Mom to the Screaming Masses

How to tip, in five easy steps

Step one:  Determine that your oldest child needs a haircut.  Make your way to the barber shop.  Leave said child in the capable hands of the barber while you go next door to drown your sorrows look for bargains at the thrift store next door.

Step two: Return when said child waves you over.

Step three: This is the most important step.  DO NOT listen when the barber tells you that the haircut is $10.  Dwell, while the conversation is going on, on all of the things that are wrong in your life.  Hand the barber a $20, and instruct him to return to you $5.

Step four:  Say good bye to the barber, who is enthusiastic in his thanks and agree to his promise to return soon.  After all, you are really focused on your own life.  Puzzle a bit about his overwhelming happiness, but fall back into your own mind. 

Step five:  Get a mental smackdown from your son in the van when he asks you why you tipped so much.  Remind your son that the haircut is, after all, $13, and he gave you back $5, so you only tipped $2.  Realize to yourself that the barber did say "$10" and NOT $13.  No wonder he was so effusive with his thanks and his desire for you to come back - you just gave the guy a 50% tip. 

What is the biggest tip you've ever given?  What's the smallest?

Over before it really began

So.

I am no longer a blogger at Babble.

I wrote for two days, did 25 posts, and my voice isn't correct for the site.

When the job was offered to me, I was nervous.  I didn't know if I could really do high end product pushing - I mean, a $900 stroller?  A $400 high chair?  Innovative stuff, that's easier to do.  Higher end stuff, not so much.

I gave it what I felt was my best shot. I spent time this weekend trying to find leads, and was excited when I saw an article in Us! Weekly, detailing a famous baby's first birthday and the gifts she was given. Goody, I thought to myself.  Leads to write on. Doing this kind of writing wasn't natural to me, but I thought I was finding my groove, thought I was going to be able to do it.  My first set of posts were rough, but I thought my next ones were much better. I was THRILLED that I'd be able, finally, to contribute to our household bills, which are GINORMOUS, in a real and substantial manner.

Yesterday, I was grumpy and out of sorts - I'd spent a lot of time online and when I made my way outside, my eyes hurt from the sun.  I was worried how I'd fit the posting in with my daily life. 5 posts or more a day, now that it's summer?  When my kids wanted to swim, go to the beach, and have fun?  When I have three of my own blogs to write for, and one group blog?  HOW was I going to be able to do all of this, and play with my kids, do laundry, cook, yadda yadda?

SO, if I really felt, deep down, some questions about doing it, why am I so bummed knowing that I am no longer writing for them?

Why did I get an enormous ache deep in my belly, reading the words on the screen saying, "Your voice isn't a fit for us."?  Why do I feel so down, so depressed and unhappy about this?  Why do I feel as if I was slammed by a two by four, deep inside?

Is it because this was a way for me to make money at writing, something I've come to love and feel passionately about?  Do I really tie my self esteem that deeply into a pay check?  I am going to be paid for the work I did.  I just wish it'd been for at least the summer, so I could save up for fall stuff.

I know that there are people out there happy to see that I got the axe.  If that's you, keep it to yourself. I'm still sad about it.  It hurts, damnit.

How much is your time worth?

Once again, I found myself in Wal-Mart.  Yeah, yeah, I'm there allllll the stinkin time. I bought some fresh fruit - strawberries had been $1.77 last week and they were $2.46 today - not a bad price. I walked past the seafood department, where someone was weighing the biggest lobster I've ever seen - it was almost SIX pounds and rang up at $101. 

I went to the checkout and unloaded.  I watched the prices as they breezed past, and saw that the strawberries came up at $2.77.  I wondered if my memory was faulty, and so I paid and then doubled back through the store to check it. Yup, I was right, and had been overcharged by 31 cents.  Thirty one cents is not going to kill me, but I know that there is a price policy there that says if a product rings up incorrectly, you can either get another one of the product or $5.  We eat strawberries like crazy, so maybe I'd get another bucket.  Yes, I KNOW, thirty one cents.  I should have just let it go, but, you know, no.

I saw that the line for customer service was extra long, and so I grabbed a manager who walked past.  "Nope, you're wrong," she said cheerily.  "We got rid of that policy, but if you want to wait in line, I'll get your price difference."

I'd wait in line for $5, but I won't wait in line for 31 cents. How much would you wait in line for?  What is your time worth?

________________

Won't you come over and visit me at The Elff Diet?  I'm giving away a free cookbook today!

Birthday, birthday - how much is too much?

When I was a kid, birthday parties, if you even had one, were low key, simple affairs.  Mom would make a cake, Dad would scoop ice cream from the big plastic carton, and we'd run around the yard until either someone got hurt or their parents came to pick them up.  Good times were had by all.  Recently, though, there was a story on ABC News, discussing a family that spent over $50,000 for their child's first birthday.  FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS.  For a FIRST birthday.  The worst part is, they aren't even an anomaly.

Um.  Wow.  And, WHAT are you thinking?

Kids birthday parties have grown to enormous, outrageous proportions.  No longer is it sufficient to toss out a veggie tray and have a pinata - the bar has shifted and now upscale restaurants are rented out with all you can eat buffets, sleepovers are planned at museums and zoos, and even entire Broadway shows have been reenacted with professional actors.  These parties aren't even for the big number birthdays - the 5th, 10th, the16th, where you might expect a party that's a bit more elaborate - but for any age. Even for a party that the child is too young to remember, no holds are barred.   No simple cake mix cakes here - $200 and up cakes are expected and just about required.

My question is, when you do a big party like this - no, strike that, a HUGE party like this - what happens when you have to top in the next year, and the next?  What do you do for the big number parties?  The graduation, the engagement and the wedding?  When does it stop, and why should you take out a loan just to pay for a party?

I'd rather see a more simple party, and take the extra money to a shelter and throw a big celebration for all of the kids that never even have a cake and ice cream, run around the backyard kind of fun.  That would be the best way to help celebrate a birthday.

______________________

New post up over at Scrutiny by the Masses - come read about a new school lunch website that looks pretty good.

A little here, a little there, a little Carmen everywhere

So. 

Are you tired of seeing me yet?  I mean, really, I'm here, I'm there, and every once in a while I'm over here.  (I happen to think that there can never be too much of me, but, you know, I'm kind of biased.  )

I ask because I'm now a part of the blogging team - and I'm in extremely good company - over at Droolicious.  Come check us out as we review high end baby and child gear. I'll be over there a lot, so check often.

And check this out, from the Blogher site: 

Finding and Following Your Passion
Many people define blogging as writing with passion. How do you define passion? Do you follow your passion when you write, when you work, when you go through your day? Could you? Is blogging the only way and time that you allow yourself the freedom to follow your passion? Join bloggers who are blogging about and with passion every day: Musician/Blogger Christine Kane, Sheila Scarborough (who blogs with both sides of her brain) and Carmen Staicer...who knows where good habits end and passion begins!

Yes, that's right.  I AM A SPEAKER AT BLOGHER. Whoot!!!!!

Now, who will I see there?

Mission Monday: to sleep, perchance to dream

Saturday night we went to a party.  We went late, after everyone went to bed, leaving the oldest in charge.  We had a good time, came home at about 11:30, and went to bed.  I was just drifting off into a solid sleep - you know, that really heavy place where you can feel a great sleep getting ready to happen and you know if you can just stay still for a few minutes, you'll be home free?  Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.  I heard someone fussing and the pitter of tiny feet running into my room.  I heard The Hubster let Riley into our bed and stayed extremely still, knowing she'd go back to sleep and I'd be able to do the same.

"Eh, eh", she squeaked, and I ignored her.  Sleep, coming my way.  Cough, cough,

Puke.

All over the bed.  All over The Hubster.  All over me.

Cue the Mission Impossible music.

Your mission for today is simple.  Change your bedsheets.  Nothing fancy, nothing major, but I'm betting that for some of us, and I'm right there in the middle with you, it's been a while since the sheets were changed. I know we were way overdue.  Wash and dry your sheets and put them back on your bed.  If you have asthma or allergy problems like we do, wash your sheets in hot water. What is an even better thing is to hang them out to dry, now that the weather is warm.  I can't do that, with all the asthma - the one time I hung everyone's sheets out, I had four wheezers that night.  But if you can do it, great.  They really smell wonderful.

Put a lighter blanket or comforter on the bed.  Clear the bedside tables of clutter, put away the books and minutia from your kids. Fluff the pillows, vacuum up the cracker crumbs from the periphery of the frame.

Make your bed a cozy haven. Do the same for your kids beds or others in your house.  And, yes, I do know what a big task it is - we've got 7 beds here.  Sheet changing takes a few hours and leaves me in a sweat.

On your mark, get set, GO!

You only wish that you could be me

I'll try not to make you too envious.

Yesterday, I realized at 4:15 that I had to leave the house very quickly.  Mackenzie had to be at her Irish Dance class, 20 minutes away, at 4:30.  She ran out to the van when my mellifluous tones reached her ears.  Truly, I think I was singing.

I grabbed a water from the fridge and ran out to the van as fast as I could.  Cranking the engine and checking behind me, I made my way down the road.  Man, was I thirsty.  I picked up the bottle and opened the cap.

And the water, which was CARBONATED, as I'd grabbed the flavored seltzer, spewed a geyser out all over me, while I was traveling about 40 miles an hour on a four lane road. 

Don't envy me for my stunning talents.  You, too, can be classy, just like me.

You know you need a date with your husband when...

Scene: The woman stands at the sink, washing dishes - a place where she can be found more often than not.  Around her swirls chaos - barbie heads fly past her, lego towers tumble to the ground, and cereal crunches beneath her feet.  Two older children are bickering furiously.  The television piercingly wails the theme to That's So Raven, a song that the woman can, and has been know to, sing in her sleep.  The youngest child lays on the floor screaming and pounding her feet.  The woman makes a mental list of everything she must do in the next two days - the soccer games, laundry, the birthday party, which means a gift must be bought and wrapped.  Father's Day is coming, necessitating a gift purchase, medication needs refilling, there are four phone messages to return and the checkbook must be balanced. Doctor's appointments, school volunteering, and the woman has an evaluation at work in the next few days.  She's got a lot on her mind and is in no mood to be trifled with.

Enter The Hubster.  He looks around the house at the mess, the noise pounding at his ears and the children pounding at his feet.  He decides, brilliantly, to ask the woman if she'd been to the grocery store.  After all, he has no oatmeal.  This is, apparently, a tragedy.

"Where is my oatmeal?" 

" We are out." she explains.

He looks at her and blinks.  "What do you mean, we are OUT?  How could we be out?  Don't you keep track of this stuff?" he bellows. 

She looks at him and says, "I've got a lot on my mind.  It's not MY oatmeal, it's yours, so go get it yourself if you need it."

To which the man in question replies, "Dammit, Elizab-" and then he stops cold.  Clearly, he's made a gaff of enormous proportions, and he knows it.  His eyes meet those of the woman, and he shrugs, as if to say, "Oh, well. I goofed." 

For, you see, the name that he started to spout was that of his ex wife.  His defense, which was clearly non existant, was that he was angry.  And tired.  And feeling as if he wasn't that important, and maybe he'd need to make it up to the woman by taking her out to eat.  At somewhere very expensive.

__________________________

This story is true, and it is posted in hopes that I will be chosen as the winner of The Parent Bloggers newest contest, one that they are putting on in conjunction with marriage.eharmony.com - which is a fantastic alternative to marriage counseling.  What's the prize, you ask?  The opportunity to win a $100 American Express Gift Card to spend on a dinner date with your spouse/partner. And if that doesn’t cut it (because dinner with the kids is not really dinner), we’re including $100 to pay the babysitter. 

Sweet.