jessteronimo

Early to Rise Is Supposed to Be Preceded by 'Early to Bed'

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

My little brother has once again forgotten that the rest of us don't work the night shift and is therefore texting me in the middle of the night again, I think through a sleepy fog, waiting for the three buzzes that distinguish a text from a call on my phone when it's on vibrate. But the buzzing doesn't stop. It's a call. I don't have my contacts in, so I squint painfully at the screen and don't recognize the phone number.

"Hello?" I croak into the phone as I scramble from bed and escape to the bathroom so I don't wake my entire family. A parting glance at the clock shows me a five. Ugh. This incident is getting worse by the second.

"Sorry to wake you, ma'am. This is your security company. We have a report that your motion sensors are detecting movement within the premises. Blah blah blah." Or something like that. My brain is so sleep fuzzy that I'm barely comprehending the words.

A breakin. Move your body, Jessica! is what my brain is scolding now. I start fighting my way to consciousness and pull on some clothes, any clothes. Before I know it, I've kissed my husband 'bye, climbed into my car, and am speeding down the freeway towards my office. No makeup for sure, but did I brush my teeth? I think so. Deodorant? Wait, it doesn't make sense, I realize as my brain wakes up. The motion sensors, not the alarm. Would they come through the ceiling tiles, like in the movies? Not likely. "Please don't let this be real," I still whisper. I arrive in the parking garage in record time--because of the lack of traffic, not because I was moving particularly fast.

Off the elevator, the office is dark. All quiet. I unlock the door and am greeted with the warning sounds that the alarm has been tripped. I enter my passcode to disable it and take a look around. Nothing is amiss. I walk through the office giving a thorough inspection. I stop in the center and freeze, poised to listen, facing the motion sensor. The heating system suddenly kicks in, and several things happen at once: warm air brushes across my face, the helium balloon bouquets I'd gotten--one to celebrate an employee's birthday and the other to welcome back a returning employee who'd had surgery--start dancing happily, and the motion sensor light starts blinking wildly.

You're kidding me, I groan inwardly. No, I'm not. Sure glad we got those motion sensors.

So my day started at 5:00 a.m. It was billing day, so I got started and finished in record time with no one to interrupt me. Then I went home for an hour to shower and return for a marketing meeting. And because it was billing day and I had monthly statements to stuff and mail tonight, I am just now--at 10:45 p.m.--finishing up my workday. This is gonna be a great week!

A Sense of Humor

There’s a funny sign by the reception window at the South Salt Lake Police Department that says:

 

“Unattended children will be given an espresso and a free puppy.”

 

Doncha love it when people have a sense of humor? J

Alarming

As usual, I had a bunch of errands to run last night when I got off work. I hurried to my car with my arms characteristically full, and as I turned the key in the ignition, and an extremely loud alarm started blaring at me. Now, when I bought the car from my sister a year ago, she neglected to explain to me that there was an alarm system in the car. When she came back to visit a couple of months later, we went shopping and the alarm went off. She briefly explained how to disable the alarm. She didn't know what triggered it, though, and the alarm hadn't gone off since. I'd actually forgotten about it. Now that necessity called for it, I thought I could remember what she'd said and done. I dumped my baggage and dove for the little busted up key FOB stowed in the storage compartment. The battery doesn't fit, but I forced it in the device and frantically started jabbing at the little buttons to stop the awful sound. Nothing happened. I flipped the battery and tried again. Still nothing. I was becoming increasingly rattled. I popped the hood and tried to disconnect the battery. No luck. The key in the ignition didn't stop the alarm either. Still blaring. A couple of my coworkers showed up and tried to help. After about 20 minutes, the sound mercifully stopped for no apparent reason. But then I tried the key in the ignition again. At first turning it over did absolutely nothing--almost like the battery was dead, but the lights still worked--but then a second try started the alarm up again. Crap! A couple of guys showed up and offered to tear the wiring out--until they decided that would make them liable and slinked away with a "good luck with that," thank you very much. We finally found the car's manual. I could barely read because the sound had me so shook up but eventually learned that there's a little button by my steering column that enables the damn alarm. Toggling this button to the out position allows the alarm to be disabled with the FOB. I must have hit it with my knee or something. Quite the design flaw. For at least an hour after the incident, I was shaking and trembling all over, and I couldn't think clearly. I learned a lot, though. I learned how to enable and disable my car alarm, and I learned that I don't believe in car alarms. They don't deter thieves; they only cause their owners grief. And I learned that I need to find a Toyota dealership and have that stupid alarm removed STAT!

Overheard

For the past 5 months, my daughters have been living in the same room in a hut made out of their bunkbed. Yesterday they decided to move back into their own rooms. I was listening to the girls as they separated their things and talked about their different cleaning styles. My oldest said to my youngest, "So when do you feel the need to clean your room?" The younger said, "If I get to the point where I can't stand it anymore, then I'll clean." The older then said, "You know, your fish probably gets to feeling like that. But he can't just get up and leave. He can't say, 'I'll feel more like cleaning tomorrow.' So you probably ought to clean the fish tank at least once a week--more than you do your room." The younger just shrugged.

They're definitely not alike in this department.

Spring Surprises

Spring is in the air. The flowers are blooming. The green grass is long and lush. The leaves on the trees shade the surrounding areas. Baby animals are everywhere you look. The birds are singing all around...and crapping all over my car. Every single day when I leave the house to go to work, there are new little presents from the birds starring my little red car. And accompanying the bird splotches are little blossom petals and seed pods from the trees hanging overhead. They are incredibly sticky, resisting windshield wiper fluid and snow scraper passes. I'm thinking of getting one of those covers rich people use to protect their vintage cars. It'd be cheaper than the thrice weekly car washes!

Home Schooling, Or You Wanna WHAT?

This morning as I was leaving for work, Ben handed me a piece of paper and told me I needed to get it notarized. It was announcing to the school district that we were going to be home schooling our children for the foreseeable future. What the....?

The three of them have been supposedly joking about this prospect for months now. Now it appears it wasn't a joke. The girls dreamed this idea up, and Ben is surprisingly on board, even though he'd obviously become their full-time teacher. He argues that the education our girls are receiving is abysmally subpar. Duh. Of course, that's not why they go to school! They go to school to learn how to live amongst others in this wacky world, how to follow rules, resolve conflicts, hit deadlines, and stick to schedules--and to learn HOW to learn. Admittedly I haven't known too many people who are homeschooled, but the ones I have known have been just plain odd and not all that super educated, no matter how hard their parents worked at it. I just shudder to think this might happen to my girls--and right as my oldest enters junior high! Ugh!

To me, this idea is wrong on SOOOO many levels, but I need ammo, so everybody chip in and help me with the arguments, okay?

Modern Invitation

This morning I received a wedding invitation from one of my oldest and dearest friends in all the world...

via instant messenger.

I sure love that guy.

She Said

We were talking about how much Dad likes to be alone but how he is lucky to have us girls living with him. In the context of that conversation, my daughter observed, "He needs to have some girl sense talked into him." :) Don't they all, sweetheart? Don't they all?

[Empty]

"Your oil isn't reading."

"Does that mean your machine isn't working?"

"No."

"What does it mean?"

"There's no reading."

Long pause while this sinks in.

"So there's no oil?"

"No, ma'am."

Does that mean I'm wrong, or is he confirming there's no oil? I rephrase the question.

"It's empty?"

"Yes, ma'am." He's feeling uncomfortable. I'm feeling horrified. My sister had the oil changed right before she gave me the car just a few months ago. Oh, wait, that was six months ago. But that means the oil should be really dirty, not GONE!

"You haven't noticed any leaks? Well, some cars burn oil more than others, especially at the higher mileage." I hadn't realized I'd been speaking out loud. More horrors. He must think me an idiot, not just the too-busy working mother that I am.

"So I guess you can fill it up and it'll be all right, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Note to self: Must get an oil change every 3,000 miles--for real. And take advantage of periodic top-off service!

Cream Is the New White

I found the perfect shoes. I'd been looking for a new pair of all-purpose casual shoes to replace the tennis shoes I've been wearing out for a decade, but I hadn't yet found the perfect size, color, style, and arch support combination--until Saturday when I chanced by a new style of Danskin's cross over deom dance into casual and sporty shoes. The store had several colors for the style I liked, and since Danskin knows active women's feet at least as well as Nike (IMHO), the arch support was perfect. Black, cream, and white caught my eye, and they even had my size in all three. I fell for the white ones, all shiny and clean, but as I packed up the shoes in their box to take to the checkout, my oldest daughter packed up the same shoe in cream, placed it in the shopping cart, and took the white shoes from my hands and returned them to the shelf. Then she explained, in an ever-so-slightly exasperated tone, "Mom, in a few days, the white shoes would BE the tan shoes, only not on purpose, so you might as well buy the tan shoes." And then she reminded me of times past when I've complained about not having anything to wear with my other white shoes but that tan goes with way more outfits. Such wisdom in a twelve year old--and not even a girly one! She was completely right, of course. I wore my perfect new shoes to work today, and I never once regretted it.