Some days I am so on top of everything I can guiltlessly squeeze out a few blissful moments all for myself...and then there are the days when I am up to three steps behind. Today is one of the latter. Late to wake, late to work. With my commute, if I don't leave my house three hours before I need to be at work, then I am doomed to a sluggish ride on traffic clogged roads. That was what happened this morning. Two and a half hours before I was due to be in the school building, I hit the road. Mind you, the ride--90 miles--only takes an hour and a half on empty roads, but early in the morning, one half hour can mean the difference between a smooth ride and a stop-and-go snail walk that doubles my time in the car.
Today will be a long one, too. I'll be staying late at work to catch up on grading 90 essays.
On days like this, I am proud to be among all of the working mothers in the world who trudge forth, accomplishing their daily tasks efficiently (or not!) and whole-heartedly just because...it's what we do. We know that there is no turning back, no calling in sick because things aren't going the way we would prefer them to go, we keep rolling along and making sure that everything works out in the end, because too many people, precious people, are counting on us to be there at the end of the day with a loving embrace and a hot meal on the table.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Debit Debacle Derailed
Phew! That was close...though the last couple of days were a wild ride on the roller coaster of a fraudulent withdrawal of funds from our checking account, we have resolved the issue peacefully and completely (we think).
We were lucky. When a large charge that we didn't initiate showed up on our checking account, my husband and I flew into a frenzy of phone calls and emails to stop the charge before it went through, but as you know if you read my previous post, to no avail. Bank said, "Sorry. The charge stays; dispute it when the funds are fully withdrawn from the account."
It turns out, we were not electronically held-up by a masked hacker who'd sinisterly snatched our card information from some undisclosed source; instead, we were the victims of an innocent (?) mistake by a reputable company who immediately recognized its error (after two phone calls and an email) and corrected the situation (24 hours later).
Aaahh. (That's the sound of me and my husband breathing a simultaneous sigh of relief.)
Thankfully, we learned a great lesson and didn't have to pay too big a price for it.
We were lucky. When a large charge that we didn't initiate showed up on our checking account, my husband and I flew into a frenzy of phone calls and emails to stop the charge before it went through, but as you know if you read my previous post, to no avail. Bank said, "Sorry. The charge stays; dispute it when the funds are fully withdrawn from the account."
It turns out, we were not electronically held-up by a masked hacker who'd sinisterly snatched our card information from some undisclosed source; instead, we were the victims of an innocent (?) mistake by a reputable company who immediately recognized its error (after two phone calls and an email) and corrected the situation (24 hours later).
Aaahh. (That's the sound of me and my husband breathing a simultaneous sigh of relief.)
Thankfully, we learned a great lesson and didn't have to pay too big a price for it.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Debit Debacle
We hear about credit card fraud all the time; identity theft and unauthorized charges made on credit accounts are hot topics everywhere you look these days. Call me naive, but I thought that we had a little more say over what happens to our hard earned money that we trustingly deposit into supposedly secure bank accounts. My husband and I are learning the hard way that this isn't necessarily so.
We love that fact that we can access our money electronically and purchase things automatically with the swipe of our reliable debit card, and we understand that there is always a risk of someone deviously acquiring our debit information and gaining access to our account...BUT, when you catch a fraudulent charge in the PENDING phase and call the bank immediately to alert them to the fact that you did not initiate or authorize the charge, and say you want it stopped dead in its tracks...wouldn't you expect your loyal bank to honor your word, respect your ownership of the money you earned, and stop the charge?
Guess what. No such luck. Sorry! While it is true that you can't even get a representative on the phone to tell you what your balance is without reciting a grocery list of personal information to prove you are you, it only takes one stranger with your debit card number to withdraw any old amount of your money that he or she wishes to take. Nice. The bank will not stop a pending charge just because you say it isn't authorized; instead, they let the thief have the money first, then graciously allow you to fill out dispute paper work in order to hunt down the swindler and attempt to wrestle your money back out of his/her slimy grip. Fabulous.
For all of the convenience and ease debit cards provide, this one MAJOR caveat is enough to make me want to go back to the old days of cash-in-hand ("Keep my mind on my money and my money on my mind"). Well...sort of.
We love that fact that we can access our money electronically and purchase things automatically with the swipe of our reliable debit card, and we understand that there is always a risk of someone deviously acquiring our debit information and gaining access to our account...BUT, when you catch a fraudulent charge in the PENDING phase and call the bank immediately to alert them to the fact that you did not initiate or authorize the charge, and say you want it stopped dead in its tracks...wouldn't you expect your loyal bank to honor your word, respect your ownership of the money you earned, and stop the charge?
Guess what. No such luck. Sorry! While it is true that you can't even get a representative on the phone to tell you what your balance is without reciting a grocery list of personal information to prove you are you, it only takes one stranger with your debit card number to withdraw any old amount of your money that he or she wishes to take. Nice. The bank will not stop a pending charge just because you say it isn't authorized; instead, they let the thief have the money first, then graciously allow you to fill out dispute paper work in order to hunt down the swindler and attempt to wrestle your money back out of his/her slimy grip. Fabulous.
For all of the convenience and ease debit cards provide, this one MAJOR caveat is enough to make me want to go back to the old days of cash-in-hand ("Keep my mind on my money and my money on my mind"). Well...sort of.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Change
I've mentioned a couple of negative aspects of my daily commute, but there are lovely parts, too. Being on the highway as morning dawns is spectacular. Each day, my husband and I are witness to the beautiful events that subtly shift the look of the sky with nuances of color, light and shadow. In the spring, we can see goose couples flying across the scene above the trees; silhouettes so content together in the early morning.
In the late afternoon, we again are privy to sky changes as the sun glows yellow and orange across the horizon. We count the hawks who hover and glide, alone and in groups, they circle around and around, sometimes flying low enough for us to glimpse their undersides as they soar overhead.
The trees present their own show, of course. These days, they are filling in the spaces between with dots of color--the greens and yellows so fresh and light. The mountains grow richer by the day and paint a deep contrast on the great expanse of sky.
I'm a fan of change; I love to watch it happen all around me as I travel through life with my partner. We are continually inspired to embrace the changes that come at us, and to instigate the changes we want and need. Riding the subway never quite offered the same benefit.
In the late afternoon, we again are privy to sky changes as the sun glows yellow and orange across the horizon. We count the hawks who hover and glide, alone and in groups, they circle around and around, sometimes flying low enough for us to glimpse their undersides as they soar overhead.
The trees present their own show, of course. These days, they are filling in the spaces between with dots of color--the greens and yellows so fresh and light. The mountains grow richer by the day and paint a deep contrast on the great expanse of sky.
I'm a fan of change; I love to watch it happen all around me as I travel through life with my partner. We are continually inspired to embrace the changes that come at us, and to instigate the changes we want and need. Riding the subway never quite offered the same benefit.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Single Ladies...and babies
Two year old Ariana, my daughter, is a very big fan of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" video. She's watched and watched and watched, studying the moves and the song so that now she can mimic some of those moves. Her rendition of the song itself, though, is simply, "Woh oh oh," and she repeats that snippet a few times while she dances around in a circle moving her hands (and sometimes attempting to sway her hips) like Beyonce.
It's adorable. But what I find hysterical is that she's taken to categorizing items in the world with a "Woh oh oh" label. It started with high heeled shoes: Wearing spiky-heeled boots, I once walked into the room where she played and Ariana gasped in awe and asked, "Mommy Woh oh oh shoes?" From that moment on, any high heels or exceptionally pretty flats, have been dubbed "Woh oh oh Shoes." Whenever she can get her hands on these shoes she steps into them and does her "Woh oh oh" dance. She's begun to include form-fitting clothes, like leggings, in her label, too: "Mommy Woh oh oh pants?"
"Yes, honey, Mommy Woh oh oh pants." I can't wait to take her shoe shopping with me!
It's adorable. But what I find hysterical is that she's taken to categorizing items in the world with a "Woh oh oh" label. It started with high heeled shoes: Wearing spiky-heeled boots, I once walked into the room where she played and Ariana gasped in awe and asked, "Mommy Woh oh oh shoes?" From that moment on, any high heels or exceptionally pretty flats, have been dubbed "Woh oh oh Shoes." Whenever she can get her hands on these shoes she steps into them and does her "Woh oh oh" dance. She's begun to include form-fitting clothes, like leggings, in her label, too: "Mommy Woh oh oh pants?"
"Yes, honey, Mommy Woh oh oh pants." I can't wait to take her shoe shopping with me!
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Treading Morning
Walking outdoors is one of my favorite things. Since I've moved two states away from my workplace and now drive three hours each day, and because I have two young children who need me to be home with them (and who cannot keep up with Momma on our hilly country roads), I had to buy a treadmill in order to fit walking back into my life.
The beauty of having a treadmill at home is that I can do my favorite thing at home while the family still sleeps at 4 in the morning, when it is just too dark and scary to go outside. This morning I got on the treadmill, turned on my ipod, and walked, ran, and danced (you've GOT to try this!) the morning away. It was blissful, and I was elated by hour's end.
I have never liked going to a gym and exercising in front of strangers...you KNOW they're looking at you! To me, it is an uncomfortable situation, and the few times I did go, I always quelled my instincts to move the way I really wanted to move, because I didn't want to draw attention from creepy onlookers.
THIS morning, however, when I was on that fantastic machine, I was boppin' away, my arms going this way and that, not caring how much shaking was goin' on in the rear when I ran, not caring if I looked silly when I pumped my arms--it was total freedom. I even sang out loud and clapped to the music (our home gym is in the basement, so my sleeping family could continue their slumber undisturbed). It felt so good, too, that I kept it up for 70 minutes and "covered" 4 miles--I haven't been able to do THAT since I was single in my 20's.
Life is good.
The beauty of having a treadmill at home is that I can do my favorite thing at home while the family still sleeps at 4 in the morning, when it is just too dark and scary to go outside. This morning I got on the treadmill, turned on my ipod, and walked, ran, and danced (you've GOT to try this!) the morning away. It was blissful, and I was elated by hour's end.
I have never liked going to a gym and exercising in front of strangers...you KNOW they're looking at you! To me, it is an uncomfortable situation, and the few times I did go, I always quelled my instincts to move the way I really wanted to move, because I didn't want to draw attention from creepy onlookers.
THIS morning, however, when I was on that fantastic machine, I was boppin' away, my arms going this way and that, not caring how much shaking was goin' on in the rear when I ran, not caring if I looked silly when I pumped my arms--it was total freedom. I even sang out loud and clapped to the music (our home gym is in the basement, so my sleeping family could continue their slumber undisturbed). It felt so good, too, that I kept it up for 70 minutes and "covered" 4 miles--I haven't been able to do THAT since I was single in my 20's.
Life is good.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Glimpsing Mortality
One jolting aspect of my daily commute is that I often see the aftermath of collisions along the route. This morning I drove past a horrific scene that surely no driver could have survived--although, miracles do happen.
An old pontiac sedan had barrelled into the back end of a tractor trailer and the impact forced the car so far underneath the truck that the hood and roof were scraped all the way back, beyond the front seat. The rear of the truck, seemingly intact, was where the legs of a would-be back seat passenger might have been.
So many lives are lost or changed immeasurably in a matter of moments...my heart goes out to those people and their families. And every time I see evidence of these events, I think of my own family--my children and my husband, especially--and quietly vow never to let my attention be diverted from my job when driving. Not even for a second.
An old pontiac sedan had barrelled into the back end of a tractor trailer and the impact forced the car so far underneath the truck that the hood and roof were scraped all the way back, beyond the front seat. The rear of the truck, seemingly intact, was where the legs of a would-be back seat passenger might have been.
So many lives are lost or changed immeasurably in a matter of moments...my heart goes out to those people and their families. And every time I see evidence of these events, I think of my own family--my children and my husband, especially--and quietly vow never to let my attention be diverted from my job when driving. Not even for a second.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Drive, baby, drive!
Eight months ago, I became one of the hundreds, thousands, millions of people we know as "commuters." After spending my entire adult life getting to work on foot or by subway, I now spend an hour and a half in a car two times a day.
Every morning, my husband and I travel, encapsulated in our vehicle with its personally appealing environment: just-right music, temperature, conversation; I've got my work spread out across my lap, little reading light on...and we speed along the highway alongside, in front of, and frustratingly behind the thousands of other encapsulated commuters. It is surreal. There we all are, sharing the road, cursing each other out along the way, thanking one another now and then for making the right move (GET OUT of my WAY!!) all the while avoiding eye contact at all cost. At times, we are courteous, and other times cut-throat.
Like being smashed up against people you don't know on the subway, driving on a highway puts you into close quarters with other people who have so much in common with you (aren't we all in this together?), but with whom you may never share even the slightest glance. Sure we admire and ridicule each other's cars and driving style--in fact the highway is a great place to "window shop" for a new car (notice how all the cars that catch your eye are from the same maker? Is that telling you something?), but I keep finding myself up against this question: How the...did half of these people get a driver's license?!
Case in point: the left lane. Also know as, "the fast lane," and, "the passing lane," this section of highway road has a specific designation and I don't doubt for one second that each and every one of us knows what that purpose is...yet, day after day, trip after trip, mile after mile, I come up behind drivers who are taking their merry sweet time and just "hangin'out" in the fast lane. Just driving along at the speed limit, plenty of room for them to pull over into the middle lane, taking up space, blocking the flow of traffic for those of us who like to step it up a notch. What's up with that, folks? I think one of three things is going on:
A: The driver has no license and therefore never learned the rules of the road
B: The driver is rebelling against the conventions of driving in America (generally forcing us faster drivers to pass in the right lane--the slow drivers' lane)
C: The driver likes to instigate road rage.
Opinions?
Every morning, my husband and I travel, encapsulated in our vehicle with its personally appealing environment: just-right music, temperature, conversation; I've got my work spread out across my lap, little reading light on...and we speed along the highway alongside, in front of, and frustratingly behind the thousands of other encapsulated commuters. It is surreal. There we all are, sharing the road, cursing each other out along the way, thanking one another now and then for making the right move (GET OUT of my WAY!!) all the while avoiding eye contact at all cost. At times, we are courteous, and other times cut-throat.
Like being smashed up against people you don't know on the subway, driving on a highway puts you into close quarters with other people who have so much in common with you (aren't we all in this together?), but with whom you may never share even the slightest glance. Sure we admire and ridicule each other's cars and driving style--in fact the highway is a great place to "window shop" for a new car (notice how all the cars that catch your eye are from the same maker? Is that telling you something?), but I keep finding myself up against this question: How the...did half of these people get a driver's license?!
Case in point: the left lane. Also know as, "the fast lane," and, "the passing lane," this section of highway road has a specific designation and I don't doubt for one second that each and every one of us knows what that purpose is...yet, day after day, trip after trip, mile after mile, I come up behind drivers who are taking their merry sweet time and just "hangin'out" in the fast lane. Just driving along at the speed limit, plenty of room for them to pull over into the middle lane, taking up space, blocking the flow of traffic for those of us who like to step it up a notch. What's up with that, folks? I think one of three things is going on:
A: The driver has no license and therefore never learned the rules of the road
B: The driver is rebelling against the conventions of driving in America (generally forcing us faster drivers to pass in the right lane--the slow drivers' lane)
C: The driver likes to instigate road rage.
Opinions?
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