Privacy. Alone time. Time to just be who we are, in the moment. Of course, not everyone needs it. Some people do not know how to be alone, nor do they want to be. For others, it can be a necessary part of life, and often very elusive.
When you move in with someone, you have to expect that you will lose a certain amount of privacy, and I confess I had a hard time with that when I got married. My husband didn’t feel the same need for alone time so he had some difficulty understanding why I needed it. And of course, when you have kids, it all pretty much goes out the window anyway. It’s not like when I was a child and my bedroom was my sanctuary where I could listen to music, or read a book, and no one bothered me. When you are a wife and mother, someone always finds you!
Eventually I came to the realization that the only place I could truly be alone was the bathroom! Bubble baths became my haven. I would sink into a warm bath, open up whatever book I was reading…it was bliss! However, even this didn’t always work. When they were young, my children took any closed door as a sign that there was something fun happening on the other side, if only they could get to it. As soon as they saw the closed bathroom door, they began knocking and calling my name and wondering why they couldn’t come in? I would suddenly see little tiny hands underneath the door, wiggling their fingers at me. “Can you see my hand Mommy?” If I explained that Mommy was in the tub and couldn’t open the door, they would just sit patiently on the other side of it and talk to me until I finally gave in and got out of the tub. If I suggested that their father would love to be spending time with them right then, it fell on deaf ears. Eventually, I just stopped closing the door.
As my kids grew, I regained my bathroom/bubble bath sanctuary….until I got a dog. If I close the bathroom door (or the bedroom door, or really any door) and Rascal is on the other side of it, he immediately wants in! I don’t think his reasoning is the same as my kid’s was. I don’t imagine he feels he might be missing out on something fun. I think he just fears that if I disappear on the other side of the door, I might not come back. What can I say, he has abandonment issues. If I go into the bedroom or bathroom and close the door, he will paw at it until it is opened. If I ignore him long enough, he will bark at the door. When I finally open it he will look at me as if to say, “Was that really so hard?” He doesn’t need any attention; he just wants to be close by and will lie on the floor until I’m ready to move somewhere else in the house. If I’m having a bubble bath he will lie on my bed so he can still see me, but far enough away in case I suddenly lose my mind and try to give him a bath too!
All in all, the system works pretty well and I can still be almost alone with a good book. The other night my daughter had taken Rascal out for a late walk so I was really and truly alone in my bubble bath reading my book. I even had a glass of wine sitting on the side of the tub! It was amazing. I was just taking my first sip of wine when the bedroom door flew open and seconds later my daughter and Rascal were both standing in the bathroom doorway.
I thought maybe if I ignored them, they would go away. It was a fleeting thought.
“Rascal has a tick by his nose!” Kate informed me. I looked up from my book.
“Come here Rascal. Come show Mommy!” she walked over to the tub, dog in tow. Rascal dutifully put his paws on the edge of the tub so I could get an up close and personal look at what was indeed a tick beside his nose.
“Alright, I’ll get out in a minute and deal with the tick” I said.
“Cool”.
The two of them walked back into my bedroom and sat on the bed, waiting. Sigh. The fingers might be bigger, but they’re still wiggling under the door!
Monday, July 15, 2013
Thursday, July 11, 2013
The Royal We
If television is to be believed…and, I mean, come on..everything on television is true… then the concept of the “Royal We” was first used by Queen Victoria of England. Apparently she liked to say things such as “WE are not amused!” when referring to how she felt. This concept was later adopted by hospital nurses everywhere. Example: “And how are WE feeling today?” You see what I mean?
I’ve noticed recently that its usage seems to be on the rise. However, it seems to take two distinct forms. Case in point: A co-worker plopped herself down in the chair on the other side of my desk and said, “WE have a problem!”
“Okay, what is “our” problem?” I asked.
“All of these invoices got posted in the wrong period and messed everything up! Bob is freaking out! WE need to figure out how to fix it.”
“Hmmm…let me see if I understand this. YOU posted the invoices in the wrong period, and YOU need to find a way to fix them?” I questioned.
She replied, apparently oblivious to my emphatic pronoun: “Yes, exactly. How are WE going to fix this mess?”
This is what I refer to as the “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me” use of the Royal WE. This is most commonly employed by mid level employees and small children with younger siblings.
The other common usage I’ve noticed is the attempt made by someone to hijack credit that does not belong to them. For example, you are having friends over for dinner and decide to try a new, complicated dish. One of your guests compliments you and before you can say thank you, your husband pipes up and says “Oh, it’s nothing. WE thought it would be nice to try something different, so WE looked at a few recipes and WE decided to go with this one.”
Really? Were you even in the house when any of this happened? Because I’m pretty sure you were out golfing while I was slaving away in the kitchen coming up with this! That is when you want to smile sweetly and say something like, “Yes honey. Tell everyone how WE came up with this recipe!”, then watch him squirm. But that would be childish, and I would never resort to that! : )
I’ve noticed recently that its usage seems to be on the rise. However, it seems to take two distinct forms. Case in point: A co-worker plopped herself down in the chair on the other side of my desk and said, “WE have a problem!”
“Okay, what is “our” problem?” I asked.
“All of these invoices got posted in the wrong period and messed everything up! Bob is freaking out! WE need to figure out how to fix it.”
“Hmmm…let me see if I understand this. YOU posted the invoices in the wrong period, and YOU need to find a way to fix them?” I questioned.
She replied, apparently oblivious to my emphatic pronoun: “Yes, exactly. How are WE going to fix this mess?”
This is what I refer to as the “If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me” use of the Royal WE. This is most commonly employed by mid level employees and small children with younger siblings.
The other common usage I’ve noticed is the attempt made by someone to hijack credit that does not belong to them. For example, you are having friends over for dinner and decide to try a new, complicated dish. One of your guests compliments you and before you can say thank you, your husband pipes up and says “Oh, it’s nothing. WE thought it would be nice to try something different, so WE looked at a few recipes and WE decided to go with this one.”
Really? Were you even in the house when any of this happened? Because I’m pretty sure you were out golfing while I was slaving away in the kitchen coming up with this! That is when you want to smile sweetly and say something like, “Yes honey. Tell everyone how WE came up with this recipe!”, then watch him squirm. But that would be childish, and I would never resort to that! : )
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Dinner Conversation...May 27, 2013
“So..tomorrow is a big day!” Mel stated.
“Tuesday’s often are”, Nancy replied.
“You know what I mean. Tomorrow we will have been married for 25 years!” he answered with narrowed eyes.
“Really? I don’t think that can be right! That would make me really, really old” Nancy responded.
“No, it’s right. I did the math. I even used a calculator!” Mel affirmed.
“Well…..if you used a calculator….I don’t think I’m prepared to have been married for 25 years!”
Silence for a few seconds while this was contemplated.
“We should just keep this amongst ourselves!” Nancy finally decided.
“Won’t that put a crimp in the whole party thing we were going to have?” Mel questioned.
“Hmmm. Well…we can just tell people it’s our 15th Anniversary! I’m perfectly willing to accept being married for 15 years.”
Mel postulated, “You don’t think someone might question that? People are pretty smart…and our kids are in their 20s.”
Nancy…deep in thought for a moment.
“Okay, here’s the thing. Remember how we renewed our vows on our 10th Anniversary? We’ll just count from then”.
Mel thought about it. “I don’t think it works that way”.
Nancy replied, “No, it totally does. See….our first marriage wasn’t legal anyway, so we can count from the second one”.
"Huh? How do you figure that?”
“Well, remember how Father Mazzarolle was supposed to officiate at our wedding, and then on the night of the rehearsal he told us he couldn’t make it so he sent another priest? “
“I remember. So?”
“That priest…I can’t remember his name…didn’t speak English. Most of our wedding ceremony was in Polish or something. For all we know he could have been talking about Church Bingo the whole time. Plus…he kept calling me Anita! So…not legal! We’ve been married 15 years!”
Happy Anniversary Honey!
“Tuesday’s often are”, Nancy replied.
“You know what I mean. Tomorrow we will have been married for 25 years!” he answered with narrowed eyes.
“Really? I don’t think that can be right! That would make me really, really old” Nancy responded.
“No, it’s right. I did the math. I even used a calculator!” Mel affirmed.
“Well…..if you used a calculator….I don’t think I’m prepared to have been married for 25 years!”
Silence for a few seconds while this was contemplated.
“We should just keep this amongst ourselves!” Nancy finally decided.
“Won’t that put a crimp in the whole party thing we were going to have?” Mel questioned.
“Hmmm. Well…we can just tell people it’s our 15th Anniversary! I’m perfectly willing to accept being married for 15 years.”
Mel postulated, “You don’t think someone might question that? People are pretty smart…and our kids are in their 20s.”
Nancy…deep in thought for a moment.
“Okay, here’s the thing. Remember how we renewed our vows on our 10th Anniversary? We’ll just count from then”.
Mel thought about it. “I don’t think it works that way”.
Nancy replied, “No, it totally does. See….our first marriage wasn’t legal anyway, so we can count from the second one”.
"Huh? How do you figure that?”
“Well, remember how Father Mazzarolle was supposed to officiate at our wedding, and then on the night of the rehearsal he told us he couldn’t make it so he sent another priest? “
“I remember. So?”
“That priest…I can’t remember his name…didn’t speak English. Most of our wedding ceremony was in Polish or something. For all we know he could have been talking about Church Bingo the whole time. Plus…he kept calling me Anita! So…not legal! We’ve been married 15 years!”
Happy Anniversary Honey!
Monday, March 18, 2013
Paczkis and Goose Poop.
If you do not know that Paczkis are, they are Polish donuts. As donut’s go, they are possibly the best thing ever invented by God. I think it is the filling to donut ratio that makes them so good, but honestly, I don’t really care about the why…I just know that they are the best!
Every year around this time, my husband’s grocery store brings them in for one week. Why just one week? I have no idea, but I anticipate it like other people do Christmas or their vacation. When they are there, I buy a box of six raspberry filled and eat them over a couple of days and then I am good until the following year.
I was thinking the other day that it was about time for them to be in, so I asked my husband.
“Oh, they were in about three weeks ago”, he said nonchalantly, as if it didn’t matter.
What?
Are you kidding me?
“How come you didn’t bring some home?” I asked as I my mind reeled from the shock of it all.
“Well, I thought we were both watching what we eat so……”.
“But…Paczkis don’t count”. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I felt…bereft!
I thought about those damn donuts for the last three weeks. I couldn’t believe he did that to me. The other night he was wandering around in the kitchen looking for a snack when I snidely said, “You won’t find anything good. It’s not like we have Paczkis or anything. “
“Oh my God. Are you still on about that? Just go to the bakery on Facer St. They have them all the time!”
What? And you’re just telling me this now?
Saturday morning I woke my daughter up at 9am…almost the break of dawn as far as she was concerned.
“Come on, we have to go out!”
“Where?” she grumbled, trying to pull the covers back over her head.
“To get Paczkis”, I replied, yanking the covers back down.
“We will get them, and then take Rascal to the park and eat them as we walk”. It was brilliant!
Eventually she got moving and off we went. Rascal was just excited to be in the car. We bought four Paczkis. One each, and one to share, and even one for my husband, although he really didn’t deserve it. And we got a plain cookie for Rascal to share with the geese at the park.
When we got to the park, we walked down towards the pond, Rascal pulling like mad because he could see the geese in the distance. Kate and I ate our Paczkis. They were heavenly. By the time I finished mine, my fingers were numb with cold but I didn’t care.
Rascal was deliriously happy barking at anything that quaked or honked on the water. He got right down to the edge of the pond and was slipping and sliding all over the place in what I at first thought to be mud. No. As I got closer I realized it was a giant pile of goose poop! I yelled at him to get out, but even as I did I realized my mistake as he came bounding towards me….and jumped up with his paws all over the front of my wool coat.
Kate just about fell over laughing at me. I guess she felt vindicated for my making her get out of bed.
My coat stank! Rascal stank! I didn’t even want to get back in the car, but it was too far to walk home.
Needless to say, Rascal had a bath as soon as we got home, and I hung my coat in the garage until I could take it to the cleaners.
The moral of the story? There is no such thing as a free Paczki.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
What's In A Name?
I've never understood parents letting their children call them by their first names. I've known a few over the years, but I've always been of the opinion that it was a little disrespectful. My kids have always called me Mom, or on occasion Mama. When my son was little and I helped out with his hockey team, all the kids addressed me as "Joseph's Mom".
I recently reconnected with one of my former high school teachers via social media. We sent a couple of emails back and forth discussing what we'd been up to for the past.....gasp.... 30 years, and he finally wrote and said "You know, you don't have to call me Mr..... anymore. It's John. Just call me John".
I promptly wrote back and said "I don't think I can do that". It was just much too weird to me to call my grade 12 history teacher "John". Of course, I've been making the effort, but it has not come easily. And I realize I still address most of my parent's friends as Mr. or Mrs. So and So. That's just the way it is.
My daughter recently decided she might want to switch her major to Marketing so in an effort to help her decide, I arranged for her to become an unpaid intern at my office, helping out the marketing team. She's had part time jobs since she was 14 but she's never worked in an office before so naturally I coached her a little bit on dress code and basic protocols.
On her first day I brought her a plant for her desk as she was settling in. "Thanks, Mom". I thought for a second and then replied, "I'm not 'Mom' here".
"Okay, thanks Nancy" she said with a smirk as I was walking away.
"That's Mrs. Raimondo to you" I answered.
As I continued walking away I heard the young man at the desk next to hers laugh and say to her, "Ha. I get to call her Nancy!"
I recently reconnected with one of my former high school teachers via social media. We sent a couple of emails back and forth discussing what we'd been up to for the past.....gasp.... 30 years, and he finally wrote and said "You know, you don't have to call me Mr..... anymore. It's John. Just call me John".
I promptly wrote back and said "I don't think I can do that". It was just much too weird to me to call my grade 12 history teacher "John". Of course, I've been making the effort, but it has not come easily. And I realize I still address most of my parent's friends as Mr. or Mrs. So and So. That's just the way it is.
My daughter recently decided she might want to switch her major to Marketing so in an effort to help her decide, I arranged for her to become an unpaid intern at my office, helping out the marketing team. She's had part time jobs since she was 14 but she's never worked in an office before so naturally I coached her a little bit on dress code and basic protocols.
On her first day I brought her a plant for her desk as she was settling in. "Thanks, Mom". I thought for a second and then replied, "I'm not 'Mom' here".
"Okay, thanks Nancy" she said with a smirk as I was walking away.
"That's Mrs. Raimondo to you" I answered.
As I continued walking away I heard the young man at the desk next to hers laugh and say to her, "Ha. I get to call her Nancy!"
Friday, February 22, 2013
I joined Facebook a few years ago. At first I thought the concept was kind of cool, but I quickly realized that it was going to require a much bigger time commitment than I was willing to give. Over the years, the number of times I logged in dwindled to maybe once or twice a month.
It did come in handy when I was trying to locate my cousin Sylvia whom I hadn't seen in about 30 years. I only had her maiden name, but sure enough, I typed it in and after scrolling for awhile, I found her. Big check mark for Facebook there!
However, that being said, I am constantly amazed at people my age who seem to spend all, or at least most of their spare time posting things. And I mean, let's be honest; things that for the most part nobody really cares about. It's a little easier to understand coming from someone my daughter's age I guess, having grown up with social media, but I'm talking about the fifty-somethings here. Whenever I do log in to see what's going on, I am immediately bombarded with any number of requests to play games involving farm animals, or pirate ships. Worse are the number of requests to "Like" some random thing. I hide more things than I ever actually read. And also somewhat mind boggling to me are the times that someone...again my age group...will say something in conversation to which I will reply, "oh really, I didn't know that" and to which they will answer, "Well, I posted it on Facebook!".
Really?
And since we are talking, "u" and "r" are not words. Quit using them as such!!! You know who you are!
Last weekend I decided to try and make something of a point to my daughter and others. A point about the inanity of what people post. So, I created a Facebook page for my dog Rascal. In case you are interested, he is a Buddhist, belongs to the Green Party, and is in a relationship.
He has been posting daily updates. Everyday, he adds more "friends" to his list. I was looking at his page this morning and something occurred to me that I hadn't thought of before; how am I going to feel when he has more friends than I do?
It did come in handy when I was trying to locate my cousin Sylvia whom I hadn't seen in about 30 years. I only had her maiden name, but sure enough, I typed it in and after scrolling for awhile, I found her. Big check mark for Facebook there!
However, that being said, I am constantly amazed at people my age who seem to spend all, or at least most of their spare time posting things. And I mean, let's be honest; things that for the most part nobody really cares about. It's a little easier to understand coming from someone my daughter's age I guess, having grown up with social media, but I'm talking about the fifty-somethings here. Whenever I do log in to see what's going on, I am immediately bombarded with any number of requests to play games involving farm animals, or pirate ships. Worse are the number of requests to "Like" some random thing. I hide more things than I ever actually read. And also somewhat mind boggling to me are the times that someone...again my age group...will say something in conversation to which I will reply, "oh really, I didn't know that" and to which they will answer, "Well, I posted it on Facebook!".
Really?
And since we are talking, "u" and "r" are not words. Quit using them as such!!! You know who you are!
Last weekend I decided to try and make something of a point to my daughter and others. A point about the inanity of what people post. So, I created a Facebook page for my dog Rascal. In case you are interested, he is a Buddhist, belongs to the Green Party, and is in a relationship.
He has been posting daily updates. Everyday, he adds more "friends" to his list. I was looking at his page this morning and something occurred to me that I hadn't thought of before; how am I going to feel when he has more friends than I do?
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