Just in the nick of time.

So I’m sitting here staring at the computer. I want to post. Really I do. It was a heckofa day. I was mulling over writing about how everyone wanted a piece of me and I didn’t have a piece left for what I wanted or needed. I was thinking how tired I am.

But then, the email “ding” happened. And lo and behold, Megan has another guest post for me. So here goes. Thank you Megan, you saved me from a totally depressing post!

Human Contact, Aisle Four

So, the other day my BMF (Best Mommy Friend) told me that in an effort to simplify her life with an infant, she’s going to start getting her groceries delivered. She said that going to the grocery store was “a waste of time.” She had no idea that when she said this, it was like stabbing me in the heart with a knife. I was speechless, I didn’t know what to say
because I absolutely LOVE going to the grocery store. I go almost every day. Sometimes, I make up reasons to go. I even have favorite cashiers and store employees. If you don’t want to read on because you think I’m crazy and need to get a life, that’s fine. But I don’t think I’m alone in this.

My love of trips to the grocery store started when the pressure was off of me to get the store on my way home from work. When my husband (then fiancé) and I bought our first home and moved in together, I was running a little PR shop out of our house. So, I could go to the store pretty much whenever I wanted. In the morning, in the evening, ain’t we got fun! So, the trips became leisurely, rather than hurried and I had the time to make elaborate meals for my husband (then fiancé) so I did a lot of cooking and hence, a lot of shopping.

When we lived in that first house, I went to Giant and I new all of the important people by name. Quincy, the produce guy and Richard, the butcher, always said hello, asked how I was doing and made sure I found was I was looking for. And I believe good service is to be rewarded so I made a point of telling the manager how great they were. When we moved, I felt compelled to go in and tell Quincy and Richard that I was leaving them, that it wasn’t them, it was me, I was moving. I didn’t want them to think they had sold me bad produce or meat. I’m sensitive like that.

Now that we’ve moved, I go to Safeway. I know the faces of the produce people, but I haven’t bonded with any of them like I did with Quincy. However, I do have a favorite cashier – her name is Latera. I look for her whenever I go there and make sure I end up in her line – unless she’s working express (which she rarely does) and I have too many items. Latera is a petite, pretty, African American woman who changes her hair color almost as much as Nick Lachey changes girlfriends (there he is again! Won’t he just leave me alone?) She always has a flower barrette in her hair to match her outfit and her eye shadow matches her outfit as well. Latera wears rhinestones at the corners of her eyes and drives a car that has “Princess” at the top of its windshield. Ok., so I sound like a stalker. Maybe I am. But she is just such a cool chick and she always has a smile and a good story about her four year-old. I recently found out that she’s a singer and used to sing for her customers when she worked at another Safeway. She’s never sung for me and I’m a regular. I’m still working on how to fix this situation.

Anyway, now that I have a five-month old, it isn’t as easy as it used to be to just pop in and out for a few things. But she, like her mother, enjoys the grocery store. She likes to sit up in her stroller and look at all the people and the shelves and shelves of food. (A chip off the ole’ block!) If I don’t have a big shopping to do, I’ll just take the stroller in and use the basket underneath to store my goods. Of course, I’m very deliberate about putting them there lest anyone thinks I’m stealing.

Anyway, the point of all this is that when you have the time and aren’t rushed, a trip to the grocery store is almost like going to visit an old friend. Even though you might not have seen them in a while, they’re always happy to see you. And help you to your car.

If you want something done right, do it yourself.

Remember Max? My 7-1/2 year old cutie pie? Here is one of my favorite pictures that Kristin shot.

So yesterday, Andrew took him for a haircut.

Yeah. I want to cry too.

Pay it forward.

Over the years, we have been the lucky recipients of a tremendous amount of kids’ clothing and toys and books. Really great stuff. I am fortunate that my sister-in-law buys amazing quality clothes for my nephew – who I am happy to say is always at least one size ahead of my oldest son. And whenever I hear he had a growth spurt, I do a happy dance.

Anything that survives my oldest gets passed down. And then, passed down again. So, it never occurred to me that I’d ever have anything to bestow on others. I mean, how many boys can share the same clothes and toys and books? Well…

My boys are getting bigger. And their sizes are getting closer together. So I have a lot of clothes to pass down. One of my poker-playing friends has a son just younger than my youngest. And I have 2 first cousins with 3 sons between them. So lots of willing recipients. Of course, I weed out the stained, torn, icky stuff!

Then there’s the books. We have a lot of books. Really. A lot. And the boys never want to get rid of any of them. They have fond memories of reading I Love You the Purplest and Monsters Lunch Box about a bazillion times and could never part with them. Not sure I could either. But when a preschooler we know had a charity book drive, the boys each chose 10 to give her. And then some.

And then there’s the toys. When the boys outgrow a toy, my neurotic, organized, neat impulses make me want to find them a home. But I stall. I hate thinking of them not wanting to play Lite Brite anymore. Or Rescue Heroes. So we still have those. And though they don’t play with the Rescue Heroes, they shriek when I consider passing it on. But last week, I found a special home for a way-cool ride on toy that we cherished. And outgrew. And just today, our Tonka Farm that we played with for hours and hours and hours went to Jack. And I had to find something to send for Kate so I sent over the Brainquests that I was having trouble parting with. And some educational flashcards – presidents, state capitals, math… Just what every preschooler needs, right?

And my cousin is coming to take our train table. I am holding onto the Brio trains. In fact, the boys still play with them. And I can’t part with the Little People or the Playmobil. Well, they do play with the Playmobil. And when the little kids come over, I bring out the Little People and they are well loved.

I saved my Madame Alexander doll collection from childhood so my daughter could have them. No daughters here. And now I’m saving some great toys for my grandchildren. I hope I have better luck this time. Hey, here’s a thought! I can save my Madame Alexander dolls for my granddaughter….

I promised.

Charity begins at home.

But whose home? I need to share this story or else my veins will pop. I don’t know what to do with this but let it out. So here goes….

We’re having a huge (and I mean huge) annual charity yard sale. For many years now, one woman has run it, and the last several another has co-chaired. It goes smoothly and makes a big chunk of change. Money that we use in our county to supplement food for some kids over the weekend, support domestic violence initiatives and take food there, help out the wonderful homeless shelter here and more. Good stuff.

So lots of people save good stuff all year for the sale. Then we all take it to the home where the sale happens. We have volunteers who come the day before to organize and price the goods and volunteers who come the day of to sell. So today, I went by to bring a couple more things and the pricing was well underway. But there was one person who was not pricing things. She was choosing all her “finds” and putting them in boxes and bags. Then, if previous years’ experience holds true, she would offer some amount for the lot and whatever she offered would be graciously accepted.

*I hear she has some financial difficulties. She takes these items and sells them for a profit to support herself. And while being a dealer is a perfectly legitimate business, this is different. Read on.

So a long-standing member called me over to see something. (Did I mention I’m the president of this group?) Turns out that the dealer (who is not a member of our group) had hidden the most valuable items under less valuable items in her bags and boxes. It was definitely, without a doubt, meant to mislead. In other words, it was theft. And, in my mind, the worst kind. Taking from charity.

Well, I was floored. Beyond floored. I was angry. My members did not donate items for her, but for the charity’s benefit. This was unacceptable. The valuables were taken out of the box and they will be sold on eBay. That was our plan all along…to scope the donations and see if any of the items had enough value to warrant selling them individually. You know yard-salers…pay pennies on the dollar. On eBay, we could do much better.

I know she got away with some. I know the woman who worked tirelessly on the sale for years had told her she could buy some things on the cheap. And she did it to be kind and generous and to help a woman in need. And, in my mind, the woman betrayed her trust and stole.

I am so disappointed. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.

Deep sigh.

Sammy Sosa.

That’s my kid with Sammy Sosa! Well, he just passed Sammy – but he did a great fist banging handshake thingy…. Nice to have the photo! It was in the Orioles Dugout Magazine this week….

Mod.

Here is a preview of the vintage dress I’m wearing to a party Saturday night. It should be fun! Gnightgirl, maybe I can keep up with your cool retro phone!

Solitude.

Solitude. Peace. Quiet. Doesn’t it sound wonderful? Not something I get around here. Not even in the bathroom. Everyone needs me all the time. And while that’s a wonderful feeling, it can be…. smothering.

Monday, I commuted into Washington, DC. I drove to the metro station and took the metro downtown. So for 11 minutes (then a transfer to the red line) and then for 12 minutes, I had peace. Absolutely no one needed me. My cell phone had no reception. I had some work with me, but I didn’t do it. I sat there with my book and I daydreamed. It was great.

At Metro Center, the hub-bub began. Walk fast with the crowd out of the station and onto the street. Walk fast (or be carried along) down 12th Street to H Street. Then, I stopped into my favorite coffee shop. It’s tiny. Not a brand name. The owner and his wife are always there. And the coffee is terrific. House blend and one other flavor. (I always get the House Blend.) They have Splenda and Equal and Sweet & Low and Sugar. They have skim, 1%, 2%, whole milk and half & half.

I took my coffee next door into my temporary office building. (I have a short-term contract with a great organization acting as research director. Hint: Got Milk?) I sat in my pretend office and flipped through a beautiful magazine. And that’s it. I had a half hour before the big meeting and nothing to do. It was luxurious.

All I could think at that moment was who wouldn’t love having my life right now?