When cleaning, you should never mix anything with ammonia with anything containing bleach. It's the cardinal rule of cleaning: this can cause hazardous fumes that can overpower you and kill you, actually. Very dangerous stuff.
I know that. Have known that for years.
One day, a good many years ago, I decided to make someone's day. I called the 800-number on the back of my "cleaning product with Bleach" and asked the helpful telephone associate if it would be okay if I mixed it with some ammonia so that it would clean better.
Her voice pitched higher as she calmly explained to me why I should NEVER mix those chemicals. And how I should clean in a well-ventilated area. And NOT mix the chemicals, as it was a matter of life and death. She got my promise that I would not mix the chemicals.
I knew that. But, I hung up the phone after thanking her so profusely.
So why make that call? It wasn't malicious pranking. I called because I wanted someone to be able to go home from work that day feeling like she had made a difference in someone's life. That her job had mattered on the most basic, profound level.
One can languish in the corporate world, writing manuals that NO ONE ever reads -- not even the engineer who signs off on the technical content. One can fight and argue and try so hard to maintain data integrity, and precision, and a level of professionalism for a company that doesn't value any of it as much as they value the bottom line.
I guess that's what I want out of my next, new career: to feel like I make a genuine difference on the most basic, profound level.
And I guess that's why I really wish I could just stay home and focus on mothering.
(No pressure, Husband. Really.)
The Faithful Alligator
23 March 2009
14 March 2009
Swimming Lessons
A few summers back, we enrolled both The Princess and The Dictator in swimming lessons at the community swimming pool. After the very first lesson, The Princess hated them. Sobbing, crying, carrying on. HATED. THEM.
I was not backing down, however. We had family friends whose daughter drowned when she was 3 years old. I do not want my children to not know how to swim. If they're ever at a party and someone jokingly throws them in a pool, I want them to know how to swim to the side and get out.
I told The Princess that she'd better start praying for rain, because the only way she was getting out of swimming lessons was if thunder boomed and lighting crackled from the sky.
God listens to little girls who don't like swimming lessons, because this is what the 10-day forecast showed the very next day. Can you tell which days the lessons were scheduled for?
The weather held; life went on and The Princess actually started to enjoy the lessons.
For the younger class, over the course of a few nights, swimming lessons progress from dabbling your feet in the water to jumping in and learning the first few motions of swimming. The older class started in the 4 foot section of the pool. They learned the motions of swimming and did lap after lap across the middle.
As parents, we were not allowed within the borders of the swimming pool fence. Smart instructors, who don't allow the distraction and interference of the parents. We would carry our lawn chairs around to where we could watch, far enough away to be invisible to some of the younger children, close enough for our comfort that nothing too terribly bad could happen on our watch.
Both classes had their finale at the diving board.
One can learn a lot about her children's personalities by watching how they choose to jump off the diving board into the deep end of a pool.
Take The Princess. Almost 9. She stood and stood and stood, looking carefully to make sure that the instructor was just off to the side. She jumped nearly onto the instructor, half way to safety before she even landed.
Then, take The Dictator. Not even 5 years old at the time. What does she do? (So many of her classmates didn't even want to jump.) A cannonball!
***
I feel like I'm in the middle of swimming lessons right now. I'm learning skills that I will need later in life, at some point when I'll need to handle some new or more complex problem. It's for my own good.
My personality dictates how I'll choose to jump off that high dive at the end of the class. My watchful Parent is close enough to step in if need be, waving back through the fence, keeping a watchful eye.
I was not backing down, however. We had family friends whose daughter drowned when she was 3 years old. I do not want my children to not know how to swim. If they're ever at a party and someone jokingly throws them in a pool, I want them to know how to swim to the side and get out.
I told The Princess that she'd better start praying for rain, because the only way she was getting out of swimming lessons was if thunder boomed and lighting crackled from the sky.
God listens to little girls who don't like swimming lessons, because this is what the 10-day forecast showed the very next day. Can you tell which days the lessons were scheduled for?
The weather held; life went on and The Princess actually started to enjoy the lessons.
For the younger class, over the course of a few nights, swimming lessons progress from dabbling your feet in the water to jumping in and learning the first few motions of swimming. The older class started in the 4 foot section of the pool. They learned the motions of swimming and did lap after lap across the middle.
As parents, we were not allowed within the borders of the swimming pool fence. Smart instructors, who don't allow the distraction and interference of the parents. We would carry our lawn chairs around to where we could watch, far enough away to be invisible to some of the younger children, close enough for our comfort that nothing too terribly bad could happen on our watch.
Both classes had their finale at the diving board.
One can learn a lot about her children's personalities by watching how they choose to jump off the diving board into the deep end of a pool.
Take The Princess. Almost 9. She stood and stood and stood, looking carefully to make sure that the instructor was just off to the side. She jumped nearly onto the instructor, half way to safety before she even landed.
Then, take The Dictator. Not even 5 years old at the time. What does she do? (So many of her classmates didn't even want to jump.) A cannonball!
***
I feel like I'm in the middle of swimming lessons right now. I'm learning skills that I will need later in life, at some point when I'll need to handle some new or more complex problem. It's for my own good.
My personality dictates how I'll choose to jump off that high dive at the end of the class. My watchful Parent is close enough to step in if need be, waving back through the fence, keeping a watchful eye.
11 March 2009
Patience, People (not just for Advent anymore!)
I like to think that I'm a patient person. I remember a time, years ago, that The Princess and I (way before The Dictator was ever born) hung out in the urgent care "isolation" room laughing and carrying on, waiting for someone to confirm what a mother always knows: pink eye, strep throat, and a need for antibiotics.
I have mastered the art of waiting in the pediatrician's office -- sometimes for 2 hours or longer -- knowing that the end result (as much time as we need with a woman I trust implicitly) will be worth the wait. We bring a "bag of tricks" packed with our own crayons and toys (we'll keep to our own germs, thank you) and wait with juice boxes and little snacks, knowing to hunker down and keep our cool.
The Princess and I have spent much time in the examination room, tweaking the paper gown into a garment more fashion-forward, a pale pink paper prom gown.
I am coming to the realization, though, that I must be only patient because I know that there is an end in sight. We can't wait longer than office hours last, per se. It's finite.
I have mastered the art of waiting in the pediatrician's office -- sometimes for 2 hours or longer -- knowing that the end result (as much time as we need with a woman I trust implicitly) will be worth the wait. We bring a "bag of tricks" packed with our own crayons and toys (we'll keep to our own germs, thank you) and wait with juice boxes and little snacks, knowing to hunker down and keep our cool.
The Princess and I have spent much time in the examination room, tweaking the paper gown into a garment more fashion-forward, a pale pink paper prom gown.
The shoulders we twisted into rosettes; the boxiness we folded into a saucy wrap dress.
The Dictator and I have laughed as she tried to cover her giraffe-like legs with the inadequacy of a gown made for children her age but not for children her height.
How can they not realize that 7-year olds come in many shapes and sizes?
I am coming to the realization, though, that I must be only patient because I know that there is an end in sight. We can't wait longer than office hours last, per se. It's finite.
If I knew that our unemployment would end in July, for example, I think I might relax and feel the gift of this time off -- like a well-earned if under-funded vacation.
But that's not faith, is it? It's the unknown, unseen that we have to still trust in and have faith about.
Patience. Work on that this Lent.
04 March 2009
Habemus Redwing
Brother won the contest we have every year to be the first to see a redwing blackbird. Dad won last year.
Bummer. But, the silver lining is that Spring can't be too far off.
Bummer. But, the silver lining is that Spring can't be too far off.
03 March 2009
One Step at a Time
I had a "getting started in career placement" class yesterday, part of the outplacement services provided by my company. Because the class was a 40+ minute drive away, I had to get the sheet with directions out of the big binder of information that I've had to sort through and act on but have yet to digest.
Husband turned the sheet over and noted that it also has a map on the back. And dimly, it came back to me that they did tell me that, in the midst of my shock and fighting tears, as I was let go from my job.
"Some people like words and some people need a picture" said the outplacement professional.
But really, there are no words for this. And no one can provide a map. How can they, when we don't know where we are going?
My job search is going to have be secondary to Husband's search -- at least for now. I can't know what I can do or will have to do until we know what he will be doing. Assuming a job can be found. I would like my job to be a satellite to his -- a moon to his planet. I really don't want to go to 40 hours a week.
Every day, we make decisions about what we need to for that day. We can't decide something that isn't before us yet. One day at a time, one step at a time, we'll climb out of this hole. Walk away from this situation.
As my mother told us: God doesn't shine a torch down the road for us to see where we're going, He shines a lamp at our feet so that we don't stumble right here. He's with us on the journey and we are to trust that He knows where we're going. We just have to keep putting our feet one in front of the other.
"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path." Psalm 119:105
Husband turned the sheet over and noted that it also has a map on the back. And dimly, it came back to me that they did tell me that, in the midst of my shock and fighting tears, as I was let go from my job.
"Some people like words and some people need a picture" said the outplacement professional.
But really, there are no words for this. And no one can provide a map. How can they, when we don't know where we are going?
My job search is going to have be secondary to Husband's search -- at least for now. I can't know what I can do or will have to do until we know what he will be doing. Assuming a job can be found. I would like my job to be a satellite to his -- a moon to his planet. I really don't want to go to 40 hours a week.
Every day, we make decisions about what we need to for that day. We can't decide something that isn't before us yet. One day at a time, one step at a time, we'll climb out of this hole. Walk away from this situation.
As my mother told us: God doesn't shine a torch down the road for us to see where we're going, He shines a lamp at our feet so that we don't stumble right here. He's with us on the journey and we are to trust that He knows where we're going. We just have to keep putting our feet one in front of the other.
"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path." Psalm 119:105
01 March 2009
Smile. Fresh air is good for your teeth.
My parents came up to "circle the wagons", as I've been calling it. They wanted to make sure that Husband and I were doing okay with the dismal job situation. With them came a bunch of groceries, a bottle of whiskey, a variety of chocolate.
While they were here, my dad got a call that his beloved brother had died very suddenly while out of the country on vacation. So there we sat, Friday night, having a drink to toast my uncle, eating cake to wallow a bit. Talking and laughing and philosophizing, seeking a pattern to the fragments of chaos that life seems to be right now.
The Dictator, giving us all perspective, as we sat at the kitchen table, talking:
"Sometimes I smile so much that I can't see, 'cause my cheeks are in the way."
Several people have remarked to Husband and me over the past few days that they can't believe that we're still smiling.
I reply, "What else can I do?"
No one has just been given 2 weeks to live. We're together; we're fed; we're sheltered; we're praying. The rest is uncertain, but the important parts are covered. Oh, and we're still able to laugh.
Sure, I must admit that there have been more than a few moments of tears this past week. I've cried more in one week than I have in the past two years combined. But, in general, I really think we do have a positive outlook on this. I don't want to give in to despair.
My motto at my former place of employment, for the past several years, was "Show up smiling every day until they tell you not to." Through all the stress of employees fighting against each other, each one trying to appear important enough to keep, I tried really hard to smile. Every day.
This is no different.
While they were here, my dad got a call that his beloved brother had died very suddenly while out of the country on vacation. So there we sat, Friday night, having a drink to toast my uncle, eating cake to wallow a bit. Talking and laughing and philosophizing, seeking a pattern to the fragments of chaos that life seems to be right now.
The Dictator, giving us all perspective, as we sat at the kitchen table, talking:
"Sometimes I smile so much that I can't see, 'cause my cheeks are in the way."
Several people have remarked to Husband and me over the past few days that they can't believe that we're still smiling.
I reply, "What else can I do?"
No one has just been given 2 weeks to live. We're together; we're fed; we're sheltered; we're praying. The rest is uncertain, but the important parts are covered. Oh, and we're still able to laugh.
Sure, I must admit that there have been more than a few moments of tears this past week. I've cried more in one week than I have in the past two years combined. But, in general, I really think we do have a positive outlook on this. I don't want to give in to despair.
My motto at my former place of employment, for the past several years, was "Show up smiling every day until they tell you not to." Through all the stress of employees fighting against each other, each one trying to appear important enough to keep, I tried really hard to smile. Every day.
This is no different.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)