I Got This

car

“Lord, Help me to be a safe driver for my children.”

That’s a weird prayer.

Definitely one I’ve never prayed before, but last night as I was driving through my little town with two precious angels in the back seat, I suddenly found myself praying those words.

That’s weird, I thought. I’m an excellent driver with an excellent driving record. I’m not known for being reckless, I don’t text/drink and drive. I don’t get distracted or turn around and discipline my children (even if they need it) while driving.

When I drive, I just drive. Carefully.

For an all-around good driver, it seemed like a strangely random prayer.

Not 60 Seconds Later while driving on a slightly larger road I saw headlights coming out of the darkness, straight at us. For a moment I was utterly bewildered. At last, my brain accepted that a car was being driven on the wrong side of the median strip – he was driving southbound in a northbound lane. MY lane.

With plenty of room to spare I pulled over to the shoulder and laid on the horn (s/he should know s/he’s doing something utterly wrong) and kept driving.

There was no screeching of tires, or close calls, but it was a very dark strip of road and a potentially dangerous situation.

That little, random prayer suddenly made sense. Do I think my little prayer saved us? No. Not at all. It just seemed to be God’s way of reminding me that,

He sees where I’m heading. He knows everything that is coming at me – and He’s like, I got this.

“Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save,
    nor his ear too dull to hear.” Is. 59:1

 Follow me on Bloglovin’

Advertisements

That Person

I’ve become that person.

I’m not exactly sure what elements in my life have banded together to create this person that I have become but I think living in third world countries and being a single mother have certainly contributed.

Long story short: Last night I took my iPad to a kiosk in the mall to be repaired. Over the summer the glass got stepped on, broke and I subsequently tried to fix it at home. Bad idea – I messed up the wifi receptor and had to have it replaced.

After being thoroughly rebuked by 16 year old Ron at the kiosk, “In the future, never try to fix this at home.”  I was given a quote of $65 to replace the wifi thingy and to clean off some remaining adhesive and restick the glass. Thirty minutes to fix.

Thirty minutes later he hadn’t even started. I had all four kids with me. In the mall. sephThey had already raided Sephora and were covered in make-up. Loads of kid homework and exhaustion were looming at home. The best decision seemed to be: go home and pick up the repaired iPad the next morning. Young Ron said that was fine and that, no, I did not need a receipt.

This morning when I returned to pay, a different man charged me $75 for the job. $75. WHAT! I was quoted $65. The man talked to the kiosk owner on the phone again and again but the owner refused  to budge on the price.

There was nothing left for me to do but wait. I was told the boss would be there in person in 20 minutes. *I seriously considered plopping down $70 in cash ($65 + 7% sales tax) and taking my iPad and leaving. If he said anything I was going to reply, “Arrest me!” and walk off. But the ATM only gave out $20s.*

I knew the owner wouldn’t be there in twenty. Still, I stood right there in front of the guy at the kiosk for 20 minutes. He became increasingly uncomfortable. Then I waited 10 more minutes and when the guy still would not charge me $65 for the repair, although I asked him, I spoke to a security guard and asked where I could make a complaint.

$10

I want my ten dollars!

While I was writing out the complaint at Guest Services, the owner finally arrived. He had kept me, a customer, waiting for 40 minutes. For $10. The owner then called Ron and asked how much he had quoted me the night before (wait, couldn’t the boss have done this 40 minutes ago?) The owner hung up and charged me $65.

I own my own business. The amount of money that I could have made in those 45 minutes at the mall had I been working is MORE than the $10 I was fighting for. I actually lost money. But, you see,  I have become that  person. I knew I was being scammed. The owner of the kiosk assumed that I would grumpily pay the extra $10 in order to move on with my life. He was wrong.

He had no earthly idea that he was dealing with that person, although he probably has a more colorful name for me.

I suppose Single motherhood, Being a woman and Vast experience overseas in bargaining and rip-off techniques have formed me in to that person. I stood up for my ten dollars. I stood up for all our ten dollars. In the end, I felt really good.

Kind of silly that I just wrote about my “Good Morning” Mission yesterday. Oh well,  you can follow the crazy on bloglovin’

True Story About Three Brothers

My paternal Grandmother was raised by her mother’s sister (Tante) after her own mother died. Tante was married to “Onkle” Fritz and they were the only “grandparents” my father ever really knew. Onkle Fritz and his two brothers immigrated from a part of Europe that was, at that time, Poland. Their surname was Plefkawitz.

ellisOnkle Fritz and his brothers each came to the US separately and entered one by one through Ellis Island. Somebody sure couldn’t spell because the three brothers, who ended up living mere blocks from each other in Camden, NJ, spent the rest of their lives with different last names.

Once registered at Ellis Island their surnames were changed to:

1. Plewka

2. Plefka (this official apparently had half a brain)

3. Palooka

Three brothers, three tombstones, three last names.

Maybe they wanted it that way…

liberty2

 

Follow the crazy on bloglovin’

A Fictional Tale about a Fish Named Fred

There was once a hypothetical fish named Fred.

FREDHe was a big old, pale, butt-ugly Kissing Gourami who had been left to his own devices for far too long. Hypothetically, he lived alone in his tank. (Rumor has it that he ate all the other hypothetical fish.) Neither he, nor his master, took the time to clean the tank, so, in this hypothetical world, it was green and gooey and, needless to say, the nastiest hypothetical thing you have ever imagined.

One day Fred’s owner died, leaving Fred alone in the world save one lone relative who could not take him in. The Lone Relative, hypothetically, asked old friends of Fred’s master to please find someone to take poor old, ugly Fred in.

Hypothetically, the family friends asked everyone they could think of if they would take in a lone Kissing Gourami. They asked the cleaning man, Sal. They asked the Pre-K moms at school. They even, reluctantly, asked their hypothetical friends. No one could take in an old ugly, ornery Kissing Gourami. Hypothetically, they even considered Craig’s List and a Yard Sale, but never went that far.

In the end, hypothetically, they sold the dresser that the fish tank was resting on to an old Russian couple, so Hypothetical Fred had to go. Hypothetically, this occurred on the rainiest day anyone had seen in a long time. Rivers of hypothetical water rushed down the sides of the street from large drops of monsoon rains.

The family friends worked together and drained the water from the tank and then netted a somewhat freaked out Fred and put him in a Beta bowl that was much too small, much too cold and certainly, much too clean, hypothetically, that is. Family Friend Brother, hypothetically, repeated over and over again that Fred was “going to croak” in the small Beta bowl. At last, Family Friend Mother, Brother & Sister devised a plan to give Fred one last chance at life. Brother would dump Fred into the rushing waters of the street (hypothetically) and we (I mean, they) would hope for a miraculous adaption from filtered, heated water, to cold rain runoff.

Alas, Brother and Sister, hypothetically, watched from the window as Fred’s pale pink body resisted the flow of the water and was eventually washed a few feet downstream sideways.

The Family Friend Family consoled themselves with imagining that Fred’s hypothetical chances in the rain runoff were better than his hypothetical chances in the toilet bowl. And they couldn’t quite help chuckling at the thought of an unsuspecting person walking down the street catching sight of a big old, pale, butt ugly Kissing Gourami peering back up at them.

Hypothetically, of course.

 Follow me on Bloglovin’

I Gave Birth in India (Part 2 of 4)

P 2

Her due date was February 15th, but she hung in there an extra two weeks just for kicks. Finally, the contractions began and by this point I. Was. Ready. I’d had my previous two children naturally without drugs and with a midwife, my preferred method, but it HURT. And I’m gonna be real honest here – I HATED the actual birthing process. Still do. SO THANKFUL I never have to do that again. P. coming late was a blessing, I was past the point of fearing the pain and at the This Needs To Happen stage.

So, whoopdeedo, February 28th rolled around and I was ready to go at last. I called my doctor to let her know I was coming in and, you guessed it, here comes the wrench in the plan, the hospital lady who sleeps next to the phone at night informed me that my doctor was in Mumbai for the weekend. And just like that, I was doctor-less and had nowhere to go.

By eleven o’clock at night my husband had driven to six maternity hospitals in the city, one by one. No one would take me. I wasn’t their patient, why should they? I get it. I can now relate to Mary in Bethlehem. No doctor in the hospital? Won’t take new patients? No room in the Inn? Been there. All I really wanted was to find a place to squeeze this baby out and a person to catch her at the other end. A stable makes perfect sense.

After several phone calls from my husband on the road informing me there was nowhere to go, I finally said, (I honestly said this) “Go to the slums, find a midwife and bring her to the house. We’ll do it here.” I was totally serious.

In the end, a family friend, who was a nurse and used to work for an OB/GYN interceded for us. My husband caught the doctor in his parking lot leaving his hospital at midnight and convinced him to admit me. This is where the fun began.

This is Part 2 of 4. Find links here for Part 1, Part 3 and Part 4.

P 3