Much Ado About (Paying) Nothing

Because I write for several shopping blogs, I come across a lot of offers for free or inexpensive items. It's my job to choose several of these each week to highlight at one of these blogs.

Many of these offers come from the Facebook pages of shops, restaurants or other companies.

Usually I just write up the deal, link to the source and get on with things, but in the past couple of days I've read a few of the comments attached to the posts announcing some of these specials.

Yesterday, as I printed out my weekly coupon from the Dunkin' Philly Fan Zone, some of the comments on the page were blasting Dunkin' Donuts for offering a breakfast-sandwich coupon instead of one for iced coffee. On other posts for past coupons, people complained that other stores were offering better deals. Or they complain that these coupons are only good Monday through Thursday.

Today, I was posting a deal for teachers from Chipotle Mexican Grill and saw that many commenters complained because the restaurant hadn't offered a freebie for nurses, daycare providers, student teachers and homeschoolers.

What an entitlement mentality!

I'm a former teacher, so I don't expect Chipotle to give me free food tonight. And I'm happy for the low-priced breakfast sandwich coupon, but if I weren't a breakfast-sandwich fan, I just wouldn't print a Dunkin' Donuts coupon this week. Next week, after all, there will be another.

These stores issue coupons to get customers in the door and generate some goodwill in the community. I didn't see a whole lot of goodwill on the Facebook pages for either establishment regarding these offers, and that's a shame. It's people like those commenters on Facebook that will ruin things for everyone else, because the stores will eventually give up and stop giving out coupons and freebies.

Can't use the coupon this time? Don't qualify for the free offer this time? Oh well! Maybe next time you will. In the meantime, be grateful that the store still offers special deals and stop blasting them because each and every deal is not for you.

Cleaning Up My (Linguistic) Act

A few times in the past couple of days, there have been discussions involving swearing. Patrick Madrid, on Tuesday, hosted an episode of "Right Here, Right Now" where he called out people who use profanity in social media (or anywhere, really).  Then, Katharine Grubb, the 10Minute Writer, brought up the topic in the context of her ongoing series on chivalry.

I'm not one to use the F-bomb, but I do have a couple of other "choice" words that could stand to be eradicated from my vocabulary. Especially the whole "taking the Lord's name in vain" thing.

It's been on my mind.

So this morning I was on my way to school, same as any other Friday morning. My timing must have been a bit off, because I got stuck behind a school bus that I don't usually see. As I drove through the neighborhood, that bus kept turning down the same streets I was about to use.

I hate following school buses, especially the ones that go to the early-elementary school, because they take for-ev-er to go anyplace, and kids' moms stand there chatting with the bus driver while the little STOP sign sticks out from the side of the bus and the red lights blink, so I can't pass.

School buses just don't drive with the same sense of urgency I do.

Once again, that bus turned the same way I was about to go.  "Jesus Christ!" I yelled.

Then I thought better of it, figured I'd turn it into a prayer. "Have mercy on us, and on the whole world."

Immediately, the bus made yet another turn--down a street that was not on my route.

Whoa.

Big Mistake, or Just Improv?

Yesterday after daily Mass, a friend caught up with me at the church door.  "Did you read today's Mass readings before coming to church?" she asked me.

Being lucky to get to Mass on time at all (I walked in during the opening prayer yesterday), I admitted that I hadn't.

"I think Father read the wrong Gospel today," she continued.  He read the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector.

We don't have the missalettes with the daily readings included, so I took out my phone (there's an app for that!)  Sure enough, the Gospel for the day was the story of Jesus driving out the demon from the man who was mute.  I checked today's Gospel to see if perhaps Father had skipped a page, but that wasn't the reading for today either.

So if there's anyone reading who has a clue about why Father might have read a completely different Gospel than the one slated for the day, please comment here.  He's not really the approachable sort when it comes to things like this.

Deliver Me from the Mall

Whoever wrote the lyrics, "Someone told me it's all happenin' at the zoo" had clearly never been to the Cherry Hill Mall.

I go to malls as infrequently as I possibly can.  And I hate to shop on Sundays.  But I had promised to take Middle Sister to the mall for jeans, and if we went today, we wouldn't have to bring Little Brother along.

The clothes shopping was actually quite pleasant.  She tried to find some jeans for me, but that was a lost cause in the store we were in.  I did find a cute pair of capri pants, a scarf and a peasant blouse that I liked--all on sale.  And she got her jeans.

Then we headed to Forever 21, where I expected to see the kind of clothes aspiring hookers would wear.  I was happily surprised to see plenty of very sweet tops, with feminine lines and floral patterns.  I don't follow fashion--is "sweet and girly" suddenly back in?  I sure hope so.

The rest of the time, I was people-watching while Middle Sister spent her own money, that she earned pet-sitting for our neighbors this week.  Being all "browsed out," I sat on a bench while she shopped--there's only so much blaring rap music and perfumed air I can handle in one afternoon, and I'd hit my limit.  You can do a lot of people-watching when you sit on a bench at the mall for 20 minutes, and you see some scary stuff.

A family stopped outside Victoria's Secret:  mom, dad and two little boys.  Mom took the younger one into the store with her, despite his loud protests, saying, "Mommy needs you!  You have to help Mommy put on her panties!"

An impossibly skinny girl tottered past, dressed head to ankle in "junior hooker" garb--and shoes that would be more-likely found on a denizen of a retirement home.

And doesn't it say something about the clientele of a particular store when you have to show your ID to use your own credit card?

I'll stick to internet shopping, thanks.  The only people-watching I'll have to do is staring out the window, waiting for the UPS truck.

Dead Giveaway

I was all over this article on home organization at BHG.com (Better Homes & Gardens) until I got to page 7: the Living Room Art Station.

So what's wrong with this picture?

Parents will see the problem immediately.

White carpet. Paint on a low, accessible-to-toddlers shelf. Presumably there is a playroom or family room somewhere else in the house. I'm sure there must be a kitchen somewhere--one that doesn't have a white carpet.

Clearly the people who came up with this brilliant idea have never spent any time with small children. (To her credit, Middle Sister saw the trouble with this room instantly.)

Image credit: BHG.com

Too Familiar?

I always wonder where you draw the line when, as a parent, you address a teacher--and vice versa.

I've known Little Brother's teacher since he was an infant, and we've been on a first-name basis, which is fine until I'm in the school building, and suddenly, though we are about the same age, I want to call her "Mrs. [insert last name here]." Even when there are no kids around!

The familiarity is fine, I think, when you've known the teacher for a while, when you've volunteered side by side with the person.

But over the past couple of days I have had occasion to email Middle Sister's algebra teacher. I've only met this teacher once--at Back to School Night. He doesn't know me from any of the other parents of his 75 students (or his 75 choir members). He never taught Big Brother. And he's young enough that he could have been one of my students, back when I was teaching.

Yet despite the fact that I addressed my email to him: "Mr. [insert last name here]," he responded back with "Barb."

I did sign my email with my first AND LAST names. Perhaps he didn't feel like typing my whole last name. I'd never in a million years, though, think that it's OK for me to call him by his first name--and I'm at least 10 years his senior.

Really? Is that OK? If you were a teacher, would you do that? I've received emails from several other teachers in the same school in past years, and this is the first time this has happened.

Communication Breakdown

During the past two weekends, I've had occasion to be in the church vestibule during parts of Mass.

Last week, I slipped out during the homily to use the restroom. (I know, it's better to wait, but sometimes you just...can't.) This past weekend, I was over at our other "worship site" helping to set up the Cub Scout Babka sale at a different Mass than the one I actually attended.

But both times, I noticed something strange. Different people, same situation.

There are people who lurk in the vestibule of the church (or even outside the front door) until it's nearly time for Communion. Then they slip in, get in line for Communion, receive, and leave.

I stayed in the vestibule during the entire homily last week rather than be obvious about walking in and out of church--I waited until everyone was starting to stand for the Creed to slip back into my place in the choir area. The whole time, a woman with a son (Little Brother's age) were in and out of the vestibule. Sometimes they were outside the church, other times in the vestibule. During Communion, they were in line to receive and then out the door (they had to pass right by me to do this.)

Yesterday, I arrived around the "Lamb of God" to help set up the babka to be sold after Mass. A woman was hanging around the vestibule. She went in for Communion and then came back out, bought her babka, and left.

We've got a big trend at that particular "worship site" of people leaving just after Communion. It's better than it was, but it's still disconcerting to see 1/4 of the church empty out before the final blessing, week after week after week.

There's a big discussion going on right now at the NCR blog on Communion in the hand. From what I've seen in the past two weeks, it's not whether you receive on the tongue or in the hand that's the issue. It's reverence in general. It's understanding that you don't just show up, get in line, receive, and go home--at the very least!

He's On To Me

Little Brother has made some new friends. They are brothers who live down the street; one is a third-grader like Little Brother, and the younger one is in first grade.

I don't know these kids very well yet, so my M.O. is to allow everyone to play here, where I can keep an eye on things.

One recent day the whole neighborhood gang (5 third-graders and one first-grader) were in here fighting over a video game. I loudly declared a time limit on the game and let them know that they could play with other toys inside after that time, or go outside to play. They had fair warning, and then a five-minute warning, but when the game was over they were disappointed. So First-Grader wheedled, "You can come to my house...Resident Eeeevil!"

I'm not one to keep up on video games. So I checked in with Big Brother, who's proved to be a good judge of what games, movies and songs are appropriate for someone Little Brother's age. He told me that the game is so violent, TheDad wouldn't let him buy it at all. (Normally, the rule for our 18-year-old is: you can buy the game or movie, but you can't use it when Little Brother is awake.) So this one's got to be pretty bad.

I figured, at that point, that Little Brother won't be at that house playing games. If they're going to ride bikes and kick soccer balls outside, that's fine. So today, First-Grader came up the street looking for Little Brother (who was still in his school uniform.) While Little Brother changed his clothes, I asked First-Grader what they planned to do. "We're going to my house to play video games," he replied, and before I could say any more, he continued, "my violent games are all for PlayStation, and that's broken. But I have one game for my DS. It's rated M. We can play my DS. All my other games are rated T."

"Little Brother isn't allowed to play games that are rated T or M," I told him. "You guys are going to have to find something else to do."

How scary--this child knows that he has violent video games. And he tried to play me by telling me that those aren't available. Scarier still, he tried to get me to let Little Brother play at his house where the adults permit six-year-olds to play games rated M.

Like that'll happen.

Correct me if I'm wrong

One of my freelance jobs involves editing and posting articles to the website at Ultimate Coupons. (I highly recommend starting here if you're doing any online shopping, by the way. There are great deals to be had!)

And today I am working on one about the hard-to-find toys that are unavailable this year. One of them is the Zhu Zhu pet.

Personally, I don't see the attraction. It looks like a stuffed-toy hamster with a crop circle shaved into its back. Don't you think so?

Multitasking as Rudeness

We're all tempted to multitask. As moms, many of us multitask almost constantly--we have to.

But there are times when it's just plain rude to do that.

Over the past two weekends, I have taken Big Brother to visit two universities that he's thinking of attending next year. We've taken campus tours; we've sat through presentations; we've checked out the curriculum fairs.

When short people like me don't wind up in or near the front row during a presentation, we can't always see the speaker or TV screen well. Sometimes our eyes wander in other directions while our ears listen to the speech. And when our eyes wander, we observe some colossally rude behavior.

Cell phone users, of course, were among the most obvious offenders. I've sat behind kids sending texts (and showing their neighbors the responses they got) and parents typing with their thumbs on Blackberries.

During an overly-long class on financial aid today, the woman in front of me took some hand lotion from her purse. I smelled this before I saw it (I'm extremely fragrance-sensitive.) After putting it on her hands and giving some to her daughter, she slipped off her shoes and put it on her feet as well.

In all charity, I don't think that any of the people who did these things intended to be rude. They were just not thinking. Which leads me to wonder: how many times have I been unintentionally rude to someone, just because I wasn't thinking?

Curb Appeal

Dropping Middle Sister off at a friend's house just now, I passed a very lovely-looking house for sale. It looked great, until you checked out what was parked in front: a decrepit dark-brown hearse with "666" painted on the tailgate and "Serial Killer" on the driver's side doors.

Makes you wonder if they want to scare buyers off, or intrigue the curious.

The Things We Do For Our Kids

Parents make sacrifices, big and small, for the sake of our children.

Like today: I drove out of town to get the best (yet inexpensive, if I go to this particular store) cold cuts for Big Brother's lunch. He's not a fan of the lunch meat at the local supermarket, and my other two sources have gone out of business.

It's not a long trip (less than 15 minutes) but it is a venture into a neighborhood where fashion sensibilities are quite different. I stood in line to pay for the food, behind a young man whose belt fell far below the place where belts are supposed to go. And unlike many other young men who wear their pants this way, he wasn't wearing a knee-length t-shirt. It wasn't a pretty sight.

I hope Big Brother appreciates this.

Things I Have to Say to My Kids

"Don't throw pillows at him while he's blowing his nose!"

A Bitter Pill

I'm the one feeling bitter, actually.

Just got back from cantor practice at church.

The choir I sing with has not been assigned a Mass on Christmas. If we want, we can join in with the organ-accompanied choir at the 10:00 Christmas Eve Mass.

So a group that volunteers Sunday after Sunday after Sunday, and that has learned all the new music that has been thrown at us since June (including an Advent that is All New Music All The Time) will not be allowed to handle familiar Christmas carols on Christmas Day.

I consider it a gift and a privilege to be able to sing and play at Mass. It's nice to sit with my family, but I know they like it too, when I am part of the choir.

And yeah, I'm hurt.

In the grand scheme of things, this is really not much. But it's something to which I am very dedicated (and I can say the same for the other choir members). Many of us have been part of music ministry for almost 30 years. We don't take much time off--and when we do, we arrange with the rest of the choir for coverage. And basically, it feels like we're good enough to jump through all these hoops for Advent, but not good enough to do Christmas carols. Thanks for that.

20%

That's how many Cub Scout parents have already called me this afternoon to inquire whether Cub Scouts would be meeting today, since it's a Jewish holiday.

This Cub Scout pack meets at, and is sponsored by, a Catholic church.

Most of the children in the pack were recruited at Religious Education.

Yeah.