Brown Santa

My partner who works for UPS works hard-not like most of us who can troll the internet, catch up on Facebook, or play Candy Saga Crush (a game I have yet to let myself succumb to) from our desk jobs. There’s no coffee “meetings” at Starbuck’s or lunch dates with an old friend for her. She goes in at 9am, and comes home whenever she’s done delivering packages. When she’s not driving, she’s running through town, trying to meet her time quota and rearranging her truck on her lunch break. From 9am to usually 7pm, she’s running nonstop.

I would collapse from exhaustion around stop 2. I’d probably just roll up to a house or office, throw open the doors and honk the horn. If that didn’t get a response I’d chuck the package out the door, hope it landed safely, and forge the receiver’s signature as I sped away.

One day while I was checking Facebook statuses from home (not work, just in case any of my employees are reading) I saw a friends post who said he couldn’t wait for “Brown Santa” to arrive with his package. By that he meant the UPS driver clad in brown that brings him packages. I instantly fell in love with the idea and as soon as Alissa walked in the door I said, “Brown Santa is home!” For most of us who are expecting a package from UPS it’s because we’re eagerly awaiting a present or a coveted item we found on Etsy (I shamelessly plugged my own shop, but this place really is great for finding all sorts of awesome items). Perhaps in the future we can all see our driver as a jolly bearer of gifts rather than some peon that is late in delivering packages. 

Check out this funny video done by UPS driver, Ken Jones from Springdale, Arkansas:

However, some people feel the need to give “Santa” an earful or make outrageous demands, such as, “Walk these ten fifty pound boxes all the way across my chain drugstore, even though there’s a designated drop off post,” or “Wait here while I rearrange my stock room to make room for these fifteen boxes. You’re not in a hurry, right?”  My all time favorite is “I know I ordered this package C.O.D, but I’d like you to sit here and wait for me to open it up and see if I really want what’s inside.”

Do you expect this of the real Santa? Do you stand by the chimney at night and tell the big guy you’d like to open the presents before he floats away on reindeer to see if it’s what you really wanted? I mean that would be nice, but not the Christmas spirit.  Granted the difference is you paid for the items being dropped off by UPS, and the driver is a real person (Well so is Santa but don’t tell anyone I still believe).  Shouldn’t this be even more reason to treat the drivers with kindness?

So the next time you see that UPS driver running by, give them a smile. If your package doesn’t arrive on the day that you expected, remember that they have no control of the weather in Atlanta or that accident on I-5. Instead of waiting to pay for the C.O.D or asking what’s in the package (Do you expect them to have x-ray vision?) just pay up, sign the board and say thank you. The longer you take, the longer my family has to wait for our Brown Santa to come home, delivering love and hugs, or in my case, dinner!

This customer was so excited for this final part they were waiting on that they took a picture of their UPS driver. Don't forget, drivers love to be remembered around the Holiday's. Last year "we" got the best homemade cookies I've ever tasted. Lucky for me, Alissa doesn't like Oatmeal in her chocolate chip cookies. 

Ghosts

I have never understood people who treat service workers as people who are less than, that for whatever reason they do not deserve your proper respect and appreciation. Maybe my understanding comes from having been raised in households that owned and operated small businesses.  Perhaps it’s because I have been working since the age of fifteen and have had a slew of menial low wage professions along the way.

While attending Humboldt State University in 2001, I got a job at one of the coolest places in town to work, The Minor Theatre. 

Houdini himself even performed there, the trap door is still intact. This was the place where the cool kids slung popcorn that the hip natives could sprinkle yeast on that was provided complimentary. The cashier’s could let in their friends and were privy to “Midnight showings” of all the new releases.

I was the janitor.

I got to clean up after the midnight porn shows, scrub the urinals, check the mice traps and for a special treat every once in awhile I got to run petrified from the 1914 three room theatre, equipped with a balcony, sure that I had just seen a ghost. (Side note: The place really is haunted. Several people have claimed to see a little girl in white in the balcony seating.)

The best day was when I was enthusiastically (out of fear, not the joy of cleaning) climbing the stairs of said balcony and smacked my head on a speaker. It knocked me out cold; I fell flat on the walkway, luckily avoiding any chairs.

The next thing I knew I felt a sharp pinch on my arm, almost like a tiny bite. It shocked me awake and as I collected myself I couldn't help but think it was that little girl in the white dress, making me come to. I cleaned by myself so who knows how long I would've laid there.

I wasn't so scared after that day, although some probably would've quit, I felt like we had a mutual understanding after that. I would allow her to stay there and scare the shit out of people and she would let me work in peace, even come to my aid if need be. I ended up in the ER that night with a concussion and the ligaments in my neck torn, but that’s another story in itself.

This is opening night in 1914. My favorite are the two girls in white hats. I have looked at this photo so many times I feel as though it's a family photo.

One day I was mopping the tiles outside and a man stopped to ask me a question about a movie that I didn't know the answer to so I told him, “I don’t know, I’m just the janitor.” To which he replied, “You’re not just the janitor. Your work is important too.” It made me stop and think about the roles we all play and how a little kindness can go a long way, especially to those who do the jobs that most don’t want.

I eventually became a concessionaire and then a cashier and even started to be trained as a projectionist. The tales were all true. There was drinking, parties, wild nights, and popcorn with as much yeast as I wanted! The best part was that I made lifelong friends with some of the most interesting people.

Moral of the story, people who clean urinals are people too, please aim wisely. 

Flawed

I like to look at my family as a little matryoshka each of us represents a different doll, a different layer, and we all fit together as one. There’s our daughter Sophia, age three, my partner Alissa, who works for UPS, and me, a Preschool Director. Of course there’s much more to us than just what we do for a living. One of those layers is Foster and Adoptive Parent. Our journey through hell, err, adoption started for me in 2007, and together in 2008. Now, I don’t mean this as a deterrent to adoption, it has been the best thing that has ever happened to me, hands down. It’s the journey itself that, should you choose to accept, should end with knighthood or sainthood. I’m not joking.  Make a bronze statue of my face and erect it on a monument.

Normally I’m pretty modest, you don’t catch me talking about the sacrifice and heartache we’ve gone through, we just simply foraged ahead, like so many others.  Some might think stupidity or naivety kept us going but I like to think of it was unrelenting optimism and hopeless romanticism.

What I think my sculpture would like & what they'd probably give me.

Our first love Lia came to us when she was one month old. We went to court to establish de facto parent rights nine months later. She was the best baby I have ever met, and working with infants each day, that says a lot. She slept through the night, rarely cried, and was generally a happy baby. Except for the days she came back from visits with her biological parents. On those days she came home fussy & agitated, sort of like Roseanne Barr during her show Roseanne, not Roseanne the Macadamia Nut farmer.  I’m guessing it was from the 8oz bottle they would insist she needed to eat even though she only drank 4oz bottles and had already eaten before every visit.

The overburdened social worker aid that was actually doing the job of the social worker would comment on how fussy she would be during visits and assumed she was generally an unhappy baby. The social workers in Fort Bragg, which I’m guessing are like most departments, only care about one thing, reunification.  A court date was set to determine if Lia should remain in foster care or be reunified with her bio parents. We came with our paperwork, prepared hopeful that things would go our way and Lia would not be placed with her bio parents who, just take my word, were unfit.

While waiting in the same room as her bio parents, the mother’s lawyer said that her “pee test” had come back dirty. Halleluiah! We knew she was back to drinking and doing drugs, and this proved it. The mother made all sorts of excuses, “Oh I did have a glass of wine at Christmas,” and, “Maybe it was the Nyquil I took for that cold.” We walked into the courtroom, our foster daughter’s attorney and the social workers sat on one side and her parents and their lawyers on the other. When it came time for the social workers to give their opinion on whether or not Lia should go back to her bio parents, this is what they said, “We believe they have taken the necessary steps and the child should be placed back into their custody.”

Hearts broken, no, shattered.

I do not know what these “necessary steps” were. I’m guessing they are along the lines of…

1.       Abuse the system.

2.       Continue to live as you have in the past; drugs, alcohol, etc.

3.       Get a job, but no one will check on you a week later to see if you’ve kept it.

4.       Continue to receive welfare even though your child is no longer in your custody.

5.       Learn how to manipulate everyone around you.

I wish I could say this story has a happy ending for our little Lia, but alas, her father was just arrested for raping a young woman who was living with them.

The foster care system is flawed to say the least.

Future Gold Medalist

My three year old started taking private swim lessons this week. She was three feet tall at age two, nice wide shoulders, so naturally, we've already planned her future as an Olympic swimmer. We'll settle for professional goalie of the Women's US team too, she's just too young to start soccer. I intend to keep her in that pool long past the "prune" stage, have her tread water for a good 30 minutes each day, you know, start her out slow.

I can't tell if she's swimming away in fear...nah, just keep swimming, you'll be Natalie Coughlin in no time.

(Disclaimer: the above is what's known as sarcasm.) 

The Day Penelope Became Pete

Last year we got a guinea pig as a pet for the Preschool. I tell you she was the cutest rodent (although I would never call her that to her face mind you) I had ever seen.

This photo really doesn't do her justice. What you can't see is her adorable all white behind.

This is the Bio posted on her home (okay, I made most of it up, but I'm sure she'd agree):
Full name: Penelope Jane
Born: June 13, 2012
Likes-apples, playing tag, water, being read to
Dislikes-People tapping on her glass house
Favorite Books: The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Pride & Prejudice
Favorite Color: Blue

We all fell in love with her and wanted what was best for her, and according to the experts, it was another guinea pig. About six months later we welcomed another little girl guinea pig into our family and they even got a deluxe 50 gallon tank as a new home!

Here she is, Isabella, named after the little girl who loved her dearly & was sad to her go, but happy for us.

Full name: Isabella Corduroy
Born: December 29, 2012
Likes: playing hide and seek, traveling, dressing up
Dislikes: Being left all alone
Favorite Books: Olivia & the Fairy Princess, Diary of a Wombat
Favorite Color: Purple

The guineas seemed happy and started making all sorts of fun new noises and were constantly playing tag and hide and go seek, as previously mentioned in their Bio's. Life was great. Then on May 7th I walked into the classroom and saw this...

It turns out, those "experts" were right, guinea pigs do love company, unfortunately, they also didn't know how to properly sex a guinea pig. Oops. It has made for some fun classroom conversations. My favorite was from a four year old who when talking about how mommy's carry their babies in their tummy's, he replied, "Mine carried me in her shoe." I love my job.

Best Laid Plans

I had the day planned for months. Send the little one to grandma and papa's for the night, book a suite at The Andiron in Little River, CA, for our fifth anniversary of being a couple, seemed fitting since that's where we got married and I adore the place (You will too, go on, pick up the phone and reserve a cabin. We've stayed four times and have always chosen the William & Mildred Suite, for sentimental reasons, but I've been inside each cabin because we rented out the whole place for our wedding, & they are all uniquely charming). We arrived, only an hour late, not too bad for parents of a three year old, and immediately I sprawled out on the king size Sealy Posturepedic bed, champagne in one hand, and a book in the other. I planned to stay there until they kicked me out. Maids were going to have to knock, say housekeeping, turn the key and still find me in that bed, then roll me out whilst changing the sheets, shaking out the crumbs, books, champagne bottle, and empty Ben & Jerry's pint.

This is what I had in mind, and what I got to experience for about ten minutes...

Then all was changed by a ringing phone. There's no service out there, so when I heard the old fashioned black phone ringing in the other room I bolted out of bed, unsure of what was happening. Was it Scott up at the Inn's office, telling me we were fabulous and deserved a complimentary bottle of wine? Yes it was Scott! No. He was not offering wine. My in-laws were at the emergency room. Fear set in as I imagined our daughter needing stitches or a cast, but he calmed my nerves a bit when he said she was okay. Turns out something my mother-in-law ate did a number on her, so bad so that she was in excruciating pain and had to be taken to the ER. I retold the story to my partner who was in the shower-a shower later she would confide was the best shower she'd had in months. That's what a good shower comes down to when you have a child; no one peeking there head in, asking what you're doing ten times in a row. Then I dashed back to Fort Bragg, which is a good twenty minutes away. Once in the ER I found my father-in-law was managing to keep our daughter entertained, asked how grandma was, "No word as of yet," then headed back to the Andiron, feeling happy that my mother-in-law was not in a life or death situation, but feeling a little defeated. The rest of the day consisted of entertaining our daughter, but there was a little more lying in bed with my book, it wasn't uninterrupted, but I did get a foot rub (Yes!!) and more champagne (double Yes!!). 

Our daughter however had the time of her life...

I'd say that one day we too will get to have that big of a smile on our face from getting whisked away to a beautiful Inn, but the truth is, once you have a kid, nothing is certain or set in stone. On the bright side, she makes our heart smile everyday, so we're pretty damn lucky. I mean, how can you not feel okay with missing out on a romantic weekend when you see that scrunched up nose smile?

p.s. We'll always have The Andiron, July 10, 2010. And, Scott DID give us a bottle of wine in the end!

Finding the littlest Matryoshka

If you've read the title of this Blog then it should come as no surprise that I have a thing for Matryoshka's. It started when I was a little girl and shook a bright red Matryoshka that stood, red lipped and smiling, on a shelf in my grandmother's house. Her little wooden eyes encouraging me to pick her up, and upon hearing the rattle inside, I only found my curiosity peaked that much more. After a minute or so of forcefully shimmying her waistline to and fro, out popped another little red lipped beauty, and then another, and another, and just when you think there couldn't possible be one more, there she is, the littlest of the Matryoshka's, or as like to call her, la petite Matryoshka, which isn't really proper considering they originated in Russia, but my Russian needs some work, well, so does my French for that matter.

It wasn't until a trip to Ellis Island in 2011 that I finally purchased my very own set of nesting dolls. I walked into the section marked "Russia" and my little heart went all aflutter. Dozens of little nesting dolls in all shapes and colors! It took me a good twenty five minutes to finally decide on one.

From here on out I won't be bombarding you with images and tales of Matryoshka's, okay, well I probably will a few more times. I just wanted to start out by telling you how the idea got started and how I look forward to talking about all sorts of things, and unraveling the beautiful, comical, and interesting pieces of life, one little layer at a time.