A few weeks ago I agreed to sit through an online demo of a public relations management tool. I sit and stare at a webconference while the sales rep talks at me over the phone. I got my reward in the mail on Monday -- a $50 gift card to Barnes and Noble. It's not often I get to blow $50 on myself at one of my favorite stores so I fretted over what selections to make. The only book I ended up buying was the one that we'll give Meg for Christmas. I managed to spend the rest on the Little House on the Prairie Season 1 DVD set. Now I can't wait until it arrives. I am planning on subjecting my family to it immediately.
How about you? If someone handed you $50 to one of your favorite places where would it be and what would you buy? Something to think about.
Today I did something I've not done in a long time. I made a Christmas list. I sent it off to those I knew would be most interested in knowing what my little heart desires. Now I will stew for two months waiting to see if I get the iPod, heart monitor, music, DVDs and collectibles I'm pining for.
Anything fun on your list?
I took Megan back to the doctor today. It was nothing, as it turns out, just me being cautious (read paranoid.) See, I'm allergic to penicillin. Bruce is allergic to penicillin. My mom, my brother - also allergic. Megan is on amoxicillin for the strep. As of this morning she has a pale pink collection of pinpoint sized spots on her trunk. Her little eyes are puffy too. I assumed allergic reaction. Doctor says nope, it is not. Apparently little ones with strep can develop a slight rash and the eyes are most likely because she's not feeling well.
We left the office within 5 minutes and less $20 worth of co-pay. Logan rushed into the elevator so he could have the duty of button pushing. I told him which number to hit. Before he can we hear the frantic voice of our soon to be co-rider "Wait for me!"
She climbs in and places herself right in front of the door, which happens to be Logan's favorite spot. He stands next to her. We settle onto the first floor and the woman, in her early 40s if that, panics. She shoves a hand in front of Logan and says "Wait a minute honey, stand back, you don't want to get squished by the door."
Logan stares at her like she's nuts, which apparently she is. He was no where near the door and hadn't even flinched a muscle to indicate he was bolting. He knows the drill and he was on his best behavior. I had no doubt he was about to do what was expected of him - grab my hand and walk out with me.
We trail behind her to the front door. She holds it for us and then stares at my two imps incredulously. "Honey?" she says to me as if she's a kindly saint out to save me from myself. "Where are their coats?"
"In the car," I fib. From the tone of her voice I figure she'd pass out if I told her the kids' jackets were at home.
"Oh my! It's cold out here. They really should have coats on!" she stops walking and stares at me. I'm sure she's trying to figure out where the ballot box for worst mother of the year is.
I stop myself from saying what I really want. The three-year will find the word "bitch" terribly amusing and the one-year old will discover it is a word she can clearly enunciate. Instead I quickly scan the memory banks trying to recall what the thermometer in the van had read just 15 minutes or so ago.
"Ahh, it's 60 degrees out. And our van is right here next to the door. They're fine in their long sleeves and pants," I tell her as sweetly as I can.
She wrinkles her nose and scrunches her mouth in a way that reminds me of the face I made this weekend when Bruce forgot to get sweetener in my coffee. She tosses her hair with a quick turn of her 'holier than thou' head and says "Well you're the mother, I guess."
And I give up being sweet. "Well thank you for noticing," I tell her. I drop Logan's hand and let him walk the remaining steps on the sidewalk to our van on his own. She humpfs slightly and walks away as if she's just witnessed neglect at its worst. I stare at her back and shake my head. I pray silently that neither child causes a scene over being confined to the car seat or not getting a toy in their hands in time. Prayers are answered.
The lady in the lot isn't the only one getting me riled up lately. I'm boycotting our local mall. Folks, they have Santa arriving this weekend. THIS WEEKEND! Three weeks before Thanksgiving. Not only that, but the halls of the mall were decked with holly in time for Halloween!
Seriously, I love Christmas. The Holiday season is my favorite time of year, but, as I wrote in my snotty letter to the mall administrator, I love it during the actual season - not a full fiscal quarter. Their early rush to Christmas cheer is nothing more than commercial greed. I said as much in my snotty letter.
So now, I'm boycotting the mall. I refuse to go there any time before Thanksgiving - if at all. It truly isn't a hardship. I've got other places to go for things I need and I've got the beautiful world of e-commerce. My Christmas shopping is already half-done. Still, I have a point to make.
Now I'm on a mission to convince everyone else I know to boycott. If I get bored, I may just start a campaign. So far though, not quite bored enough for that undertaking.