had arose.  While I in no way hold anyone I communicated with solely responsible for this issue, I do hold them responsible for the level of customer service they provided.  In this case, it was null.  Please remember, customers are not an inconvenience, we are the reason you have a job, and as your job title indicates that you are a member of customer service support, you should offer some, instead of your condescension.

-Miss Charlie

I should point out that the Nook is an AWESOME e-reader and that the peeps who staff my local Barnes and Noble are infinitely less sucky.

*edit*

Evidently Barnes and Noble was not content with the level of customer service they provided, becasue today I received this email:

Dear Miss Charlie,

Thank you for your inquiry regarding order #280851590.

We reviewed your order and we are pleased to inform you that the $25
eGift Card will be emailed to the account that purchases the device, on
or before December 29, 2011 for the purchase of Nook.

We apologize for the incontinence occurred to you.

We look forward to your next visit.




Which after a good chuckle and few face palms, was answered as follows:

Did you read the part where I said I finally received a card and just ignore it, or am I now getting automated responses?  Regardless, I have a card now, I have printed it and will be giving it as a gift on the 25th, which is when you give gifts, not on or before the 29th.  Do not cancel it, do not send out any new cards, unless you just feel like giving me extra cards as a way of apologizing for your general lack of regard for me as a customer. 

As for incontinence, that has not been an issue during this process, although I have been given a bit of a headache and a bad taste in my mouth.

- Miss Charlie

Someone Loves Me

Martha Stewart, eat your heart out

I saw these cute little guys on some random craft page, all done and cute and ready to go.  For 4 each.  No joke.  

We wanted 40 of them for girl child's Valentines.  Since I'm not to keen on spending 160 on little love notes for 5 and 6 year olds, we decided to make our own.  Here's how.  

Go to the fabric store.  Buy 6 inch cuts of your choice of felt colors.  Our felt was 72 inches wide, giving us 13-14 'cookies' per color.  Also buy floral wire, medium gauge and ribbon, about 1/4 inch wide.  If you do not have a hot glue gun, buy one of those two.  They are a white trash crafting essential.  Go home.

Trace a 5-6 inch circle in the felt.  We used a lid.  Cut out the felt.  Girl child did most of the cutting.  Cut the ribbon just shorter then the felt, cut the wire just shorter than the ribbon.  Seal the ribbon by passing the cut ends over a small flame for a second.  Make a small line of glue in the center of the circle.  While it is hot, press the wire into the glue.  Then quickly press the ribbon into the glue.

We put fortunes in ours.  Girl child typed 8 different ones, I copied them 'till we had enough and then she cut them out and signed them.  Put the fortune in the middle, on top of the wire.

Fold the circle in half, facing the flat edge towards you and then pinch to make a cookie.

Repeat.  For an eternity.  Or an hour or so.  It is actually not a difficult project.  Plus it is cute, and it is reusable.  I like to think of all girl child's classmates using these in their play kitchens.  Even if they throw them away, I was only out about 5.00 and two hours, which were spent chatting with my kiddo and having fun.

It was easier before she could talk

I have a firmly decided half ass policy that prevents me from lying to my child about all mythical holiday specters. Let's face it, the idea of an all seeing fat man in a red fur suit breaking into my house to leave me my hearts desire is just creepy.  I can't even contemplate the idea of an egg laying bunny meant to usher in both spring and the birth of a savior without getting twitchy.

So I don't lie about it.  I don't want to suck the joy out of childhood either.  When the first born was little we had an understanding regarding holiday figures.  We agreed they weren't real but thought it would great fun to play like they were anyway.  We left cookies for Santa and she'd ask me the next morning if the milk had gone warm.  She called me one Easter, when her mom and I were practicing life as normal married women, to tell me the Easter Bunny had left tons of eggs.  Then she whispered that she knew there was no bunny but that her aunt would give her more chocolate if she pretended.  Really, what is more joyful than a seven year old who is willing to lie about the holidays to receive more treats?

Girl child and I have had several close run-ins with the holidays.  The first born aligns so close to me that complex ideas like the true nature of Santa can be understood in a few word and without hurt feelings and disappointment.  I did not luck out so well with my own genetic offspring.  Girl child makes me say it, clearly and painfully and her little face just falls.  "There is no Santa.  Mommy and Daddy buy the gifts and eat the cookies."  Then, depending on her mood she either ignores what I've said and insists she should wait up to see for herself, or she declares that she isn't putting cookies out since mom and dad already know where to find them.

Which brings me to tonight.  To a figure nearer and dearer to her heart I think than any other.  To the tooth fairy.

She lost her fourth tooth yesterday.  She is not quite six.  She cut teeth early, which was very loverly since she was nursing at the time.  With the second tooth she casually mentioned during the day that she wanted to put it under her pillow.  By night she had forgotten.  Last night she was just to tired to even think of it.  Tonight, after the whole bedtime routine, she came out, all sly grins and nerves.  She wanted to try to leave her tooth for the tooth fairy.  She asked if she was real.   She lives and breathes fairies.  I did not want to have this conversation.  Then again, I never really do.

I asked her what she thought.  She said she didn't know.  She looked at me, all soft eyes and hope.  I sucked down my self loathing and asked her if she wanted a sweet and fun story or if she wanted the truth.  She didn't disappoint.  The truth.  So I told her.  She looked so sad.  I pulled her into my lap and asked if she was ok.  She nodded.  I told her I was sorry, but that I wanted her to know I would always tell her the truth.  I told her we could pretend, that pretending was fun.  I asked her if she wanted the sweet story.  She nodded again.

I told her that if she took good care of her teeth and one fell out clean and cavity free that she could hide it under her pillow for the tooth fairy.  That the tooth fairy would leave her a treat as a way to thank her for taking such good care of her teeth.  That the tooth would go back to tooth fairy land with the fairy.  She smiled as I spoke and she told me that the tooth fairy made houses out of baby teeth.  We snuggled for a few minutes and then I asked if she needed anything.  She grinned and ducked her head into my chest.

"Will you pretend with me?"  Ah, melt.  So the tooth is in a little pillow, waiting for me to trade it for a gift.  She asked what I was going to leave.  I told her she would have to wait until morning to see.  In part because I don't know what I'm going to leave yet, but also because it's a way to put back some of the thrill and mystery my honesty has taken out.

Maybe she and I can work this out.

politics and religion in a late night IM

hhf - Well, Santa didn't' come for Yule.... Naughty boys and girls. (And I DO mean that.) BUT... looks like he'll come tonight.

Me - lol

hhf - lol The "deal breaker" was when we went to McDonald's so the kids could play while Daddy made a "Santa-run"... And boy child started pitching a fit, DEMANDING to know exactly where he was, what he was doing, and in how many seconds he'd be back.

me - sounds like him

hhf - A phone call was made to the North Pole... Clemency was begged, but Santa was very disappointed....

me - you're a funny pagan

hhf- Yeah, well, once he hit school, Santa was unavoidable.

Me- lol. . i love it

hhf - I didn't tell him about Santa. School did.

me - girl child wants to wait up because she says she needs to know. i told her he was pretend . . . she insists i MAY be wrong

hhf - lol OF course, he wont' come if she's awake...

me - i'm trying to not help her buy into it if i can avoid it

hhf - Yeah, I forget you're a wanna-be-atheist.... lol. I love you anyway.

me - harsh hippie . . . . harsh

hhf - (I want to think I don't believe in intelligent invisible forces.... But somehow part of me does... .But I don't admit it.) Sorry.

me - ASS

hhf - I calls it like I sees it.

me - its cool, i can take it

hhf - Whereas I patently DO believe in intelligent invisible forces, and consider such belief a good thing.

me - as for intelligent invisible forces, lets be explaining the platypus shall we?

hhf - What, you think God made weed but didn't smoke it?

me - ROFL

hhf - (And I never said I took the Christian view of deity, dear. Quite the opposite....)

me - i will be posting this on the blog . . fyi

hhf -~sigh~ I know.... Am I now going to be labeled your "harsh hippie friend"?

me - lol

hhf -Cuz.... I am not hippie...

me - uhh huh

hhf - You miss the part where I took my kids to McDonald's to play? You walk in there, they revoke your hippie-card.

It just goes to show, you never can tell

So remember the sadness of this post? Like it was yesterday right? Well it turns out that I can project like you wouldn't believe. The mother of a woman I know goes to church with the widow and it seems shes not all torn up about her husbands death. In fact the only reason she put the sign up is because she didn't want people stopping by to ask why the decorations weren't up.

Furthermore she only really did the decorations all this time was because her husband wanted her to, in memory of their son who had died many years ago. So now there are two dead men who loved Christmas and that cranky old lady is ignoring thier wishes. Bitch. (Hey I told you, I can project like a mother fucker.)

Anyway, sorry for the moroseness, we will now return to our regularly scheduled . . um, whatever.

I just can't get this out of my head

There is a place I love to go to see Christmas decorations. It's just one little house, a visual and auditory assault of all that is tacky and garish about the season. Tiny little magnetic ice skaters, Snoopy in a Santa suit, huge inflatables, trains, handmade dioramas and cases of thematic wonder, and loud holiday music coming from every corner. A retired couple, bundled against the cold, hands out candy canes and talks sweetly to the children that lean over the fence.

The lady told me her decorations are stored in closets and under beds and hanging from the rafters in the garage. That she loves bumping into them throughout the year. They are like the children, full of joy and wonder and just so happy to be taking part in the season. They start my holiday. They are not there this year. There is just a sign. "Happy Holidays. Thank you for the memories Jon"

So I think that little old retired lady is in that house all buy herself, with no one to celebrate the holiday with. She is milling around there, bumping into those happy memories and he is gone. If I were her I think I would be to sad to put them out this year too. I don't know what she will do next year, burn them, move away, put them out, who knows. Just thinking about it makes my heart ache for her.

I would like to say that I am the type of woman to honor a memory once the one I loved has gone, but I think that kind of pain is to much for me. That look they had last year, so cheeky and cute, its just so wrong to think that it is over. That she is sad and he is gone.

Happy Halloween

Happy Coming Out Day!

Or not.

Fine.  Stay in your closet for all I care.  I'll send snacks.  And a chamber pot.  Cause I think about these things.

http://www.hrc.org/issues/coming_out.asp
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Coming_Out_Day

p.s.  Coming out does not mean shoving your sex life in peoples faces.  That is tacky no matter your orientation.

p.p.s  Unless you have a blog, cause then that is just voyeurism.  And that is consensual.   

its my birthday . . . or at least it was

The daughter gave me a lovely card she made. With stickers and art and a careful fold. The boy next door helped her spell out her words. "I LOVE DAD MOM." . . . . Ugh.

I bought a dress. It is beautiful, but it didn't get here in time for my birthday. The night out with the girls at a nice dinner and a bar hop ended badly. The next mornings hangover was a definite sign that I am getting to old to drink as much as I did. I ate pancakes and pizza and soda and frozen yogurt and then I felt much better. My hangovers are apparently teenage layabouts.

The day of my actual birthday I worked all day, my headache was still with me, but then it's been there for almost a month so what else could I have expected? I didn't wear my dress because it is too pretty to eat messy food in and we were going out to Mexican. It's easy and there is a place in town that makes flan so good I could give up chocolate for it. But I wasn't that into the whole idea of my birthday at all. In fact, I was kind of over it.

And then I got home.

And the house was clean.

And there were presents.

Beautiful, thoughtful, lovingly hand picked presents. An antique brass sheet music stand, complete with a pretty red bow. An antique crystal antomizer. . . for home made perfume. . . I feel so very 1920's starlet. And the best, mind blowing bit of there-has-never-been-a-gift-so-perfect-in-my-whole-life. Indoor skydiving lessons. I didn't know such a thing existed, but if I had I would have wanted that more than anything. Other than zero gravity, it's a close to flight as I can ever come.

I dream of flight. In my dreams my body lifts effortless off the ground and I swoop and dive through the air. I hate waking up from those dreams. They make me hate my regular life for a few groggy moments. Other than to live forever, the only super power I would ever want is to fly. And thanks to the husband, whenever I want, I can get oh so close it's kind of frightening.

So all in all, yes, I had a wonderful birthday.

The better part of Mother's Day (clicky to expand the lovely)

We went to a beautiful place.  It was cold and windy with pockets of warm still loveliness.

  

 

We walked the whole way along a pretty little stream.  We had a little snack on an old tree stump.  We sat at the edge of a tiny waterfall.  

Baby girl touched algae and learned how mountains make rocks.  For a moment all the world fell away and it was truly perfect.  

Then we stepped up to our ankles in cold mud and she started crying.  We changed in the parking lot.  I had a black nightgown in the truck.  I wore it the rest of the day, to dinner and everything.  I felt soft and feminine and it was a wonderful way to spend the day.

Sweet 16

You took away all my flannels.

You let me drool on your ass.

You liked me even when I got glasses.

You thought pregnant women were hot when you were 19.

You tell me I still look amazing, even after i have been pregnant.

You learned to open car doors for me.

You've worn a tux 3 times for me.

You've driven hours just to sleep next to me.

You've learned to cook amazing dinners.

You've learned to fix my car.

You helped me get through college.

You believed I could open my own business.

You took dance lessons for me.

You bought me a violin because I once said I had always wanted to play.

You are an amazing father.

You are my best friend.

Thank you for the past 16 years.

Um, Happy St. Patricks Day?

Despite my best intentions to not turn this blog into a pathetic bitch feast, it is. I’m just sad, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be, but there is little to do for it. And tonight I am also a bit drunk, which makes me forget all the reasons I have to be happy. So here we go for the sad reasons. The baby is 5. 5 people. WTF?. . . . I did not, do not approve. I cannot. So there. It took me 3 years to get her. It took me a team of experts. It broke my spirit, it wreaked my heart, it stripped my sanity. But I got her, and she should have stayed little. I know she is wonderful and kind and better than I could have ever hoped, but she is 5. And that is just wrong.

Also, the ex is sad. Lonely and sad and I am not able to help. Not going to help. Just nodding and talking, but not going to rescue. Wanting to rescue, but not going to. She is also wonderful and kind, but she is not mine. I have my own life and I have to make it work. She is now just a good friend. And that is better than what I had last year. So it will do.

And the job is good. But it is restrictive. And I want more freedom. Days at the park, before the 5 year old is too old to care. Before I have lost my chance to be a good mom. Before she wants nothing to do with me.

I shouldn’t drink really. It just doesn’t mix.

Thanks for always getting me in trouble

Are you cereal?. . Yeah I'm a frosted flake and you’re a fruit loop.

Would you like a leg with that?

I used to be just like you, then I had the stick removed.

Holy-God-fucking-son of a shit.

Hoooon-kie.

You drinkin’ young lady? . . . You buying officer?

We chased boys and each other, drove to fast, drank to much stayed out to late and did all the things we weren’t supposed to do. No wonder you look like hell. I still <3 you.  Happy Birthday.

I am resolved.

So I never do New Years resolutions. I mean really, I’m perfect. But since I’m a joiner . . . here we go.

For a Better life: Step One
Oh yes, I know you think I’m going to say lose weight. Every woman says lose weight, even those size 6 bitches. But no. I mean, yes I want to lose weight, but I will and then I’ll gain it back. I’m just stable at this size. And besides, it’s not like I’m fat. I’m just fatter than I want to be. So no, not to lose weight. To love my body, my strength, my skin, my curves, no mater what they look like. Besides, it’s not all bad. To get in touch with my body, and remember why I love it, at minimum:

Yoga, 2 times a week,
Muay Thai: 2 times a week.

For a Better life: The Sequel
To make time for my flesh friends. To accept invitations to go places, to spend time with people I have lost touch with. I have great friends, who love me like crazy and I love them too. I need to reconnect with them. 

For a Better life: Or at least a more comfortable one
To finish my house. I mean this is my kitchen floor. It’s just not good. So I need:

A new floor in the kitchen
New carpet or hardwood in the living room
New cabinets in the bathroom
To tear down the built-in in the living room and get some proper storage in it’s place.
There’s more too, but that’s enough for one year.

For a Better life: The Conclusion
Be more open with people. Not the “Hi, let me babble at you and make you think I’m funny and charming, without actually letting you in at all.” The real kind of open. The quiet, honest, compassionate kind of open. The kind I am after a glass of wine (yes ladies, I got the message).

So there we go.  Good luck to me.

Man, they had better keep making these things.

For my daughter, because not all traditions are dead.

Year 1: You are in our heart.

Year 2: The year the cat learned to hide from your love.

Year 3: To commemorate a special trip.

Year 4: With school and new friends and ballet, you took flight in many ways.

Year 5: You’ve learned so much this year, my little book worm.

Traditions

I think I could spend the rest of my life futilely trying to recreate the holidays of my youth. Half of those people are gone, and the other half live too far away. The husband’s family, who does live in the area, shuns all pagan celebrations, and it is very difficult to get the same warm fuzzy feeling of a large family gathering with just myself my husband and our only child.

This year, mostly out of exhaustion, I decided to be more of a go with the flow kind of person, instead of demanding to hold to my family traditions. We had Thanksgiving at a dear friend’s house instead of our own. There was much wine drinking and children running all around and too many women in the kitchen. They called us family and hugs and laughter were everywhere. It was perfect, like it was when I was growing up.

We didn’t go to my mothers for Christmas. For many reasons, it just didn’t happen this year. Instead we spent my week off driving around, talking, playing and doing lots of nothing. I baked some pies and made a few meals, and even though I scrubbed my bathtub, there wasn’t the stress of getting up early to prep all day for Christmas Day. Instead we accepted an invitation from another lovely friend of mine. We had ham instead of turkey, and we ate off plastic plates in our jeans. We joked and laughed and watched our children play. I sat in their bathtub and offered to take it home. It was silly and easy, and I enjoyed myself very much.

I’m not quite ready to give up the idea of family traditions, but I’m definitely open to expanding my definition of it. Time to start chasing the feelings and not the actions. So, what shall we do for New Years?

Now I'm as bad as you

I hate lying. Well in theory anyway. I mean, I lie to adults all day long. I'm in customer service. Little lies get me through the day. It's the big lies I hate, especially lies told to children. They are so trusting and honest, it seems a violation of their faith in me to lie to them.

Which brings me to Santa Claus. Spare me your clotted nostalgia. Yes he is a sweet wonderful lie, one of joy and magic and cinnamon scented goodness. But he is still a lie. And I hate lies. Besides, my husband was traumatized when he became aware of the great adult conspiracy that is Santa, and I'm pretty sure I continued to 'believe' for a full year, to avoid sending my mom into a series of weeping sessions, so we just figured it would be best to fall back on honesty as a best policy.

We told her Santa was a great man who lived a long time ago, and that his kindness to children inspired the world to honor him with the tradition of Christmas. Except that we used age appropriate words. We still hung out stockings and left cookies on Christmas Eve, but she always made the little comments that assured me she was comfortably aware of the reality of the situation.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday my little cherub of almost 5 asked me if Santa was real. I held my breath and asked what she thought. And she, the child who reads and does addition, the child who once yelled at me for pretending a banana was a phone, that logical, analytical child, solemnly told he that he was.

I sat in that uncomfortable place for awhile. Is it lying to allow her to believe something I already told her was a lie? Can you have the fantasy without the lie? We are on shaky ground here. We were getting ready to get on a train to see Santa after all. I decided to let it go for the moment. The husband looked at me like I had better know what i was doing. I didn't.

The train staff, cleverly disguised as elves handed my daughter a piece of paper so she could write a letter to Santa. An old lady dressed as Mrs. Claus stopped in for a chat. At any point I could have gently reminded my daughter that those were costumes, that we were all pretending. But I didn't.

A while later, the big man himself came Ho-Ho-Ho -ing through the train. She pushed the letter into his hand and hid in my armpit when we tried to take a picture. After he left she went back to staring out the train window. That should have been the end of it, but no. We ended up seeing him again, and it was at that point that I truly lost my mind.

She had been worried when she was writing the letter that Santa wouldn't be able to understand her because she can't spell that well. She really wants a unicorn big stuffed (don't get me started on the trials of finding that damn thing), in fact it is the only thing she has asked for. I'm not sure what came over me at that point, but watching her, so small and sweet, trying to ignore the man in the red suit, all the while worried if he would understand her simple request for a stuffed unicorn, I lied. Not just a little lie either, but a huge monster of a lie.

I told her that Santa read her letter.

That he knew she wanted a unicorn.

That he might not have rainbow ones this year, but he has a special pink one with stars that he knows she'll love.

As I am talking I am aware of several things. One, my husband is staring at me like I lost my mind. Two, that I am in fact LYING. Three, that my overly analytical child who can't pretend a banana is a phone is lighting up at this most ridiculous lie. I mean, she has been sitting there the whole time. She KNOWS Santa and I didn't have this conversation. But she believes. And for some reason I'm full of joy and magic and cinnamon scented goodness.