Today marks our annual celebration of St. Patrick on which we all don our bit o’ green and those not nestled in with little tikes, head out for an evening of green beer and rowdiness.
Saturday, as was noted on my FB status, we headed out a few days early in hopes of being able to find an Irish bar at which we could a) bring our children, b) have a good meal c) pretend we were really a part of the merry making and d) have green beer. It didn’t quite work out that way. A) the bar we chose at 5:45 p.m. was already gearing up for a big night and resembled the beginnings of a frat party B) the beer was served in red plastic cups and was not green C) they were only serving a few menu items which did not include chicken nuggets, hot dogs or any other kid related fare D) our friends called to inform us their daughter had just thrown up all over herself in the backseat of the car. They managed to get her cleaned up and we did continue with our evening, however it turned out a bit different than intended: pizza and Fat Tire at California Pizza Kitchen. We had a great time and as far as the Irish aspirations, oh well, we tried. Slainte!
The really interesting thing happened when I logged into Facebook when we got home. As I mentioned, I had updated my FB status to read “Green Beer bound.” A couple of people “liked” (the new easy way to comment on FB) this and a couple liked it so much they commented. I quickly informed them that the “green beer” did not happen and sat back to peruse the happenings of my friends. One of my college buddies quickly wrote back with “Hil-you are so funny!! Fat Tire IS green beer. They are the first wind-powered brewery in America and they are local for you. How much more green can you get?? ok put some green color in it but no...” I think that was her way of saying politely that I was clueless…smile. I went to bed chuckling at the irony of my attempt at being cool and witty about drinking green beer ending up an education in sustainability!
With that, I wish you a very Happy St. Patrick’s Day and give a special Slainte shout out to Alicia who has now educated us that there is a new way to celebrate being green on St. Patrick’s Day! Excuse me while I go to the fridge for my newest Irish green – Fat Tire Ale.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
20 to 40 with Casanova 9.0 and Wall Street 2.0
This weekend, we went to Vail. For those of you unfamiliar with Vail, it is one of the “THE” destinations for skiing. Great mountains, great snow, great food and quite the scene.
Our Saturday started out like most when we are in the mountains. A “discussion” with our daughter about ski school. We, like many CO parents, want our child to love skiing. I think at times we are under the impression that she was born with skis on her feet. A bit unrealistic but nonetheless. That morning, we partook in the usual encouragement to get her to promise to stay all day in school. The rewards: a donut and a dip in the hotel swimming pool. After a few sniffles, she went forward with the instructor and we did not get a “dreaded” call all day.
We took a sigh of relief, quickly donned our skis and headed for the gondola. We had perfect timing – blue-suited ski instructors were corralling their charges in as well and we were ushered in with a small group of two instructors and three young boys for our ascent up the mountain.
It was quickly apparent that we were not in the company of three “normal” 8 and 9 year old boys. The minute the gondola doors closed, cell phones popped out and a French-accented “Check out my new I-Phone” reverberated in my ear. Now, I-phones are a hot topic in my house right now. My husband got one not long ago and has been known to approach strangers at birthday parties to show them the “coolest” features. When my phone literally fell apart a few weeks ago after being dropped probably one hundred times, I decided I would also join the I-brigade. Well, it was not to be. I had until July until my upgrade was available and $399 was not in the picture for me. So, we trotted over to Wal-Mart and I purchased a $19.99 Nokia which is working out just fine.
Anyway, I turned to see who was the owner of both the accent and the phone and was met with the eyes of an adorable child. Well, adorable is not quite the word. I think I was looking at Casanova as a 9 year old. This young man was short, dark and cute (not yet tall, dark and handsome) and was donned in the most premier of ski gear. He proceeded to pull out his Samsung Smartphone with his I-Phone and then explain to everyone in the gondola that these were two of his four phones. Two for France and two for the U.S. Ok, who was this kid? “Where are you from,” I inquired. No shyness here. “I was born in St. Tropez but I live in Miami Beach.” I then blurted out what was in my head (which often leads me to foot in mouth disease), “what child has four phones?” I looked to the ski instructors who were I think a bit amused by this whole interaction and asked them if they had I-Phones. I was hit with a “What do you think lady, we are snowboard instructors.” Ironic – snowboard instructors who hob-nobbed with the elite
every day but couldn’t afford an I-phone.
Back to Casanova. We kept chatting and I declared that my daughter was not going to have the latest phone technology at nine (I say this now). I was judging the kid a bit by this time (see my personality profile posted previously) until somehow the subject of my age arose. I told him I was old and he immediately slipped into the persona of a 25 year old. “No you are not.” I asked him just how old he thought I was and when he replied “24” with the ski instructors nodding (likely politely), I nearly bowled over. Until I remembered this was a clueless (although probably not) 9 year old child. I don’t remember much more of the conversation as I was back at “24” and loving it.
The story could easily end there but it doesn’t. We had a great morning of skiing – that
“24” put a “spring in my ski” and after an incident while traversing down what seemed to me to be an ice cliff but was merely a small icy hill (after which I had acquired two new bruises), we headed in for lunch.
The place was packed. So, after getting our $45 lunch (that is counter service for three of us) we settled in sharing a table with three guys. Another enlightening conversation. Turns out two of them were Wall Street casualties living off of severance and unemployment. They actually were doing rather well. One had just gotten a job so would be double dipping severance and salary for a while. I then inquired if they were married; “No, do you have any friends?” Well, I knew that I was beyond their years so once again I found myself replying “I’m old.” This was met with an interesting question from one of them. “Well, are we talking cougar here?” “Well, I am 40 now so…” “Yep, cougar it is.” Unbelievable, I had gone from a mid-twenties something to a cougar within a couple of hours.
Although I am not usually a “cup half full" kinda gal, I decided that I would dismiss the cougar remark and hang on to the 20s for the rest of the day. However, remember that “spring in my ski” – well that was gone. I took one giant catwalk down to the hotel after lunch and spent an hour napping before picking up my little sweetie from ski school. You can fool the mind but the body is a little harder. Just another cheers to turning 40!
Our Saturday started out like most when we are in the mountains. A “discussion” with our daughter about ski school. We, like many CO parents, want our child to love skiing. I think at times we are under the impression that she was born with skis on her feet. A bit unrealistic but nonetheless. That morning, we partook in the usual encouragement to get her to promise to stay all day in school. The rewards: a donut and a dip in the hotel swimming pool. After a few sniffles, she went forward with the instructor and we did not get a “dreaded” call all day.
We took a sigh of relief, quickly donned our skis and headed for the gondola. We had perfect timing – blue-suited ski instructors were corralling their charges in as well and we were ushered in with a small group of two instructors and three young boys for our ascent up the mountain.
It was quickly apparent that we were not in the company of three “normal” 8 and 9 year old boys. The minute the gondola doors closed, cell phones popped out and a French-accented “Check out my new I-Phone” reverberated in my ear. Now, I-phones are a hot topic in my house right now. My husband got one not long ago and has been known to approach strangers at birthday parties to show them the “coolest” features. When my phone literally fell apart a few weeks ago after being dropped probably one hundred times, I decided I would also join the I-brigade. Well, it was not to be. I had until July until my upgrade was available and $399 was not in the picture for me. So, we trotted over to Wal-Mart and I purchased a $19.99 Nokia which is working out just fine.
Anyway, I turned to see who was the owner of both the accent and the phone and was met with the eyes of an adorable child. Well, adorable is not quite the word. I think I was looking at Casanova as a 9 year old. This young man was short, dark and cute (not yet tall, dark and handsome) and was donned in the most premier of ski gear. He proceeded to pull out his Samsung Smartphone with his I-Phone and then explain to everyone in the gondola that these were two of his four phones. Two for France and two for the U.S. Ok, who was this kid? “Where are you from,” I inquired. No shyness here. “I was born in St. Tropez but I live in Miami Beach.” I then blurted out what was in my head (which often leads me to foot in mouth disease), “what child has four phones?” I looked to the ski instructors who were I think a bit amused by this whole interaction and asked them if they had I-Phones. I was hit with a “What do you think lady, we are snowboard instructors.” Ironic – snowboard instructors who hob-nobbed with the elite
every day but couldn’t afford an I-phone.
Back to Casanova. We kept chatting and I declared that my daughter was not going to have the latest phone technology at nine (I say this now). I was judging the kid a bit by this time (see my personality profile posted previously) until somehow the subject of my age arose. I told him I was old and he immediately slipped into the persona of a 25 year old. “No you are not.” I asked him just how old he thought I was and when he replied “24” with the ski instructors nodding (likely politely), I nearly bowled over. Until I remembered this was a clueless (although probably not) 9 year old child. I don’t remember much more of the conversation as I was back at “24” and loving it.
The story could easily end there but it doesn’t. We had a great morning of skiing – that
“24” put a “spring in my ski” and after an incident while traversing down what seemed to me to be an ice cliff but was merely a small icy hill (after which I had acquired two new bruises), we headed in for lunch.
The place was packed. So, after getting our $45 lunch (that is counter service for three of us) we settled in sharing a table with three guys. Another enlightening conversation. Turns out two of them were Wall Street casualties living off of severance and unemployment. They actually were doing rather well. One had just gotten a job so would be double dipping severance and salary for a while. I then inquired if they were married; “No, do you have any friends?” Well, I knew that I was beyond their years so once again I found myself replying “I’m old.” This was met with an interesting question from one of them. “Well, are we talking cougar here?” “Well, I am 40 now so…” “Yep, cougar it is.” Unbelievable, I had gone from a mid-twenties something to a cougar within a couple of hours.
Although I am not usually a “cup half full" kinda gal, I decided that I would dismiss the cougar remark and hang on to the 20s for the rest of the day. However, remember that “spring in my ski” – well that was gone. I took one giant catwalk down to the hotel after lunch and spent an hour napping before picking up my little sweetie from ski school. You can fool the mind but the body is a little harder. Just another cheers to turning 40!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Boss or Leader...
Yesterday was my turn to be after school play-date host/gymnastics chaperone with three little darlings. I thoroughly enjoy these afternoons as a) my little one is occupied with fun for four hours straight b) I am able to observe the delightful and sometimes bewildering behaviors of three little four year old girls and c) I actually find time to fold the laundry that has been sitting in the basket since the previous week.
However, after one of these days, my house looks as if a hurricane has ripped through it. So, I declared that evening that Mommy was not going to do the clean-up alone. So, Mommy quickly finished her duties and retired to the couch. As the clean up continued, she heard the tones of what appeared to be a stressed out drill sergeant barking “Ok, get that one in the basket. Now that one. Come on. Faster.” This went on for about a minute when I absentmindedly spoke out, “It’s ok Tony. Just let her go at her pace. She is taking away from her tv or playtime if it takes a long time.” Well, the intent with which that comment came out was not what was received. Mommy, type A, control freak, had once again butted in where she didn’t belong. STRIKE ONE
Bedtime came and it was Daddy’s turn to read. Did I ever mention, my daughter has been in a never-ending “Mommy’s girl” phase? It makes bedtime twice as hard for my angel of a husband. Last night was no different. During the first phase (first book read, potty and teeth brushing), I escaped for a nice hot bath. I couldn’t hear a thing. I settled into bed to watch reality tv and I begin to hear “What are you doing, come here…where are you?” As the inquiries drone on, my little one pops into our room for her good night kiss; this always follows phase one. However, the inquiries are getting louder and I haven’t had the chance to give the hug and kiss so I loudly exclaim “Tony, she hasn’t gotten her kiss yet. Can you wait a minute?” It probably came out more aggravated than meant. And, then it was as if the umpire shouted…STRIKE TWO. I hear the grumbling from the other room. Unbeknown to me, my little sweetie had been messing around for several minutes in the family room before coming for a kiss and type A had once again negated “Daddy.”
Luckily, I did not hit a strike three last night. I immediately went after the bedtime ritual to apologize. My husband was slightly annoyed and despite my best defense, he declared “you know, you are the boss of this household. And that is ok. But, with that job comes quite a bit of responsibility and decision making.” Hmmm.. ok.
Now, I know that I am a bit of a boss. It didn’t sound too good when he said it and I was taken back to an hour earlier in the evening. Right before Phase I, I decided to open up one of those sweet little applications I am invited to join several times per day on Facebook and found myself taking the Myers Brigg personality profile test. I have taken the test before and, I have always known that I was one Extraverted, Intuitive, Judging individual. (Translation: In Your Face, Know It All, My Way or the Highway, Bossy – Well, You Can Guess the Rest. A bit hard to swallow, huh?) But I always had that F in there for feeling. (ENFJ) I could always justify my, ahem, take charge persona knowing that I balanced it with a true regard for others. But, now that “F” had turned into a “T” – thinking, which meant that I was not only the In Your Face, Know it All, My way or the Highway, Bossy, You Can Guess the Rest, but I had also left all consideration of feelings to relying upon the cold hard facts – and oh my gosh, I’m now an In Your Face, Know it All, My Way or the Highway, Bossy, Just the Cold Hard Facts, Well You Can Guess the Rest…. Whew, how will I live with myself?
Luckily, I take these things with a grain of salt. I mean after all, the “What Drink Are You” test declared that I am a “wine cooler” when I know for certain I am at least an “apple martini with a special sour apple candy ring at the bottom" gal. Cheers! Oh and btw, ENTJs are supposed to be great leaders both at work and at home. I wonder if I can convince my wonderful husband that I am not being bossy, but simply demonstrating my leadership capabilities? Smile.
However, after one of these days, my house looks as if a hurricane has ripped through it. So, I declared that evening that Mommy was not going to do the clean-up alone. So, Mommy quickly finished her duties and retired to the couch. As the clean up continued, she heard the tones of what appeared to be a stressed out drill sergeant barking “Ok, get that one in the basket. Now that one. Come on. Faster.” This went on for about a minute when I absentmindedly spoke out, “It’s ok Tony. Just let her go at her pace. She is taking away from her tv or playtime if it takes a long time.” Well, the intent with which that comment came out was not what was received. Mommy, type A, control freak, had once again butted in where she didn’t belong. STRIKE ONE
Bedtime came and it was Daddy’s turn to read. Did I ever mention, my daughter has been in a never-ending “Mommy’s girl” phase? It makes bedtime twice as hard for my angel of a husband. Last night was no different. During the first phase (first book read, potty and teeth brushing), I escaped for a nice hot bath. I couldn’t hear a thing. I settled into bed to watch reality tv and I begin to hear “What are you doing, come here…where are you?” As the inquiries drone on, my little one pops into our room for her good night kiss; this always follows phase one. However, the inquiries are getting louder and I haven’t had the chance to give the hug and kiss so I loudly exclaim “Tony, she hasn’t gotten her kiss yet. Can you wait a minute?” It probably came out more aggravated than meant. And, then it was as if the umpire shouted…STRIKE TWO. I hear the grumbling from the other room. Unbeknown to me, my little sweetie had been messing around for several minutes in the family room before coming for a kiss and type A had once again negated “Daddy.”
Luckily, I did not hit a strike three last night. I immediately went after the bedtime ritual to apologize. My husband was slightly annoyed and despite my best defense, he declared “you know, you are the boss of this household. And that is ok. But, with that job comes quite a bit of responsibility and decision making.” Hmmm.. ok.
Now, I know that I am a bit of a boss. It didn’t sound too good when he said it and I was taken back to an hour earlier in the evening. Right before Phase I, I decided to open up one of those sweet little applications I am invited to join several times per day on Facebook and found myself taking the Myers Brigg personality profile test. I have taken the test before and, I have always known that I was one Extraverted, Intuitive, Judging individual. (Translation: In Your Face, Know It All, My Way or the Highway, Bossy – Well, You Can Guess the Rest. A bit hard to swallow, huh?) But I always had that F in there for feeling. (ENFJ) I could always justify my, ahem, take charge persona knowing that I balanced it with a true regard for others. But, now that “F” had turned into a “T” – thinking, which meant that I was not only the In Your Face, Know it All, My way or the Highway, Bossy, You Can Guess the Rest, but I had also left all consideration of feelings to relying upon the cold hard facts – and oh my gosh, I’m now an In Your Face, Know it All, My Way or the Highway, Bossy, Just the Cold Hard Facts, Well You Can Guess the Rest…. Whew, how will I live with myself?
Luckily, I take these things with a grain of salt. I mean after all, the “What Drink Are You” test declared that I am a “wine cooler” when I know for certain I am at least an “apple martini with a special sour apple candy ring at the bottom" gal. Cheers! Oh and btw, ENTJs are supposed to be great leaders both at work and at home. I wonder if I can convince my wonderful husband that I am not being bossy, but simply demonstrating my leadership capabilities? Smile.
What does your personality profile say about you?
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