Mindy Levy's Blog, page 2
December 13, 2012
Don't Sweat The Small Stuff
Anxiety, (also called angst or worry), as defined by Wikipedia, is a psychological and physiological state characterized by somatic, emotional, cognitive, and behavioral components. It is the displeasing feeling of fear and concern.
First, what the heck does “somatic” mean. I am f-r-e-a-k-i-n-g out right now. Is anxiety worse than I really thought? What symptoms have I missed? Are there yet more elements to anxiety that I am not aware of but am likely suffering from? Yes, I know you don’t end sentences with a preposition, but if I am in a full out panic from my discovery of this rare, deadly somatic malady thing from which I will likely die, I’ll use whatever grammar I please. (Let’s see who was astute enough to catch the irony in that last sentence.)
But I digress. I consider myself an intelligent person and, since I had to look it up, I thought maybe you need to know, too. Somatic simply means “of the body” and in medical terms that means “not mental” as in illness. I stopped reading there in case there was further detail of what “of the body” entailed because I spied the word mutation on the page. I didn’t want to develop (by power of suggestion) any of the disgusting afflictions or ailments that are considered “of the body.”
Second, “It is the displeasing feeling of fear and concern” is to anxiety as dinghy is to the Titanic. The jackass that wrote that description has never, ever had a real, drain the blood from your face and render you paralyzed, panic attack.
So there you have it, the publicly accepted definition of anxiety. Now here’s mine:
The inexplicable, unpredictable, irrational physical and emotional “I am going to die a horrible, never seen before type of death RIGHT NOW and no-one can help me” response to….. nothing in particular. It also entails brooding, obsessing and constant attention to the “what might happen” versus a logical cause and effect approach to the risks of daily activities like taking an aspirin (Could I be allergic? Is anaphylactic shock a possibility or just hives if I am, in fact, allergic? Was the package safety sealed? Is it past the expiration date?)
This is my day to day life folks. I said it early on: I’m a worrier. I worry. My friends make fun of me for it, my kids say the don’t need to worry about anything because I do it for them but no-one actually complains. You know why? Because if any of these people get stuck on a desert island with me they know they’ll have snacks, bottled water and a pretty decent first aid kit- all from my purse. If their pants shrunk or if they lose a button I have the “As Seen On TV… Perfect Fit Button” pants extender that instantly makes your pants fit perfectly. If there is the sniff of a cold (bad pun) I am stocked with a mini pharmacy at all times.
While it is exhausting to worry like this, and I am the brunt of frequent jokes and mockery, I can’t stop. It’s like crack. I’ve tried to take my dad’s advise over and again: “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” He was a master of practicing what he preached. He was calm, collected and measured.
Until he got really pissed off. Then it was no holds barred. But until you got there, the small stuff just slid on by.
Anyway, I tried to adhere to my dad’s mantra but I couldn’t. Worry, I repeat, it’s like crack. I can’t get enough. I try to give it up but no amount of rehab can set me free. No twelve step process will save me. No family intervention will unravel the tangled web of worry I’ve wound over the last 46 years.
What will I do next, you ask? How will I cope with this narcotic called worry? Well, my coping mechanism is humor. Like when I got a spider bite on my butt and told my husband I was in anaphylactic shock because I couldn’t breathe. I dropped my pants in the kitchen and flipped completely out.
My husband quickly pointed out that I was, in fact, breathing because I was talking, taking actual breaths, to tell him how I got bitten and sipping on a drink while I did so.
Or the time that the cat wouldn’t eat and I thought he knew he was dying and was trying to tell us so. The truth was my spoiled Jewish cat got a taste of turkey and canned food and refused to eat food that was “below” him. I really thought he was dying and actually lost sleep because he knew and couldn’t tell us.
There’s tons more where this came from. I’m compiling some of the best for a future blog post. This was just the teaser. I hope you’ll come back and read more soon.
Got any anxiety of your own? Come on, you know you do…. Feel free to share it with me!
First, what the heck does “somatic” mean. I am f-r-e-a-k-i-n-g out right now. Is anxiety worse than I really thought? What symptoms have I missed? Are there yet more elements to anxiety that I am not aware of but am likely suffering from? Yes, I know you don’t end sentences with a preposition, but if I am in a full out panic from my discovery of this rare, deadly somatic malady thing from which I will likely die, I’ll use whatever grammar I please. (Let’s see who was astute enough to catch the irony in that last sentence.)
But I digress. I consider myself an intelligent person and, since I had to look it up, I thought maybe you need to know, too. Somatic simply means “of the body” and in medical terms that means “not mental” as in illness. I stopped reading there in case there was further detail of what “of the body” entailed because I spied the word mutation on the page. I didn’t want to develop (by power of suggestion) any of the disgusting afflictions or ailments that are considered “of the body.”
Second, “It is the displeasing feeling of fear and concern” is to anxiety as dinghy is to the Titanic. The jackass that wrote that description has never, ever had a real, drain the blood from your face and render you paralyzed, panic attack.
So there you have it, the publicly accepted definition of anxiety. Now here’s mine:
The inexplicable, unpredictable, irrational physical and emotional “I am going to die a horrible, never seen before type of death RIGHT NOW and no-one can help me” response to….. nothing in particular. It also entails brooding, obsessing and constant attention to the “what might happen” versus a logical cause and effect approach to the risks of daily activities like taking an aspirin (Could I be allergic? Is anaphylactic shock a possibility or just hives if I am, in fact, allergic? Was the package safety sealed? Is it past the expiration date?)
This is my day to day life folks. I said it early on: I’m a worrier. I worry. My friends make fun of me for it, my kids say the don’t need to worry about anything because I do it for them but no-one actually complains. You know why? Because if any of these people get stuck on a desert island with me they know they’ll have snacks, bottled water and a pretty decent first aid kit- all from my purse. If their pants shrunk or if they lose a button I have the “As Seen On TV… Perfect Fit Button” pants extender that instantly makes your pants fit perfectly. If there is the sniff of a cold (bad pun) I am stocked with a mini pharmacy at all times.
While it is exhausting to worry like this, and I am the brunt of frequent jokes and mockery, I can’t stop. It’s like crack. I’ve tried to take my dad’s advise over and again: “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” He was a master of practicing what he preached. He was calm, collected and measured.
Until he got really pissed off. Then it was no holds barred. But until you got there, the small stuff just slid on by.
Anyway, I tried to adhere to my dad’s mantra but I couldn’t. Worry, I repeat, it’s like crack. I can’t get enough. I try to give it up but no amount of rehab can set me free. No twelve step process will save me. No family intervention will unravel the tangled web of worry I’ve wound over the last 46 years.
What will I do next, you ask? How will I cope with this narcotic called worry? Well, my coping mechanism is humor. Like when I got a spider bite on my butt and told my husband I was in anaphylactic shock because I couldn’t breathe. I dropped my pants in the kitchen and flipped completely out.
My husband quickly pointed out that I was, in fact, breathing because I was talking, taking actual breaths, to tell him how I got bitten and sipping on a drink while I did so.
Or the time that the cat wouldn’t eat and I thought he knew he was dying and was trying to tell us so. The truth was my spoiled Jewish cat got a taste of turkey and canned food and refused to eat food that was “below” him. I really thought he was dying and actually lost sleep because he knew and couldn’t tell us.
There’s tons more where this came from. I’m compiling some of the best for a future blog post. This was just the teaser. I hope you’ll come back and read more soon.
Got any anxiety of your own? Come on, you know you do…. Feel free to share it with me!
December 4, 2012
Mindy’s Guide To The Eight Days Of Chanukah Gift Giving!
Day One
Fill their hearts and their stomachs with a Chanukah surprise from Schmaltz Deli (https://schmaltzonline.com/)! Need a complete brisket dinner, bubelah? Got you covered. Latkes or lox? Check! Seriously, these guys bring classis Jewish food right to your door. So don’t wait, bubbe says you’re too skinny. Call or click now and put some meat on those bones.
Day Two
It’s the Perfect Fit Button. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? I’m not! This product is freaking amazing. I have them in every color. Lost a few pounds? No prob- the PFB magically shrinks your pants a size. And who doesn’t need to instantly add an inch to any pants… in seconds! Especially after you and the kids have scarfed down all those Schmaltz Deli delights? It’s anything but CHAZEREI so you’re sure to need some extra space at the waist. (At least until you sign up for that new gym on January 1st and quit by February 15th.)
Save yourself from the dangers of safety pins. Avoid the long sweater syndrome (to cover up the button that just won’t reach. And eat, bubelah, eat. http://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Fit-Ins...
Day Three
“She’s always there with chopped liver and sound advice. No more worry- for the smallest or largest of challenges- the answers are here. Just ask yourself, what would bubbe say?”
Keep warm with a steaming cup of hot chocolate in a “ What Would Bubbe Say” customer mug. Or hang a “WWBS” ornament on your Chanukah bush! This shop on Café Press has everything the bubbe lover in you needs!
http://www.cafepress.com/bubbesays
Day Four
It’s the Manischewitz Chanukah House Decorating Kit. Finally. FINALLY Jews have a voice in this frustrating, sticky and just plain icky family holiday construction activity. I’ve made many a gingerbread house in my day. Most of them fell apart. We ate none of them (oy, did you read the ingredients???) Anyway, we’ve been left out of this important tradition long enough and I myself have purchased not one, but two, of these Chanukah houses and will proudly post pics when they are complete!
http://www.ohnuts.com/buy.cfm/hanukka...
Day Five
Mindy’s Musings. Yes, yes, I am entitled to one shameless Chanukah plug. This is my blog after all! You can get it everywhere…amazon.com, smashwords, Goodreads, my website (www.mindylevy.com) So give ‘em some love and some laughter with my book in paperback or ebook NOW!
Day Six
By now you’re in full Chanukah swing. It’s really getting fun and everyone can’t wait to light the candles and begin the hunt for gifts. You can’t go wrong with ANYTHING from The Onion Store. http://store.theonion.com/
Seriously, they have everything from WTF sticky notes to fake products like the Dept. Of Homeland Security Cologne: Decoy Box-“ the best way to be singled out for very, VERY thorough search.” Then there’s my personal favorite, the Traumatize Your Children book. It’s the authority on seven proven methods to help you screw up your kids (http://store.theonion.com/p-5083-trau...)
Day Seven
We’re in the home stretch and it’s time to do some serious gift giving. So find gifts that GIVE. I mean it. Here are some great websites for places that give back, help others and are sure to bring you some good karma! Please check them out and consider choosing one of them and make a difference!
Gifts that Give: http://www.giftsthatgive.com/
Huffington Post: 10 Holiday Gifts That Give Back http://www.huffingtonpost.com/offmetr...
Find your favorite charities here with a comprehensive list from A-Z: http://www.charitywatch.org/azlist.html
Day Eight
Laughter. Give them laughter. They say laughter is the best medicine and I agree. Plus, it’s free, has no bad side effects and is available to EVERYONE!
Happy Holidays and keep smiling!
XO
Mindy
Fill their hearts and their stomachs with a Chanukah surprise from Schmaltz Deli (https://schmaltzonline.com/)! Need a complete brisket dinner, bubelah? Got you covered. Latkes or lox? Check! Seriously, these guys bring classis Jewish food right to your door. So don’t wait, bubbe says you’re too skinny. Call or click now and put some meat on those bones.
Day Two
It’s the Perfect Fit Button. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? I’m not! This product is freaking amazing. I have them in every color. Lost a few pounds? No prob- the PFB magically shrinks your pants a size. And who doesn’t need to instantly add an inch to any pants… in seconds! Especially after you and the kids have scarfed down all those Schmaltz Deli delights? It’s anything but CHAZEREI so you’re sure to need some extra space at the waist. (At least until you sign up for that new gym on January 1st and quit by February 15th.)
Save yourself from the dangers of safety pins. Avoid the long sweater syndrome (to cover up the button that just won’t reach. And eat, bubelah, eat. http://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Fit-Ins...
Day Three
“She’s always there with chopped liver and sound advice. No more worry- for the smallest or largest of challenges- the answers are here. Just ask yourself, what would bubbe say?”
Keep warm with a steaming cup of hot chocolate in a “ What Would Bubbe Say” customer mug. Or hang a “WWBS” ornament on your Chanukah bush! This shop on Café Press has everything the bubbe lover in you needs!
http://www.cafepress.com/bubbesays
Day Four
It’s the Manischewitz Chanukah House Decorating Kit. Finally. FINALLY Jews have a voice in this frustrating, sticky and just plain icky family holiday construction activity. I’ve made many a gingerbread house in my day. Most of them fell apart. We ate none of them (oy, did you read the ingredients???) Anyway, we’ve been left out of this important tradition long enough and I myself have purchased not one, but two, of these Chanukah houses and will proudly post pics when they are complete!
http://www.ohnuts.com/buy.cfm/hanukka...
Day Five
Mindy’s Musings. Yes, yes, I am entitled to one shameless Chanukah plug. This is my blog after all! You can get it everywhere…amazon.com, smashwords, Goodreads, my website (www.mindylevy.com) So give ‘em some love and some laughter with my book in paperback or ebook NOW!
Day Six
By now you’re in full Chanukah swing. It’s really getting fun and everyone can’t wait to light the candles and begin the hunt for gifts. You can’t go wrong with ANYTHING from The Onion Store. http://store.theonion.com/
Seriously, they have everything from WTF sticky notes to fake products like the Dept. Of Homeland Security Cologne: Decoy Box-“ the best way to be singled out for very, VERY thorough search.” Then there’s my personal favorite, the Traumatize Your Children book. It’s the authority on seven proven methods to help you screw up your kids (http://store.theonion.com/p-5083-trau...)
Day Seven
We’re in the home stretch and it’s time to do some serious gift giving. So find gifts that GIVE. I mean it. Here are some great websites for places that give back, help others and are sure to bring you some good karma! Please check them out and consider choosing one of them and make a difference!
Gifts that Give: http://www.giftsthatgive.com/
Huffington Post: 10 Holiday Gifts That Give Back http://www.huffingtonpost.com/offmetr...
Find your favorite charities here with a comprehensive list from A-Z: http://www.charitywatch.org/azlist.html
Day Eight
Laughter. Give them laughter. They say laughter is the best medicine and I agree. Plus, it’s free, has no bad side effects and is available to EVERYONE!
Happy Holidays and keep smiling!
XO
Mindy
November 25, 2012
A False Alarm
“Attention, attention. The fire alarm was inadvertently sounded, please return to your offices.” This is what I heard at 2:45pm on an otherwise quiet Wednesday afternoon at work, when the alarm did in fact go off. Okay, fair enough. Someone tripped it in error. Back to prepping for my 3pm call.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. “The emergency on the 24th floor has been contained.” Buzzzzzzzzzzz. “We repeat, the crisis has been contained.”
OK, I know my thought process is not always rational, but my internal alarm began to sound in unison with the unremitting buzz of the building’s alert system.
I calmly walked out of my office to find all of my colleagues going about business as usual. It was as if they didn’t hear the piercing shrill of the still sounding fire alarm. Apparently they were satisfied with the contained crisis pronouncement and disinclined to even question the nature of the emergency.
I, on the other hand, was less than delighted to know there was a crisis requiring suppression in the first place. And the fact that the alarm continued to sound did not bolster confidence that emergency was in fact over.
“Hey guys, do you hear the alarm?”
"Yeah. False alarm."
“Hmmm. Ok. Yeah, but why does it continue to sound?” As calmly as I could muster, “And what do you think the, uh, crisis, was on the 24th floor?”
“No clue.” And back to calls, proposals, meetings they went.
My inside voice was screaming “What the heck is wrong with you people??? Haven’t you see ‘The Towering Inferno?’ There is a crisis on the 24th floor, the alarm is sounding and you act like you are exempt from becoming tomorrow morning’s CNN Headline News.”
My outside persona simply walked to the employee entrance to verify no-one had locked it from the outside, rendering us helpless victims of this horrific terror plot. The door swung wide open. Phew.
I strode coolly back to my office to ensure the phones were working. Nope. Lights blinking like a circuit had been broken. Not good. We WERE hostages. Oh my G-d we need to get out. NOW.
We are on the tenth floor of this midtown structure surrounded by parking decks, businesses and sidewalks. All made of cement. You see where I’m going? It was looking like we might need to crash one of the building’s quadruple reinforced industrial grade glass panes. But then what? Where would we go? It was a modern day tower of terror, 40 years after the original hit the big screen. I was sure. All we were missing was Paul Newman and Steve McQueen. I did not want to die here.
Then a funny thing happened. The alarm stopped. The phones went back on. People were using the elevators. A sure sign we were ok. Everyone knows to use the stairs in time of danger. We made it!
Now 2:59pm. Still time to make my call. What felt like hours actually transpired in a matter of minutes. Hopefully, that’s all this harrowing experience shaved off my life.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. “The emergency on the 24th floor has been contained.” Buzzzzzzzzzzz. “We repeat, the crisis has been contained.”
OK, I know my thought process is not always rational, but my internal alarm began to sound in unison with the unremitting buzz of the building’s alert system.
I calmly walked out of my office to find all of my colleagues going about business as usual. It was as if they didn’t hear the piercing shrill of the still sounding fire alarm. Apparently they were satisfied with the contained crisis pronouncement and disinclined to even question the nature of the emergency.
I, on the other hand, was less than delighted to know there was a crisis requiring suppression in the first place. And the fact that the alarm continued to sound did not bolster confidence that emergency was in fact over.
“Hey guys, do you hear the alarm?”
"Yeah. False alarm."
“Hmmm. Ok. Yeah, but why does it continue to sound?” As calmly as I could muster, “And what do you think the, uh, crisis, was on the 24th floor?”
“No clue.” And back to calls, proposals, meetings they went.
My inside voice was screaming “What the heck is wrong with you people??? Haven’t you see ‘The Towering Inferno?’ There is a crisis on the 24th floor, the alarm is sounding and you act like you are exempt from becoming tomorrow morning’s CNN Headline News.”
My outside persona simply walked to the employee entrance to verify no-one had locked it from the outside, rendering us helpless victims of this horrific terror plot. The door swung wide open. Phew.
I strode coolly back to my office to ensure the phones were working. Nope. Lights blinking like a circuit had been broken. Not good. We WERE hostages. Oh my G-d we need to get out. NOW.
We are on the tenth floor of this midtown structure surrounded by parking decks, businesses and sidewalks. All made of cement. You see where I’m going? It was looking like we might need to crash one of the building’s quadruple reinforced industrial grade glass panes. But then what? Where would we go? It was a modern day tower of terror, 40 years after the original hit the big screen. I was sure. All we were missing was Paul Newman and Steve McQueen. I did not want to die here.
Then a funny thing happened. The alarm stopped. The phones went back on. People were using the elevators. A sure sign we were ok. Everyone knows to use the stairs in time of danger. We made it!
Now 2:59pm. Still time to make my call. What felt like hours actually transpired in a matter of minutes. Hopefully, that’s all this harrowing experience shaved off my life.
October 19, 2012
Fish Tales
Mindy’s Musings hasn’t got viral. Yet.
What is has done, much to my surprise, is compel people to call or email me with their stories saying, “here’s a really crazy one you should write about!” or, “you’ve got to put this one in your next book, it’s hilarious!” Nothing could make me happier. My book is making people laugh and now they want to share their own stories, which just means more laughter.
They say laughter is the best medicine and I agree. Plus, it’s free, has no bad side effects and is available to EVERYONE!! So bring it on, folks.
But wait, this could be something? I mean Some Thing.
At this moment I am filled with an overwhelming sense pride and satisfaction at the prospect of having started a new fad (better yet let’s say “trend” as “fad” is so temporary) of people connecting, really connecting, to share their own daily escapades through the extraordinarily ordinary. I have to admit, I’m a little verklempt right now.
One example came this week from my friend and co-worker, Kyla. If you read my book, she makes an appearance in Chapter 2. If you haven’t read my book- GO READ IT!
Kyla lives in a nice, suburban neighborhood much like my own. She and her husband have a six year old and were thrilled to meet their new neighbors, who also have young children, when they relocated here last year. That was about the last thrill with their new “friends”.
Kyla’s daughter has frequent play dates with her neighbor’s kids. One recent kid fest at Kyla’s house included the usual suspects of toys, cookies and lots of paper and markers. Everyone had fun and the kids parted happy as clams.
A couple of days later Kyla receives a phone call from Jennifer, not to thank her for a lovely day, but rather requesting her daughter’s “art work” from the earlier play date. A little background is required before I proceed here.
Kyla, like me, works long hours, travels, and juggles the family, kid activities and the social calendar the best she can. Jennifer has an equally important job as a stay at home mom. The distinction is not the importance of the job- both are important- but rather the priority one places on certain aspects of that job.
Back to the “art work”.
“Hi Kyla, it’s Jennifer. I’d like to drop over and pick up Lisa’s art work from yesterday.”
Kyla was just silent thinking, “What art work? Did the kids do a secret project or go paint pottery with the dads while I was at work?” Then it dawned on her- the paper and markers. You know what they say… one Mom’s trash is another Mom’s treasure. In this case, the treasure consisted of a bunch of scribble scrabble on scrap paper and had found a new home at the bottom of the recycle bin.
Does tossing the “art work” make Kyla a bad mom? No. Does Jennifer have a slightly skewed definition of “artwork”. Yes. Personally, I think she will qualify as a contestant in the real life game show called “I live now and will always live vicariously through my children”. But my opinion doesn’t really matter. In the end, Kyla told Jennifer the artwork was permanently on display- in her shredder- and was irretrievable.
Then there was the issue of the missing shorts. Kyla’s daughter loved these shorts. Size 6-T denim, and very fashionable. Missing. Vanished. Gone. Vamoosh. Kyla searched and searched for weeks and finally accepted that they were gone forever.
Or were they?
Ringy Ringy. It’s Jennifer again. Not in hot pursuit of stick people sketched on recycled paper this time, but with a very welcome discovery of one pair of missing, very fashionable size 6-T denim shorts. Yes, she’d had them for almost a month, but really, it’s a long trek across the street to return them. Should Kyla have been thankful or pissed? You choose.
Finally, the fish fiasco. And this is priceless.
Kyla and Jennifer retrieve one another’s mail when the family is out of town. Typical neighbor stuff and a nice thing to do. No phone call for this one, just a text message.
“Kyla, we’re going on vacation next week. Can you get our mail?”
Why the hell not. Pick up a few letters, drop them in a basket and they can come get them when they get home.
“Sure, no problem, Jennifer. Let us know when to start.”
“Great, thanks, Kyla. Oh, and can you feed our fish while we’re gone, too?”
Mail is one thing, but a living, breathing creature is another. As we say in sales, time to ask some qualifying questions. Remember, this is all happening by text message.
“How long will you be gone? And how many times a day does the fish need to be fed.”
“Three weeks. He needs to be fed once a day. But if you can’t do that, you can go to PetSmart and get some time released fish food and it can be every other day. Thanks, we leave tomorrow.”
OMG. Really? Let me get this straight. Please pick up my mail for three weeks. And don’t kill my fish while we’re gone. If you can’t get your sorry ass to my house often enough, take it upon yourself to make the trip to the pet store and buy time released food at your own expense. Ciao, we’re off.
Turns out, Jennifer recently converted from Judaism. She said it was because her husband isn’t Jewish. I’m not biting. It’s because she was a crappy Jew. Any of us would have asked nicely if Kyla could babysit Mr. Fish, provided 3 months worth of food, some brownies for the family and $20 in case Mr. Fish got sick and needed medical attention. We also would have brought the tiny fish tank to Kyla’s house so as not to impose too much inconvenience. Jennifer did not convert. She was kick out of the tribe. Period.
Kyla was right. This was indeed good fodder for my book and blog. It reaffirms that we all have nutty stories and equally nutty neighbors- that none of us are exempt.
It also brings me back to reality. To the truth that I have not, in fact, started a revolution of “people connecting, really connecting, to share their own daily escapades through the extraordinarily ordinary.”
What I have actually done is motivate people to apply fictitious names to real people in an effort to anonymously mock their ridiculous behavior. I believe the layman’s term for this is gossip.
Well, call it what you will. My mission is to make people laugh, without hurting anyone, and from what I can see, I’m doing just that. So laugh hearty, laugh often, and keep the stories coming!
Xo
Mindy
What is has done, much to my surprise, is compel people to call or email me with their stories saying, “here’s a really crazy one you should write about!” or, “you’ve got to put this one in your next book, it’s hilarious!” Nothing could make me happier. My book is making people laugh and now they want to share their own stories, which just means more laughter.
They say laughter is the best medicine and I agree. Plus, it’s free, has no bad side effects and is available to EVERYONE!! So bring it on, folks.
But wait, this could be something? I mean Some Thing.
At this moment I am filled with an overwhelming sense pride and satisfaction at the prospect of having started a new fad (better yet let’s say “trend” as “fad” is so temporary) of people connecting, really connecting, to share their own daily escapades through the extraordinarily ordinary. I have to admit, I’m a little verklempt right now.
One example came this week from my friend and co-worker, Kyla. If you read my book, she makes an appearance in Chapter 2. If you haven’t read my book- GO READ IT!
Kyla lives in a nice, suburban neighborhood much like my own. She and her husband have a six year old and were thrilled to meet their new neighbors, who also have young children, when they relocated here last year. That was about the last thrill with their new “friends”.
Kyla’s daughter has frequent play dates with her neighbor’s kids. One recent kid fest at Kyla’s house included the usual suspects of toys, cookies and lots of paper and markers. Everyone had fun and the kids parted happy as clams.
A couple of days later Kyla receives a phone call from Jennifer, not to thank her for a lovely day, but rather requesting her daughter’s “art work” from the earlier play date. A little background is required before I proceed here.
Kyla, like me, works long hours, travels, and juggles the family, kid activities and the social calendar the best she can. Jennifer has an equally important job as a stay at home mom. The distinction is not the importance of the job- both are important- but rather the priority one places on certain aspects of that job.
Back to the “art work”.
“Hi Kyla, it’s Jennifer. I’d like to drop over and pick up Lisa’s art work from yesterday.”
Kyla was just silent thinking, “What art work? Did the kids do a secret project or go paint pottery with the dads while I was at work?” Then it dawned on her- the paper and markers. You know what they say… one Mom’s trash is another Mom’s treasure. In this case, the treasure consisted of a bunch of scribble scrabble on scrap paper and had found a new home at the bottom of the recycle bin.
Does tossing the “art work” make Kyla a bad mom? No. Does Jennifer have a slightly skewed definition of “artwork”. Yes. Personally, I think she will qualify as a contestant in the real life game show called “I live now and will always live vicariously through my children”. But my opinion doesn’t really matter. In the end, Kyla told Jennifer the artwork was permanently on display- in her shredder- and was irretrievable.
Then there was the issue of the missing shorts. Kyla’s daughter loved these shorts. Size 6-T denim, and very fashionable. Missing. Vanished. Gone. Vamoosh. Kyla searched and searched for weeks and finally accepted that they were gone forever.
Or were they?
Ringy Ringy. It’s Jennifer again. Not in hot pursuit of stick people sketched on recycled paper this time, but with a very welcome discovery of one pair of missing, very fashionable size 6-T denim shorts. Yes, she’d had them for almost a month, but really, it’s a long trek across the street to return them. Should Kyla have been thankful or pissed? You choose.
Finally, the fish fiasco. And this is priceless.
Kyla and Jennifer retrieve one another’s mail when the family is out of town. Typical neighbor stuff and a nice thing to do. No phone call for this one, just a text message.
“Kyla, we’re going on vacation next week. Can you get our mail?”
Why the hell not. Pick up a few letters, drop them in a basket and they can come get them when they get home.
“Sure, no problem, Jennifer. Let us know when to start.”
“Great, thanks, Kyla. Oh, and can you feed our fish while we’re gone, too?”
Mail is one thing, but a living, breathing creature is another. As we say in sales, time to ask some qualifying questions. Remember, this is all happening by text message.
“How long will you be gone? And how many times a day does the fish need to be fed.”
“Three weeks. He needs to be fed once a day. But if you can’t do that, you can go to PetSmart and get some time released fish food and it can be every other day. Thanks, we leave tomorrow.”
OMG. Really? Let me get this straight. Please pick up my mail for three weeks. And don’t kill my fish while we’re gone. If you can’t get your sorry ass to my house often enough, take it upon yourself to make the trip to the pet store and buy time released food at your own expense. Ciao, we’re off.
Turns out, Jennifer recently converted from Judaism. She said it was because her husband isn’t Jewish. I’m not biting. It’s because she was a crappy Jew. Any of us would have asked nicely if Kyla could babysit Mr. Fish, provided 3 months worth of food, some brownies for the family and $20 in case Mr. Fish got sick and needed medical attention. We also would have brought the tiny fish tank to Kyla’s house so as not to impose too much inconvenience. Jennifer did not convert. She was kick out of the tribe. Period.
Kyla was right. This was indeed good fodder for my book and blog. It reaffirms that we all have nutty stories and equally nutty neighbors- that none of us are exempt.
It also brings me back to reality. To the truth that I have not, in fact, started a revolution of “people connecting, really connecting, to share their own daily escapades through the extraordinarily ordinary.”
What I have actually done is motivate people to apply fictitious names to real people in an effort to anonymously mock their ridiculous behavior. I believe the layman’s term for this is gossip.
Well, call it what you will. My mission is to make people laugh, without hurting anyone, and from what I can see, I’m doing just that. So laugh hearty, laugh often, and keep the stories coming!
Xo
Mindy
