C & S Mommy

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Quick pick me up

This is why I love the internet!


Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Raging Mad

Yesterday I attempted to take an exercise class at the YMCA. We aren't members yet but I got some free passes so I could try out some of the classes and decide if we want to join. I rushed around like a lunatic to get there. My dad came to watch the girls and off I went. Of course, I was running a little late so I raced there and rushed in practically running only to be told that they don't accept guest passes after 4 pm. I was so pissed I could have killed someone. I was going to call this morning and rip someone a new one but I decided that would probably not help anything so I wrote a letter. Here it is:

My husband and I have been looking into starting a membership at the YMCA for all facilities in Greensboro and canceling the current membership we have with another family gym. I received some passes to try out a few aerobics classes before we committed. Yesterday, I arrived at the Bryan family location and was told turned away quite rudely with a smirk and explanation that passes were not accepted after 4 PM. I studied the pass in my hand to see where that information was provided (as I am sure you know the information is not there) and was directed with the point of a finger to a sign apparently with this information. I did not bother to read the sign as my outrage over the situation and the way I was being treated would not allow me to stand there a moment longer.

One of the main reasons we have decided to join the YMCA is due to the core principles you encourage of caring, honesty, respect and responsibility. Yesterday, I was not treated with respect nor did your employee uphold her responsibility of taking a moment to care about my situation. My question to you is how are my husband and I supposed to determine if we would like to join your facility without first assessing the programs you offer? This is the opportunity I thought I was being provided when the passes were given to me. The stipulation of not being allowed into a class that does not take place until after 4:00 is unreasonable and counterproductive to the purpose of the pass. I am unsure how I can allow my daughters to be part of a place where there is a possibility they will be disrespected as I was yesterday. My hope is that this is an isolated event and my husband and I can sign our family up to be part of a community where they will find “worthwhile programs and meaningful experiences that make a positive difference in their lives.”

I trust there is a way this situation can be rectified for myself and others visiting your location. Thank you in advance for taking the time to address my concerns.

We will see what happens!

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Is it a male/female thing or just me?

Here is a simple scenario…I get into an argument with my sister. Since we fight pretty much the same, we of course sling ugly insults at each other for a few minutes. Each of us says what we need to on the topic and then we are done. Doors slam, phones get hung up with purpose, and that’s that. After a little while (a few hours, a day or so) we briefly talk about what it is we argued about. Now we have resolved whatever it was at the end of the actual fight but we do the whole “you were right…I shouldn’t have said…next time I will…” thing when things are calm. After that we are truly done.
With Keith it is a completely different story. We get into an argument. Usually something I start because Keith doesn’t have a confrontational bone in his body. We do not fight the same at all so I have to be very careful not to get too nasty because he won’t get nasty back and then we both feel bad. Eventually, with a lot of prodding on my part, we say what has to be said. Again, resolution at the end of the fight. We walk away or separate for our little cooling off period but he never gives me that final closure. At least he never initiates it. If/when I bring it up later it, more times than not, results in another argument over the same subject and the fact that he doesn’t seem to care. Stupid, I know. I sometimes watch myself when that happens and think Oh God! Shut up, you dumb nag! But I keep going like a starter gun has gone off and I can’t stop until I reach the finish line. The thing is I feel like I need that second part of the argument. Not the resolution because we have already reached that but the chance to hear the solution at a neutral moment for better processing. Am I the only one who does this? I don’t have a lot of friends that I see on a regular basis, as most of them live in another state, so save for the snide remarks I make to the cashier/pharmacy tech at Eckerd’s I don’t really argue with anyone else that I care about.
Maybe it is a family thing because my mom is like this too.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Shopping Nightmare

I am curious to know if I am the only young-ish, short, fat person who has a hard time shopping. By hard time I mean it is a complete and total horror show with me usually ending up in tears in the dressing room or in the car on the way home. I think it is a sick joke on the part of the clothes designers. There is no market for people who are not 18 but not 55 and not 5'5" and 110 lb. I don’t want to dress like my little sister who is 10 years younger than me and I don’t want to dress like my mom (no offense, mom!). And the sales people…
Okay here is some insight into my total hatred for shopping…I go to Old Navy to try to find a top. Is it just me or is everything pink or some kind of offensive pattern? I am more of a gray and black, maybe navy blue, kind of girl, of which I don't see anywhere. Not a good start. As I walk around the store I notice that everything is itty bitty or just not attractive. Finally I came across what looks to be the perfect top on a mannequin. Big enough to cover my post baby blubbery stomach but not so big that it looks like I bought it at the tent sale at Dick’s Sporting Goods. And just as a bonus it is not pink! Dare I get excited?? No, because I can’t find the display of shirts anywhere. Desperate, I seek out a sales person to help me. As I round a corner I am assaulted by first-day-on-the-job-so-I-am-not-yet-jaded Miss Young and Perky Salesperson. She is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. I tell her that I need to find the shirt that is on the mannequin. She looks like she might break into a cheer and do some sort of tumbling sequence over to that part of the store. She doesn’t have a clue so as she guides me around the store she consults her little mind file of recent training tools and asks, “Who are you shopping for today?” So with a tooth-grinding smile I answer that the top is for me. Well this stops Miss Young and Perky in her tracks. She then changes direction and leads me to the plus size section of the store and tells me that I will probably have better luck finding something here. Before a snide comment can cross my lips she adds that the other store in Greensboro also has a maternity section. I stare stupidly into her smiling expectant face and stammer out a thank you. She skips off oblivious to the fact that she just annihilated what little self-esteem I strive to hold onto. So I leave Old Navy with no shirt and my pride limping behind me. I wonder if that tent sale is going on at Dick's?

Friday, July 22, 2005

Big Girl Decision

Four days ago, Cecilia tells me that she needs a haircut and I need to call Mardi. She is mainly saying this because she has heard me say it about two dozen times since May. Then she throws me completely off guard by telling me she wants to really cut her hair. “Mommy, I would like to cut my hair like Dora the Explorer and Lucy from 64 Zoo Lane.” Of course, I turn around expecting to see that little devilish smile she gets when she teases me. But there she is looking at me intently. So I calmly say, “well if we cut your hair off then you won’t be able to touch it to your butt.” I am pretty proud of myself for coming up with such an easy deterrent since the child loves to lean back and sweep her hair back and forth across her butt (and I wanted to grab her and scream NO! Please don’t cut your hair! Not yet!). Cecilia walks up to me and hugs my leg and says, “Don’t worry mommy it will grow back. Hair always grows back.” She is four! And here she is being mature and logical totally sensing that on the inside I am freaking out. Now the issue here is not the actual hair cutting. I have had my hair every length and color over the years. In fact, I rarely got upset over a haircut (except the one time when I was 14 and the girl cut my hair in a Dorothy Hamil on crack style with bangs that were so short they actually stuck straight out from head instead of laying down on my forehead) and have been known to say “it is just hair, it will grow back.” Yes, my butt is still sore from those words coming back to bite me. The thing I am struggling with is that my baby is making a permanent decision all by herself. I have not suggested that she cut her hair. She hasn’t been around anyone recently who has gone from long hair to short. So I tell her okay that I will call. Then I wait a couple of days thinking if I ignore it, it will go away. Then she asks me again if it is time to go see Mardi and get her hair cut. I break down and call hoping that there will be no available appointments until next week so I can wait that much longer. “How is tomorrow at 9:30?” I want to hang up but instead I hear myself say we will be there and rattle off my phone number. 9:30 comes blink of the eye quick. Mardi, being a mother herself, knows that this is traumatic for me. I stand next to Cecilia as she kicks excitedly in the chair with a huge cape around her, her blonde hair reaching past the top of the chair. I can’t help but smile. Back goes the hair in a ponytail and out come the scissors. I wonder if it will scar Cecilia to see me cry over her first real haircut. With every snip of the scissors I see my baby turning into a little girl. Proudly, I did not cry. Despite Cecilia’s usual favorite pastime of looking in the mirror, she could not take her eyes off herself. Mardi takes the cape off and Cecilia launches herself into my arms for a quick snuggle. “I love you mommy.” Okay…so maybe she still is my baby.