Employee Gifts

My husband has known for 365 days that he has to buy holiday gifts for his colleagues at work. I reminded him of this fact last month, as well as every day last week (in a nice, non-nagging way of course). For reasons unknown to man, the realization didn't hit him until yesterday afternoon during his lunch hour.

"I have to buy holiday gifts for the people in my office!" he screamed in panic over the phone.

"Where are you right now?" I asked.

He was slow to reveal that he was checking out flat screen television sets in Best Buy.

Sensing my annoyance, he feigned disbelief that a store that big doesn't sell Harry & David gift baskets.

"Half of the people in my office aren't going to be in next week!" he wailed. "Tomorrow is my last day to give them something!"

"That sounds very distressing," I replied. "What would you like me to do about it?"

The line got very quiet. "Can you at least think of ideas for me?" my husband wanted to know.



Of course, I was happy to oblige. I rattled off a long list of excellent suggestions. When I got to wearable blankets and Stephen Covey's latest book, he hung up on me.

****
Sound familiar? Anyone?

Man Troubles

Cameron is starting to recognize people he knows. Whenever I ask him where Camber is, he points to his sister. He also can correctly identify his brothers and dad.

Things become a little more difficult, however, when I ask him to identify his primary caregiver.

"Where's mommy?" I ask pointing at myself.

Without fail, Cameron responds by looking out the window or staring off into space.

"I'm right here!" I hoot as I do jumping jacks and metaphorical back flips in my living room.

Eventually my son's eyes shift to the cat, who is sleeping on the arm of the sofa. He giggles and points at the animal.

"Little stinker," I mumble under my breath.

It's as if the harder I try to get his attention, the more he ignores me.

Clearly dating taught me nothing about men.

The Guest Appearance

Remember when my family was on vacation in Los Angeles last summer? While we were there, I got a call from one of my hometown friends, a gal named Liane. She wanted to know if I was interested in meeting up for lunch while I was in town. I told her that I could do it, but that I would have to get a babysitter. She sent me directions to her office and told me to bring the kids.

"They'll be fine," she said.
"Where do you work these days?" I asked.
"They'll be fine!" she said again and hung up the phone.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Disney Animation Studios in Burbank.

The next hour was a jealous blur. After showing us her super cool office which was filled with toys, Liane took us upstairs to meet some of her animator friends, who just happened to be sketching the last scene of The Princess and the Frog. A nearby vending machine stocked with candy bars and gummy Lifesavers prevented my children from appreciating the magnitude of what they were witnessing. While they dug through my purse for loose change, I tried not to act how I felt, which was like a six-year-old on a sugar rush.

"This is the coolest thing I have ever seen," I said a million times.

After I repeated this phrase a few million more times, the man smiled politely and got up to use the bathroom.

I must have made quite the impression on the animator because when I went to see the movie on Saturday with my kids, I saw that he had drawn me into the last scene. If you squint and cover your right eye and play the scene backward and in slow motion, you'll see a more modestly dressed Meanest Mom avatar sprint across the bottom of the screen.

At least that's what I'm telling all my friends.

Lost Library Books

School libraries are magical places filled with bookshelves overflowing with unexplored treasures.

My children are seemingly blind to these riches, as evidenced by the fact that they spend their library time searching out books that we already own.

"Look!" said Cortlen in stunned amazement as he retrieved a copy of Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs from his backpack. "The library has the same book as us!"

"That's crazy!" I replied.

"I got The Cat in the Hat!" screamed Kellen, holding up an equally unfamiliar text. Not surprisingly, my daughter came home later that afternoon with the library's second copy of Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs.
"Next time, why don't you guys choose books that we don't already have?" I suggested.

The minute that I offered up this suggestion, I remembered that it was irrelevant. My children never actually read any of the library books that they bring home from school. The purpose of checking out library books (other than to marvel at the existence of duplicate copies) is to ruin my life. This happens when books are left unattended on the kitchen counter long enough for someone to spill something on them, or when they are inadvertently stashed away in secret places until I receive emails like this:

Dear Parent,

The following item is overdue. Please return it as soon as possible to avoid being charged a book replacement fee:

LIBRARY MATERIALS

Due: 10/8/2009
"The great Waldo search"
Call #: F HAN
Barcode: S 6d6236
Price: $14.95

Normally emails like this generate a frantic search through my house. In this case, such an exercise was unnecessary. Just after Thanksgiving, I dropped a bunch of books into the donation bin at my local Salvation Army. Both of our copies of The Great Waldo Search were among them.

****
Any similar tales of library mishaps?

College Application Essays

It's that time of year again!!!

Throughout the month of December, I frequently find plates of Christmas cookies on my doorstep. Attached to the plates of cookies are cranky high school seniors from my neighborhood who don't want help with their college applications, but whose mothers insist upon it.

Approximately six weeks ago, the guest of honor was a boy named Nick. He was applying to a private college with a low average SAT score and rolling admissions. His mom thought he was a shoe-in.

Nick's application required him to write a three-hundred word essay responding to the question "What is your greatest challenge?"

The first lines of Nick's essay read: "I have a problem with self-control. When I get mad, I hit things with sticks." The essay went on to catalog an extensive list of objects damaged by fallen branches and two-by-fours.

"You can't say this," I told Nick bluntly.

"But it's true!" he protested.

"They can't handle the truth," I responded.

"But my application is due tomorrow!" he whined.

"You will not get in if you say this," I warned, escorting him to the door. I wanted Nick out of my house before he hit me with a stick.

Yesterday, the thin envelope arrived in Nick's mailbox. Nick was almost jubilant, thus confirming my suspicions of self-sabotage. Nick's mother, on the other hand, burst into tears.

"I'm so sorry," I said, trying to console the woman. "I know you were hoping for a different outcome."

"It's all your fault, you know," the woman said half jokingly. "You made him rewrite that essay at the last minute."

That's when Nick revealed that at the eleventh hour, he had seen the light. Two hours before the application was due, he abandoned the stick story and submitted in its place a touching tale about a recent fist fight that cost him one of his front teeth.

"Wise choice," I noted.

Nick's mother's face turned bright red and she began to shake. Evidently, she was not aware of her son's essay topic.

"If I were you," I told Nick, "I would back away very slowly."

Once he had eased himself off my driveway, he began to run down the street.