Decatur Garcia's = Thumbs Down!

A friend and I ate lunch on Friday at Garcia's Pizza. I was very excited when we got a Garcia's back in Decatur - we previously had one at the mall, but it closed several years ago, I believe after a number of repeated health code violations and the effects of poor management. At any rate, prior to this spring, if I wanted a Gutbuster, the nearest location was in Champaign. This past Friday, I was jonesin' for a Gutbuster, so off to Garcia's we went. After we ordered and sat down, I realized that there were about five televisions located in the fairly small space of Garcia's - - all of the blaringly loud, and tuned to the Jerry Springer Show. My friend and I tried to carry on a conversation, but it was nearly impossible with the trash blaring from the television sets around us.

And speaking of trash, after we were seated, I noticed that the garbage cans were overflowing, and the floors looked as though they hadn't been swept in a month. YUCK. I even went up to the counter to ask someone to turn the channel and turn the volume down on the TVs. The girl behind the counter said she would ask the manager. After about five minutes, he came out from behind the counter and shouted to me from across the restaurant that something was wrong with the TV and that was the only station they could get. We were almost done eating at that point, so I didn't press the matter. If it were me though, and my choice were Jerry Springer or nothing, I would definitely pick nothing.

I don't think I will be back to this Garcia's again anytime soon. If this one follows in its predecessor's footsteps, it too will likely fall victim to poor management. If I need to satisfy my Gutbuster craving, looks like I will have to head to Champaign.

MINE!

My three year old follows a basic rule: What's mine is mine, and what's yours is mine. Aleita is the first to become upset and insulted if you refuse to share something with her, but the very last to actually concede to share something of hers with you. When she wants something of yours, she will oft remind you that it is nice to share - - which indeed works out nicely for her. She stands in stark contrast to our older daughter, Maggie. Maggie has a very tender heart and even from a very early age, has always been willing to share whatever she has with you - - sometimes to a fault where she will find herself without because she's given away all that she has. Aleita on the other hand. . .

A few nights ago, after I was done giving Aleita her bath, I was drying her off and reached over to drain the tub. She started to reach in and grab the bath toys out to put them back in the toy bucket that sits beside the tub. I told her to just leave them there, because Maggie was taking a bath next and would want to play with them. "I don't WANT Maggie to play with them," she declared, and started to pull them out of the tub anyway. I reminded Aleita that her bath was done and that she wouldn't be playing with them anymore, as well as the fact that most of the toys in the tub were Maggie's anyway, but she was adamant about the fact that her sister should not partake in the same bathtime frivolity in which she had just engaged. Despite her tears and a small fit, the toys stayed put. Aleita was "not happy about this." (see my blog entry from 8/24/07 for that story.)

Aleita will often ask Maggie to share her dolls with her, but seldom is the time that she will return the favor. On the occasion that Maggie asks to play with one of Aleita's dolls, she will gather them all up in her arms and carry them around with her so that can't get them. Likewise, when she plays with the Thomas the Train set at Von Maur in the Children's Department, she will rush around the set, gathering up the train cars and piling them in front of her. When another child comes along and wants to play as well, I tell Aleita to share - - this usually results in that child being handed a wooden person and a caboose (and Aleita eventually getting drug away from the train set screaming because she refuses to share.) This morning, Aleita was watching a few minutes of TV shortly before Chris took her to school. As he told her to come upstairs to brush her teeth, she and Maggie passed on the stairs. Aleita let out a pained yell, but did proceed up the stairs. When Chris asked her what was wrong, she sourly replied, "I don't want Maggie to watch the TV."

Perhaps the most telling example of Aleita's unwillingness to share occurred in church last Sunday. Last week, near the beginning of the service, I had given Maggie and Aleita each a roll of Smarties candy. Aleita gobbled hers down in the blink of an eye, but Maggie's more of a savorer. She was slowly eating her candy, one piece at a time. Once Aleita realized that Maggie still had candy, she requested that she give her some. I told Aleita that she had already had her own, and that was Maggie's to eat. She persisted, saying, "but it's nice to share!" When I told her no again, she pouted. Shortly thereafter, our minister began the passing of the peace:

Rev Ellen: The peace of Christ be with you

Congregation: and also with you.

Rev Ellen: Please share that with those around you

As everyone stood and began shaking hands and greeting each other, one small, pouty girl, with arms folded, could scarcely be heard saying, "I don't want to share!"

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO DICK AND JANE?

Only a week ago this time, Maggie was lamenting that she did not have any homework. Fast forward one week: I enter the door to the after-school care program to pick her up - - she runs to greet me with a hug, then frowns, drops her shoulders and says, "I have more homework." I have explained to her a few times that her teacher said she would have a little homework every night, but so far, that hasn't sunk in.

So far, first grade homework consists of: 1) a sheet of math homework (usually counting and coloring are involved) 2) a sheet of basic reading work, like writing the beginning letter of each picture - - if there is a bird pictured, she writes a "b." 3) memorizing a new Bible verse every night (for those of you who don't know, Maggie goes to a private, religous-based school) 4) reading pages from her primary reader with a parent.

That last one is the crux of the homework dilemma. She enjoys doing the math pages and the reading pages, and so far, she hasn't had any trouble memorizing the Bible verses (and last night's was John 3:16 - - I thought we'd be in for trouble, but she did a great job!) No, the kicker for Maggie is that learning to read just ain't easy. And if it don't come easy, Maggie isn't a big fan of it.

I can't say that I really blame her. The plot line in her stories isn't exactly mesmerizing. Gone are the days of Dick and Jane in the primary reader, though not that they themselves had many fascinating adventures. So far in Maggie's primer, we have met Nan and Ann and Dan and Dad. They do a lot of running, as in, "Ann ran. Nan ran. Ann and Nan ran to Dad." They did introduce a new character to the story, "Adam" in last night's pages. I must admit, I was so glad to see someone new - - hallelujah! He even brought a new verb with him! Adam is apparently more talented than Nan and Ann and the rest, because he not only runs, but he also drums. That's right, Adam runs AND drums. Nan and Ann seem to be fascinated by this, but they unfortunately have a limited vocabulary with which to express themselves, so they simply continue to run while Adam drums. Maybe they will soon learn the word "sit" so they can quit running and take a break already.

In all seriousness though, I really do feel for Maggie as she sits and struggles through the difficulty of learning to read. I actually remember being her age and struggling with that very thing myself. I recall crying and putting up a fight when I couldn't make the words come out right when reading with my mom - - much like Maggie is doing now. She'll get there. . .I know she will. And in the meantime, Chris and I will dutifully listen to her regale us with tales of monosyllabic characters and their repetitive actions as she works on becoming a reader.

GOOD MORNING TO YOU. . . .

Are anyone else's kids "morning people"? Our children definitely are. It takes them all of about 15 seconds for them to go from totally asleep to 100 miles an hour. They definitely did not take after their parents, as neither Chris nor I are early morning folks. In fact, when we were first married, Chris worked second shift hours for several years. He loved the hours, but once we had Maggie, working day shift hours became a lot more desirable so that we could do things as a family.

Our kids scoff at the idea of sleeping in. On Saturday, when most people would love to catch a few extra zzzzz's, our kids' little internal alarm clocks go off and have them springing out of bed about 6AM. As an example of our superior parenting, we have found that we can buy ourselves an extra hour of sleep on Saturday mornings by turning on the TV to the Disney channel the night before when we go to bed. When they wake up on Saturday mornings now, most of the time they head downstairs without distubing us and get sucked into the glow of the TV, contentedly passing an hour watching riveting programming, such as Little Einsteins or The Backyardigans. About 7AM though, the peaceful bliss of the morning evaporates and we are awakened either by: A) someone about 2 inches from our face inquiring about breakfast OR B) the sounds of the squabbling coming from downstairs as the girls get bored with TV and start bickering over the blankets or something equally significant.

I've never understood how they can be so chipper and cheery first thing in the morning, especially because I never have been a morning person. When my brother and I were little, we used to occasionally get all the cereal boxes out of the pantry and build a wall between us at the kitchen table during breakfast so we wouldn't have to look at each other. If that doesn't speak volumes about my attitude about the early morning, I don't know what does.

Maggie, who is not known for excessive periods of solitude, is always especially talkative in the morning. During the week, I am generally up before she is, but usually only by a matter of minutes. As soon as she hears me rattling around in the bathroom, she is right there with me. This morning, I was not quite awake when she started in with what Papa Dale refers to as "nattering," which I assume is a Southernism for talking incessantly. She started by giving me a run-down of who she wanted to play with at recess today, of who had what for lunch yesterday, and then she talked about what she hoped would be for lunch today. All of this and my eyes weren't even fully open yet.

I suppose it could be worse. . . I could have to contend with getting two grouchy kids off to school in the morning. Hmm. . .perhaps this would be a good time to apologize to my mom?

SO GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN!

This morning, I ran by the post office on my way to work to pick up some stamps. I was there before the post office actually opened (about 7:30AM) and had planned on just getting some stamps out of the machine. The machine was of course, broken, and did not have anything to offer me but a handwritten sign that stated, "OUT OF ORDER." I should have known. It is seldom that those machines are actually working. At any rate, as I went to leave, I ran into this woman who looked vaguely familiar. I thought I could get away with just a lovely, polite smile and a "hello," but that was simply not to be.

She reached out and touched my arm, and said, "Hey - how are you doing? Wow! You must be letting your hair grow, huh? It looks good." UH-OH. I was trapped, trapped, trapped. I was scanning my brain as fast as I could, trying to figure out just where I might know this woman from. "Oh, I'm not too bad," I said and smiled. Oh crap....who is this woman? And how long until she figures out that I don't have a clue who she is? "How about you? How are you doing?" I asked. "C'mon," I thought....."give me a clue here...." I was hoping that somewhere in her answer I may be able to discern some hint as to where our worlds had collided. But, she just delivered another form of the same pat answer I had given.

Unfortunately, I didn't have Chris with me to ask, "where do I know this woman from?" Not that that usually helps. He almost always looks at me and says, "How do I know? Why do you always ask me that?"

There were so many possibilities to consider: Have I met this woman through my job I have now, or perhaps a former one? Did we go to school together once? Did she date a friend of mine? Did I meet her at church? Do our kids go to school together?????? Oh help!

I had to think of something that could help me gain some information, without looking like I'm fishing, so I asked, "Can you believe it's back to school time already?" I was pretty proud of myself for thinking of such a non-suspect question. Unfortunately, her reply was, "I know! I was stuck behind a school bus picking up a kid for a few minutes this morning." Hmm...that one yielded no gold, did it?

Although only perhaps a minute or two had passed, I was growing more uncomfortable by the second, because clearly, this lady had no doubt in her mind that I knew who she was. I knew if I stuck around, it was only a matter of time before I was discovered. Saying that I needed to head off to work, I made my exit. She told me it was good to see me, and I claimed the same as she headed into the post office (probably to discover the broken stamp giver for herself.) I got in my car and congratulated myself on such a good performance.

and the Oscar goes to. . .

RECEIVE EMAIL ALERTS WHEN BLOG IS UPDATED!

Hey everybody! I am trying out a new feature! If you look at the right hand side of the page, you will see there is a way to enter your email address if you want to receive notification in your email everytime I update the blog. Just thought I would bring it to your attention!

I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT THIS. . . .

Aleita has a new favorite saying: "I am not happy about this." She pulls this one out at least a couple of times a day. I am not sure where she picked it up, but she uses it to describe her state of mind from anything from getting her hair combed to being told to finish her green beans. Last night, she wanted me to read her an extra book before bed. When I told her no, she replied, "I am not happy about this." When she gives me her new line, I always respond, "How unfortunate." This morning, as I put her pink and white tennis shoes on, she said, "I want my Dora tennis shoes!" As I already had one on and was almost through putting on the second, I said, "sorry - you get the pink and white ones today." "I am not happy about this," she responded. I replied, "How unfortunate." She doesn't usually argue beyond that point, she just feels the need to clarify with you that indeed, she is not happy with the current state of affairs.

What if we could get away with such candor in our everyday adult lives? Think about all those times when you have to bite the end of your tongue so that you don't say something rude or inappropriate. Imagine if we could simply let go when we are just not happy about something. My day might go something like this: At work - - "Hey Becky, I need you to complete this report by 3PM today." Instead of replying, "ok, no problem," I could simply say, "I am not happy about this." At Wal-Mart - - "Your total comes to $239.32." Instead of just swiping my debit card, I could add, "I am not happy about this." At the doctor's office after waiting 45 minutes past my appointment time, when they say, "sorry we're running so late today," instead of the standard, "oh, that's ok," I could add, "I am not very happy about this."

Truth be told though, I would most likely hear, "oh. . . . how unfortunate."

First day, first grade

(The above pictures are Maggie - - the one on the left was the first day of kindergarten last year, the one on the right is the first day of first grade this year.)

I can't believe that the summer is over already and school is back in session. Maggie started first grade yesterday. Where did my scared little kindergartener go? Taking her place this year was a brave 1st grader who was disappointed to find out that the first day of school was only a half day. She even came home a little dejected because they had not been given any homework yet. Both yesterday and today, she has fallen into bed dead tired at 7:30PM. I guess first grade can really take it out of you!

THE CONFESSIONS OF A (NON) ART COLLECTOR

I got busted last night. Maggie and I were standing in the kitchen while I was doing the dishes after supper. Out of the clear blue, she asks me, "where is that birdhouse I made?" I knew exactly what she was talking about, but to stall and think of something to tell her, I said, "what?" She said, "you know - that birdhouse I made at Vacation Bible School this summer - where is it?"

Allow me to elaborate. This summer, Maggie went to a Vacation Bible School where the theme had something to do with the Wild West. One thing that she brought home from Bible School that week was a really cute "wanted" poster, done in the style of the old West, that had her picture on it and said "Wanted by God." I thought it was really cute, and she has it hanging on her bulletin board in her bedroom. Another thing that she brought home was a tiny cowboy boot about four inches in height, made of thin craft wood, and painted in dayglo orange, pink and green. It had an opening on it the size of a nickel in the shape of a star that a bumblebee would be hard-pressed to get through. She called this creation a bird house. The "birdhouse" hung out on the kitchen counter for a week until she had forgotten about it, then it was shoved to the bottom of the trash can and picked up by our garbage man on an early Thursday morning.

Oh, you'd better not be thinking to yourself: she is so heartless! Not saving her children's special art projects, shame on her, she belongs in the bad mom hall of fame. Confession time here - - NOPE - I don't save every creation my children bring into the house. I will admire and compliment them on their artwork and drawings and colorings and paintings, but I don't save every single one. That's not to say that I don't save SOME things, but I indeed do not save every piece of paper that a crayon has ever touched, or every art project that a gluestick has ever graced. If I did, I think I would have to rent a separate storage facility to simply house it all.

If you visit my house, you will see the kids' artwork hanging on the fridge. As more things come in the house that they want on the fridge, the old stuff has to go somewhere. A few of the things do get saved in boxes I have set aside for each of them that I keep under my bed. Most of it though gets relegated to the vertical file. And occasionally, like last night, my tidy habits have a way of biting me in the butt. And so I looked my daughter in the eye and firmly said, "ummmmmmm......I'm not sure where it is." (because that is true after all - - I don't know where our garbage is taken once it leaves my house!!) But she knows me....yes, she knows me well. She took one look at me and said, "you pitched it, didn't you?" Under the pressure of my six-year old's knowing eye, I caved. "Yes, sweetie, I think I did," I admitted. She didn't seem that fazed by it, and we moved on to talk about something else.

HEY - nobody better diss me in the comments section for keeping the clutter to a minimum in my house by selective artwork reduction. . . .if you have a problem with it, I can always set aside a box of "treasures" just for you. My kids can even come over and help you redecorate. . . .

CAN SEE YOU SEE WHAT I'M SAYING?

They say that with age comes wisdom. Unfortunately, with age does not come better eyesight. Quite the contrary, in fact. In recent years, I have had more difficulty seeing at night, particularly when driving. A few years ago, I broke down and got glasses to improve my night driving vision, and all was well. This year when I went to have my eye exam and get new glasses, the doctor told me that my astigmatism was one degree worse than it had been, but, good news! my nearsightedness was the same as it had been on the previous visit.

For those of you who do not know, astigmastism is a medical term that means if you want contact lenses, you are going to pay through the nose because they are a lot more expensive than the regular ones. OK, actually it has to do with the shape of your cornea - - your cornea is supposed to be shaped like a sphere, but in people with an astigmatism, it is shaped more like an ellipse, thus making regular contact lenses unable to work for those of us with our weird-shaped corneas. An astigmatism makes it more difficult for the cornea to focus light and has a tendency to make things, like in my case, signs on the roadside, blurry and hard to read.

For the last several years, I have been content to have my driving glasses in the car - - and it's not to say that I can't drive without them, but I know that I obviously see better when I am wearing them. I will fight tooth and nail before having a restriction placed on my drivers license for having to wear corrective lenses to drive. A few years ago, a friend of mine went to the DMV to renew her drivers license, and she too wanted to leave that pesky corrective lenses restriction off her card. As she took the eye test sans glasses, she read a row of letters in the machine and the technician deadpanned, "would you like to guess again?" She begrudgingly dug her glasses out of her purse and reread the line perfectly. Her license now bears the big "R" for her vision. At the time, I said to her, "It's not like you don't always have your glasses on anyway? What's the big deal?" But I think I am beginning to understand.