Skydiving sucks

This post is triggered by a conversation with the honey and the bro the other day. 

I went skydiving once.  It wasn't exactly for me.  To be perfectly honest, I've never understood why someone would want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane.  In fact, I've never understood why someone would want to climb open stairs, or stand on the edge of a cliff and feel the wind in their hair.  Actually, I don't like jumping feet first off the high dive at the pool. 

So I might not exactly have been the best candidate for sky diving. 

Regardless, once when I was in college, I roomed with this gal who was a dare devil.  She might not actually have been a dare devil, she might just have not been afraid of heights.  But whatever.  We lived in a themed dorm, which meant that we got more money to spend on events, and when we all got together to vote on things, it turned out that the majority wanted to sky dive.  I happened to be an elected officer of the dorm (treasurer!).  This meant I had the power...  Actually, it meant I could add the title to my resume.  Actually...  It kinda meant nothing, other than they had to elect someone to count money.  Anyway, I arranged for them to go sky diving, and the room mate convinced me I had to at least go along and watch in case someone plummeted to their doom.  I was after all responsible. 

Away to the sky diving world go us!  (please google pirates of penzance lyrics for that sentence to make sense.)  We arrived at the drop zone, and the skydiving instructors made it sound so easy!  We would be attached by several O rings that we could inspect.  We could see the world, and feel the wind in our hair, and feel alive, and all that jazz.  So I signed the waiver with the goading of the daredevil room mates words in my ears. 

I got myself attached to a burly fella with a mustache.  Not a beard, just a mustache.  The O rings were solid, and up, up, up went the tiny little, perfectly adequate little airplane. 

About halfway up, the panic struck.  What if the airplane crashed?  I guess it was ok, I had a parachute.  But what if my instructor hit his head on the way out of the doorway, and was unconscious, and I didn't realize, and crash landed? 

Just as I was hyperventilating, the instructor that was attached to the daredevil room mate (who was grinning from ear to ear mind you), started pretending to pick lice from her hair and eat them.  I'm pretty sure it was because I looked like I was about to pass out.  Nervous laughter ensued.  I was still halfway away from pleading the burly man to just let me stay on the perfectly adequate airplane, when he asked me if I wanted to do a front flip on the way out. 

I'm pretty sure my incredulous stare was adequate response, because he didn't say anything else, and just grabbed the door frame, and threw us both out of the plane before I could plead for my life. 

I'm proud to say I didn't scream.  I actually didn't think it would matter.  I was busily watching the world rush toward me at 32 feet per second.  Actually, my main concern at this point, was that the wind was causing my sinuses to rapidly empty.  I was convinced that the snot that was rushing out of my nose, and streaming across my cheeks was flying upwards and hitting the burly man in the face.  I was inconceivably concerned about hygiene at 30,000 feet. 

But then I suddenly became aware that the burly man hadn't spoken since we jumped.  What if he passed out and couldn't grab the cord?  My goodness!  Why hadn't we grabbed the cord yet!  Where was the cord anyway?  What if we both died, because he passed out and didn't grab the cord? 

I still didn't scream, but calmly shouted, "Burly man!  Are you alive?"  I'm not proud of that, nor did I actually call him burly man.  His response of "Yeah, I'm still here" was a welcome sound, as was the faint whoosh of the parachute deploying.

Once the parachute deployed, all I could do was hang there limply, thinking about what would happen if a bird collided with our chute, and cropped a hole in it, or what about a freak windstorm that might spring up, and blow us to Kentucky.  Not that I have anything against Kentucky, it just wasn't where my car was.

Long story short...  too late...  we landed.  I didn't get  dragged 400 feet by the parachute, or break my leg on landing,  I also didn't land in Kentucky.

But I don't think skydiving is for me.     

A Game of Thrones... For Kids

Whelp, I finally finished a Dance with Dragons by George R.R Martin.  I'm on the fence about this of one.  A Storm of Swords was my favorite of the lot by far.  I feel a little like this last particular book was more of a - let's move the pieces of the game to where they need to be for the next book.  But regardless, I started thinking - I wonder if this series could conceivably be adapted to a children's story.

Before you dismiss the idea out of hand, hear me out.  A lot of the fairy tales that Disney adapted beyond all recognition, started out as pretty gruesome fairy tales.  I love the originals, Andrew Lang's translations are my favorites.  One year for my birthday (I may have been ten?), my grandparents got me a complete set of his fairy tales, and I've been hooked on them ever since. 

Anyway, Sleeping Beauty comes to mind.  Prince Charming hacked his way in sure enough, and killed the evil sorceress, but he also ahem - had his way?  That'll work as a euphamism...with Sleeping beauty, and love's first kiss was her babies nursing.  Don't even get me started on Hansel and Gretel, or Snow White.

So- Once upon a time, when dragons were extinct, there was an evil king who ruled his realm with fear, precedence, and the history of dragons.  A goodly knight took exception to his craziness, and slew him to save the peasants and the realm, and incidentally, his daddy.  The problem was, that once the mad king was dead, there was some general confusion over who should be king.  After much discussion, the Baratheons took the throne, and the realm prospered for several years.

See?  Generally, and in all other way completely unlike the sack of King's landing, but in my opinion, a legitimate start to a fairy tale. 

Let's get serious for a minute.  GRRM needs to get his rear in gear and finish out a few story lines! 

What to knit for a knitter...

My cousin-in-law is pregnant, and she's a knitter.  When The Captain was born, she made him a Yoda hat.  It was green, had ears, and was all kinds of awesome.  I am somewhat seriously considering sending it back to her, because it is cool enough that it deserves to be on the head of more than one kiddo. 

I am feeling like I ought to knit her something.  This is frustrating, because I am in the middle of several large projects right now.  The wedding rug from heck for my cousin, my brother's knitted armor, and my personal pet peeve, the ugly rug of doom made from my wool scraps, and scheduled for felting the second I get it done.  So lots of large projects. 

I usually knit blankets for babies, but she's a knitter!  She'll know if I take the large garter stitch and acrylic approach, and she'll know if I buy the super nice stuff and use dinky needles and lace stitches.  So What the Heck do I Do?  Knit the super complicated stuff cause she'll know and appreciate it?  Admit that I have no time, and weave something?  Admit that I have no time and garter stitch something, or admit that I have no time, and buy a target gift card that I know will go toward diapers...

Actually, Diapers are a pretty good idea.

But seriously!  It's intimidating.  To compound the issue, her mom quilts, and I know that she will make the baby a blankie.  So any blankie I make will (justifiably!) take second string to grandma's baby blankie.

Grumble grumble.  I guess I could make a sweater?  Or perhaps a pair of booties.   Oh heck yeah!  Baby booties.  Here we come.  Short and sweet.  

A middle manager's guide to mediocrity...

I think I'm going to write a book.  I'm going to call it, "A Middle Manager's Guide to Mediocrity." 

This is triggered by the fact that I just finished reading "Lean In," by Sheryl Sandberg.  You'll be happy to note dear readers, that I did not dent my wall when I flung the book across the room after I finished it.  Actually, I didn't fling the book either.  I would never do that to a library book. 

http://www.amazon.com/Lean-In-Women-Work-Will/dp/0385349947

Anyway, I finished it, and as a working momma, took several hours to digest the fact that this woman, with her dual Harvard degrees, privileged upbringing, and her humongous house expects me to find solidarity in her statement that if I just worked a little harder, and paid a little more attention to my career, I too could find success in my job, and be among the high profile professional women out there.



Anyway, Sheryl seems to think that if I'd just sit at the table with the big boys, and focus on the job, I'd be happier, and more successful.  I call shenanigans.  For all that I'm good at my job, I don't really like it that much.  If I had the option, I'd stay home and take my kiddo to the park all day every day, and be perfectly happy doing it.  Since that isn't an option, I work.  I am fortunate enough to have a wonderful nanny - my momma - best person I can possibly think of to watch after kiddo if the honey and I can't, and he goes to baby school twice a week at a church daycare with some lovely ladies.  So it's not the fact that I couldn't stay and work 50-60 hours a week to impress the CEO with my dedication, it's that I don't want to. 


 Here's the thing - I am darn good at my job.  Yes, it frustrates me to no end some days, but I am very, very good at what I do.  I also work in  a very specialized field, in a position that is traditionally held by men.  Let me put it this way, I wear steel toe boots to work every day.  My job does not now, and never will pay what a CEO's job will pay, but I don't aspire to that.  I just aspire to make enough money to pay the bills, and have a little left over at the end of each month after putting money in kiddo's college fund to save toward a vacation, or a new pair of shoes.  The honey and I are not extravagant people, and we don't live a jet setting lifestyle, and I'm OK with that.  That isn't to say that we don't budget, - of course we do.  In fact, I think most folks would probably describe our household budget as tight or frugal.  We're working on paying off our school debt so I can think about reducing my work hours so I can spend more time with kiddo and the honey.   

Maybe if I'd gone to the Ivy League school that I was accepted too and couldn't attend because of financial issues, instead of the perfectly respectable, well ranked state college that I ended up at I'd feel differently.  Or maybe if I were willing to sacrifice feeding kiddo dinner every night, and having trucks and snuggle time, or didn't value spending weeknights talking to the honey, or hanging out with the rest of my friends and family, I'd feel differently. 

As it is, I go to work because they pay me.  I do the job, because they pay me.  I don't particularly care about the technical documents that I write or the reports I submit to regulatory agencies.  I just care enough to make sure they are done correctly, because, I'm beginning to sound like a broken record here, they pay me. 

If I didn't have to work, I wouldn't.  This isn't my first choice.  But I would never ever, presume to try to speak for other working women, and tell them that if they just worked a little harder, and made a couple more sacrifices, they too could do my job.  Because to be honest, I'd love to have Sheryl Sandberg, wear her Louboutins and try to keep up with me for one day.  I'd crush those tiny little stilletos under the heels of my Redwings without even trying. 

The Low Maintenance Gal's Guide to Gift Giving - For Guys.

Let me preface this by saying that I think I'm low maintenance.  I very well may be the worst type as described by When Harry Met Sally - The dreaded high maintenance type that thinks they are low maintenance.  But regardless.  This advice stems from a conversation with the honey the other day.  It pre-supposes that you are married with at least 1 kiddo and on a fairly tight budget - so think accordingly. 

1)  I don't expect a present for every holiday.  I do however, expect recognition of said holidays.  A hug, and a "I love you so much, Happy XYZ Holiday," will do wonders for me.  Because I love you too, and I'd rather have recognition than the feeling that I am taking away from kiddo's college fund, or the new lawn mower fund.     

2)  That said, if you do want to give a present,  a present of time is a wonderful gift.  If my honey said to me, "I love you so much, Happy XYZ Holiday, I cleaned all the bathrooms in the house and waxed all the hardwood floors, and washed the windows"  I would be exceptionally happy.  Quick note, if the bathroom cleaning and hardwood floor waxing is something you normally do instead of me, it's not that much of a present.  However, if hardwood floor waxing is on my chore list...  You get the idea.

3)  The holidays I expect you to recognize for me are as follows:  Valentine's day, our anniversary, my birthday, mother's day, and Christmas.  Your particular days may vary depending on your nationality / creed / veteran status.  Also, not all holidays are created equal.  Anniversary, birthday, mother's day and Christmas  are all the really important ones - for me anyway.  Flowers or a hug are acceptable for anything else.  Flowers and a hug are also acceptable for the aforementioned. 

As a quick note, push presents for future kiddos are not expected, needed or really even wanted.  However, if there's a family heirloom like the ring my momma gave me after the captain was born that you'd be interested in passing down, I'd treasure it, and make sure that potential future kiddo number 2 was the future recipient.    Also, flowers, see Number 9...

4)  The holidays I expect you to recognize for our kiddo - Well, actually, I like shopping for kiddo - so don't worry about this one.  However, I expect you not to quibble when I want to put together an Easter Basket for The Captain. 

5)  Never under estimate the power of a bottle of wine and a meal cooked together.  My favorite anniversary we have spent together consisted of putting kiddo to bed, cracking open a bottle of red wine, and making steaks and salads together. 

6)  For whatever reason, special dates ending in 5s are more important.  Five year anniversary, 40 birthday, etc.  B's rule of thumb, if the date is something corresponding to a high school reunion that you'd think about attending for more than 5 seconds, I'd like it if you could spend a little more thought on it. 

7)  If you decide you want to buy a present - Experiences are more special to me than physical things.  My favorite birthday present ever was the year my honey bought me a chain to hang my wedding ring (I was pregnant, fat, and couldn't fit my ring over my finger), dinner at a restaurant and symphony tickets together.  That said, my favorite anniversary present ever was the year the honey went to the grocery store, and came home with the fixings for steak, hollandaise sauce, and salads.  That aside, if I say to you - Honey, I want a new crock pot for Insert Holiday Here - I actually mean, buy me a new crockpot and put a dang bow on it.  The honey has honestly looked at me and said, I can't buy you a kitchen appliance for said holiday!  News flash...  If I say I want a new crock pot, it's a strong indication that I'd be happy with said appliance for a holiday gift.  

8)  Anything handmade.  I mean, really.  Anything.  Our daycare painted a clay pot, and dipped the Captain's fingertips in paint and placed them on the outside of the pot and sent it home, and I dissolved in to tears once I got it home.

9)   Flowers - Here are my deep thoughts on flowers.  I love them.  My favorite are Gerber Daisies.  It is totally worth figuring out what your significant other's favorite flowers are.  It's also worth not reserving them for special days.  Bring your honey flowers some random Thursday...Let me explain.  If you bring home flowers some random day, just because - well, who doesn't love flowers.  They are pretty, smell good, brighten up a dining room table, and if you bring them home just to make your honey smile, well, I at least will think - hey!  He thought about me.  I occasionally pick up a bouquet of grocery store flower just cause they make me smile.  How would you feel if you knew that every time someone walked past their dining room table, smiled, and thought of you...So I repeat.  Flowers.  Occasionally, just because.  Flowers are also worth purchasing if your significant other is in the hospital for any reason at all.  Again!  Remember these don't have to be florist flowers.  Grocery store flowers are acceptable, as long as they are pretty. 

I guess in closing, if I could ask for one thing, I'd ask for thoughtfulness.  Hugs and I love you's are the best gift.  Also, remember - Flowers.  Just because. 

Memorial day weekend and veggie burgers

This weekend, we went down to Brown County, IN and stayed with my honey's sister and brother in law, and their 10 year old.  It was a really nice time.  We rented a cabin in the woods, hiked a bit, and hung out.  We also visited a Vegan / Vegetarian restaurant in Bloomington IN.  There was a sign on the bathroom door.  I am going to bungle this up, but it said something to the effect of "Current building codes require us to label one bathroom door Men, and one Women.  We realize some of our customers may identify as something else.  Please use whatever bathroom you wish." 

It made me giggle, and realize that I miss Bloomington.  Where else are you going to find bathroom doors making political statements.  I mean, you expect it from the walls, but from the doorway? 

Since I had today off, I cooked!  Because that's what any sane person does when they have a national holiday...  Meatless Monday this week consisted of an experiment in veggie burgers.  I took leftover hummus, mixed it with grated carrots, mushrooms, cucumber, celery and oatmeal, and pan fried it in olive oil.  It tasted quite good, but the structural integrity was lacking.  I think next time, I'll either add more oatmeal (or maybe brown rice), or deep fry the resulting cakes.  Regardless, I think it's time to do some studying for veggie burgers.

Da new Job

As I've mentioned several times, I've recently (Five months ago!) started a new job.  It's been a bit of a rocky road so far - this place has some interesting personnel to say the least - For example, one of my direct reports goes "Squatching" in his spare time.  As you might infer, this involves hiking through the woods, looking for Bigfoot.  Another of the ladies who works in the front office believes that the ghost of her son's friend haunts her house, and occasionally squeezes her rear.  Another of the guys has serious anger management issues and likes to fling wooden pallets across the room.  Then there's the fella who plays drums, and it's ALL he talks about.  He also gets mad if you try to bring up a topic that isn't his drums.  Like work.  And when he's mad, he ignores you rather pointedly.  It's an interesting place. 

Anyway, I've been hired in to a position that has had a lot of turnover.  So there's a lot to catch up on.  It's made for some stressful interesting days.  It's frustrating by turns, and makes me want to tear my hair out.  But what can you do? 

Also?  They sing.  It's a factory.  And they sing.  A lot.  As in, every day I get serenaded by someone different.  And it's not all Metallica, or Pete Seeger songs.  I get songs from West Side Story, or Doris Day, or Radiohead, or The Wheels on the Bus.  The honey thinks they are putting me on to see how far I'll just smile and nod about this stuff.  Today, I heard a Mrs Robinson, and Taxi duet. 

It makes number crunching a whole lot more interesting.