I seriously question the sanity (and competency, to be honest) of parents who constantly play their kids "Children's Music." You know, songs for kids. Or kids singing songs. Those annoying sets put on this Earth to drive us crazy. Yes there is a time and a place for the "Wheels On the Bus," but it isn't in my car! Seriously, preschool was great. We learned lots of new songs and dances, and that glitter is evil. I loved every minute of it. Really! But there are some things that should not come home with you. Like the Flu, glitter, and the music.
I was at a gathering once, shortly before Leroy was born. I heard a Mom say the highlight of her day was when she would get the opportunity to drive the car alone, with no kids. Then she could put the radio on the station SHE wanted to listen to, not what she had to play for the kids. When I asked why she didn't do that anyway, I got some crazy looks! I was confused. Was I going to lose my musical choice the moment I gave birth? But I already had step-kids! They didn't require special music. Did they? Did this mean we'd been driving wrong all this time because we put the radio on normal stations? Was singing along with Melanie's Averil Lavigne CD's scarring the boys for life? I was seriously questioning all of my musical choices! And considering giving up good taste for my kids!
But then I remembered: I used to be a kid. A long time ago, before safety seats and bicycle helmets, but still! I was a kid riding around in a car with my parents. And riding around in the big rig with my Dad. And these vehicles had radios. And never once during my whole childhood did either parent (or any other adult who drove me around, for that matter) ask me what kind of music I wanted to listen to. Not a single adult in my world ever changed the radio station or 8 track (yes I'm that old!) when I got into the car. Not once! So why the hell does my generation cater to our kids this way? I blame Barney. Not because he's guilty, just because I've always hated that purple piece of shit.
So that settled it. No special music for my kids. They would listen to whatever station I put on the radio and they would like it! My car, my radio, my tunes! Which is why car seats were invented, I think: to keep their grubby little paws off my radio buttons! Leroy was born, the boys and girl all aged, we exposed them to as many different musical styles as we could stand to listen to ourselves. They learned the children's songs at preschool, and all about Guns and Roses from Daddy. Life is good.
I learned very early in Leroy's life that he is a metal head. I would look into the rear view mirror and see him headbanging before he could talk. Neighbor kids cranking their radios would elicit instant response. The heavier, the better for my little toddler. Yep, he was a rocker! Still is. He keeps his hair long just to see it move when he bangs. But I've actually learned a few things from the little guy. About music, too.
I've never disliked Green Day, but I was never a huge fan, either. From the day Leroy was born, his world stops if Green Day plays anywhere. Really. American Idiot was released when he was about a year old. The songs we heard on the radio seemed good, so I invested in the CD. As soon as Leroy was old enough to talk, whenever we would get into any car to go anywhere he would say "Green Day!" And, especially if it was just the two of us, I would generally comply. And I learned: I love these guys! So when 21st Century Breakdown came along, guess what I got for Christmas? Oh yeah! And this year I hit the jackpot: Uno, Dos, and Tre! I'm not saying I wouldn't have discovered my Idiot love on my own, eventually. I'm sure I would have. But I am saying that Leroy's love did help me along the way. Would I be the huge fan I am now if we were Kidz Bopping all these years? Well, no. I would be in a padded room somewhere in the fetal position crying.
Music also paves the way for conversations necessary to raising kids. Conversations about choices, and making good ones. Music is not the only way paver; the news and local events have sparked some good ones, too. But music helps. And it teaches me about simplicity.
Case in point: a conversation with Leroy while driving the other day.
"Mom, is Billie Joe (Armstrong, the lead singer of his group. He's on a first name basis with them) OK now?"
"I've heard he's out of rehab, healthy, and they're starting the tour back up. So yeah, I think he's OK."
"Were the drugs what made him do all that stuff at that concert?" (See the "I Heart Radio" debacle for details)
"Probably had a lot to do with it, yeah."
"So what about Mike? Is he on drugs too?"
Uhhhh.... moral dilemma here. I can't exactly say someone I've never met is clean, or not, or uhhhh.... what's the right answer here? So I waffle:
"I don't believe so, why?"
"Well, when Billie Joe smashed up his guitar, Mike joined in and smashed his too. Why did he smash his?"
Uhhhhh..... well...... uhhhhh.....When in Rome? No, don't want to get into explaining that saying today, so...... Oh, I know! "Because he's a good friend."
"That's what I thought."
Whew! That's what he thought, indeed!
So rock on, people! My kids and I will be singing along with all the good music. As long as it's not "Wheels On the Bus." I mean, unless the bus has some awesome rims. Then we might talk.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
My People
I fear change, so I haven't worked too many jobs in my life. Most of the ones I've switched around among do revolve around the same occupation. Some though, just kind of happened. I have my "career" jobs, then I have my "other" jobs. The straight out of high school, don't know what I'm going to do with my life jobs, the stay-at-home Mom needs to get out of the house sometimes part time gigs, the extra cash on the side type jobs. Needless to say, I have worked with a few different varieties of crews.
I often comment how I wouldn't last five minutes in an office environment. People generally think I'm kidding, but I'm not. I did work in an "office" for about six weeks once. I hated every second of it, and this office only consisted of three workers. I hated the boredom. I hated the clothes. I hated having to wear shoes that hurt my feet. But most of all, I hated when somebody else who worked in the building would walk into the room. They come in, do what needs to be done, then leave. That's when it started. Did I see what she was wearing? Did I hear the rumor about her cheating on her husband? Did I hear the rumor about her husband cheating on her? What did she do to her hair? Are those the ugliest shoes ever? You get the point. So then, every time I left the room, I wanted to circle back real quick and see what was wrong with me. But then I realized I didn't really want to know.
It is easy to assume that I think women cause more workplace drama. This is not exactly true. Men cause just as much drama as women, but I personally am just better equipped to deal with the male type. I don't know why. But if you get too many women into a workplace, the drama which ensues is just a bit much for me to handle. I have always just worked better with men.
Men are just a little bit different. They make fun of the way I walk, not the shoes I'm wearing while I do. I can deal with that. Plus, in case you haven't figured this out yet, I have kind of a potty mouth. Simply put, I cuss like a trucker. I can control it, usually, if I have to. But I prefer not to. I'm not saying all men enjoy cursing, but far fewer men have asked me to control my language than women. They also don't get upset when I giggle. The only boss who ever reprimanded me for "inappropriate giggling" was a woman. Again, not judging, just stating fact.
Some jobs, I know the first day there I'm never going to fit in. Others, I have to wait awhile before I grow on people. You know, like mold. My current job however, I knew the first week I was among my people. I had been warned: Cleveland was pretty upset about having to stop working, and understandably tense about me coming back. The thought of my mouth getting me in trouble was a pretty big fear for him. You know, that whole cuss like a trucker thing and all. Meanwhile, I found out later, co-worker to my right was informing his wife that he would probably be fired soon, since I'm a girl and all. It took us about 3 days to realize our humor is about the same, and we would all be fine. You're welcome, wife and husband.
Coming in to a new place, as one of the few girls who hold this sort of job, is always an adventure. The guys never know what to expect. Am I a girly-girl who got confused? A femi-nazi who has bigger balls than they do? Am I just scamming for a sexual harassment lawsuit? They just don't know! What I really am is a girl who can't stand dress shoes or pantyhose and kind of fell into a career where I don't need them! Nothing made me happier than, when I had been here a few months, I heard the boss man say "I sure am glad we got her, and not some prissy bitch!" Awww! See, these are my people!
I did have a boss once years ago, who made it extremely easy for the 3 girls who worked for him to get any time off we wanted. All we had to do was start a sentence with "Well, my ovary...." and that's as far as we needed to go. Yes, we took advantage of him. No, I don't feel too guilty about it.
At the beginning of winter this year, the Mommy-in-law bought me some new boots. MIL has great taste in clothing and fashion. I do not. So if she says something is good, I have no grounds for argument. These are black suede boots, lined with something warm and furry, very comfortable. I don't know the brand name, but she assures me they are "better than Ug," whatever that means. First snowy day, I come in wearing my new boots. I ask the married guys what "better than Ug" means, I finally learn that Ug is a whole brand of boots and is spelled Ugg. Cool! Then I am informed:
"Those better than Ugg boots sure don't make you walk any better!"
Awesome. See, I was born with one leg not quite as straight as the other one. The technical term from the Orthopedic surgeon is "squinty knee." One knee squints in at the other. In car terms, I suffer from a "toe out condition." To keep that knee from banging into the other one, I walk with a foot at about a 45 degree angle out from where it should be. It causes me to kind of, uh, waddle? Lope? I don't know the correct term there, but it's not graceful. Or free of pain. But apparently it is fairly amusing to watch. I don't run. I never learned how. Well, the boots are very nice and cool and all, but they do not help me walk better. Nice of my people to point that out for me.
I think when I really knew I was among my people was one day when I was standing outside with the boss man watching someone jog down the sidewalk. I commented that I always look behind the runners. You know, to see what is chasing them. He admitted he looks at the hands. To see what they're carrying (read: stealing.) The fact that neither one of us could come up with any other reason for someone to be jogging down the sidewalk is strangely comforting to me. These are so totally my people!
I often comment how I wouldn't last five minutes in an office environment. People generally think I'm kidding, but I'm not. I did work in an "office" for about six weeks once. I hated every second of it, and this office only consisted of three workers. I hated the boredom. I hated the clothes. I hated having to wear shoes that hurt my feet. But most of all, I hated when somebody else who worked in the building would walk into the room. They come in, do what needs to be done, then leave. That's when it started. Did I see what she was wearing? Did I hear the rumor about her cheating on her husband? Did I hear the rumor about her husband cheating on her? What did she do to her hair? Are those the ugliest shoes ever? You get the point. So then, every time I left the room, I wanted to circle back real quick and see what was wrong with me. But then I realized I didn't really want to know.
It is easy to assume that I think women cause more workplace drama. This is not exactly true. Men cause just as much drama as women, but I personally am just better equipped to deal with the male type. I don't know why. But if you get too many women into a workplace, the drama which ensues is just a bit much for me to handle. I have always just worked better with men.
Men are just a little bit different. They make fun of the way I walk, not the shoes I'm wearing while I do. I can deal with that. Plus, in case you haven't figured this out yet, I have kind of a potty mouth. Simply put, I cuss like a trucker. I can control it, usually, if I have to. But I prefer not to. I'm not saying all men enjoy cursing, but far fewer men have asked me to control my language than women. They also don't get upset when I giggle. The only boss who ever reprimanded me for "inappropriate giggling" was a woman. Again, not judging, just stating fact.
Some jobs, I know the first day there I'm never going to fit in. Others, I have to wait awhile before I grow on people. You know, like mold. My current job however, I knew the first week I was among my people. I had been warned: Cleveland was pretty upset about having to stop working, and understandably tense about me coming back. The thought of my mouth getting me in trouble was a pretty big fear for him. You know, that whole cuss like a trucker thing and all. Meanwhile, I found out later, co-worker to my right was informing his wife that he would probably be fired soon, since I'm a girl and all. It took us about 3 days to realize our humor is about the same, and we would all be fine. You're welcome, wife and husband.
Coming in to a new place, as one of the few girls who hold this sort of job, is always an adventure. The guys never know what to expect. Am I a girly-girl who got confused? A femi-nazi who has bigger balls than they do? Am I just scamming for a sexual harassment lawsuit? They just don't know! What I really am is a girl who can't stand dress shoes or pantyhose and kind of fell into a career where I don't need them! Nothing made me happier than, when I had been here a few months, I heard the boss man say "I sure am glad we got her, and not some prissy bitch!" Awww! See, these are my people!
I did have a boss once years ago, who made it extremely easy for the 3 girls who worked for him to get any time off we wanted. All we had to do was start a sentence with "Well, my ovary...." and that's as far as we needed to go. Yes, we took advantage of him. No, I don't feel too guilty about it.
At the beginning of winter this year, the Mommy-in-law bought me some new boots. MIL has great taste in clothing and fashion. I do not. So if she says something is good, I have no grounds for argument. These are black suede boots, lined with something warm and furry, very comfortable. I don't know the brand name, but she assures me they are "better than Ug," whatever that means. First snowy day, I come in wearing my new boots. I ask the married guys what "better than Ug" means, I finally learn that Ug is a whole brand of boots and is spelled Ugg. Cool! Then I am informed:
"Those better than Ugg boots sure don't make you walk any better!"
Awesome. See, I was born with one leg not quite as straight as the other one. The technical term from the Orthopedic surgeon is "squinty knee." One knee squints in at the other. In car terms, I suffer from a "toe out condition." To keep that knee from banging into the other one, I walk with a foot at about a 45 degree angle out from where it should be. It causes me to kind of, uh, waddle? Lope? I don't know the correct term there, but it's not graceful. Or free of pain. But apparently it is fairly amusing to watch. I don't run. I never learned how. Well, the boots are very nice and cool and all, but they do not help me walk better. Nice of my people to point that out for me.
I think when I really knew I was among my people was one day when I was standing outside with the boss man watching someone jog down the sidewalk. I commented that I always look behind the runners. You know, to see what is chasing them. He admitted he looks at the hands. To see what they're carrying (read: stealing.) The fact that neither one of us could come up with any other reason for someone to be jogging down the sidewalk is strangely comforting to me. These are so totally my people!
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