Being "Neighborly"

I received a letter in the mail on Friday, April 4, 2014, and felt compelled to respond to it. Unfortunately, the neighbor who sent it chose not to share their name, so I now find it necessary to share my response publicly in the hopes that they will read it. I am going to share their letter line by line, along with my responses to it. (The original letter text is bold, my responses are in italics)

To the anonymous neighbor who mailed a letter to my home in regards to my children:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. ________________

For the sake of my privacy, I have removed our last name. Your use of it, however, does leave me to wonder: have we met? The answer to that is of course, no, we have not met formally. How can I be sure of that? I’ve lived here ten months, and in that time, I have met ONE neighbor who came over to introduce themselves simply for the sake of being neighborly. Since she lives several houses away on a different section of my street, I can safely assume the letter did not originate there. I am sure you used the investigative power of the internet on some site like mcad.org to determine our names. Well played, neighbor. Well played.

When did kids playing and screaming at the top of their lungs become acceptable?

To my knowledge, playing has always been acceptable and encouraged in children. I’m not sure how you expect me to address “top of their lungs”, as this statement is subjective. Do kids scream? Absolutely, they can and do, often. Is it occasionally unnecessarily loud? You bet.

That kind of screaming should only be acceptable if someone is in pain.

Again, this is both subjective and vague. Do kids sometimes take screaming to the extreme? Of course they do.

I’m sure you send them outside so you don’t have to hear it; however, none of your neighbors want to hear it either.

Thank you for your passive/aggressive commentary on my parenting. Obviously you know so much about me thanks to your ability to google my last name. Also, who named you spokesperson for my neighbors? Is there some neighborhood screaming patrol group? Remind me not to join.

Playful yelling is one thing, but come on, ear piercing screams like someone is ripping their arms out of their sockets is a bit much.

Again, this is a subjective statement, but I will give it a whirl. First, how do you know that no one IS trying to rip someone else’s arm out of their socket? Second, who put you in charge of defining “playful yelling”?

All of your neighbors would truly appreciate you having them tone it down a bit, so we can all be outside and continue to enjoy our homes.

You don’t speak for “all of my neighbors” as I discovered when I approached other neighbors last night to try to determine who sent this letter. My children screaming should not prevent you from spending time outside, just like the incessant barking of neighborhood dogs does not prevent me from spending time outside. It’s part of living in a neighborhood. If you want silence, move to the country.

I have children as well, but do not allow them to disrupt the entire street.

Thank you, once again, for your scathing assessment of my parenting. I get it. I’m a bad mom, my kids are maniacs, and you are fed up. I am glad God blessed you with perfect children. Apparently, he had a sense of humor when he blessed me with mine.

Thank you!

I’m sure this is not a sincere statement, but I do want to thank you in return. Thanks to this letter, which alternately hurt, angered and saddened me, I did meet some wonderful neighbors last night who restored my faith in humanity, and made me feel happy that I chose this neighborhood in which to raise my wild, out-of-control children. Perhaps we can arrange a play date so the perfection of your children can rub off on mine. You know where I live, after all.

I leave you (the writer of this letter) and anyone else reading my responses with this: We are all working hard, and trying to live the best lives that we can. Am I perfect parent? Absolutely not, but I am parenting to the best of my ability, and love my children more than you can measure. Instead of sending anonymous letters designed to hurt people and tear them down, why are we (as a society) not looking for ways to make new connections with the people in our neighborhood? It is so easy to judge someone you do not know, and your opinion of that person will almost always be proven invalid once you get to know them. I encourage everyone to take a moment to get to know your neighbors. You never know when you may need their help and support.

Furniture

So, the time has come for little O to become big O, and get a "big boy" bed. Last weekend, we went as a family to the furniture store and picked out a new bed. The bed was scheduled to be delivered between 11-3 on Thursday. I HATE four hour windows...I really do. I have things to do, and a four hour window in the middle of my day is a true annoyance. However, in the interest of receiving the bed in a timely manner, I agreed to their demands.

Thursday morning arrived. I showered early, got the really big kids off to school, and at 9:21 am, loaded O, complete with new crocs, into the van for a road trip to the grocery store. I walked in the store, plopped two bunches of grapes in my cart, and then my cell phone rang. Normally I would ignore it, but I didn't recognize the number, so I decided to answer. Who was it, you ask? The furniture delivery people, of course. They were going to be at my house in 30 minutes. Looking at the time, they should arrive by 10:02 am, 58 minutes early. I groaned, then agreed to the time.

The next 17 minutes looked like scenes from one of those mad dash grocery shows. I ran through the store, throwing random items in my cart, and made it to the cashier. She rang us up, and sent us on our way. $80 later, we were out the door, and did not have all that we needed, of course! I raced home (not speeding) and made it there at 9:59am, three minutes before their estimated arrival.

I quickly unloaded the cold groceries, grabbed the car keys to move the spare car out of their way, then plopped down to wait. And wait. And wait. After about twenty minutes, I was pretty irritated. Forty-five minutes in REALLY had me steaming, and by the one hour, fifteen minute mark, I was spitting nails.

93 minutes AFTER their proposed arrival time, my furniture arrived. I took the high road, and decided not to scream at the delivery people. They were in and out in under fifteen minutes, thankfully. Not ten minutes later, I received an automated call from the furniture store, wanting me to rate my experience. I hung up on the recording. Trust me, random furniture store people, you did NOT want me to rate this experience! The icing on the cake? They are coming back in a month to deliver the rest of the back-ordered furniture-can't wait!

WHAT is an accessory?

Today's rant is all about the word "accessory". Allow me to share the back story.

A few weeks ago, my cell phone started randomly turning off. It finally aggravated me to the point where I walked into my local cell phone store to complain. Surprise: my not so high quality cell phone was actually still under warranty, so they could order me a new one. I waited a few days, and sure enough, a new (read: refurbished) phone arrived. When I opened the package, I was surprised to see that the phone did not arrive with a new battery, OR a new back plate. I used my old battery and back plate, moved the SIM card, and life continued.

Last Monday, my phone randomly turned off again. Using my awesome powers of deductive reasoning, I decided the battery MUST be at fault, and went back to the store to discuss this. My genius customer service representative disagreed with my battery diagnosis, and advised me to call customer service myself to get a new phone. He mentioned that they don't have those batteries in stock at the store anyway. Nice.

So, I called customer service, yelled at the talking automated system, and was finally transferred to a phone rep. (As a side note-they could make an entire TV show re-enacting all of the crazy things that are yelled at a talking automated system) Gabrielle was happy to help, and sympathetic to my phone issue. She also agreed that it was a battery problem, since that was the common denominator betwixt the two phones. (whether betwixt is a word or not is a non-issue; don't bother Googling it because I like it, and will not edit it out!) She kindly offered to transfer me to the accessory department to order a new battery.

WHAT?!?!? A new battery is an ACCESSORY? AND I have to pay for it, because it falls under an "accessory warranty" of 90 days as opposed to the phone warranty of one year? Let's pause to define accessory. Accessory (noun) "a supplementary component that improves capability, being additional, being connected as an incident or subordinate" Last time I checked, a battery does not IMPROVE capability, it PROVIDES capability. It's NOT incidental-it's necessary for the phone to function!

However, my years in customer service have taught me never to abuse the poor, innocent phone rep, so I allowed Gabrielle to transfer me to the parts department. My sarcasm was lost on the gentleman who answered, as he did not "get" my snide accessory comments. The ultimate kicker? They don't have my battery in stock either, so happy hunting! Now for my unpaid advertising-I ordered my battery from elitextreme.com. Their prices were much more reasonable than my local third party battery vendor. (I saved $13, even with shipping)

The ultimate irony? My phone has not randomly turned off ONE time since I ordered the new battery!

35 cents

A few weeks ago I received a check from my new insurance company for thirty-five cents. I'm still rolling my eyes as I type this. THIRTY-FIVE CENTS? Seriously? Does anyone in their bureaucracy realize that they spent forty-two cents to mail me a check for thirty-five cents? If you take the time to factor in the salary of the bean counter (no offense to my accountant sister) that found the thirty-five cents, it is even MORE money-all spent so I could waste even MORE money in gas to MAKE the deposit than the check is actually worth!

The icing on the cake? Two weeks later, this ridiculous check is still sitting on the kitchen counter. I check the mail that day, and what do I find? Another envelope from the insurance company. Inside? A check for $105.42. Sigh.

Soccer ain't for sissies!

So my oldest is going be the next Beckham. Ok, not so much. He is, however, playing on a recreational soccer league where we live. RECREATIONAL. Webster's Dictionary defines recreational as "A characteristic of recreation". Recreation is defined as "a means of refreshment or diversion". Diversion, people. Diversion. Read: FUN! As in, not serious, NOT professional, NOT the be all, end all of anyone's world....at least it shouldn't be. Can someone PLEASE tell that to the parents?

My favorite quote from last week's game was "Someone needs to pull that kid out of the game. He stinks!". Luckily for this gentleman, my child was not on the field. The mother bear in me reared her ugly head anyway, and I had to bite my tongue HARD not to say anything to him. Can you IMAGINE how a child would feel hearing something like that? Can you imagine yours truly going to jail over a brawl on the sidelines? Well, actually, I can imagine that, and the thought of getting a few smacks in is kinda appealing!

So a word to all you sports fanatic, living through your children parents out there: It's RECREATIONAL! It's meant to be fun! It's supposed to teach kids about working as a team, and as a side benefit, some basic soccer skills. Take a clue from the referees....they're not even keeping score!!

If You Are Of The Male Persuasion, Please Do NOT Read!

OK ladies....

I wanted to share my adventure at the sanitary napkin aisle this week. I went to the store with the sole intention of purchasing a small package of pads. How hard could this be? I certainly didn't intend to purchase a year's supply-I just wanted a small pack of 20 or less.

I locate the "feminine" aisle, and peruse my options. Holy moly! I am bombarded by HALF an aisle of products, packaged in all sorts of "girly" colors, and all claiming to be THE product for my needs!

There's a pack for "light" flow, "regular" flow, "heavy" flow, or you can even get a combo pack with all three! There are regular length, long length, EXTRA long, thick, thin, regular and WINGS??

Pads are meant to FLY? Wings, by the way, were invented by a VERY sadistic woman. They inevitably do NOT stick to the bottom of the pantie, as they are allegedly intended, but instead find ways to attach themselves to VERY sensitive skin and/or hair!

I'm not exaggerating-it took me TEN minutes to find a basic pack of regular length, non-wing, regular flow pads that were not too thick and not too thin, and not in a 5,000 pad economy pack! I deserve a medal!

In honor of my New Year's resolution...a classic blog revisited!

Treadmill 101

OK, so like every other lame, overweight under-achiever out there, I purchased a treadmill in a futile attempt to shed pounds in 2006. I tried out several models in the store, strolling at a leisurely pace of about 1.5 miles an hour. I settled on a mid-priced model, with a few built-in programs and speakers for my iPod. After a week of mindless over-indulgence in food as preparation for the arrival of the afore-mentioned torture device, my treadmill was delivered.

On day 3 post-arrival, I finally guilted my jiggly belly into getting on the treadmill. After 15 minutes of dressing and prep time, I was ready. I turned the treadmill on, and hopped aboard to survey my options. Let's see....cardio, manual....ahhhhh....FATBURN! Obviously this is the option for me!

I select the "burn off your ass fat" button, and press start. The machine predictably begins at about 1.2 miles an hour. After all, we ARE dealing with a fat person, and we don't move all that quickly. After a pleasurable two minute stroll, the machine pops up to 1.8 miles and hour. While this is still not a challenge, I'm starting to think that I might be sweating soon. Again, ::beeeep::, the machine kicks up to 2.4 miles an hour. Two minutes later...::beeeep::, we are up to 2.8. Now, 2.8 miles an hour is about the fastest I have ever walked....EVER. So, I am now officially "working out". I'm feeling pretty good, and then as the timer reaches the next two minute interval....

BEEEP! We are now up to 3.4 miles an hour. Now we are hauling some a**. In fact, my a** is jiggling in ways it rarely does. I have managed to keep up, but am saying a silent prayer of thanks that I had the forethought to attach the emergency shut-off clip to my shirt. I'm literally thinking "this is only for TWO minutes, then it should slow back down a little."

BEEEEEEEP....NO such luck! We are now at a chest rattling 4.5 miles an hour. I am JOGGING to keep up. Women with breasts as large as mine SHOULD NOT JOG!!!! I felt as if I could give myself a concussion at any moment with a blow to the chin. My heart was also trying desperately to escape from my chest at this point. However, positive self-talk won out. I can do this, I thought! Anyone can jog for two minutes! And so I jogged....

BEEEEP...YOU guessed it! We are now at 5.2 miles an hour! What kind of MORON designed a fat-burning program like THIS? I am now hauling ass at 5.2 miles an hour, cussing, and desperately trying to press the arrow down key to lower the speed. Apparently the over-exhertion had exhausted my brain cells, as all I REALLY needed to do was give that good old emergency shut-off cord a good yank.

Thankfully, I lived to tell this tale. A word to the IMBECILE who designed the "FATBURN" program on Spirit treadmills.....FAT people cannot run! If they COULD, they would probably not be FAT! FAT impedes the ability to move that quickly!!!!!!!

As a last note, if the word "fat" offended anyone, "Lord, I apologize...and please be with the starving pygmies....Amen."