Monday, December 26, 2011

Sometimes People are Cool


And sometimes, they’re really not.

Last week, a friend of mine unknowingly dropped her phone in a parking lot. Upon realizing what must’ve happened, she tried calling the phone, but it went straight to voicemail, so she assumed it died or had broken somewhere in the fall. But when she called her husband to tell him what happened, he said that he had called her earlier and someone picked up. When he asked who was speaking, they hung up. Being that she had retraced her steps through the parking lot and the store, this likely means that someone found the phone after she dropped it, and kept it for themselves. That’s a pretty sucky thing to have happen at any time, but especially at Christmastime. It’s an unfortunate reminder that not everyone in this great, big world of ours is, shall we say, honest or kind. But that’s not the kind of post I’d like to write about today.

In the spirit of the holidays, I’d like to tell you some stories that have happy endings.

The first tale is about a man named Albert. I had served Albert only a few times but I remembered him because he always drank Stella, ordered a pound of wings with extra celery and used a double Airmiles coupon. Plus, he was a really sweet old man; just someone that was polite and always struck up a harmless, friendly conversation, which, when you work in a sports bar, is not always what you get when serving an older man who dines alone. I hadn’t seen him in quite a few months, so Albert was surprised to come in one day to find that I remembered him and his order, and that I was six or seven months pregnant. So we chatted for awhile; turns out his daughter was also pregnant at the time. And after he paid his bill, which included a gratuity, he handed me a $20 bill. I assumed he just needed me to break some change for him, so I started to do so, but he stopped me and told me to use that $20 to start my baby’s college fund. I cried. Not an ugly cry, but a shocked, misty-eyed, could-not-believe-this-actually-happens little moment. Can you imagine? This almost stranger, someone whom I barely knew anything about – just his preference in beer and wings, was selflessly handing me money to put towards my unborn baby’s future. I tried to refuse the money, and when that didn’t work, I tried to be as gracious as I could. How could I tell this man how much his simple gesture meant to me? I didn’t have the words then, and I don’t have them now either. I just know that what he did was the kindest, most pure thing anyone has ever done for me. I promised him that my daughter would know where her first twenty dollars came from, and when she’s old enough to understand, we will go to the bank together to deposit the money that Albert gave to her, the money I’ve kept in a special place since that day, and she’ll know all about the man who likes to drink Stella.

The next story also takes place during my stint as a pregnant waitress. This one involves Steve, one quarter of a group of regulars that I had been serving for years. One day while talking about my pregnancy, Steve made a comment, something to the effect of him offering me the crib his youngest son had just vacated. I don’t really remember what was said but I know that even though I agreed, I brushed the exchange off and didn’t take it seriously because well, people don’t just give other people cribs, let alone to your friendly, neighbourhood bartender, no matter how good she makes your mild Caesars. But then a few weeks later, Steve brought it up again, asking when would be a good time to bring the crib by. Again, I don’t really remember the conversation, just that I was still unsure if this was actually happening or not, because this kind of stuff doesn’t really happen to people, right? And then one day, Steve showed up with a pretty, white crib in the back of his truck; a crib that made its way into my car, and then my daughter’s nursery. For free. Again, I was shocked and dumbfounded that people this nice do exist and I’m still overwhelmed sometimes when I think about Steve’s gift. If you remember, Dawson and I hadn’t exactly planned to have a baby, so it’s not really a stretch to say that we were... scrambling a bit to get everything in order before our monster princess’s arrival. In giving us the pretty, white crib, Steve not only gave our baby a place to sleep, but he lifted a huge weight off our shoulders and, like Albert, reminded us there is good to be found in this world.

I remember once during college, while paying for groceries at the self-checkout, I used the cash back button to take out $20. Like an idiot, I forgot to take the money with me, even though that automated voice reminds you every time to please take your change and your receipt. FYI, I did manage to take the receipt with me. Anyway, I didn’t realize what happened until I got home, and since I lived a five minute walk from the store, I raced back to see if the money was still there. It wasn’t, of course, and I felt so stupid for having forgotten it in the first place. As I walked home, again, I decided that instead of being mad about the situation, I was going to believe that my money had found its way into the hands of somebody who desperately needed it, somebody who was now able to afford some extra groceries for their family or somebody who was having a string of bad luck, who thought that finding $20 might just be a sign of good things to come. Maybe none of that was true, but I think that believing in something positive, however improbable it may be, is always more powerful than thinking the worst.

So instead of assuming that some punk found my friend's phone and took it in a selfish act, we’ll choose to believe that whoever found it needed an iPhone more than she did. Because that’s what Christmastime is all about -believing in the good, the magic, that kindness exists and that strangers can give each other money or cribs simply out of the goodness of their hearts. Merry Christmas to you and yours, and if you don’t celebrate Christmas, well then Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanza, or happy holidays. Or happy whatever. We hope that whatever you celebrate or don’t celebrate, that your days are filled with joy and love. And iPhones.

-Alice

Monday, December 19, 2011

Goodbye Money


It seems like just yesterday that I made the 30 second decision to go back to work (as a waitress, not a hooker). But alas, it’s been eight months. Eight months of spending two to three days in another city, away from my husband and only seeing my monster princess in the a.m. And while those circumstances are certainly not the worst case scenario by any means, it was still not ideal. So, as much as we could definitely still benefit from me bringing home some dolla dolla bills y’all each week, we made the decision that I should quit. That way I can be home full-time with Thumper again, and hopefully the lack of bills flowing in my bank account will scare me enough to kick-start my freelance writing career. Seeing as I did legitimately go to college to become a freelance writer.

And that’s the thing. Even though it was totally my decision to quit, and even though Dawson fully supports me, I am freaking out. I started working again to help sustain our finances while we saved for the wedding. When I look back, had we not had the extra income, well, I’m literally almost in tears thinking of the debt we’d have accumulated only in those few months. And even though we no longer have a wedding to save for, we still have every day expenses that I fear one income might not be enough for for too much longer.

I know that I just finished saying I hope this is enough to make me start working independently as a writer, but do you know what statement I heard most often from my teachers in college? That writers make shitty money. Seriously. (No wonder my class of thirty was down to eleven by the time graduation came around.) And there’s no guarantee that anybody ever wants to read what you’ve written, let alone publish it. So I can work my little butt off and create these grand stories and articles until my fingernails fall off but that doesn’t mean I’m guaranteed to ever make a single cent off of it. And that’s fucking terrifying.

The reason why I’m blogging about this is because I’m hoping to hold myself accountable. By putting this goal of mine out there (to actually at least try to be a “professional” writer), I’m hoping that the fear of debt and the fear of not succeeding after having told the whole blogging world that I’m gunna be a rock star writer! will be enough to help me get over the fear of potentially sucking at writing and just do it.

So yes, this week will mark the end of my waitressing career (again) (and hopefully for the last time). But hopefully it will bring about the beginning of something better, maybe not something more financially lucrative, but something that will have more passion than me listing off what beers are on tap for the rest of my life. Goodbye money. Goodbye serving uniform. Goodbye noises everywh—

Oh wait. Wrong story. My bad.

Maybe I should stick to my day job.

-Alice

Monday, December 12, 2011

Good Days


Sometimes motherhood is exhausting. Sometimes, you get so tired of the never ending line of eardrum shattering tantrums, uneaten meals, and mountains of laundry that you swear you’d give up your own boobs if it meant you could have some peace and quiet.

But other times, motherhood is fulfilling and fun and all of those heart warming things they talk about in the baby books. You know, all the stuff your pregnant self dreamed about but then realized was BS when you brought your screaming, pooping, nocturnal bundle of joy home from the hospital. But seriously, those days you long ago dreamed of do exist. I promise.

I know because today was one of those days for Thumper and I. I don’t know why, but we had the simplest, most fun day ever. We didn’t do anything extraordinary; we just did some errands and went to a play group, but Thumper decided that today would be a good day to listen to everything I asked of her and to share toys with other kids. She also did her first real craft, with my help of course, but still. I don’t even like doing crafts but I had so much fun with her I might even try another one. She also willingly went down for a nap, which automatically makes any day a good day.

It also helped that I was in a good mood too. That’s the one thing I too often forget- that positivity is a two way street. It’s not just up to Thumper to share, I’ve got to have the patience to play with her and show her how to do things and actually let her do them on her own. For whatever reason, I did that today and it reminded me how well things go when I do. It’s something I’ll need to start doing more of.

I’m sorry that this post is so boring. I know you guys count on me for a weekly story of awkwardness and parental failure on my part but there just hasn’t been much happening for us since Thumper renamed herself El Dorado. (Update, we did see those girls again today and although Thumper knew who they were immediately, they didn’t remember her. I have yet to decide if that was influenced by their mother who probably still thinks we’re crazy or not.) But I promise that soon enough, I’ll have some interesting stories for you. After all, Thumper is moving to a big girl bed this weekend and we’re going to start potty training in a few weeks. God help us all.

My point, however vague or boring it is, is that you can survive even the most harrowing days in Mommyland. You have to, because the days when everything goes your way are so sweet. The days when you and your kids quietly and happily colour together, or snuggle under a blanket watching a movie, or make paper reindeers for the Christmas tree are what make those hellish days so worth it.

-Alice

Monday, December 5, 2011

Backfire Story of the Day


Thumper’s new favourite question to ask (instead of what’s that?) is what’s your name? It started innocently enough; one day when another child approached Thumper at the library, I could tell Thumper was about to unleash her paranoid fury on the kid for infringing on her toy territory, so I encouraged her to ask the child his name, and then tell him hers, and then they’d be friends and could play together. It worked at the time, and quickly, it became her signature line. Except that instead of asking other kids, she asks Dawson and I. All. The. Time. And there’s only so many times we can answer honestly, so we started being silly about it and saying things like Cinderella or Buzz Lightyear or Tina Fey. Obviously, my two year old thinks it’s hilarious.

The backfire comes into play earlier today when I took Thumper to a local playgroup. She was approached by two sisters who actually asked her, before she could ask them, what her name was. The mom asked if Thumper would be able to reply on her own, and we engaged in a little chit-chat about how Thumper could answer, and how funny this was because she is always asking other people the same thing. Then one of the girls turns to her mom and says, “Mommy, that little girl’s name is El Dorado.”  

If you don't get it, it's because you don't know that The Road to El Dorado is Thumper's favourite movie to watch at her grandparents' house.

The mom looked back at me with a half-smile of bewilderment and a loss for words as I laughed and tried to explain that my daughter is not, in fact, named after the real nor the Disney version the lost city of gold. Either she didn't believe me, or was judging the fact that my two year-old watches The Road to El Dorado because our daughters did not become friends after that exchange.

I tried to explain the Thumper that the game is only funny if the person she's talking to actually knows her real name. An hour later while at the library, I overheard her asking another little girl what her name was. When the shy girl wouldn't answer, Thumper offered up "My name is El Dorado." Needless to say, she didn't understand the concept of the game. Or become friends with that little girl.

I guess the moral of the story is, pretty much anything you do as parent will come back to haunt you. Even the stupid stuff.

-Alice