Commercials Are The Bane...

Lately I’ve been watching a good bit of television for some reason. I usually avoid it like the plague, mainly because I hate…really loathe…commercials. Except recently. Call it boredom, poverty or the fact that I pay a lot of money every month for the privilege, but I’ve been watching TV. Getting rid of the cable service would certainly help my poverty situation but that’s part of a different blog. So I indulge but only if I can find a decent program which requires a lot of surfing. Not easily done and I end up seeing a lot more of those dreaded commercials than I care to. And I’ve found a few that annoy me beyond reasonable limits, mainly because the lengths that some product manufacturer’s will go to prove society’s stupidity amazes me.

Case in point…Walmart. They have a bunch of fruit sitting prettily on display while an announcer whispers as if he’s at a pseudo golf match that the people we are about to see don’t realize that this fruit is from…you guessed it…Walmart. Enter stage left, gullible customers agog at how beautiful the produce is at this wonderful place. The announcer then drops the bomb. This fruit is from Walmart! Cue the amazement. They just cannot believe it. I mean They. Can. Not. Believe. It. I can’t either. I have been to Walmart in many states and I have never seen decent fruit at any of them. And Walmart doesn’t have enough money in the kitty to pay me to act that stupid in front of a national audience. Well, maybe they do. I can be amazed and astounded about food for the right price, I guess.

A commercial for any attorney also makes my list. I see a lot of those during the morning news and what I want to know where they find their “actual clients”. You know them. It’s always some backwoods hick who says (and I’m paraphrasing here) “I was on I-10 during rush hour traffic and I got out my car ‘cause I saw this hubcap laying on the median across three lanes. I was just pickin’ up that hubcap when, bam, this crazy driver just up and run me down. I ain’t been able to work my job for six years and that Lawyer Crookedness got me a whole million dollars.” Chew tobacca, chew tobacca, chew tobacca, spit. I stole that last line from a Blake Shelton song, but it seem to fit. They don’t tell you that 75% of which went in said attorney's pocket for expenses, contingency fees and just plain greed.  Hell, give me a million dollars (without the expenses, etc. ) and I’ll act as backwoods as you want in your commercial, man.

Ocean Spray Juice. The one where you have the two overall clad, hat wearing dudes standing in a pond of cranberry juice? Yeah, that one. First of all, just the thought of drinking juice that two men may or may not have been standing in (I’m being facetious here) just turns me off of their product. Second, those guys are just too redneck for words…see Blake Shelton song reference above. Not to mention they don’t say anything about the fact that their “juice” is more artificial coloring and water than actual fruit product.

Have you seen the newest Eggo Waffle ad? Can’t touch this? Oh, yes, I so want to tell that child to sit down at the table and eat what is prepared for him if he knows what’s good for him. Mother dearest in this one needs a lesson in parenting. Where I come from, the mom’s are who are in charge, not the child. And he is just this side of being rude, which would equal some special discipline short of a smack down. The only good part of this commercial is the little girl at the end shaking him off when he tries to steal her waffles. You go, girlie!

Last but not least is everyone’s favorite. Viagra. Oh, yes, I did bring it up. There’s not much I can say about it because it is just too blatant and nauseating for words. Besides, and you know you’ve asked the question, who sits on the beach in a couple of bathtubs? There is nothing about sex that would make me want to do that. Seriously.

Now that I’ve actually put it all down on paper (or screen, as it were), I wonder why anyone at all watches television anymore. Or maybe it’s just me. But I really don’t think so. I’d rather be at the dentist getting a root canal or walking through a hurricane.

My Five Signs of Aging

Women everywhere (and men for that matter) are spending millions of dollars every year on “anti-aging” products. I have to admit that lately I’ve been interested in their claims that I would look ten years younger within a week (or two or four) if I’d only spend half of my paycheck on one them. But not only can I not afford it, I don’t believe a word they say. I used to proclaim that I would earn every wrinkle I would get, that I was going to age gracefully. Probably because I was about 25 at the time. But as I age mature celebrate each birthday, I am starting to rethink my position. The only thing I feel good about is that I don’t have any of the “normal” signs of aging. I have…others. And I honestly don’t believe there is a product in the world that can help me with any of them.

The most common sign most women have that they are maturing is wrinkles on their face. I’m fortunate enough not to have many. I’m blessed with my mother’s genes that way. No, my wrinkles have shown up in the most unlikely of places…my chest. I know, right? I was looking in the mirror not too long ago and as the light hit me just right, I saw it. Who gets wrinkles on their chest for crying out loud? When I brought it up to a friend, she suggested it was from side sleeping and keeping my arms crossed as I do so. To that end, I am now a back sleeper. Not a very comfortable one but it’s all in the name of a more youthful look.

As I was noticing my wrinkly, aging chest, I also noticed something else. A few little hairs growing out of my neck. What??? I don’t mind waxing the eyebrows. Have been doing so since I was in my early 20’s. But on my neck? I vaguely remember my mother pulling these things out of her chin from time to time but never thought that I would someday be doing the same. I got out my tweezers the first time and yanked those puppies out. And a week later, the little snots were back again. How is it when you pull something out by the roots, they can grow back? I know it’s only three or four but I’m vain. I guess I’ll keep plucking away as soon as they show their ugly little heads since I can’t afford laser removal.

I’m not heavy. I could stand to lose a few pounds, mostly in my butt, but that’s about it. In spite of my tininess (as my daughter calls it), it seems my belly button has turned into a donut hole, more or less. It’s like my spine is sucking it inside…or something. Is this normal or am I an anomaly? I’m waiting for a slobbering little alien to come pushing it’s ugly head out. I guess I should be doing more crunches but I honestly never thought I had much of a problem in that area. Crunches are a pain in the behind but I’m doubling up on them. And decreasing my intake of ice cream and most all things tasty.

You hear about cellulite when people talk about getting older and many ways to get rid of it. My butt, rather than having cellulite, has decided that it doesn’t like where it has resided for most of my life and has moved South. Not as far South as I moved several years ago but lower all the same. I thought chasing a four-year-old was supposed to take care of gravity issues such as this but obviously he isn’t moving fast enough. Or mayhap I’m not? My only solution…Move, boy, move!!!

My feet are another problem. They’re not widening. Or narrowing for that matter. They have just decided in the last few years to go their own way. Not literally, of course, but my favorite types of shoes just don’t seem to fit anymore. I’ve never really liked wearing shoes anyway but this little issue makes it even more of a problem. I can try on a pair in a store and if they aren’t completely comfortable, I know immediately that if I buy them because I like the way they look, they’ll spend a long, lonely life in my closet, never to be worn. Until I put them in the Goodwill bag and send them off. Lately, I’ve been trying on a lot of those but because I’m the thrifty sort, I put them back on the shelf and walk away. But cute little shoes (ok, Size 9 shoes) seem to be a thing of the past. I’m not going so far as to wear orthopedic styles but Sketchers make some that make life a little bearable. I am fortunate to live in a climate where actual closed toe, foot-suffocating, toe-cramping footwear are only necessary for about two months out of the year. I wear sandals and my feet thank me.

These are my issues. I’m sure I’m not alone in any of these but to me, they are monumental. Fine, they’re not. But they are really annoying. I guess it could be worse, so I’ll have to be grateful that this is the extent of my aging process…thus far.

The Slamming Door

Elijah has been impatient and has had a temper since birth. When he had a wet diaper, he wanted it changed NOW. Can’t blame him for that. When he was hungry, he wanted fed IMMEDIATELY. That’s understandable too. Momma was a milking machine. He wanted out of his car seat as soon as the motor was off. He wanted out of his crib the second he was awake…whether we had our coffee or not.  When these things didn't happen as soon as he realized he wanted them, he let us know. He had the reddest face of any blond boy ever.

 

We have noted that, as Elijah grows older, his way of dealing with his temper has changed. He still cries when he doesn’t get his way. Talking to him to explain the reasons why the answer is no is harder now that he is four. Because he is very independent. And, heaven help us, because he has his own opinion now. He has lots of opinions on just about every subject that comes up. He's such a guy.

I'll sit in time out but I'll do it the way I want to.

 

When he was two, saying no brought on a temper tantrum to bring down the house. He would lay on the floor, as most twos are prone to do, kicking his feet and getting red in the face. We would ignore him for the most part, just making sure he didn’t hurt himself or break anything. Eventually it would go away and he would be his own sweet self again.

When he reached three, he had words to go along with his tantrum. He would scream “I want it” over and over until we were ready to “give it to him”. Of course we didn’t but the thought was in the front of our minds. The tantrums were epic in proportion but didn’t last quite as long as the earlier ones. When he realized he wasn’t getting what he wanted, he found something else to do. He’s growing out of them, we thought innocently. We were wrong. Oh boy, were we wrong.

Now that we are in the fours, the aforementioned opinions have kicked in. Not being able to drink from the milk jug is “stupid”. The fact that we don’t allow him to practice his artwork on the walls makes us “meaners.” Watching the evening news (or anything else that doesn’t air on Disney) just shouldn’t be permitted. This is when we hear…dum dum dum…the slamming door. He stomps to his bedroom, muttering whatever nasty thing he can think of (and I don’t want to know) and we wait for it. Five. Four. Yes, we count it down. Three. Two…SLAM!!! The door opens, he yells out that we are the evilest, vilest creatures on the face of the earth (my words there, not his) and … yes, SLAM!!! The next thing you hear is YaYa’s feet stomping down the hall. You can guess the rest and door slamming is over. For the moment.

AUTHORS NOTE: Elijah is not injured or abused in any form during the door slamming incidents. His ears, however, occasionally ring at the volume of my voice.

Elijah has also discovered the threat of law enforcement. When we tell him he’s not allowed to go to his friends house to play because he hasn’t picked up his toys, he tells us he is going to call the police and have them take us to jail (insert the Southern form of jail which has six syllables). Sheriff Jimmy is his friend and he apparently has handcuffs to take away bad parents and grandparents. Sometimes we are tempted to let the good sheriff cuff us and go just to have a night of peace and quiet.

That, peeps, is life with the current version of Elijah. It’s strange that I am blissfully forgetful of these trying times when I was raising my own children. I’m sure that now it’s just amplified because I am a little older now…OK, FINE, I’m a lot older now. My only hope is that my sanity will survive the raising of this child or that Deanna will find a home many miles from mine before he reaches his teen aged years.

 

Without

I get so tired of reading and hearing about people saying “Where was ‘your God’?” when something goes wrong or something bad happens. Or they ask why God lets bad things happen to good people (or to anyone, for that matter). I hear coworkers and neighbors complain that so & so has this or that, why don't I? And I have my own answers to these questions when people ask them. Hopefully without sounding preachy or overbearing, it goes something like this...

When “bad” things happen to good people? My answer is without the bad, would you truly appreciate the good things? Or would you take them for granted? Would you get a feeling of entitlement? Without the tough periods in life to endure, how are you able to feel thankful for everything good in your life?

In the same manner, if you didn’t have to work for everything you have, would it mean as much to you? Would you feel the same way about what you have if you had it handed to you? I know everyone jokes about saying they wish they could have it that way, but is that really the truth? Without the struggle, how important is it?

Without the sorrow, how great is the joy? Without pain, how diminished is your pleasure?

I’ve had plenty of so-called bad things happen to me in my lifetime. But I’m able to look at my daughters and see and appreciate the gift that they are. I see a beautiful little boy and know that my life wouldn’t be as blessed if he weren’t in it. I remember another little boy who gave me more love in his short life than I ever deserved. I see beauty in life because it takes away the ugliness that is always right around the corner. And I appreciate and am thankful for what I have. Because of the pain, the struggle and the tears.

Humdrum...A Dog Well Traveled

Last year while we were at Toys R Us, Elijah latched on to a stuffed dog and wouldn’t give it up. Getting him out of the store without it was a battle of utmost proportions. Weeks later, he was still depressed that the poor little puppy wanted to come to our house to live with us and we left him behind. He was lonely and missed us, we were told. As it was close to his 3^rd birthday, I finally went back and bought it for him. When he took the gift wrap off of the little pooch on the big day, his expression was priceless. Forgotten were the drum set and train he also received. And life with Humdrum began.

He was named him Humdrum after that famed little cutie on his favorite show, The Imagination Movers. In the episode A Puppy Problem, there is a sweet little dog named Humdrum who gets lost in the warehouse. Elijah’s favorite part of the show is when Mover Rich takes out his megaphone and calls to Humdrum to the detriment of his fellow Movers’ eardrums. Of course it’s his favorite…it’s loud! Anyway, to this end, we took Humdrum to the Mover’s concert this spring so that all four of the guys could “call” him as he hid behind Elijah’s back. And did they? Of course they did!

Humdrum has had many adventures in his short life. He has gone to Church…because what self respecting stuffed animal hasn’t been there? He goes to Walmart…because we're told he loves to ride in the buggy. Target is one of his favorite places as he enjoys going down all of the toy “paths” to see what’s new and exciting. Humdrum is also a regular visitor to the sandbox. Which makes him a regular occupant of the washer and dryer as well.

Humdrum is also a source of comfort. He takes away a lot of bad dreams in the dark of night. He has been to the emergency room more times that I want to count. A trip to the dentist? Piece of cake with this little doggie in hand. Mad at the world (or momma or yaya), Humdrum makes the blues go away. Don’t want to go to bed? Humdrum is ever so tired and needs his rest (yes, that actually works).

Elijah talks about some day getting a real dog but for now, Humdrum is his best friend. In a furry sense of the word. He is joined by Big Bad Barry (also from the Movers), Hundley (of Curious George fame), Puppy Dog (his first Build-A-Bear), Frank (given to him by his Great Pap as a baby) and Big Horse (who is a…well, a big horse). But when push comes to shove, and it usually does, Humdrum gets the call. And he never lets our little guy down.