A Hissy Fit & a Re-Cap

Before I continue recounting our summer adventures, let me throw in a little hissy fit...if you decide for whatever reason to take a peek at archived posts between the dates of 10/08 (when I came to Blogger from Homeschoolblogger) and 12/10 (when I started using Flickr), you will notice all of the photos are missing. Here's what happened: I joined Google+, which is Google's version of Facebook. They automatically uploaded all of my blog photos I had uploaded through Blogger. I saw that album of like 865 photos sitting in my Google+ profile, and I thought to myself, Self, why do you need an album of 865 photos sitting on your Google+ profile? Many of those photos won't make any sense to anyone anyway without the accompanying blog explanation. Besides, all of those photos are on your blog, so what is the purpose for them to be here?

And I deleted the album.

What Google failed to tell me as I so casually clicked on "delete" is that I was deleting the photos from my blog, from everywhere. Poof! Vanished! Never to be recovered...at least that is the answer I have discovered as I have perused various forums filled with venomous rants from various ranters who are furious at Google for also deleting their blog photos.

All is not lost, however. It's not like those photos are completely gone. They are on my computer and my external hard drive and on various CDs. You might even guess they are everywhere and thus not at all organized. But such is life. Really the disappointing thing for me is that I had planned to convert my blog to a book, you know, for posterity's sake. For the children. And now all those photos are missing. And honestly? I don't see myself taking the time to wade through my thousands of pictures to find the photos that correspond with each blog post.

What I have rediscovered, however, is my passion for digital scrapbooking, so that is where I will place all of those missing photos. And, consequently, you may not see me here as often because digital scrapbooking can consume an awful lot of time if one lets it.

OK, hissy fit over.

What have we been up to during Simel's second week here with us?

The kids had sports camp at church this week. I think they enjoyed it. Sort of. It's sad, but I do see that enthusiasm for "campy" type things evaporating from my children. As the whole group sang and did song motions at the end of each day, my children as well as most their age just stood there. I don't blame them. I remember being that age...and feeling really stupid singing kid songs with silly motions to go along. They did have fun playing the games, though, so that made it worth it.

Camp has taken up most of the week. And it has been so, SO hot all week, we really haven't felt like doing much else. We did make it to the YMCA one day to swim. Other than that, we spent the week melting. Literally. Almost anyway. I have wondered to myself often during the last week how I managed to live in Africa all those years sans air conditioning and so hot.

I have to say that, honestly, I had no idea there were still parts of America that don't have things like central air. When we came up to CT last August to look for a house to rent, it was a cool weekend, so it really didn't cross my mind to ask a question like, "Does this house have air conditioning?" It was just an assumption because, you know, we live in America and it's 2011. But anyway, apparently, my assumptions were way off. I finally bought a huge, portable AC unit for our downstairs, but with the intensity of the heat and the size of our living room, it just isn't doing a whole lot. I keep telling myself that this is certainly better than winter. I'll let you know once I actually believe what I'm saying.

Today we decided to enjoy an air conditioned theater. Of course, that's quite an expensive couple of hours just for some cool air, so we chose a movie as well - Zookeeper. It was OK. I mean, Kevin James and talking zoo animals - my expectations were low to begin with. It has its funny moments, though, and the kids seemed to like it.

Once we got out of the movie, my plan was to have dinner at Applebees because it sits next to the theater and because I have a little bit left on a gift certificate. But the crowd in the foyer hinted at a long wait, so we sat in the air conditioned car for awhile (it was 104 at 6:00!) to decide what to do. The kids voted Lunchables. There weren't many other options, so, folks, we went totally gourmet and stopped by the grocery store for Lunchables.

And some sparklers. Because what is a hot summer night without sparklers?

Learning to Live Gratitude - Even When I Fail

Today was Audrey's first "official" day of gymnastics at her regular time. She was so excited. I left with plenty of time to even stop by Starbucks for a little breakfast treat for us to share. Going my usual way to Starbucks, I encountered the first roadblock. Road closed. And the line of cars down the detour route was so very long. I turned around to take a different route, made it to Starbucks, and treats in hand, we turned out of the parking lot to head to the gym. That's when I noticed the long line of cars. And another road closed. I sat in the long line of cars for awhile then turned off on to a side street only to get tangled up in the traffic of an elementary school just beginning its day. I was going nowhere, so I returned to the long line of cars I had already been in. From there, I decided to try another side street off the opposite side. Just when I thought I was going to break free of the traffic, there it was again: another Road Closed sign. This time I was able to see beyond the sign to discover the hold-up: massive flooding.

By this time, we were already 10 minutes late for class. I circled all the way back almost back to home and attempted it from a different direction down a back road. Road Closed. So back we went to the original detour and to the long line of cars I had turned away from to begin with.

Through all of my driving and turning around, I noticed some homes that were almost completely surrounded by water, and the thought brushed my mind: Oh, those poor people. What a mess they have to contend with. Quickly, though, my selfishness and frustration would push those thoughts aside and replace them with irritated thoughts about having to sit in traffic for an hour, angry about not making it on time to my baby's class.

On top of all of this, I was almost out of gas and later as I stood outside pumping gas, I complained again. You see, up here in our new home, few of the gas pumps have the auto-fill clamps on them so I have to stand outside and hold the pump. This seems so trivial, yet it grates on my nerves to no end.

As I drove away from the gas station, I began to think about my attitude and about this new Life of Gratitude I have supposedly begun to live, though you sure wouldn't know it. Isn't the whole point of counting our blessings so we can see the amazing things God has done for us, the incredible gifts He gives us? Aren't we to count the blessings especially in the midst of the ugly? Doesn't doing so allow us to see the beautiful in the ugly? Why, then, am I so consumed with myself and the inconveniences of life that I can't stop my grumbling and replace it with gratitude?

If I had done so, I could easily have listed these blessings:

39. Living at the top of a hill, thus escaping the flooding rains that poured on us last night.

40. Only having to pay for gas in one car.

41. A little girl's arms clutched around my neck and a sweet kiss she plants on my cheeks each time I buckle her in her seat.

42. An adorable, mini notebook to tuck in my purse so I don't miss noting the blessings.

Wouldn't my drive this morning, long as it was, have been a lot more pleasant if I had been counting gifts rather than rattling off complaints?

Quick Takes: The Snow Edition

~ Quick Take 1 ~
Our homeschool week went a little better than last, I guess. I still lack enthusiasm and motivation. It is as if I am experiencing spring fever, which is definitely NOT the case (have you seen the weather map recently?). But things are going OK. Audrey is progressing in her reading, and the boys are plugging along in theirs. I am enjoying using my new whiteboard A LOT!

~ Quick Take 2 ~
One reason our homeschool week wasn't all that stellar is because of the crud that hit our house. Oh, and the huge blizzard too, but I'll get to that in a moment. When the older 3 get sick, it is not such a big deal; they hole up somewhere, and I meet whatever needs they have. When the Princess gets sick, however, it is a different story.

No matter what she is sick with, she throws up. She has a very strong gag reflex, so I guess that is why. This week it was just slight fever along with some mild cold symptoms. But just one cough, and up it all comes. And so it is that anytime she gets sick, I drape several layers of sheets and towels on the couch/bed where she decides to hole up.


Going out, though? Forget it! If the other 3 have colds, we still venture out, but not with the Princess on account of the puking thing. I honestly wouldn't have a problem with just sticking a plastic bag in my jacket pocket to carry along to catch whatever she decides to part with, but I know that wouldn't go over very well with other moms. I would find it difficult to explain her strong gag reflex as I watch other moms clutch their children a little closer and go through that Mom Check List: Did that little girl play with my kid? Did my kid touch anything she touched? Did she sneeze on my kid? Did she come anywhere within a 10 foot radius of my kid? I better go wash my kid's hands and Lysol him down. Stat!

So, really, it's just easier to stay in and wait it all out. Even if it means we may miss a trip to the Science Museum.


Hosted by Kris at Weird, Unsocialized Homeschoolers.

~ Quick Take 3 ~
The kids and I have prayed for years for more than a dusting of snow in Hotlanta. And we didn't dare even put in a passing request for a white Christmas because, it's the South, it could never happen. But lo and behold, in the last 3 weeks, Atlanta got both a white Christmas AND a lot of snow.

And so I will reiterate just in case my friends in Atlanta aren't getting the message: Good things happen when we leave. Like if we ever leave Connecticut? It would become a tropical paradise here, and all of the Starbucks would put in drive-thrus.

My wise husband made a keen observation that if we just contiued to move around the world, it would become a better place.

I think Italy needs a make-over. What do you think?

~ Quick Take 4 ~
We got a lot of snow this week. And I am not assessing a lot through the eyes of a former southerner. I've been told we have gotten more snow in the last couple of weeks than all of last year. Yes, that is my initiation to New England winter life.

See? I told you. We make things happen.



~ Quick Take 5 ~
Dear City of Bristol, CT:

It's 12 degrees outside. I don't think anyone will be surprised to hear I am not using the sidewalks, nor have I seen anyone else out on any of the sidewalks. They are YOUR sidewalks. If you are so insistent that they be cleared, YOU shovel them.

Thank you,
A former southerner who plans to stay inside until May



~ Quick Take 6 ~
I am in awe of the snowflake shots at Forever n Ever n Always. Even though I am aware of and completely accept the fact that I cannot emulate her, I did want to try to get a few shots of snowflakes. Needless to say, they didn't turn out that well:



I think I need to get out in the cold and find some actual snowflakes rather than just ice.

BUT...I did end up getting some shots I think are pretty cool. Snowflakes Ice under a magnifying glass:





~ Quick Take 7 ~
You know how, lately, the smell of dead pine needles has been emanating from my vacuum cleaner? That really is a good smell, actually. Today I spilled a tub of feta cheese on the ground. I'm fairly certain I'm not going to like the smell of feta cheese in the carpet 2 months from now.


Quick Takes hosted by Jennifer at Conversion Diary.

Preparing

I've always kind of assumed the term blizzard to be an exaggeration, hyperbole. Sort of like when someone says, "It's raining cats and dogs" or "It's hot as you-know-what". But, no, there it is on the forecast for today: Blizzard.

I have been watching the forecast for weeks now with much anticipation, waiting for my first "real" snow. A blizzard was not what I had in mind, however, for my initiation into the Arctic.

In true Southern fashion, we are preparing with a mindset that is just about right at Panic. We got ready for church but then decided to opt out this week so Mark could hit some of the stores for things we might need to keep alive for the next couple of days. Of course, we don't need food since this is the day after our Christmas feast, but we do need gas for a snowblower our landlord left for us to use. Of course, we do not know how to use it, but I'm sure my handy dandy husband will figure it out. We also need firewood in the event the worst occurs.

The Worst, a power outage, was certainly not in my picture of how the first real storm would play out. The way I imagined it, I would be inside a warm house, a cup of hot tea in hand, watching from the window as the children merrily played out in the soft, gentle snow. I hadn't really thought about the possibility of sitting in a dark, freezing cold house. Because this is the North, right? They know how to deal with this stuff without all of the problems, right? Maybe not, at least according to the local news.

And did I mention my parents are here visiting from Georgia? I have to keep them warm too.

My children do not share my anxieties over this pending white doom. When I told them a blizzard was forecasted for the day, they cheered. I think they have been a little misguided too, however: Somehow I think that their ideas for the first "real" snow may not have included hurricane force winds accompanying the flakes.

So if you don't hear from me, I'm either huddled around a fire trying to stay warm. Or I'm dead. If we do survive our first blizzard, I'm sure there will be lots of pictures to follow of the kids playing in our expected 10-20" of snow. After the wind has died down, of course.

Mrs. Halloween Scrooge

Once upon a time, there was a Halloween Scrooge. The untrained eye would never peg her as such for she loved candy and, as we all know, Halloween is a big holiday for the sweets; she had 4 children who seemed to have as much jolly fun as they wished to have; she loved going to pumpkin patches to select festive pumpkins; and she even smiled brightly when the neighborhood children knocked on her door for candy.

But deep, deep down inside, she was not a big fan of Halloween, and with each passing year, any enthusiasm she had for the day waned even more.

The evil in Mrs. Halloween Scrooge always surfaced first when it came time to buy costumes. "These silly things cost way too much," she would complain as loudly as possible at the store so that all customers might have the opportunity to ponder her astute observations. No matter what her children wanted to be for Halloween, she would try her very best to talk them into wanting to be whatever was cheapest.

This year, Mrs. Halloween Scrooge and her family were in the Arctic for Halloween, and this made the price of costumes anger her even more. If the costumes were to be hidden under coats and mittens and scarves and hats, really, what was the point? She even suggested to her oldest trick-or-treater that she skip the costume and wear regular clothes under her coat. Who would know? Surely she would get candy anyway.

While Mrs. Halloween Scrooge enjoyed hunting for and selecting the Halloween pumpkin, the carving of the pumpkin was another holiday element which brought the evil out of the old woman. The guts were stringy, stinky, and slimy, and carving hurt her poor, arthritic hands. This year, she had the children simply paint their little pumpkins.

Then, of course, there was the matter of the candy. Like costumes, candy is far too overpriced, and she complained bitterly about buying bags of it. Of course, she did not complain about the candy her children brought home in their buckets and often, after the lights were out and the children tucked snugly in their beds, she would sneak into the kitchen and steal candy from her own children's buckets.

Mrs. Halloween Scrooge was clearly in the wrong for this violation, especially considering that, this year since they were in the Arctic, she made her husband take the children out trick-or-treating. "It's too cold out there," she whined as she shooed the children and the husband out the door while she stood in the warm, cozy house in her soft, cozy bedroom slippers.

Of course the one thing that made Mrs. Halloween Scrooge smile in spite of all of her evil was seeing how cute her children looked all dressed up, their anticipation bubbling over into their twinkling eyes and big grins.

And even as Mrs. Halloween Scrooge sits in her warm, cozy house, her feet enveloped in her soft, cozy slippers, and ponders what the dentist is going to say at tomorrow's appointment, she can't help being just a little bit excited for the children and the husband to come back home. Once they're home, the children will inevitably spend some time sorting their candy, trading it back and forth, and of course begging for "just one more piece. Pleeeeeaaase?"

BFF with the DMV

You know you've been to the DMV one too many times when you tell the children to "go to their normal seats", and they know exactly what to do...when, if the workers were wearing name tags, you could spot 5 you know by name. Yesterday we made our third trip to the DMV. As I mentioned before, my first trip was useless. But I never told the whole story about my second trip wherein I procured my Connecticut driver's license.

The process to get my license was as follows: Wait in one line to get a number; once the number is called, wait in a second line to explain the purpose of the visit and to fill out paperwork; the third line is for an eye test; the fourth line is for the picture and payment; and the last line is to receive the license.

Line #1 and Line #2 were uneventful, but I was nervous by the time I plopped down in my seat to wait for Line #3. Part of this anxiety stemmed from the fact that I had just heard the commander of Line #3 bawl out a customer with an, "I can't help you. Have a nice day", which sounded a whole lot more like, "I CAN'T help you HAVE A NICE DAY!!!!!" Moreover, I was still reeling from the news I had received in Line #2.

The majority of my time in Line #2 was spent filling out a name change form. I said to the gentleman in charge of Line #2, "You know, I have been Mrs. P for 15 years. Are you SURE you need me to fill out this Name Change Form?" He was sure. So, while I was changing my name in what seemed like a twilight zone moment, I took the opportunity to ask some questions. I explained that I was anxious to get my CT license. I needed the license to secure car insurance. And we needed the car insurance in order to get license plates. I wondered about the cost involved in registering our cars with the state. He listed the fees: $125 per car just to register, PLUS a 6% sales tax on the value of each car. My mad math skills kicked in as I was half listening. "So that's going to be between $2500 and $3000?" I exclaimed. He nodded. "But we already paid sales tax on the cars in Georgia," I argued.

"But you never paid them in the state of Connecticut," he responded then added, "Welcome to Connecticut!"

And so as I approached the lovely man who commanded Line #3, I was pondering the fact that if "Santa" must spend his (or her) life savings just to drive his (or her) sleigh in the state of CT, the children may receive nothing but coal in their stockings this year.

"Read the numbers from left to right," the Commander barked. I proceeded to read the numbers from right to left because, in my mind, he must have been asking me to follow specific, rather out of the ordinary instructions. After all, English is still this country's language, and English is read left to right. So if he had wanted me to read it left to right, he would have simply instructed me to "read the numbers". So when I received specific directionals, I assumed I was to do something different from the norm.

He glared at me. "I said read it from left to right."

"Oh." I rattled off the numbers. "I do know my left from my right," I added and flashed him a wry smile. He wasn't amused.

Next I was to look at a line of signs and identify the one that appeared the closest. I almost giggled when I wondered to myself how the Commander would react if I answered, "The little triangle one", but then I thought that perhaps not being able to identify a yield sign might be reason enough to prevent one from obtaining a driver's license in the state of Connecticut, so I refrained.

Needless to say, by the time I reached Line #4, I was not smiling so my picture looks more like a mug shot than a photo. I suppose that's more appropriate anyway. When you get stopped, I know from experience you aren't really in the mood to flash the officer a giant, friendly smile. So really the mug shot on a driver's license is a much more effective tool to use when trying to prove identity.

So I had my mug shot taken in Line #4. Line #5 didn't take long at all, and we were on our way home to await Trip #3 to the DMV.

Between Trip #2 and #3 my husband did the dirty work of finding local car insurance for both cars. Remember that ticket we got on our way to our not Disney Disney vacation back in 2009? That ticket never increased our rates with the friendly people at the Georgia Farm Bureau, but apparently when you live in the Insurance Capital of the World, they get you for everything. The ticket did indeed make a difference, but what can you do?

Trip #3 to the DMV began with the Grand Search for a Service Station That Will Check Emissions. We finally found one and headed over with both cars. At the DMV, only 2 lines were required for this task. Mark took care of his car, and I took care of mine. It was quite painless actually, and we left with new tags in our hands, a fact that doesn't make me all that happy: I had campaigned for keeping our Georgia tags through winter with the hopes that other drivers would throw me a little sympathy on the snowy roads.

As we left, I bid the DMV good-bye with an, "I hope I don't have to see you again until I have to bring my 16-year-old daughter here for her driving test." But then I retracted that farewell because, well, I have asked my daughter repeatedly to stop growing up, and I hope this year she'll actually listen to me. If she does, that will mean she'll stay at 10, and that will be fine with me.

Oh, and that astronomical tax fee the guy in charge of Line #2 on Trip #2? Well, I was informed by the kind man on Trip #3 that since we already paid sales tax on our cars in Georgia, there is no reason for us to pay them again in Connecticut. Hmmm...who'dathunk it? Now I'm just waiting for that phone call: "Uh, Ma'am, we're going to need you to come back in. Dude at Line #2 on your second trip to the DMV had you fill out a Name Change Form. That was the wrong form. Didn't you think it was strange he asked you to fill that out when you have been Mrs. P for over 15 years?"

A Letter to My Chiropractor

Dear Dr. Quack,

I have to be honest. The reason I put off coming to your office for so long after the pain in my neck began is because I know all of your tactics. As soon as a patient walks through your door, you chiropractors guilt her into coming in for treatment multiple times per week. And if the patient does not come in, you call to express your concern and ask her if you can schedule an appointment. If that does not get her back in, you send her a letter explaining how a lack of chiropractic care will make her health slowly deteriorate until, potentially, she could become debilitated permanently.

When I finally did come in to see you about the pain in my neck, I gave in and scheduled the daily adjustments and treatments. I was desperate, plus I knew I had a long drive in the car coming up. However, I'm not sure your treatment did anything that time would not have done without your aid. The pain is still there, though it is not as severe. Might I not be in this same condition if I had simply saved the couple hundred I spent in your office as well as the countless hours and stayed at home with my ice pack?

Of course, you also found an additional long-term problem unrelated to the pain in my neck. You told me my neck is losing its curve. Too much time on the computer, I'd wager. And I suspect everyone in my generation and those following will lose that natural curve as well.

Not that I don't care about the curvature of my neck, but my chiropractic health simply does not hold a place at the top of my priority list. My kids, their orthodontic bills, homeschool materials, vacations, car maintenance, food, shelter, this new puppy, Starbucks. Those are things that crowd my chiropractic health off the top.

So when you told me this afternoon that you needed to see me twice a week, and I told you that I might come in week after next, the fact that you said, "You're going to wait that long?" did not change my priorities. My kids, their orthodontic bills, homeschool materials, vacations, car maintenance, food, shelter, this new puppy, and Starbucks still come before visits to your office. Your rhetorical question only made me confirm in my head, I wish I had listened to my instincts and not started this nonsense in the first place.

I will continue to come see you but only because you have a massage therapist, and my insurance covers it. There's nothing like a $100 massage I only have to pay $20 for. The fact that my neck is straightening out? Well, I'll just add that to my list of Annoying Things That are Happening to Me as I Age. And, hey, maybe if my neck gets straighter, I'll get taller instead of shrinking.

Not giving in to the guilt,
Kathleen

Awards, a Project, and a Traffic Jam

A Traffic Jam
Yesterday was a very busy day. It began with Bright Futures, and since Mark was home, I decided to leave the kids at home. As I sat in traffic for two hours, a few questions surfaced:

How do people do this everyday?

Why am I the only mini-van out here. Don't moms work for a living anymore?

Why didn't I bring my kids so I could cruise down the HOV lane?

How do people do this everyday?

What is the name of that movie with Michael Douglas where he gets so fed up with the traffic he just starts shooting?

Why didn't I bring my kids so I could cruise down the HOV lane?

A Project

I rushed home after BFA, gulped down a fast food lunch, loaded up the kids, and we headed to our last official co-op day of the year.

It was a fun day, but we still had the end-of-the-year celebration to come as well as the Geography Fair. While at co-op, I noticed some of the kids had already brought in their Geography Fair projects, and they were pretty grandiose. Since I hadn't pushed Alex to put a ton of effort into her project on deltas, I wanted Alex to add a few finishing touches on her project on deltas, so after co-op we rushed to Office Max, purchased a report display board, and basically started from scratch printed out a couple of things, glued a few papers, and enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment when we were done.

Our Her project turned out pretty well.

Not bad for 45 minutes work.

Let's see...what lessons did I teach my child through this project?

1) It pays to procrastinate.

2) Sometimes you have to compare yourself to others to get motivated to do well.

3) Mom enjoys doing projects.

OK, so I won't be writing a parenting or homeschooling book anytime soon.

Awards

At the end-of-the-year awards ceremony for co-op, the kids always receive certificates of completion. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I requested that mine say something along the lines of, Congratulations, you've passed the [number(th)] grade seeing as how we still have 55 school days to go, but anyway.

Some of the boys sat all together but, surprisingly, caused no trouble at all. What is funny is that Jacob began the evening with us. Then at one point we noticed he was gone--he had snuck over to sit with his friends. He sure has come a long way from the timid little guy he was a year or so ago!

After the ceremony, the kids all got to show off different projects they have worked on throughout the semester. Alex had made three bas relief clay pieces that were on display from her geography class. She also had a scrapbook to show off, but we forgot to bring it back for the ceremony.

Jacob showed off his Literature Pockets, which were all about Caldecott winners. Michael was also in this class.

Michael tried his best not to be a part of showing off his nutrition abacus, a class both boys were also in.

And Audrey showed Michael and her daddy her lapbook about the Five Senses.

Next and last for co-op for the 2009-2010 year: Field Day!

A Pocketful of Courage M&Ms

She looks so sweet and innocent, doesn't she? Most of the time she is. But when she isn't? Well, she can throw a princess tantrum fit for a queen. She threw one of these on our first Wednesday visit to our new church. Before we got there, she assured me with her typical charming smiles that she would be more than happy to walk into her class without a fuss.

But when I got to the door of the classroom, she wrapped her little arms and legs around me so tightly, I couldn't pry them off. When I had finally freed her legs, they started kicking (me) in true tantrum fashion. I managed to pass her off to the nursery worker who, through fake smiles and above the screaming, assured me it would be "just fine" if I left the little monster with her.

What my little princess needed was a trip out to the woodshed, but truth be told, I was just as stressed out as she was. It was a disorganized first night, and I didn't know where I was to go nor where my children should be dropped off. I'm sure my frustration had worn off on her.

So, taking the nursery worker at her word, I turned to try to find my way, all the while hearing her screams echoing down the halls of the church. When I went to pick her up, she was cheery as ever. I thanked the nursery worker profusely and apologized several hundred times on behalf of my little girl. I was told that, "She sure does have a set of lungs of her!" which is polite for, "Please don't ever bring your cute little bundle of terror back to my classroom!"

All week, I dreaded this return to church, but I knew for the sake of my other 3 kids I would return. Not to mention I had already paid for all of us to participate in Wednesday nights. Not to mention I enjoy some adult interaction myself. But I dreaded doing the tantrum all over again. Clearly the nursery worker dreaded it too because when I walked in with Audrey, I heard her exclaim to her fellow worker, "Oh no!" which at first really ticked me off because this is my sweet, little princess and how dare you! But then I remembered what it is like to be a volunteer in a church's children's program. And I remembered all of the little monsters who, over the years, made me exclaim, "Oh no!" when I would see them walk through the doors.

Lucky for the nursery workers, I was armed with a brilliant plan. I built her anticipation early afternoon by telling her I had a special surprise for her. Then, right before we got to her class, I pulled out a little baggie of M&Ms. "These are Courage M&Ms," I told her. "I want you to put them in your pocket, and everytime you feel like crying, you just pop one in your mouth. OK?" She nodded.

We walked in. I knelt down to hug her and got the tight death grip around my neck. "Do you need one of your M&Ms?" I whispered in her ear. The little hands around my neck loosened and she reached in for a candy. She popped it in her mouth, kissed my cheek, and I walked out.

When I picked her up, the nursery worker was all smiles--and not a fake smile this time. She greeting me enthusiastically. "Not a tear this time!"

The Nazi Pool

I homeschool, but my kids are very socialized. I, on the other hand, do not always feel so socialized. Especially at the end of weeks where TravelDaddy has been absent and my only adult interaction has been Facebook. So, in order to get some socialization, I grudgingly signed up for the swim day at the local aquatic center.

If you know me well, you may understand why I did so grudgingly. You see, even in the summer, I like my pool water to feel like pee. 87-90 degrees is perfect for pool water. Even on a balmy July afternoon. Unfortunately, I have encountered very few who share my enthusiasm for tepid water. That is why when someone says their pool is heated, I remain a little skeptical.

Going swimming in January wouldn't be a problem for me with regard to my three swimmers. All I have to do is be physically present poolside as their Guardian. But the little one, well, she presents a problem. I thought about bringing a big bag of candy and bribing her to sit on the side of the pool with me while the others splashed and frolicked and played in the water and I sat and gabbed with the grown-ups. But that would have been very Bad Mommy of me.

So I grudgingly--again--put on my swimsuit. Good thing because when I registered, the lady asked me if I had my suit on. I replied in the affirmative.

"May I see it?" she asked.

"Excuse me?" I replied.

"May I see it?" she pushed.

"Uuumm. OK," I said as I pulled up my sweater and my shirt to reveal the suit. Do I win the Miss America crown now? I suppose they want to make sure moms are not just, uh, coming to the pool to socialize (who would do that anyway?); however, they do have lifeguards present, plus if my kid was drowning, I wouldn't stand on the side of the pool complaining that I couldn't save my kid because I'm not properly garbed.

That wasn't the only annoying thing that happened when I signed in. I live about 15 minutes from the aquatic center. The center itself is part of a park which belongs to the county, not my county but a neighboring one. After asking me to model my swimsuit, she asked to see my driver's license. I wanted to remind her that my family and I simply want to swim, not adopt a child, but I remembered my manners in the presence of my children and showed her my license. Turns out she was just searching for my hometown so she could know that I am not a resident of the center's county. Which means I got the privelege of paying DOUBLE! So instead of $20 I had to pay $40. With four very expectant children standing beside me gawking excitedly at the huge slide on the other side of the glass wall, I wasn't going to turn around and go home. I forked over the cash.

And once inside it was nicely warm. My three older ones had a blast. My youngest not so much. Part of the problem was that she had to wear an obnoxious lifevest. I had her normal wings on but was kindly informed by one of the lifeguards that those were not permitted. Why was I not surprised?

I waded in with her for a few minutes before she informed me she was done. One thing I had anticipated was that there would be no food or drink inside. I was surprised then to see a picnic area with vending machines. Of course the Princess was hungry after her brief moments in the pool, but all I had was a $5. I asked my friends if they had change. When none of them did, I announced that I was going to go up front to ask for some change. After all, I paid them a small fortune for a couple hours in their pool; a handful of quarters was the least they could do. That's when my friend pointed to the sign on the vending machine. We are unable to provide change at the front desk. Again, why was I not surprised ?

A Letter to Al Gore

Dear Mr. Gore,

I went showerless this morning. Not because I pressed Snooze one too many times, but rather, because the distance across the tile floor from the clothes hamper to the shower was too cold to cross in my birthday suit; the shower had to wait until this afternoon when a half hour on the treadmill warmed me up enough to make that trek across the bathroom tolerable. It has been in the 20s and 30s here. This morning it was 17 degrees. Have I told you I live in Georgia? That's the state that touches the southeast corner of your home state in case you don't know.

What can I do to usher in some of that global warming about which you propagandize on a regular basis? I already own an SUV. Do I need to drive it more? Or faster? Faster means more gas consumption, right? Or maybe I should just let some of the air out of the tires? Please. I will do anything.

I will fly more.
I will use styrofoam plates and bowls and cups.
And then throw them to this frigid wind as litter.
I will cut down all the trees within a mile radius of my home.
I will purchase a cow and feed it Beef-a-Roni so it will be more flatulent.
Hey, I'll eat some Beef-a-Roni myself if that will help.

Please. I really need your help. If you have more information on how I personally can cause global warming, please send it to me. I need to take action before I am forced to move back to Africa. I may be forced to do that anyway; cows are cheaper there.

Freezing in Georgia,
Kathleen

Day 22

You may or may not have noticed that many of the advent activities I planned for the 24 days of Christmas revolve around food. I think next year I really need to give Lisa Whelchel's book The ADVENTure of Christmas a more serious look so that I can come up with some more original ideas. To be fair, I had a long list of a better variety of ideas, but somehow the 24 days of the 24 days of Christmas has dwindled down to nothing, and I scarcely noticed each day passing.

Today's activity would normally have made for a memorable time of family fun, but I think my mood ruined it. And Audrey is the one who should have been in a foul mood, not me. On the way back from the mall this morning, she suddenly burst into tears saying, "My earring came out! My earring came out!" I don't know how she did it, but she somehow got the seatbelt tangled up in her left one, and it got yanked out. Try as I might when we got home, I just couldn't line the front of the 3-day-old hole with the back. I toyed with the idea of just pushing the earring through and forming a new back entrance, but when you're a grown-up dealing with a princess' tender ear and not a rebellious teenager dealing with your own earlobe, it's a whole new game. So I gave up.

The Princess will now be lopsided for a couple of weeks to let her ear heal a little before we take her back to Claire's to get the earring put back in. And I say "we" because Daddy will be going along. Remember that he is the Great Calmer. Therefore, he is the one who will get her to jump willingly back in the chair, get the earring put back in, and then head to the food court for some ice cream. She's already very excited about the ice cream.

Anyway, all of these events were the prelude to my not being in a very festive mood. And a festive mood is definitely required for cookie baking. Sugar cookies are my favorite tradition I have carried to the next generation. So it really is a shame I couldn't step up the plate, or baking sheet as it were, and make this a fun event. Tomorrow, however, is bound to be much more delightful. Because tomorrow we decorate!

Save the Time!

Top 5 Reasons I Hate Daylight Savings Time. Or the end of Daylight Savings Time. Or whatever it's called when we "fall back".

Reason #5:

I procrastinate so much in resetting all of the clocks that, inevitably, at least one clock remains an hour ahead. Which always results in at least a couple of instances where I glance at said clock and say, "Oh, crap! I'm late!" and then rush through whatever I'm doing only to go into another room where the clock has been reset and realize all of the stress and hurrying was for nothing. Of course, once we "spring forward" into Daylight Savings Time once more, the clock that's ahead won't have to be touched.

Reason #4:

I have to re-learn how to reset the car clocks. Every time. Every season. And I'm not one to consult manuals and directions and other things that are written to make life easier. So by the time I am done re-setting the car clocks, all of the pre-programmed stations must be re-set as well. And I'm not one for consulting a manual for setting the presets either, so it's all just a vicious circle.

Reason #3:

It feels like midnight by the time I start dinner preparations, which causes a little bit of extra panic along with the panic I already feel because of the fact that I'm not all that handy in the kitchen.

Reason #2:

Obviously since it is about midnight when we're thinking about dinner, it feels like about 2 or 3AM when I finally wrestle the children to bed. Then I'm too tired to get Stuff done.

And the #1 Reason I hate Daylight Savings Time (ending) is:

Before children, I LOVED falling back. It meant an extra hour of sleep. Not so much with children because their internal clocks haven't caught on to this anomaly. I finally have them sleeping in 'til 8:00 every morning. The End of Daylight Savings Time rolls around. We "fall back", and now they're up at 7:00 every morning.

Letter of Complaint, er, Gripe

Dear Monday, October 12, 2009:

Oh, will you never be over? In 3 and one half hours it will be with great pleasure that I bid you farewell.

You rained torrents of rain upon us. Again. So much so that I spent much of the morning pacing the floor in front of the window, glancing out with much angst as I watched the water level in the backyard rise.

There are ants everywhere in my house. Hordes of them. Everywhere I look, there are ants.

You made the dishes in the kitchen sink go forth and multiply. I think that was you. At any rate, I will blame you because I can't see how just the five of us could possibly have generated that many dishes.

Ditto on the laundry.

Perhaps my children should sign their names on this letter because they were all in a funk too. Of course I blame you.

You caused my bread to flop for the first time ever. And this is the bread I made especially so I can make a picnic lunch for tomorrow. Now my picnic lunch will be comprised of sandwiches on flopped bread. Thank you for that.

As with all of your predecessors and as I suspect will hold true with all of your successors, you have not afforded me enough hours. I have planning to do for a writing class, stuff to do for co-op, preparations to be made to teach my children. I need more hours.

Where am I supposed to sleep tonight with the bed piled high with laundry?

I think today I have gained back all six pounds I lost last week while sick.

When at last I got a few precious moments to take a shower tonight, you forgot to remind me to lock the door. Why can't I at least be alone in the bathroom?

My shower was interrupted by one of 4 little people yelling through the crack, "Mommy, someone peed on my bed." Thankfully, it seems it was the pee of a little boy who did not want to tell me what happened. I am only thankful for this because if it had been feline pee, the cat would have been gone, which would have broken the heart of my biggest girl who is just a little bit obsessed with the cat.

Did I mention I have a laundry problem?

Thankfully, once you are gone, there will never be another like you.

Good riddance.

Identity Secure

Have you seen that commercial? The one where the guy plasters his social security number on a city bus because he's so confident his company will keep his identity safe? I've never paid all that much attention to it because I've always been of the mind that something like that could never happen to me.

Thankfully it hasn't. Yet. Yesterday, however, we got a phone call from the Fraud Department at Chase. (And major kudos to them for being the ones to contact us.) Apparently someone attempted to spend $600 at a Florida Wal-Mart Monday followed by a trip to the Home Depot yesterday morning.

First of all, you'll remember we came home from Florida on Sunday. So, unless my husband made some major detours on his travels this week, we were most certainly NOT in Florida on Monday or yesterday. Moreover, as for the Home Depot charge and as my husband told the kind Chase lady, "[His] wife wouldn't be caught dead in a Home Depot." OK, so sometimes I go to HD just because I'm along for the ride, but you must know that a princess queen does not do her own home repair. So, although the HD charges were not mine, I do have to own up to the Dover Publications and Learning Things charges. Charges I had not yet divulged to TravelDaddy. Incidentally, I've given up on calling him midday and beginning the conversation with, "Don't be mad at me, but I just dropped a boatload of money on more books and curriculum." He's totally on to that one. Now I just wait for the blessed brown truck to pull up and give me my package. Then, package in hand, I smile at him and say, "These are just a few items for the educational betterment of your precious children. You do want them to be smart, don't you?" Seriously, this might be an addiction.

Anyway. So the Chase cards are cut up, new ones on the way, and that's the end of that. Chase will do no further investigation since there were no actual fraudulent charges that went through. If we wanted to launch our own investigation, though, it would be easy peasy. We only used the card twice in Florida, and I'm really good with names. If Horatio Cane only knew how good I was, he'd want me for his partner. Of course, if I was his partner, I'd snatch those shiny sunglasses off of his big head, hurl them to the ground, and stomp them into little, tiny pieces. I digress...

We used the card at the resort gift shop where we spent $20 on some postcards and trading pins. Michael was our cashier. I remember his name because, well, duh, my son is Michael. Plus, this Michael was very amiable and helpful. However, he looked to be only a couple years this side of puberty and probably does not possess the wherewithal to pull off such a crime.

Then there was Brian at Landry's. (And, no, I'm not telling how much we dropped on that meal.) He was a very pleasant waiter or server or whatever, but of the two gentleman, he was the only one who scored some alone time with our credit card. So my money's definitely on him. Not that I'm letting him have it. The money, that is.

Dear Crazies: Why Don't You ALL Just Stop By?

We seem to attract the very best of the best out there. Remember the Whack-O Homebuyer who was upset we didn't fix the pothole just because she made mere mention of it? Well, you actually never heard the full story on her. We later found out she had asked our realtor about our reasons for moving. The realtor's answer was, "They're outgrowing the house." Apparently, in her discussion with one of our neighbors, it was casually mentioned that I was with child when we moved in (GREAT with child at the time, in fact). So her incredulous response to our realtor was, "Well, I heard the lady was pregnant when they moved in. Wouldn't they then have known BEFORE they moved in that they would outgrow the house?"

Huh?

Anyway.

So yesterday I get this email from this "prospective buyer." In it, he "asked" the following questions:

On google earth, you are quite a distance from the lake, though you say, "walking distance to the lake", Do you have a community dock or other easement for access?

Your asking price is pretty steep being that in the photos I do not see even a family room, only two tiny den areas.

I have former listing info, the pool is not much larger than a jacuzzi. Does it serve both purposes?

Your street looks worse than that of a third world country, it's horrific!
Does your property owners have plans on refinishing it?

It was my husband's opinion that we not even respond to this; however, I'm nothing if not a person of my word, and by allowing prospective buyers to contact us, that, to me, is as much as committing to provide excellent service by way of a response.

So this is what I wrote (and this is what I was wishing I could write):

Hi Matt,

Thank you for your inquiry about the property listed at ____ Drive in ___________ (Why in the world are you taking up my time and yours to send this "inquiry" which serves only to insult us rather than to ask any valid questions. It's not like we charge admission; your drive-by was free, so it's not like your insults serve to elicit a refund or anything.In fact, if you had come by a couple of weeks ago, I would have even offered you FREE BBQ. Of course, you would have probably just insulted my husband's cooking. Furthermore, have you heard that the housing market stinks? Knowing this, you should also realize that there are TONS of homes to look at, probably even many that are a better deal than ours. MOVE ON!!).

Here are answers to your questions (responses appear in ALL CAPS):

Message: On google earth, you are quite a distance from the lake, though you say, "walking distance to the lake", Do you have a community dock or other easement for access? WE ARE APPROXIMATELY 1/2-1 MILE FROM _________ MARINA (website of marina here) (Based on your "question" about our road, I know for a fact you did a drive-by, so your Google Earth view of our house is really null and void. You were here. You saw the lake across the street. You saw the sign for the marina. You asked this question only because you were being "smart" about our wording in our description. And, by the way, if you can't walk a mile, well...).

Your asking price is pretty steep being that in the photos I do not see even a family room, only two tiny den areas. OUR HOME DOES NOT FEATURE ANY "DENS". THERE ARE TWO SIZABLE LIVING AREAS. IN ADDITION, THERE IS A GIGANTIC MEDIA ROOM AND BONUS ROOM (This "question" left me speechless. Since we, in fact, have two living rooms, both of modest size and one with 20ft. ceilings, I just couldn't think of much else to think.).

I have former listing info, the pool is not much larger than a jacuzzi. Does it serve both purposes? THE POOL IS NOT LARGE, BUT IT WAS NOT OUR INTENTION TO BUILD AN OVER-SIZED POOL. WE WENT FOR AN AESTHETICALLY PLEASING POOL AS WELL AS ONE THAT WOULD SERVE ANY FAMILY NICELY. THE POOL IS HEATED AND HEATS QUICKLY BECAUSE IT IS A SMALLER POOL. SO, YES, I SUPPOSE IT COULD SERVE AS A JACUZZI, THOUGH YOU WOULD HAVE TO SUPPLY YOUR OWN BUBBLES (...though you would have to supply your own bubbles. OK, so I did say what I was thinking here. I considered adding a smily, but his message was in plain text, and I didn't feel a colon, dash, close parentheses would be as effective as an actual smily.).

Your street looks worse than that of a third world country, it's horrific!
Does your property owners have plans on refinishing it? LAKE COMMUNITIES ARE A SPECIAL BREED. MOST LAKE COMMUNITIES IN THIS AREA WERE DEVELOPED BACK IN THE '80S BY "CITY FOLKS" WHO WANTED A GETAWAY. THEY CARVED OUT DIRT ROADS THAT WOUND BACK ALONG LAKE TRIBUTARIES AND PUT IN SMALL HOMES. OVER THE YEARS AS LAKE LIVING HAS BECOME MORE POPULAR, MANY OF THESE EARLIER , MORE RUN-DOWN HOMES HAVE BEEN DEMOLISHED AND REPLACED BY NEW HOMES. SOME HAVEN'T...PART OF THE CHARM OF THESE COMMUNITIES. IN ADDITION, MANY OF THE ROADS HAVE BEEN REFURBISHED SINCE THOSE EARLIER DAYS. SOME HAVEN'T. OURS WAS A GRAVEL ROAD UNTIL ABOUT 10 YEARS AGO WHEN THE FEW RESIDENTS AT THAT TIME POOLED THEIR RESOURCES AND HAD THE ROAD PAVED. AGAIN, PART OF THE CHARM OF A LAKE COMMUNITY. YOU EITHER LOVE IT OR HATE IT. SOUNDS LIKE YOU HATE IT, SO PERHAPS THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR YOU TO BE (First of all, it's "Do", not "Does". As someone who has lived half of her life in a third world country, let me inform you that there are certainly worse things with which to contend than a shoddy road. And let me suggest that you research lake communities before you come looking in one; we're lucky to have any pavement at all on our road.).

Again, thank you for your inquiry. If you have further questions, please do not hesitate to ask (Honestly, I really don't want to ever hear from you again unless you come bearing apologies for your rude message.).

Sincerely (or not),
Kathleen

(P.S. I will not invite you back to see our house in person because I would not want to chance dealing with someone like you at a closing.

P.P.S. I do need to pass on my appreciation for the blog fodder because I like to be able to file things under "Hissy Fit".

P.P.P.S. Do we chalk this up to your hissy fit or mine?)

The Unplanned Summons

We were at Wal-Mart today, and I spied a display of calendars and planners. I quickly selected a wall calendar and then began thumbing through the planners. Their covers were so delightful, the whimsical patterns and crisp colors soothing in a way. And as I turned the light pages, there they were--the empty squares, squares that needed to be planned and then filled in.

Alex stood beside me, flipping through the planners as well. "Mom, can I get a planner?" she asked.

"Why do you need a planner?"

"To plan things." (duh!)

"What kind of things will you plan?"

"I don't know. Things."

A girl after my own heart.

We purchased no planners, but I quickly had my calendar hanging gracefully on the wall beside my desk, its hungry squares inviting me to fill them up with plans, appointments, special dates. I marked our first school day in ink without hesitation and then found the date a week later. Unfortunately, I was only able to pencil in my first day of Writing Workshop at Bright Futures Academy.

It's not that I'm unsure of the date. It's just that when we checked the mail today, there it was. An official postcard stamped with a waving American flag across the front, encouraging--no, demanding--I perform my civic duty. A Jury Summons. For August 10. The day before I'm expected in my classroom downtown.

This day in court? It was neither inked nor penciled in, so how can it be happening? I'm crossing my fingers that the powers that be will excuse me on account of the fact that I'm responsible for 4 human beings whom the same powers that be have deemed too young to be at home alone all day. That and the fact that the official postcard with the American flag specifically says in big, red letters, "Do not bring children."

Already I'm rehearsing my phone call to the county seat on Monday. Do I lead with "I homeschool my kids...." Probably not. I have this irrational fear that if I mention the H word, DFCS will have a school bus waiting to take my children off to public school on August 10. I say irrational only because my husband says it's irrational. In my mind, I know it's a completely legitimate concern.

In the meantime, I'm trying to figure out what God is teaching me through this. I'm pretty sure I already know...best laid plans and all.

Posted Memo

Dear Prospective Homebuyer,

My guess is that you do not have children. If you did, then you would better appreciate all of the hours it took to get this place clean just for your visit today! And if you had a better appreciation of that fact, perhaps you could have extended a little courtesy to us by staying a few minutes longer than the 8 you spent speeding through our home. A few more minutes would have at least given us the impression that you were lingering over a couple of rooms with comments like, "Can't you just imagine our furniture in here?" or "Wow! Our Tuscan painting would look fantastic on that wall."

You see, hope is a positive thing. And even false hope can sure lift the spirits of two people who would very much like to be done selling the house. Hope--even false hope--is a better feeling than a Well, there are two days of our lives we can't get back feeling.

So what exactly made you dash through our house at breakneck speed? Were you turned off by the homemade cookies I left for you? I notice you didn't take any? It could very well have been the cat's litterbox. I fastidiously removed all traces of the feline--including the cat herself--but, alas, those last minute things I'm supposed to grab on the way out the door...Did you not enjoy The Incredibles enough to just try out the comfy theater seating? Or perhaps, as with everyone else, it was the absence of a basement. In which case you shouldn't have bothered us in the first place because our listing notes "No basement".

Whatever it was, we can still expect a miracle because we know God could make this house appealing to you even if the roof was missing, a fact you very well could have missed in your haste (if that was the case, of course; there IS a roof over the house!). And on the plus side, now the house is clean, which is good because we're expecting 50+ guests here in a couple of weeks. See? There's another thing you're missing out on: our house is great for entertaining. We've had 80 people here before.

Well, if you choose to come back, perhaps WE will choose NOT to spy on you. And by not spying on you, you can walk away whenever you want leaving us with that false hope found in not knowing how long you lingered over our home.

Respectfully (mostly anyway),
Kathleen

Ridiculous Homebuyer

Dear Whack-O Homebuyer,

My realtor just informed me that you decided NOT to come see the house. You had previously inquired about the possibility of us fixing a pothole in the road at the end of our street. (And would you like us to put in a Kroger at the corner of Main and Oak for your shopping convenience?) Although a pothole or two is typical for a non-county road like ours, we informed our realtor that we would be happy to entertain such an "improvement" as part of an offer.

When I talked to my realtor today, she relayed your surprise that we had not gone ahead and fixed the potholes. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe we ever had an offer on the table? In fact, you never even came to SEE the house. So it should not need to be said that we had not even gotten as far as to find a pothole-filling person to fill the pothole. At the end of the street.

Secondly, my realtor explained that you were a bit taken aback because you chatted with a neighbor who told you that we did not contribute financially to the "road pool" when the gravel road was initially paved by all of the residents of _____ Drive. Let me explain this to you very simply:

This neighborhood has been here for over 20 years.

In 1999, the residents who lived here at the time pooled their money to pave the gravel road.

In 2005, we built our house here.

Do you understand that? I think you read too many political blogs because you're making ridiculous requests, claims, and assumptions.

By the way, I was also told where you've decided to buy. I know the neighborhood well: your bathroom will likely look right in to the bathroom window of your neighbor; your room will probably have a nice view of your neighbor's backyard; and you'll pay a hefty annual HOA fee to share a pool with a thousand other residents and their children. Oh, and the HOA will tell you what flowers to plant when and where. And what color to paint the house. And lots of other great things. So enjoy!

Sincerely,
An I'm-Not-Bitter-But-Simply-Incredulous-Homeseller

Calling on Mr. Maytag Repairman

Have you seen the latest commercial? The one with the weary woman returning from work to find the Maytag repair man fiddling with the entertainment center? Of course, he's dabbling in electronics because the Maytag appliances just never break and therefore never need his attention. Well, Mr. Maytag Repairman, if you are so bored, why aren't you showing up at my house first thing tomorrow morning instead of sometime between 8 and 12 on Wednesday??

Our dryer chose today to stop working. Today was laundry day and the first laundry day after VBS week, which is so busy that no laundry gets done. Needless to say, by today the closets were bare, the piles of dirty clothes high. I put my first clean load in the dryer, set the dryer, put a new load in the washer, and then spent a couple of hours in the pool with the kids. I came in to find the dryer was done. I opened the door. The clothes were still cold and wet! Now I have been known to set the dryer but forget to turn it on (I know, surprising, isn't it?), so I thought maybe that was the problem. But after another 30 minutes: Houston, we have a problem. Actually, I said, "Mark, we have a problem." He's such a great problem-solver!

Apparently, Mr. Maytag Repairman was taking a nap because Mark was on hold with them for at least 20 minutes. After scheduling the visit (which, incidentally, isn't actually with Mr. Maytag Repairman but some other company that has neither a "may" nor a "tag" in their name), Mark found out we have to pay for the visit. Are you kidding me? The dryer is only 2 years old. If you were spending advertising dollars bragging about how your product is so good, wouldn't you want to uphold your reputation? Tell you what, Mr. Maytag Repairman, I'll tell everyone you just came to fix the stereo if you'll cover the charge!