A Retailer Rant

A quick update: the Sunshine family has been house hunting, church helping, family visiting maniacs the past week. And we all got the flu. Yay family!

For the most part, the kids and I have recovered from a version of the 24 hour flu. Rob is still a little under the weather, but he's planning on returning to work tomorrow. With all this excitement in the house, I was getting a bit stir crazy. I needed some time to myself. Naturally, I went shopping.

Usually, I shop at Target - they have a pretty routine markdown schedule for their clearance items, and as we all know... a budget hound like me is a sucker for clearance items! Unfortunately, I ripped a pair of shorts at my last visit to Papa DeeDee's house and could no longer ignore the shortage of shorts in my closet. When Robert assured me he could handle two tyrants and a bout of the flu, I took off with nary a backward glance. Tonight was the night! One pair of jean shorts, coming up!

I had a coupon for Kohl's (saw that comin' didn't ya?) and they were having an end of season clearance sale, so off I went with high hopes. Kohl's has become the de facto replacement for Mervyn's. Remember Mervyn's??? (Sigh.) I like Kohl's very much, and have purchased quite a few items from them over the years. However, even if I weren't a ridiculously cheap frugal value conscious cheap shopper, even I know only crazy people pay $32 for a pair of children's shorts. (Uh, if you are one of those crazy people, please ignore that last sentence.)

As I wander the aisles, I begin to wonder if there are shoppers who really pay the full retail price, or if everyone knows to at least wait for a sale, percentage off coupon in the mail or coupon from the paper? And, if you don't wait for the coupons or sales, do you realize the mark up on these things? Even CNBC admitted it's a common practice to jack the prices sky high in order to discount them. Oops. My inner coupon nerd is showing.

Onward.

So here I am, shopping the clearance racks for a decent pair of shorts. I see denim material and a tag that says "waist minimizing panel". Eureka! Dear Lord, can you please let this be in my size? I yank the garment from the rack, ignoring the size clearly printed at the top of the hanger.

Why in the world do stores bother to put the size of the clothing on the hanger, only to hang clothing on it that isn't remotely close to the size indicated? If they saved the money they spent on marking the hangers, maybe they wouldn't have to charge $32 for something I pay $4 for on clearance (and suspect they still clear a profit). Oops. My inner efficiency nerd is showing.

This is NOT what I found at Kohl's.
If I had, this post would have been
dramatically funnier.

Where were we? Oh yes, waist minimizing jean shorts in a size.... four. FOUR! Well gee Wally, don't you think every garment would be waist minimizing in a size four??? Goodness, if I could fit into a size four, I don't think "waist minimizing" is something I'd be too concerned about, would I? My superior logic tells me this is why it probably remains on the clearance rack. Honestly, do these clothing retailers get a chuckle at their own ridiculousness? Oops. My inner mom jeans are showing.

After an hour of searching, I failed to find a pair of denim shorts. I did find five t-shirts, one amazingly cute dress, and a pair of brown pedal pushers. None of which I needed. Also, I've found that clothes shopping after having had the flu makes you feel awfully good about how well your clothing size (which is not a size four, in case you were wondering) fits. All in all, a good night. And so, this quick update to let you know that despite my absence, we are not dead - just ill and in need of a good pair of waist minimizing jean shorts.

A Contribution to the English Language

Did you know that some of the words we use were only created because a new invention or technology required an adjective be created to distinguish the old technology from the new?

Have I lost you already? Okay class, let's give some examples.

Analog is a word that was only created after the invention of digital. No one defined a clock, phone or other such devices as "analog" until digital technology was introduced. "Land line"? Who had need to distinguish that your phone was actually connected to the wall prior to the invention of wireless? Lastly, due to a recent trip to the post office on tax day (stupid, stupid, stupid...) I point out "snail mail". Had this term been used just two decades ago, your friends and family would have placed a salt shaker by the mailbox, in case you made good on your statement.

After the celebration of my son's first birthday, I feel compelled to comment on another string of adjectives making its way into the mainstream: frustration-free packaging. Unlike the aforementioned words, this phrase was not invented to distinguish it from a newer technology. No, this phrase is the latest "technology". What I would like to comment on is the lack of a moniker for its predecessor, which - trust me - is still alive and well.

Since I appear to be the only one aware of this enormous gap in the English language, I would like to present some options for the current packaging.

Frustration Inducing Containers: Known as FIC. I enjoy this name only because it would sound wildly appropriate when opening such a container. Imagine the following:

Wife: "Honey, why is your face so red?"
Husband: "Because I'm trying to open this FIC-ing container and the kids are so impatient to get at the toys they've begun to chant and beat drums while circling around me! I think I've got about two minutes before they throw me to the wolves and tear at the packaging with their teeth!"

Hmmm. FIC-ing container? Maybe it's not as appropriate as it sounds when you put twelve party attending two year olds on the scene.

Multiple Object Container: Shortened to MOC (pronounced "mock"). So named because of the myriad of devices needed to unlock the prize within the package. Why is it that a toy for a one year old takes three adults, two scissors, one multi-tool and three hours to open? Yes, MOC has potential.

Hazard Inducing Instruments of Death: Pronounced "hide", HIID is probably the best description for the current wrappings the industry moguls have dreamed up. In an effort to prevent theft, danger to children, and any chance that parents may actually relax after their children receive a gift, packaging has now become so ridiculous that our lives are in danger.

You've seen it - the large gashes in fingers and palms from that terrible hard plastic encasing a toy so perfectly that Saran wrap could not have formed any closer. One of my son's gifts had so many twist ties, small screws placed through tiny plastic washers, and minute pieces of invisible tape, that once we finally retrieved the toy from it's oppressive surroundings, the "safe for under age 3" product had left so many choking hazards in its wake I wondered if we should move the party outside until I had a chance to properly vacuum! The worst part? The gift was from me.

Yes, I believe HIID is a wonderful description for these contraptions. Decades from now, when HIID containers are just a distant memory, our children will recall how their parents screamed in horror, running from the room, trying to "hide" from the awful packaging that awaited every knife, screwdriver and blowtorch in the house.

Of course, the irritation of opening a package is only a precursor to the next stage of terror:

But I'll leave that for another time.

The Confession

Okay, remember the post where Mark's teeth came in, and I chastized family members for casually remarking on it without bringing it to my attention? I believe my words were: "I BLOG people! If you don't see it here, I missed it!" Well, it's time for me to eat my words. Or, at least renege a little.

In November there was a post about how Mark was making the "Ma Ma Ma" sound and I thought he'd say his first word soon. Well, he did. And I didn't blog about it. In fact, I have been mulling the event over in my mind, wondering if it was actually his first word. I'm trying to decide if it was just a fluke. Maybe I'll let my readers decide.

It was early December. Mark had been babbling for quite a few weeks. He often would say "Ma Ma Ma" while trying to chew on the trash can or attempting another round of sock eating. To my chagrin, he began trying out other sounds too. So when he "said" his first word... it wasn't "Mama". Which may have something to do with why I didn't report it right away. Or, er, ever.

Photo taken Dec. 9th, date of the "alleged" event.

My little guy had started the "Da Da Da" sound, as well as "Pa Pa Pa". I told my husband that if he said "Papa" before he said "Mama", I was going to have to sit him down and explain which side his bread was buttered on. Luckily, that didn't happen. Well, not yet anyway.

Alas, here is the account of my son's first word. Or not. (I'm anxiously awaiting your vote.)

It was a dark and stormy night... (Not really.) Robert was home helping to take care of the kids and I after we all had a bout with what I suspect was the flu. He had been home pretty much all week, so the kids had lots of face time with daddy. As my son sat on my lap, daddy walked by. As soon as daddy passed, Mark turned his head, looked right at Robert and said "Dada".

I immediately dismissed it as coincidence, since he says Mama all the time; the fact that he's ten feet away pulling his sister's hair when he says it is not really relevant. When Robert walked by a second time and Mark looked at him and said "Dada" again, I was afraid I had a turncoat on my hands. Little stinker! You see me all day, everyday, and don't say my name. Yet you spend one week home with dad and get his name down in no time flat?

In my defense, he has not said any words since (at least not with any sort of recognition... just babbling). We spent lots of time with daddy over the holidays with nary a peep from Mark suggesting he recognizes family members by name. If he had a grasp of language, wouldn't he have used it again? Especially if he could call out to his loving, wonderful, caring mother?

Right. That's what I thought too. Hence the neglect in mentioning it. I wouldn't want to steer you wrong.

Realization dawned as I wrote last Friday's post about Mark waving at the woman at the photo studio that I might have missed documenting my son's first word simply because it wasn't the word I was hoping for. After all, if I was so sure he waved at that woman because he did it twice, wouldn't it then stand to reason that he said his first word a month ago?

So there is my confession. I eagerly document the slightest new events as evidence that Mark comprehends the world around him, yet I let a major milestone simmer in the background of my mind.

Therefore, in true social media style, I put the question to you. Are we still waiting to hear from Mark, or do I have selective hearing? Survey says?!?


Do I get a vote? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I was there
when this whole thing went down...

Cell Phone SASS

Dear Man at WalMart,

I know. It's WalMart. This store has a solid reputation for harboring teenagers in pajamas, young mothers shopping with infants at 10pm, and other generally inappropriate public displays of ineptness. However, for those of us who shop there and don't display these tendencies, we do our best to simply ignore those in the world who do.

But you sir, are very hard to ignore. While I applaud the fact that you came dressed in nice clothing, even wearing slacks instead of jeans, you still managed to fit in with the WalMart stereotype.

You see, the "Jawbone" bluetooth headset attached to the side of your face did you in. While I'm sure the advertising for this wonderful piece of equipment used words like "stylish" and "sleek", it still looks weird attached to the side of your head.

Lucky for you, we as a society have been taught to ignore such displays of strangeness (see teenager reference above). We have even been taught to ignore the fact that you answer the phone and have private conversations in the middle of a very public place.

Despite our desire to pretend you do not exist, I could not ignore the fact that you were YELLING into your headset. I was three aisles away, and could hear every word. Even more disturbing was the fact that after saying hello and finding that your wife was not available to chat, you asked (and I use that term loosely, as you were still at decibel levels rivaling a rock concert) the person on the other end whether or not you should purchase toilet paper for the family.

Yes, Mr. Jawbone Bluetooth Businessman in Slacks.... you've just blown your cover. Welcome to WalMart.

Sincerely, 
Another Shopper Who Knows More About You Than She Ever Wanted To

A New Season

Many moms who are finished with the infant/toddler years like to tell those of us still struggling with them "Remember, this is only a season."  It is meant to be an encouragement; to help us refocus and remember that our kids will not be little forever. In fact, our kids will not be little for long at all.

Here's the problem: sometimes I don't want a season. I just want an episode. Then, a nice six day break until the next episode. Apparently when you sign up for motherhood, you don't get to check the episode box. You're only offered the full season package, and maybe a few grandparent breaks if your agent is good. And so, I am trying to remember that while dealing with whining, training, discipline, diapers, laundry, sippy cups and bottles, there are two little kids under all that dirt and rice cereal.

It's not really all that hard.

Today we were grocery shopping and out of nowhere Gracie reaches up and gives me a hug. When I leaned in a bit to hug her back, she got her arms all the way around and hugged me hard. I had to stop right in the middle of the aisle because I couldn't move my arms and was hunched over. I didn't mind stopping. I could hardly stop kissing the top of that little red head.

Yesterday Mark was babbling away to himself, and reminded me of when Gracie used to do the same thing. Back then I said to Robert, "I can't wait until she's talking. I wonder what she is trying to say!" Of course, now she is talking, and I still wonder what she is trying to say...

This week Grace has, on multiple occasions, shown love for her brother. She kisses him on the head. She says "Uh oh baby!" when he cries or gets stuck in his travels around the house. In the store today, I was feeding him a bottle as I was walking, and I had to pause to get something from a shelf. She turned in the cart to grab his bottle, and held it so he could finish. She brings him toys and covers him with blankets. She also hits him over the head with wooden blocks and kicks him if he gets too close to Tickle Me Elmo. We're working on that part.

Again I find myself trying to remember to enjoy my season with the kids. I'm not always successful - just ask Robert. Sometimes he comes home and I'm the one drinking from the sippy cup, looking for a blanket and babbling incoherently. No one in the early mom stages will tell you it's easy (unless their agent got them a nanny thrown in with the package) but we all feel it's worth it.

We all appreciate our children, I think sometimes we just wish they came more in episodes than seasons.

One of those Weeks...

This week has already been one of "those" weeks. You know, the ones where you want to grab someone off the street and beg to exchange lives with them, if only for a few days. Preferably, that person will have just stepped out of a limo on their way into Neiman Marcus, but still. I was ready to trade with anyone who looked like they had a decent wardrobe and no children.

Here is just a sampling of the various things that happened:

1) I turned the coffeemaker on, and when I went back ten minutes later, I found a carafe full of tepid water. I had forgotten to put the water into the coffee pot before turning it on. I did this twice.

2) My daughter has decided to test every rule that is put before her, just to see if it "sticks". My best example is when I was in the kitchen finishing up the dishes. I checked on her and Mark, then went back to the kitchen. I put away four more dishes,put soap in the dispenser, shut the door and hit the Pots and Pans button.

In this amount of time, she had gotten into the hall closet, grabbed a roll of wrapping paper, unrolled the remainder (about six feet) and was hitting her brother on the head with the empty cardboard tube. Lovely.

By the time Robert came home, I was ready to hit myself on the head with a cardboard tube. It was either that, or look up the number for the closest convent and ask if it was too late to join.

3) Mark decided, in true boy fashion, that misbehaving must be some sort of contest, and he needed to get in on the gig. By Monday night, he worked out a plan. He couldn't yell "NO!", but he could cry... and so he did, with all his might.

He also decided that he would only fall asleep on his own as long as it was light outside. Every night, he would wail when put into his crib. He would get to the point where his face would get bright red and he would be so angry... it was almost funny. Of course, it might have only been funny because I'd pretty much lost my mind by ten at night. It's hard to say. Is it possible to be afraid of the dark when you're only six months old? I mean, just seven months ago, he didn't know what light was...

4) Robert came home from his business trip to all this chaos. I'm sure he was debating on catching a flight back to North Carolina. Getting away from the insane people he came home to probably would have been a relief to him. I know it would have been for me.

5) A good portion of the cookies we made at my friends house last week came home with us. Mysteriously, they all disappeared by Monday afternoon. Robert swears he had none. Gracie only got one and a half... and Mark - well, he didn't help with the icing, so why should he get to eat any? If my math is correct, that means I ate an entire plate of cookies in three days.

But I've always been really bad at math.

6) Remember how proud I was to have lost a few pounds a couple of weeks ago? Well, it turns out they weren't really lost. They were just on a mini vacation. Apparently they went to visit some cookies... they're back, settling in on my thighs. Welcome home blubber, I didn't miss you a bit.

Looking back, the week wasn't all that bad. It's just that when you're actually in those moments, it can be overwhelming. Unfortunately, I have very few pictures of life at our house this week. Friday's post may be a bit like the haunted houses popping up all over town... there's stuff going on, but it's hard to see what. Until then, I leave you with one photo I did manage to snap last night:

Gracie is at Grandma's today.

I'm sure she's being an angel...

Help!

Okay, so this last weekend we changed our internet service. I was so excited! We were going to finally have broadband service and.... (drumroll please!) wireless internet at the house! We made sure the wireless was up and running before canceling our old service. It worked beautifully, and I could even check e-mail using my iPod Touch. I was in heaven.

Oh, you've noticed everything in the past tense??? Yes, at this moment I am sitting at McDonald's, typing up a post so my devoted readers (yes, both of you) will not be disappointed by my skipping a Wednesday post.

Our internet service went down unexpectedly yesterday. They do not know when it will be back up, but they are "aware of the problem" and will be working on it. Hmph.

Luckily, I was honored to have received a blog award from a new friend, and I had been working on the post to announce it. It happens to include links to some of my favorite bloggers. Since I don't have much to offer in the way of a post today, I would encourage you to get your daily dose by visiting one (or all) of these fabulous sites.

(NOTE: Please excuse any typos, incoherent thoughts or incomplete sentences in this post. I was hyped up on chocolate sauce, whipped cream and caffeinated coffee from McDonald's, sitting in a booth near the playplace and only had one hour during which my husband graciously allowed me to vacate the house without small children so I could get my internet fix.)

Bringing You SASS

Apparently Gracie's second birthday wasn't enough excitement for one week, because my husband and I, in all our wisdom, decided this would also be a great time to go camping for a few days.  I've been "unplugged" for the better part of the last three days, and while there is plenty to tell about the party and our camping experiences, I'm pooped. So, today I present my first "SASS" post.

SASS stands for 'Short And Simple, Sunshine'.  It should probably stand for Short and Snarky, or Short and Sneering, or Short and... well, you get the picture. Something tells me if I have to keep a post short, there's a good chance it will be a tad sarcastic. But not always. Hopefully.

Where was I? Oh yes, SASS. Since I've already massacred the Short part, I might as well ruin the Sweet part too. Here is just a little sampling of our camping trip this week:

See the little booger there on the lower right? Yes, we had a squirrel who was determined to get our food. He was quite bold too, as you can see. I wasn't rushing toward him as Robert snapped this picture. In fact, I had shooed him away twice before Robert even got the camera on and ready. As if keeping this little thief out of our hair wasn't enough trouble, as we walked to the lake that afternoon we saw this posted:

The bottom of this notice reads: "If you develop fever, chills, headache, muscle aches, or swollen and tender lymph nodes within seven days of your visit to this area, please inform your doctor that you have been in an area where rodents have plague."

Uh-huh. The camping trip was great. I'll be sure to fill you in with more later. Unless, of course, I get the plague.

Little House of Horrors

Our garage door broke earlier this month. The spring just snapped. For this I am thankful. We had no idea, but the garage was trying to kill us.

My husband came back from running errands, and told me the garage door was no longer working and I'd have to park in the driveway until it was fixed. It's summer in Central California, which means that I either have to find a way to cool down the car before getting in, or risk needing skin grafts as the lava hot car seat melds itself with my thighs. Not only do I have to deal with the lava, but my children do too.

Okay, so those of you that live in normal areas may just think to turn on the air conditioning, go inside the house, get the kids, and when you come back out, things will have cooled to boiling - good enough. Well, did I also mention we live in the car theft capital of the WORLD? Oh yes, our county and those surrounding us regularly rank in the top five in the nation. Seriously. No one around here even leaves their doors open to cool off the car, much less turns the thing on and air conditions it for the theives just waiting around the corner.

I finally decided to bring Gracie to the car first, and chance leaving the windows open to help cool the car down. I figured she'd get used to the phrase "I'll be right back" and any thief worth their salt would know better than to try and steal a vehicle with a toddler in the back seat. Then I'd run back in to get Mark and my purse...

Errands would need to be kept to a minimum until this was fixed.

Thankfully, the landlords had the garage door fixed in just a couple of days. Before the guy got here, our garage door spring looked like this:

Snapped right in two. The repair man said he called about the warranty and could replace the left side with no problem, and it looked like the right side was... hey, what's this?

The right side of the door had this attached:

Apparently, holding together your garage door spring with a few bolts and a spare piece of steel you found lying around is frowned upon.

When the repairman saw that, he said "This could have killed somebody!". Not exactly what you want to hear when cradling your four month old in your arms. He needed to call the warranty guys again.

Please, please do.

In less than thirty minutes, the springs had been replaced, and I was summoned to sign the work order. "By the way," the repairman said "You also have these two fluorescent lights plugged into the overhead door opener. It's a fire hazard, and if anything ever went wrong with your garage door opener, the warranty would be voided because you're not supposed to rig the thing like this."

This was said very politely, but with the slightest hint of a smile that said we weren't the brightest people on the block. I felt the need to explain that we had only been renting a few months, and that none of these contraptions were our doing. He smiled smugly, unplugged the lights and then went on his way. (I would have taken a before photo of the lighting menagerie too, but was already too embarrassed and didn't want to ask him to wait so I could take a picture of our fire hazard for my blog.)

I now park in the garage. Gracie is still the first one to the car, and our seats are only habanero hot, as opposed to magma. But, I am most grateful for the fact that we no longer have fire hazards and guillotines awaiting our every move. Who knew the garage could be so hazardous?