I'll never order anything Site to Store from Wal-Mart ever again. Furthermore, I probably won't ever shop at Maysville Wal-Mart ever again... or at least not until I'm sufficiently over being ticked off... but I'm definitely 100% out on Site to Store.
Both of my older kids have asked for bean bags chairs for Christmas for a few years. Patrick and I could either never find them or could find them but they were way too expensive for what they were. This year, I was browsing around on walmart.com and there they were... $17.00 each, every color you could think of. They aren't sold in the store, online only. But shipping from site to store is free so that hooked me. Easy enough, right? I'll order them, they'll go from the warehouse to my local store and then Santa will pick them up, put them in his sleigh and deliver them here on Christmas Eve.
So I ordered Hunter an orange one and Katelyn a hot pink one. This was on November 24th. Three days later, they both ship out and I get tracking codes. Three days or so after that, I get a notification saying the orange one is ready for pick up at the store but the pink one appears to still be in transit. So, I go pick up the orange one and then I wait... and wait... and wait... Every time I login to my walmart account, the pink one still says "shipped". But then one day, the "Track this Package" button finally shows up and I click on it and - surprise - it says that the pink bean bag was delivered to my local store the same day the orange one was. So I call. The store says no, sorry, it's not here, you must be crazy, lady.
I wait a few more days thinking maybe the orange one's tracking info got mixed up with the pink one. Finally, a lightbulb comes on and I put both tracking numbers into the FedEx site directly. I compare times and locations that each stupid beanbag went through in transit and they're completely different. The end result, though, is the same. They were both delivered on the same day to the store and signed for a few minutes apart by a "TTOLER" who is an employee of said store. *sigh* So I call the store and they blow some sunshine up my ass about how there was a mix up and it would arrive by Monday - which brings me to today...
I drive all the way to Maysville - again - to pick up this beanbag that by now I'm regretting buying. (let me add to this that Averi had vaccinations this morning and she's hurting so I'm already upset) I walk back to Site to Store armed with the FedEx website tracking information and delivery confirmation pulled up on my phone. I explain the situation thoroughly to the lady at the counter and show her my phone that says the package had been delivered there twelve days ago and signed for by an employee. She goes to look for it. Nope, sorry, it's not here. So she calls her manager. I show him the same delivery confirmation. He calls TTOLER to the register. She says "Oh yeah, I remember seeing your name. I remember getting two big boxes that were surprisngly light and one said 'vinyl orange' and the other said 'vinyl hot pink'. I signed those in. I bet the pink one is on the trailer." So off she goes with the manager to find my missing beanbag.
20 minutes later...
Manager comes back out to me and says "Sorry, we can't find it" and just looks at me. Suddenly, my calmness is gone. I feel like if I open my mouth I'm going to breathe fire or rip his stupid, smug face off. But I don't. I politely ask him what the hell he means by they "can't find" the item that I paid for. "Well, we can't find it. It's not on the trailer. Maybe it's under something and we can't see it or we might have accidentally given it to someone else but as far as I can tell it's not here." Accidentally given it to someone else? What? At this point, I'm such a weird mix between shocked and angry that I don't know what to say so I just sit and glare back at him silently. Finally, he speaks. "We can give you a call if we find it." So I - again politely - say "No, not IF you find it. You see, I have TWO children who asked for bean bags so I paid for TWO bean bags. Now I have a dilemma wherein I only have ONE beanbag for Christmas and TWO children. How do you think that's going to work out for me? I'm going to need you to go look again because one of your employees signed for it when it was delivered here." His response "I could sit here and argue with you all day but that bean bag could be anywhere right now. I'll just refund your money and you can order it again and hope it comes in time." Oh my. So I let him know - again - that he could take my $17 and shove it up his ass because that wasn't the point. The point was that now I don't have a Christmas gift for my child that she wanted and that I ordered for her and planned to have for her. This time, he throws in a $20 gift card to sweeten the deal.
So I march to customer service fuming and, I'm sure, sounding less than classy as I tell Paul about it while I walk. The things coming from my mouth certainly weren't ladylike. I get my stupid gift card and my refund and I walk back to the kids furniture hoping to sweet baby Jesus I can find a suitable replacement. But can I? No. I did find bean bags. A black one and a navy blue one. Against my will, I bought a navy blue one because I refuse to have Santa deliver a beanbag for Hunter and not Katelyn. She's probably going to hate it because it's a boy color. And I'm going to be mad all over again on Christmas Eve when I look at an orange bean bag sitting beside a blue one that should have been hot pink. Ugh. Screw you, Wal-Mart. Never again.
I swear one day when I'm 92 with Alzheimer's rolling myself around in a nursing home not knowing if I'm coming or going, someone will show me a picture of Christmas 2011 and I'll say "that damn bean bag was supposed to be pink..."
Monday, December 12, 2011
Friday, December 9, 2011
Babies & Old Folks
I love my baby. I love all of my kids with every fiber of my being, of course. But I'm just sitting here in my quiet house holding my tiny girl and I'm just overwhelmed with love and peacefulness. Looking at her perfect, chubby little face sleeping so deeply in my arms just makes my heart skip beats. I waited for her for so long and she's perfect. I know so many people who struggle with fertility issues or their children have health problems and my heart breaks for them. I wish I could somehow help take that pain away because I can only imagine how it must hurt. I'm so thankful I've been so lucky and I try to remember every day not to take that for granted. I got frustrated last night with Hunter because he was scared to sleep alone. I told him I'd take him to his dad's because that's where Katelyn was. A few minutes later, I went to his room to see if he was dressed and he was throwing clothes everywhere and looked so angry. So I just stopped for a second and then said "Do you want me to lay down and cuddle with you until you fall asleep?"... He looked down at the floor and whispered "yes". Sometimes - especially now that I have a newborn - I have to remind myself that he was my baby for a long time and he's not going to be little forever. While I was getting frustrated with him, he was just hoping for some time where my focus was solely on him. So we laid down and I held him in my arms and I cried a little. He and Katelyn have gotten so big. Time goes by so fast.
That brings me to my next thought... old people. I love them. I touched on how much I love the elderly in my first post on this blog. I'm a long term care nurse and I don't know that I could ever be any other "kind" of nurse. Older people bring me so much joy. They're all so cute and sweet and, often, they don't have filters. And I LOVE THAT. Nothing puts a smile on my face like hearing "well, doesn't she have a big ass?" or "they'll all be sorry whenever I find my shotgun". I don't even care if they're talking about me. Whatever. It's cute and funny and I like it. I was punched in the face by a man years ago working as a nurse aide and he laughed after he did it and I couldn't even be mad. He didn't know what he was doing. Dementia is a sad thing that not enough people (especially families) understand.
Sometimes I sit at work and just watch my residents. I watch them and I find myself wondering about their lives before they were there. I think about the fact that they were someone's babies. Their mothers held them in their arms just like I'm holding Averi and thought about how beautiful and perfect they were. They were children, teenagers, they were married and had children and watched them grow. I wonder about their careers, their accomplishments, their hobbies... I sit and watch and I listen to their confusion. As I said, dementia is a sad thing... but it drives my passion for what I do. The people I take care of had full, rich lives. I'm sure they rarely thought about aging and even more rarely thought about their own mortality. I would do anything I could to make the quality of my resident's lives better. Even when I'm tired because it's 3am and the halls are quiet, all it takes is a glance for me to remember why I love what I do. I am driven by a passion to care for these people at the ends of their lives because I'll be there one day and I hope someone will care for me.
"Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness."
That brings me to my next thought... old people. I love them. I touched on how much I love the elderly in my first post on this blog. I'm a long term care nurse and I don't know that I could ever be any other "kind" of nurse. Older people bring me so much joy. They're all so cute and sweet and, often, they don't have filters. And I LOVE THAT. Nothing puts a smile on my face like hearing "well, doesn't she have a big ass?" or "they'll all be sorry whenever I find my shotgun". I don't even care if they're talking about me. Whatever. It's cute and funny and I like it. I was punched in the face by a man years ago working as a nurse aide and he laughed after he did it and I couldn't even be mad. He didn't know what he was doing. Dementia is a sad thing that not enough people (especially families) understand.
Sometimes I sit at work and just watch my residents. I watch them and I find myself wondering about their lives before they were there. I think about the fact that they were someone's babies. Their mothers held them in their arms just like I'm holding Averi and thought about how beautiful and perfect they were. They were children, teenagers, they were married and had children and watched them grow. I wonder about their careers, their accomplishments, their hobbies... I sit and watch and I listen to their confusion. As I said, dementia is a sad thing... but it drives my passion for what I do. The people I take care of had full, rich lives. I'm sure they rarely thought about aging and even more rarely thought about their own mortality. I would do anything I could to make the quality of my resident's lives better. Even when I'm tired because it's 3am and the halls are quiet, all it takes is a glance for me to remember why I love what I do. I am driven by a passion to care for these people at the ends of their lives because I'll be there one day and I hope someone will care for me.
"Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained in the way of righteousness."
Sunday, November 20, 2011
The Talk
I never pictured myself having “the talk” with my kids in the middle of a crowded restaurant on a random Friday night. Moreover, I didn’t expect to be having “the talk” with them when they were 7 & 8 years old. But there I was…
Our food had arrived and we had just finished a separate, but almost as delightful, conversation about one of my tattoos. I have two. One is small and fairly discreetly placed on my inner foot. The location of the other is a topic of debate among my kids on this particular evening. Katelyn says it’s a tattoo on my butt that I will have to live with when I’m old. Hunter – always one to defend his momma – corrects her and tells her it’s actually right above my butt. Either way, it’s a ‘tramp stamp’ and one day soon I’ll have to explain to them that (I swear) they weren’t yet called that when I got it. *sigh*
The table is quiet for a few moments while we all eat a few bites and then Hunter – never one to allow there to be a dull moment in life – announces “Hey mommy, one time I saw _____’s parent’s doing it.” I’m not going to use names in order to protect the guilty parties. J I was stunned for a second, as I often am by my son, and I finally asked “doing what?”. “Doing IT. You know. IT.” Katelyn chimes in, “Yeah. How babies are made.” I know I should have left well enough alone but I called their bluff and said I didn’t know what they were talking about. Hunter continues. “Well, they didn’t have clothes on and…” I cut him off. I feel sure my face is bright red. I don’t need to know anymore. Paul can’t control himself or his inappropriate laughter. Katelyn takes over and, complete with sound effects, says “hehe, yeah… babies are made when moms and dads don’t have clothes on and they make the bed go like this…” as she slaps her hand against the table. Ahhhhhhhh! What??? (okay, I admit that the sound effects made me laugh just a little and it was brief). I nonchalantly ask how they know so much about “it” to which they both reply “the bus”. The bus is a wonderful, magical place. My kids learn so much there. Previously, Hunter had also explained to me that he knows babies start out as “seeds” carried around by the dad – although he put it in less uncertain terms.
I manage to close my mouth (which, by this point, is hanging open), clear my throat and tell the kids to eat their dinner so we can go to the store. I quickly send a text to my ex-husband explaining to him that our kids need to be home schooled and then I reach to pick up my fork. Silly me, I thought the worst was over. A mischievous smile crosses Katelyn’s face and she says “I know Averi didn’t come out of your belly button, either.” But faster than I could even make my vocal cords react enough to stop her, Hunter had asked her to explain and she had leaned over… whispered into his ear… giggled… and then he actually, literally gagged on his food…
It’s a laugh a minute, folks. Every. Single. Day.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Day One.
Well... I decided to rejoin the blog world. It's been a while. I think the last time I blogged was early 2010. If you're interested in reading my older, funny anecdotes about my oldest children you can still find that blog here: http://imnotyourfriendanymore.blogspot.com but... you should know that SO much has changed about my life since then, I felt like I needed a brand new blog. I feel sure that everyone who will be reading this - at least at first - already knows me but just in case, I guess I'll make this first entry an introduction of sorts for those who may not know me (and a whole plethora of useless information for those who do or are just being nosy.) :)
I'm Amanda. I'm almost, but not quite, 30 and I'm a mother of three. If you're curious about the "Babies and Bedpans" URL, it is a nod to the fact that I am #1, a mom and #2, a long term care nurse and those things define me. Having just had my youngest child a little over 5 weeks ago, I consider myself to be a new mom all over again. She's almost like a foreign creature to me but I'm getting back into the swing of things. My oldest child is 8 years old and she's a little firecracker. Boy crazy and sharp tongued, very intelligent and confident... she reminds me of me when I was about 15. My middle child is 7 and he's amazing. He's hilarious. Many of the stories you will find in my old blog and, I'm sure, many of the ones you will find on here will be about him and the clever things he comes up with. He's one of those kids you can't be mad at because you just have to laugh.
Another thing some may notice if you read my old blog is that I was married then and lived in Louisville. Since I posted my last entry there, I am divorced and I live back in my hometown. My ex-husband and I get along better now (well, most of the time) than we did when we were together and my boyfriend and I live about 5 miles from he and his girlfriend. It has all worked out well. On October 10th, my boyfriend and I welcomed a daughter. She's... a baby. I can't really tell much about her personality, yet. I'm sure she'll be just as colorful and entertaining as my other two, though. I have a feeling she will provide me with many new, humorous toddler adventures to write about.
So that's my family. Myself... I am a temperamental redhead. I come from a long line of them. My chosen career is being a nurse working with the elderly population. I love it. I think Alzheimer's disease is among the saddest that occurs with age, but almost nothing can light up my whole day like one of my residents. The meaner they are, the more I love them. It's what I was put on Earth to do. I really enjoy a good margarita. I love to go school supply shopping every summer with my kids. There's nothing like filling a backpack with fresh ink pens/pencils and highlighters. I pretend to be a scrapbooker. I have tons of supplies. I have good intentions. I've scrapbooked my way from my oldest child's birth to her fourth birthday and then ran out of steam. I'll probably catch up by the time they're all 20. I have a bad mouth. I know it's not classy and I'm not proud, but sometimes nothing gets your point across like a "bad" word. I'm not religious. I don't claim to be a perfect mother but I know I'm a damn good one, despite my flaws. There's a decent chance I might offend you at some point in my posts, so I'm sorry in advance if I do.
I think that'll do for now. The main thing is that I love the man I'm engaged to (and I'm mean as hell to him, but he loves me) and I adore my babies! Everything I post will be about them in some way and I'll make it as humorous and entertaining as I can. Promise. :)
I'm Amanda. I'm almost, but not quite, 30 and I'm a mother of three. If you're curious about the "Babies and Bedpans" URL, it is a nod to the fact that I am #1, a mom and #2, a long term care nurse and those things define me. Having just had my youngest child a little over 5 weeks ago, I consider myself to be a new mom all over again. She's almost like a foreign creature to me but I'm getting back into the swing of things. My oldest child is 8 years old and she's a little firecracker. Boy crazy and sharp tongued, very intelligent and confident... she reminds me of me when I was about 15. My middle child is 7 and he's amazing. He's hilarious. Many of the stories you will find in my old blog and, I'm sure, many of the ones you will find on here will be about him and the clever things he comes up with. He's one of those kids you can't be mad at because you just have to laugh.
Another thing some may notice if you read my old blog is that I was married then and lived in Louisville. Since I posted my last entry there, I am divorced and I live back in my hometown. My ex-husband and I get along better now (well, most of the time) than we did when we were together and my boyfriend and I live about 5 miles from he and his girlfriend. It has all worked out well. On October 10th, my boyfriend and I welcomed a daughter. She's... a baby. I can't really tell much about her personality, yet. I'm sure she'll be just as colorful and entertaining as my other two, though. I have a feeling she will provide me with many new, humorous toddler adventures to write about.
So that's my family. Myself... I am a temperamental redhead. I come from a long line of them. My chosen career is being a nurse working with the elderly population. I love it. I think Alzheimer's disease is among the saddest that occurs with age, but almost nothing can light up my whole day like one of my residents. The meaner they are, the more I love them. It's what I was put on Earth to do. I really enjoy a good margarita. I love to go school supply shopping every summer with my kids. There's nothing like filling a backpack with fresh ink pens/pencils and highlighters. I pretend to be a scrapbooker. I have tons of supplies. I have good intentions. I've scrapbooked my way from my oldest child's birth to her fourth birthday and then ran out of steam. I'll probably catch up by the time they're all 20. I have a bad mouth. I know it's not classy and I'm not proud, but sometimes nothing gets your point across like a "bad" word. I'm not religious. I don't claim to be a perfect mother but I know I'm a damn good one, despite my flaws. There's a decent chance I might offend you at some point in my posts, so I'm sorry in advance if I do.
I think that'll do for now. The main thing is that I love the man I'm engaged to (and I'm mean as hell to him, but he loves me) and I adore my babies! Everything I post will be about them in some way and I'll make it as humorous and entertaining as I can. Promise. :)
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