Sprite's Keeper

When you post your Christmas present opening photos on Facebook, I am totally judging your home.

You do it too.

I love this time of the year when the Internet is abuzz with "97 new photos" added to someones profile, along with the tantalizing teases of a three picture collage, a self promo to go ahead and click the link. "Check out Alison's new bracelet she got from Santa! And try to figure out if the paper carnage is due to recent unwrapping or someone forgetting to crop the photos to exclude the stacks of bills on the already overcrowded dining room table behind them!"

Sure, I love to see the pictures of the tree, the decorating, and the franzy of fresh faces opening their gifts, BUT...

I also look for the overbooked shelves, with titles half-hazardly strewn about, jockeying for space with a full DVD collection of Star Trek, Original, Enterprise, AND Deep Space 9. (If I got any of those titles wrong, I apologize. And don't care to learn my lesson because really?) I look for the tray tables stowed in the tight space between the couch and the wall.

Yeah, I can see it. Although, there are those, and I do write this in an almost transparent attempt to make you (and them) see the error of their ways, who make some semblance of an effort to clean up prior to the plastic packaging overload, and I see some beautiful trees, glittering with the character and brilliance only years of painstaking ornament buying, making, and saving can do, almost dwarfed by the smartly wrapped presents, big ticket items included, not a dust ball to be seen around it.

Those same people then tend to forget that the pictures aren't ALL going to be taken right in front of the tree as the kids will most likely migrate to the couch or farther, away from the wrapping evidence of earlier presents uncovered, and those subsequent pictures will include Grandma's not quite covered legs due to a robe malfunction or a sneak shot of Buster's beagle butt or even those bins of crap that should have been in a garage sale eight months ago stacked to the ceiling and photo bombing Junior's excited unwrapping of his light saber. In green. To match the red one he got last Christmas.

And then, it gets worse. One particular photo essay was so awful, I cringed, yet had to keep clicking just to remind myself that my home is NOT as bad as it gets. The photos were innocent enough, people showing off their new toys and games, but how could the poster not see the extremely soiled carpet just under their feet? Or the proud picture of the cat sitting on the dining room table, just inches away from Christmas dinner, the entire set up right in front of obviously shoved knick knacks, DVD's, and maybe even another cat, pushed to the wall to make way for company? Or even the really inappropriate clothes they're wearing? (And in some cases, maybe that should read *not enough clothes*.)

How could they not see it when I CAN???

Maybe I'm being harsh.

Okay, I'm definitely being harsh, but this should be considered an open letter to anyone posting pictures or video onto Facebook to show the general public. Just because your daughter /son /wife /husband /pet /car is the cutest thing on God's green earth, this doesn't mean the viewer isn't going to observe the surroundings in the same photo and critique the hell out of it.

Just "proofsee" the picture before you post it. (Yes, I made that up. You're welcome.)

I'll even throw myself under the bus here.

I posted the following photos on the first night of Hanukkah:

This is a menorah I received back in 2000 from my parents. You can see the present Sprite was trying to give me in the background, as well as a clothes hanger, and some artwork, not bad for a dining room table.

Here's the same menorah, now tweaked with Sprite's first present of Hanukkah. Notice how the gift and hanger are gone, yet replaced with a burnt out light bulb. (John was in the middle of changing it out when I snapped this.) Yes, there's things on my dining room table, but obviously temporary. And no stains on the cloth. (That can be important. Especially when there's company.)

Now, if I post another picture next year and you see the same bulb sitting there, then you can point the finger..
 

The Aftermath

A comment came in from Jenn over at Flights of Fancy reminding me to buy another car seat for Sprite since it was in the van during the impact. And she's right. It should be common knowledge, but it's not, that any car seat in a vehicle that is involved in a crash, whether or not the car seat is occupied, whether or not the hit is in the vicinity of the car seat, needs to be replaced.

The funny thing about the car seat was that we had just installed a new booster seat for Sprite and she was in the process of moving from the five point harness to the seatbelt assisted booster when the accident occurred. Yes, both seats were in the vehicle at the time. (She's above the height/weight/age requirement for using the booster seat, so I reluctantly loosened my grip on the five point which I loved.) Therefore, I submitted a claim for BOTH seats.

The Geico representative actually called Graco right in front of me to see if the car seats should be replaced or not. (Here's how much I love the Graco customer service, I could hear the woman laughing through his cell phone as she told him in no uncertain terms, ANY CAR SEAT INVOLVED IN A LOSS SHOULD BE REPLACED.)

The accident happened on a Saturday. We replaced the car seats on Monday. We got our money back the following Friday.

*********************

You never realize how much life you live inside your car until it's involved in a wreck. (Or you are taking it to a carwash and need to empty it out before the detailer runs across your bank statement or the wadded Taco Bell wrappers you were too embarassed to throw out at home or at your job since people would see what kind of crap you really eat so you stuffed them under the seat to surrepticiously throw them out on your way into the grocery store, but conveniently forgot about them. Yeah, you know who you are.)

John and I traveled the forty miles to the tow yard (hooray for police and tow yard rotations when there was another tow yard within 3 miles of the scene and yet, because it was Saturday and it was this guy's turn, we got to take a bonus trip three cities down to release the van) and saw the "blue car" in the morning sunlight, taking stock of the damages we hadn't noticed before, the smashed windshield, the opened knee bolster airbag which had caused an enormous ugly bruise on John's left leg, just how far the damage traveled through the body of the vehicle, pushing the fender into the driver door, but stopping just before the entire engine compartment could get pushed into the cabin. Again, John and Sprite were very lucky.  But that's another tangent. We were there to release the van to the at fault company, Geico, and gather our belongings. Things that I would normally throw away, old drawings that look like a hundred others that Sprite's done at school, a scratched Michael Buble CD, Sprite's princess dress that she wore to Chik-fil-a for Princess Night and promptly tore while monkeying around in the play area, a broken crown, her purse filled with little odds and ends that only a four year old understands, or maybe three year old, honestly, I couldn't remember just how long it had been there, things I would normally not really consider, I was suddenly saving since I thought she would want that little doll, the same doll she had been given at a family event and subsequently forgot about that very day, or drawings made so much more special since they had survived such a hit.

Suddenly, things that I normally would roll my eyes at, consider too dramatic, too poetic for the reality of it all, even the damn car, clawed at my heart strings. I guess what I'm trying to say here is items seem to take on a life of their own when you realize what you've lost.

You also realize how truely messy you actually are.

*************************

Sunday morning after the accident found us gathered in front of John's computer and looking at options for another vehicle. We had had a 2007 Dodge Grand Caravan, top of the line, bought new thanks to the APR and payment schedule. We used that van for everything, our frequent trips to Disney, journeys across state to see family, weekend jaunts around town just because it was roomy and we could avoid the "he/ she's touching me" game. Yes, even with one child, that game still exists.

Now, even though the van was great for, say, sudden urges to buy out IKEA and still find a way to get the oversized boxes home, the transmission was wonky, typical for Dodge at the time. Or the console lights burned out within a year, and no one could figure out how to break into them to change them, even the Dodge dealership we bought it from (which has since closed), the right window kept fritzing until they finally had to replace the regulator motor, and my absolute favorite, "there's a freon pool on the front passenger side floor". All pretty common issues with the brand. So, it wasn't a shock to hear John say "I hate the Dodge" sometimes.

He would watch the Honda Odysseys drive by with their sleek and controversial lightning bolt designs on the doors and vow to become a strictly Honda household again. (Our 2003 Accord still drives like a dream.)

Naturally, when Sunday came, he asked me what I wanted. My answer was "I want my car back." So, he showed me the bells and whistles behind the Odyssey since we both agreed we still needed the room not afforded by a sedan, and I'm against top heavy SUV's. A few days of visiting the dealership and even looking into "certified" Hondas later, we still couldn't find a price we were willing to pay or even could afford. (We were trying to match the payments to the Dodge since we knew that was in our strict budget.)

Toyota wasn't helping either with the ramped up price tag which honestly covered a lot of plastic interior. Tacky look for Toyota.

I began thinking of the saftey behind the "hated" Dodge and how I had seen the skid marks on the road, which showed that when John hit the other car and the Dodge turned sharply to where it came to a final rest facing Northbound in the Southbound lanes, the marks on the road proved that BOTH front wheels stayed on the ground. The airbags had deployed and saved John from a worse injury. The seatbelt did its job, even the annoying audible ding that the dash made when someone in the front wasn't buckled in which had John buckling his belt all the time when before that, he was an intermittent rule follower.

Taking stock of my concerns, he looked again into the Dodge brand and realized we would be able to basically get exactly what we had before, just newer, and make the same payments we had been making. He also looked into Edmunds and Consumer Reports, confirming that the issues we couldn't stand about the prior vehicle were fixed in the newer models.

John went to the new dealership and took a look, doing the research on the prices, using Costco and some buying guides online, then I came in and test drove it that evening. Within 2 hours of stepping foot in the dealership, we were able to get the price we wanted without haggling, and came out the owners of a 2011 Chrysler Town and Country. Basically, a glorified Dodge, without the rear DVD, but with enough interesting gadgets to make John happy.

Sprite's only concern in the entire thing was that it should be a blue car. Give or take a slight hue difference, it is in fact a blue van, so she's happy with it, content to use her iPod during trips and is actually learning to share the radio with me now.

***********************

Accidents take a toll on everyone, emotionally speaking.

While we've had a few weeks to get used to the "new blue car", I still bite my lip from cursing out the other driver for basically gauranteeing us five more years of car payments when we were about a year away from paying off the Dodge and being completely car payment free.

For a family that fights tooth and nail to get to "debt free", our deadline has been forced pushed back.

Yes, I understand that what we're paying in return is so small compared to what could have happened, but what really irks me is that twenty seconds would have stopped the entire chain of events from going down. Twenty seconds that the other driver took to let John pass by in the right lane before he had the clear road to cross, would have stopped John from being injured, would have stopped Sprite from hurting her shoulder, from seeing her daddy being taken away in an ambulance, from being afraid of being in the car in the dark, from being in the dark in her own safe home, something she had outgrown.

If the other driver had been patient, John and Sprite would have finished their date night, and Sprite wouldn't shudder at the word "date", like her eyes widened when I told her this last Saturday, while my parents were visiting, that Daddy and I were going out on a date. She immediately said, "don't get into an accident". Because this is how four year olds associate words and emotions.

If the other driver had been patient, we would be rolling along still in our sometimes "hated" Dodge, happily looking forward to the end of payments and our next oil change.

Thanks, driver of the Toyota. Yes, your baby may have been involved too, but your baby is too young to remember it, to cringe whenever we pass another accident scene, to ask why it happened or how, to question your complete lack of judgement that encouraged you to take that chance in the first place.

My baby will always remember it.

*********************

Okay, that's enough ranting, but I do feel better about things. Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.

Oh! And Susan and I did get to see Harry Potter the next day. We even used the tickets we weren't able to use the night before. When I explained the situation to the movie theater manager, he said, "Oh, THAT accident? I heard about that, that was your husband?"

Looks like John was famous for being part of the hold up that was making people late for Harry's opening weekend.

No wonder I still feel like going all Voldemort on the other guy's ass..

Tangled

Many commenters on Friday's Spin Cycle touched on a topic that is an ongoing battle in our house.

 

The HAIR.

 
 

This is a common position assumed in our daily lives. Usually, it's Sprite and me. John has taken the helm (hair) in rare times when I am at work or my hands have been chopped off. (One or the other. Never at the same time.)

The hair is the reason Sprite alone is the posessor of five hairbrushes. One is kept in our bathroom, one is kept in our van, and the other three she thinks she's being slick with since I'll find them hanging from her life size Rapunzel doll's mane or crammed into her dresser, buried under winter sweaters. It's too bad she doesn't realize that just covering the bristles won't make the handle of the brush disappear. Stupid technicalities.

She complains all the time when I begin the process of combing 2+ feet of hair. "Ow, you're hurting me."

"We haven't started yet."

"Oh.. well, I'm practicing for when it does."

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

I had long hair myself once. Back in high school, my hair reached beneath my tailbone. I had to pull it out of the waistband of my jeans when getting dressed. Every night, I had to tie it in a ponytail then add more bands to my hair in descending order so even the tail itself wouldn't tangle as I slept. During my cross country days in 10th grade, I was forced to braid it then loop it so it wouldn't constantly whack against my back as I struggled to maintain last place in whatever race I was running. I learned early on that the best way to brush long hair is to gather it in your hand and use the other to brush out from there, thus sparing your roots from feeling the pull when you encounter the inevitable knot that always shows up or the occasional nesting bird.

I use this same technique on Sprite every time. But alas, she still complains, mostly because she knows her daddy will automatically assume I'm methodically ripping her hair out strand by strand and rush to her aid with detangler spray amidst my cries of fraud, "Trust me, I'm not hurting her!"

Now, the long hair is her idea. Even before Disney decided to shove its proverbial foot even farther into our home (and wallets) with the latest Princess movie, Sprite has been keen on long hair. She has gotten trims, although we mostly stick to bangs (home cuts). I've offered to cut her hair before, every time, she's declined.

Every time I wash her hair, (another long process since wetting her hair is a mirage. You think you got it wet, but you barely skimmed the surface. While the outer layer looks damp, just brush it aside and you'll see the second level is bone dry. Otters would KILL for her kind of water protection. Our BEAGLE is jealous. Dumping bucket after bucket of wet on her head is the only way to go. Let's not discuss rinsing the shampoo out. Conditioner, you say? Two in one, honey. I can only suffer through it once in a night.), I offer again to cut it.

Nope. Not gonna do it. Won't even entertain the offer. I've gone as far as to promote the rockin' style Rapunzel herself has when Flynn chops all of her hair off at the end of the movie, um, spoiler alert, uh uh.

So, we've reached a truce. As long as she wants the hair that goes down to there, and there, and over there, it has to be brushed every morning and every night. Usually, it ends up in a braid for the night since that is the surefire way to avoid tangles.

Sometimes, I even get adventurous with the little plastic ties.

 

That was before dance class a few weeks ago.

 

Her teacher's comment upon Sprite coming in for some tap time?

"Oh, Sprite! So THAT'S what you look like!"

You mean I could have been sending in some other kid all this time and she would have never known?

I would have still been paying tuition, so no win there..

 

 

Political conversations at 11:30 PM are never a good idea..

I'm tired of being called a liberal whackjob.

Granted, I did introduce myself as "John's liberal wife" when John brought over his "conservative friend" and her loony husband who immediately insulted all Democrats in general, and that was the first five words out of his mouth, but that was only to wipe the shit eating grin off his face. He laughed, pounded John on the back and hooted, "She's a feisty one!" before making some comment about how I must have been good at other things for my poor husband to keep me around.

Yeah, I'm good at forming an educated opinion.

Schmuck.

My point is simply this: I vote the way I want to see the country evolve, whether it be Republican or Democrat. I have switched sides without guilt when casting my ballot since I tend to vote for the lesser of the two evils. And yes, both sides have a lot of evil.

Immediately after the Arizona shootings, left and right finger pointers were at the ready, bringing up Sarah Palin's map of crosshairs and correlating it to a hit list. Even I, on Sunday, brought it to John's attention, saying that politics should be more careful about what they put out there. I would have to wonder, if she had brought that map before a public relations group prior to posting it on her site, would their recommendation have been "have you thought about flowers or hearts instead of targets?"

Are they related? How would I know? The only person who knows for sure is sitting in a twelve by twelve, and he's not talking.

But the sides began pointing fingers immediately.

I'm tired of being cast as "one of them" if I admit to favoring the D over the R. If I were Republican, I would still feel the same. I think both sides are guilty of fear mongering. I think the media as a whole is guilty of feeding us fear in great big supersized portions while reporting in other news that New York City Mayor Bloomberg is banning salt in restaurants.

DId you know the government is taking over our country?

(Did you know we asked them to?)

Before 9/11, "smaller government, more freedom, don't control me, don't lord over my life, don't decide for me."

After 9/11, "protect me, stop people from getting into our country, even if it stops me from leaving, keep me safe, sure, you can have a few of my liberties to make that happen.."

"Ban smoking! Make it illegal! No smoking in public areas anywhere in the city, beaches, parks!"

"What do you mean, you're banning salt in restaurants? It should be MY decision on whether or not I put a double cheeseburger into my mouth, not yours!"

We are a country of contradictions.

 I do find it sad, yet amusing that I tune in to The Daily Show for most of my political nutrition, people claim he's a liberal pusher, but I've seen him slam everyone with glee.

And he's nice to look at.

(Comments closed. Not because I don't want to hear your opinion, but because I want to give you five more seconds of your day today to have to yourself. You're welcome.)

The Surhlrig's connected to the Skampergrout, the skampergrout's connected to the Pilafruel..

(That song is very popular in Sweden..)

There are five stages of building an IKEA furniture piece:

1. Eagerness. Ha! The box just opened and I can already see how this will go together. Even Sprite could figure this out! I should send John out to the garage for a mallet and then have it completely done by the time he gets back. He'll be so impressed. Hell, I'm impressed with just the dream sequence..

2. Frustration. Hold on here. I thought the long piece was supposed to go in first. It looked like it should in the photo. So why is the instruction manual telling me to do it another way? Who wrote this thing? And why are they relying on just an allen wrench to hold a hundred pound wood puzzle together?

3. Anger. Right. Like tapping the shelf with my hand lightly will magically push it into place. Do you like that, IKEA? Does the redness of my hands and my now swollen right pinkie finger make you beam with pride that while you make cheap furniture, you make us PAY IN BLOOD? DO YOU LIKE IT?!?!?!?!

4. Bargaining. Come on, man! You're a screw! You're supposed to go into the hole! Are you seriously going to be the one thing that messes up my entire night? It's all riding on YOU. Just do this one thing for me. Just this one! You OWE ME.

5. Acceptance. Eh. Close enough. A sharpie should color that gash in nicely as long as people look at it in passing. I'll just tell John to push that side towards the wall. And not stand too close to it. Or breathe in its general direction. In fact, we rarely use this room. It may be best to turn the door into a window..

I'm sure the guy who invented wooden dowels is extremely wealthy. (And pays someone else to assemble the furniture those little fuckers accessorize.)

 As you can probably guess, we're re-doing John's office. Before and after shots a-coming and all of this is happening for under four hundred dollars. (I'll even tell you how it was spent.) (Not to boast, this took months to save for and years for me to beg for, but to instead inspire. Nothing was sponsored. We paid for it all.)

So, while my hands and temper are still calming down, (one more bookshelf to build and that one is the mother of all bookcases) (storage shouldn't be a problem anymore, in fact, we may have to rent out a few cubbies just to make them look occupied) I hope you all have a wonderful Tuesday, check out the randomness that is RTT over at The Un Mom, and don't forget, tomorrow is the last day of the Tangled give away! Get yourself counted and possibly get yourself a t-shirt to boot!

I'll announce the winner (or winners?) on Thursday.

It's like giving up my citizenship.

I didn't vote yesterday.

I know. I hate me too.

It was a brutal race this year for the state of Florida. Our current governor, excuse me, former governor, decided to voluntarily vacate his top spot and try for a Senate seat, losing supporters and gaining the nickname "Flip Flop" for his wavering decisions and party affiliations.

I'd like to say I ran out of time. I didn't. I just kept putting it off. John walked through the door at 6:40PM to greet me at the stove while I stood watch over dinner. (It didn't go anywhere.)

"Did you vote?"

"Oy."

"Well, I'm going to."

He even took Sprite with him. For moral support, I'm sure.

While they were gone, I turned on the news and listened as the anchors predicted who would walk away with a win and who would run with it.

Some candidates were leading that I didn't believe should, but I'm not going to complain about it. It's my fault they won. It's my fault and millions of other people's who "ran out of time", "too busy", "didn't feel like it", or "felt like their vote wouldn't count", we're the ones to blame for the way the race turns out, especially if the race turns out the way we don't want it to.

It's our votes that don't count. It's our votes that help the "other guy" get the victory. It's our votes that don't push this country forward.

We don't deserve the right to complain about who won. We don't deserve the right to debate politics when we don't take an active part in it.

So that's my part in it all. I didn't have a part, and while I thought it wouldn't bother me so much, after the fact, it does. Greatly.

I am proud of John for making it a point to get his vote counted. He came home proclaiming to be the last one at our polling place to hang a chad before they shut the doors.

 

Sprite voted too. If only to extend bedtimes in our county. I believe that ballot lost by a landslide, but she did do her part by campaigning. Poor dogs..

Memories of Rick

My Monday got off to a keen start.

John kept a sick Sprite home for the day and I had the luck of actually reaching the office before I finished my coffee, a rare feat which made the drive that much smoother added to the fact that I wasn't battling a three-year-old for -and losing- control of the radio/ dvd player. Already, a wonderful beginning to a beautiful day.

Then, taking a quick break from the daily toil, I clicked onto ABC News to see this.

Let me take you back, folks. Back to the late 80's, in my Girl Scout days, being shuffled forward by our pack leader Andrea, meeting a young television news reporter by the name of Rick Sanchez at one of the local events in my city, which was still considered a "town" back then. I had the honor of shaking his hand and being told, by his truly, that I was lucky to be meeting him since someday he was going to be a big deal.

I hated him right away. In fact, my mutterings as he walked off to preen for the camera may have been, "What a jerk."

And it only took twenty-something years for his prediction to come true.

From the "lowly" field reporter spots, he finally made the coveted anchor chair on WSVN Channel 7 a few years after our meeting (which he remembers, of course), however, the station he was working for was more known for it's "sensational" take on the news. (The color yellow was frequently associated with their coverage.) They could have matured their content since then, but I stopped watching long before I left Fort Lauderdale, so I shouldn't be quoted on that.

When Hurricane Andrew came about in 1992, devastating the Miami/ Homestead area, everyone else was hunkered down in their spots of safety listening to Brian Norcross, a meteorologist on the local CBS station, who actually became widely known, and regarded as a hero, for his coverage during the storm and all the help and much needed comforting voice that he offered to Floridians who were literally one mattress away from complete exposure to the storm as their homes caved around them.

Lucky us, the only channel that came across in our home was WSVN and Mr. Rick Sanchez, who was the network's choice to run this coverage. I'll never forget watching with my dad, laughing my fifteen year old fool head off as he proclaimed sometime in the middle of the night, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are in the middle of a major earthquake."

Really?

I've watched his career move from WSVN to MSNBC to CNN, not with interest, mind you, but only when his name would come up in the headlines for making some big mistake or mispronunciation here and there, like that one time? when he mistook the Galapagos Islands for Hawaii? yeah, that was fun..,  always going back to that momentary greeting when his big hand took my small one and promised me he would be the biggest thing ever and I was so lucky to be standing in that spot at that time.

Lucky lucky me.

Well, Rick Sanchez got his wish. He is a big deal now. Making headlines over all the major news sites, except the one he just got fired from. Really big deal.

Somehow, I don't get the feeling that this was the big deal he wanted to be known for...

(Being Jewish, some people may believe my being tickled about the rise and fall of Rick Sanchez is because of his comments about Jews not deserving to be considered a minority group. Actually, no. I believe his comments, as ignorant, and stupid, as they were, were trying to make the comparison that his background was more tragic than Jon Stewart's, and it just came out REALLY WRONG. But seeing as this guy has his own personal history of tasting shoe leather, it was past time he was called out for it.)

Sometimes I need to be reminded that I'm grateful. And some people just need a swift kick in their morals.

Facebook is becoming toxic.

Just this afternoon, I logged on and found on the Live Feed this status update:

"SHAME on you America: the only country where we have homeless without shelter, children going to bed without eating, elderly going without needed meds, mentally ill without treatment, & military without support in the middle east - yet we have a benefit for the people of Haiti on 12 TV stations?! 99% of people won't have the GUTS to copy and repost this"

I am starting to see these pop up more and more, the cynical opinion of someone who doesn't like the community uprising to help another community in need. Unfortunately though, this isn't the person's opinion, it's a re-post they adopted and strung up in a manner to show everyone "Look at me! I can swim against the tide!" Instead, it shows others like me that it's meant to impress that this person is not only not thinking for themselves, they are allowing their virtual mouths to spew someone else's words of ignorance.

I am well aware of this country's situation and the poverty that is just outside our doors. I find it hard to believe that a majority of us are not feeling the hot breath of the recession just beyond our safety zones, fearful of it closing in and striking to steal away whatever we may have built with the loss of a job or a mortgage we just can't sustain any longer since the economy can't sustain us. I live in fear of it myself. And unless you're sitting on a pile of cash right now, you probably are as well.

But we have programs. We have possibilities. We have opportunities. And yes, we have shelters. Most of all, we have a way of obtaining food, medicine, and warmth through channels. Haiti was without most of this BEFORE the earthquake.

I commented on this person's status, mostly because I can't help myself, but also because I felt I had the guts to tell her what I thought about "her" opinion:

"Granted, we need to internalize some of our charity, but I think at this moment right now, the people of Haiti are in greater need of emergency medicines, food, supplies. Have you seen the news? The destruction? The reduction from almost nothing to less than nothing?"

I'm pretty sure she watches the news. I'm also pretty sure she feels this status will show her patriotic side. Funny, I felt pretty damn patriotic when I saw the tally that America had been able to gather in an effort to help Haiti.

I'm taking a page from the book of John. I'm un-friending her immediately along with any other people who copy and paste these "re-posts". She reminded me that I am grateful to be where I am, have what I have. I'm grateful to give what I can. She also reminded me that ignorance is very much alive and well and thrives within those who don't look at all sides of the issue before casting judgement.

UPDATE* Maybe it is a good thing to defend those who need it. She took down her status. Maybe we should ALL start speaking out more against injustice and ignorance. Being one of the quiet will only make the haters' voices louder. Raise your voice. Start a new trend.

Oh, JOY! I got my first troll!

During the weekend, I typically stay away from the blogosphere to focus on important things like family, life, and defending my homestead from aliens. (Or at least the aliens that I'm SURE will be attacking since John has started DVR'ing alien type shows with fervor.) While most bloggers do the same since according to the average family, the weekend is the only time everyone is together and the kids can't get pawned off on daycare, I will usually log back in on Sunday night to write up Monday's post, catch up on everyone else's weekend efforts, and check on any comments that may have come in while I was ignoring the virtual world at large.

So, Sunday night, since you read in the previous paragraph that I check in on Sundays, I logged on and caught up with the blogging world (not too busy, but traffic has been down since school started), checked People.Com (Omigod! Jon took money from Kate's account? That bastard!), and retreated back to my own little niche to find this:

"while the comments are closed i read your comments regarding your husbands playing wow and was just amazed.  On the one hand you complain that he plays but when he gets tossed out of the guild and stops playing some you find ways to get him back in the game.  In my opinion you have major issues and his retreat into a game is a direct reflection of his need to avoid your controlling temperament. 

Your controlling disposition will result in the end of your marriage.  You will blame all other things but the reality is you don't appreciate what you have rather you play the martyr than have a healthy relationship.  I sure hope your children do learn from you.

I would advise you to seek counseling asap in order to prevent your child from picking up you awful disposition."

The articles this commenter referred to was this one written back when I first addressed the "issues" I was having with WoW and then this one where I was trying to help John kick some guildmembers' collective asses for daring to banish him from raids because he didn't have enough experience. (Pardon me, but when did gaming require a resume?)

I thought I would ignore this person's comment considering the post WAS WRITTEN OVER A YEAR AGO and the post in question repeatedly reminds the reader that my comments are PLAYFUL. Hell, I even wrote a follow up on how John and I made our home life harmonious since I had received numerous comments from readers (mostly women) who were seriously at their wit's end with their partner's playing.

But this person's comment struck a chord with me. Because this person seemed confident that they had pegged me.

Researching my behavior based on two Wow related posts, two in a sea of at least 12 that are dedicated to John's online life, this commenter was able to verify that:

1. I have a controlling disposition. (He's right. Again, I'm assuming it's a he. I do have a controlling disposition when it comes to my own little world. I like things done a certain way and tend to "clench up" when it doesn't. Think of me as a brunette Kate Gosselin, but less, er, screamy. And I can poke fun at myself. So, hey! 1 for 1!)

2. I blame everyone but myself. (Hm, I'll have to disagree with you there, my friend. I am known for accepting my faults and apologize immediately when I am in the wrong. In fact, I apologize when I haven't heard someone correctly and need them to repeat themselves. The words "I'm sorry" are in the top ten of my life's word cloud, surrounded by others such as "seriously", "honestly", "Oy", and "meh". So, you're 1 for 2. 50% is still not bad!)

3. I don't appreciate what I have. (So I guess posts like this and this and this are just whims of what I want in my life? You must not be a regular reader or only played in one category assigned to World of Warcraft or you would have seen those posts. I'm gonna give you a no on this one, peaches.) (Oh, has anyone had the fresh peaches lately? WOW!) (And not THAT WoW..)

4. I 'd rather play the martyr. (Oh, no, my dear. Do you know just how much energy goes into that? I'm too tired from reality to take on everyone else's problems and make them my own. I have known many people in my life who tend to play victim and it's a lot more stressful than playfully bashing someone's gaming. I just don't have TIME.)

5. I need counseling. (Okay, this one I will give you as well. But then again, you need counseling too. Everyone needs counseliing. Everyone needs an outlet to unleash their emotions. good or bad, clear the mind, just talk out their lives, bring down the stress, bring up the ego. I'll tell anyone who has the insurance to take advantage of those free therapy visits even if they're not needed. It just feels good to TALK sometimes. Does my marriage need counseling? Nope. I'm not saying it won't down the road, I could never say that about anyone's marriage, including the Duggar's, but right now, my marriage is pretty damn fine. I married a good man, regardless of what online game he likes, and he's stuck with me, poor guy. So, our relationship is healthy, thanks.)

6. You hope my children learn from me. (I kinda got the feeling that you were being sarcastic.. You will find my own words peppered all over this site, oh, wait, my site, they're ALL my words!, that attest to the fact that I had hoped Sprite would come into this world with her father's laid back personality rather than my own which can run from as laid back as John to extremely regimented don't talk to me right now or I'll strike you down visually which usually only happens when you interrupt me during the Nord's time. Unfortunately, with no help from your wish, Sprite has proven that while she honors her father's side with her looks, her behavior channels me directly. And you know what? John LOVES it. Yes, you're right about this, but not the way you think you are.)

Thank you, he who has no URL but does have an email address. I will not be following up with you directly, because why? If you never come here again, I don't think I will worry as much about your well being as you apparently worry about mine. And even better justice? John is "on a break" from World of Warcraft! How's that for poetic irony? I've even asked him if he's sure that he doesn't want to play and he told me he's gone about as far as he can go with his character and just doesn't feel the magic right now. 

His choice, completely. But Sprite loves having the time with him and the extra time with me has only lengthened his time away from the WoW World. Allegedly, he actually LIKES hanging out with a controlling, obsessive shrew like me. 

All right, I think I'm done writing about World of Warcraft for a very long time. Sorry, dude, I just don't have any more material as long as John isn't playing. And for your own sake, you may want to check your own "opinions" before you unleash them in a venue where they can be used against you. I at least take responsibility for my words and I take it seriously. Seeing as you shoot before you aim shows some sloppy marksmanship in your judgement calls. And that's all I have to say about that.

So. how is everyone ELSE's Wednesday going?

And you can take THAT to the bank.

I like to typically keep things light and airy on this site, blog about life, the kid, and my view of the world. I try to keep any true snark out of the game because I don't believe in bitch-slapping anyone across the cyber-face when that sentiment can come back directly to me. So, nowhere in this site will you find any kind of finger-pointing, name calling, or hatred.

Until now.

Let me set the scene for you. We banked with Washington Mutual, we were happy with Washington Mutual, we were not happy to see Washington Mutual succomb to the horrors of the banking world. When good ole' WaMu was taken over by Chase, we thought, well, this is a big bank, surely we should get the same kind of service with them as we had with our friendly folks at Washington Mutual. We've now been with Chase for about a month and a half.

On Friday, right before we left for our Labor Day ANNIVERSARY trip to Disney World, yeah, that part is important, John deposited cash at our local Fort Myers branch, cash we had saved up to use solely on Disney World. The amount of cash is not important, but it was significant enough to fund our weekend, our ENTIRE weekend. After his direct transaction with a teller, which also included a small check, he then checked online later to confirm the entire amount was pending. It was. And the teller had confirmed the entire amount would be available on Saturday morning. Good enough, right?

On Saturday, firmly esconsed in all things Disney and dropping some of the loose cash we had already budgeted to spend on fun stuff for the kid, John then checked our bank account again to confirm the amount and make sure we were on track. Again, this money was to be spent on our vacation, we had no intention of using anything else. Relaxing in our hotel room before dinner, he discovered, to his shock and my horror, that the pending status was wiped away, gone. And so was the money.

Like it never happened. Like he never went to the branch. Like he never spent hours on end fixing computers on the side to make the money in the first place.

Immediately, he called the Chase customer service line and spoke to the Claims department where they could not see any past pending transactions, only current pending transactions. Nor could they verify anything because, guess what? The money is gone! Harry Houdini's traces are not this clean!

The rep sidestepped and tried to transfer John to the local branch since this was a "local branch matter". At 5PM. On a Saturday. John figured out quickly that this would be a dead end and refused to be transferred.

"Get a supervisor," I ordered, sitting on the other hotel bed with Sprite as she played with her new souveniers, not noticing her father's voice raising in frustration or my hands now wringing frantically as I heard through John's responses that he was getting NOWHERE with the Claims rep.

"I don't think you understand, I deposited that money in our local branch yesterday. Cash! It was pending in my account as of yesterday. How could it just disappear? Can't you see anything on your side?.............. I understand the branch isn't open until Tuesday, but this money was supposed to fund our vacation that we're on NOW.... No, I'm not home, I'm on vacation, out of town..... No, I didn't intend to use any credit cards. That's why I deposited the money with you!"

I heard him go round and round with the rep. This rep was very polite, but did not sympathize with our plight of possibly being stranded on vacation without money, being that we trusted our money with this bank, and they completely fucked up. That's right. For the first time ever on this site, I'm breaking out the F-bomb. Because that's the best and only way to put it. They absolutely positively 100% fucked up. CHASE fucked up.

We hung up feeling distressed and livid. After calling some family, we found out this has happened to John's father before with the same bank not too long ago. Now, I can understand the big world ratio of one in a million customers, but John's DAD? This isn't a friend of a friend of a cousin's estranged roommate, this is the man behind John's existence. That ratio is a little too high for our comfort.

Luckily, John had a receipt which he brought to our local branch this morning. As soon as the doors opened, he was in the branch manager's office. She apologized profusely, STILL could not explain the disappearance of the money, gave a PROVISIONAL credit, and promised to get their research team on it immediately.. Er, the research team is the claims department, the very department that tried to dismiss this as a "local branch matter". The fact that the receipt was handed over to prove that the money was deposited and the verification that the money never posted to the account was not enough to give him the money free and clear.

I can understand the bank's position. They wanted to know where the money went so they were tacking on a provision to the credit so they wouldn't just hand over money while they looked between their own couch cushions to find the dinero THEY dropped. But the bank should understand our position. That was OUR money you dropped. You owe us interest for the four days it took to credit the account correctly. You owe us for any interest this trip tacks onto our credit cards since we HAD TO RESORT to credit cards in order to EAT during our weekend. You owe us for the strain you put on our vacation and the new limits we had to set when that money was to guarantee there WOULD BE NO LIMITS. You owe us for the amount of times we had to tell our daughter "No" when she wanted something we couldn't buy since we were so worried about the "What if's" that could happen if you decided not to do anything about your screw up. I mean, you stole our money once already, right?

This should be seen as a warning to those who bank with Chase or are looking to open an account with them. THIS COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!!!!  We're researching new banks now to trust with our money.

Chase dropped the cash.

Chase dropped the ball.

Chase is a disgrace.

***Update! As John wrote in the comments, the missing transaction DID INDEED show up today in our account as if it just got lost on the way to the party with no explanation for its actions or why there's an additional 100 miles on the odometer. And the provisional credit is still there, so our account is still heavily unbalanced.
After speaking to one of the tellers, it turns out that all deposits, unless direct deposit, are entered into pending status for one business day with Chase. Cash does not qualify anything with this bank. Lesson learned.