Thursday, October 15, 2009

True Confessions: Update

My husband read my blog post last night and informed me that, no, actually, we weren't going to pay $15.98 for a CD we didn't really wreck in order to re-balance my karma. (Apparently, he wants me to come back as a slug in my next life.)

So this afternoon, I phoned the library and timidly explained my situation to the very kind sounding lady on the phone. (She sounded, in fact, the very way you'd imagine a Very Kindly Librarian with Grey Hair to sound, the kind of librarian you might remember from your childhood. She made me think of the Very Kindly Librarian with Grey Hair who worked in my hometown, whose name was Aunt Sheila. She really was my aunt, actually - well, my great aunt. And she had a Scottish accent so didn't really sound anything like this lady on the phone today, but I could tell they were cut from the same cloth. As in, the Kindly Librarian cloth. It's probably a tartan cloth.)

Anyway, the Kindly Librarian (not the one I yelled at, by the way) kindly checked both my son's card and my card and could not find a damage fee of any sort. "If you could kindly bring in the notice the next time you're here, I'll sort this out for you. And don't worry, you don't have to pay the fee."

Hmmm. I guess the Other, Not-So-Kindly Librarian was just trying to scare me by sending me a notice in the mail, and then, poof, eradicating the fine, since, let's face it, it never would have stood up in court. (Or where ever it is one takes one's library fine grievances.) Either that, or God and the Universe have a great sense of humour (and the ability to send fake library notices. Interesting.)

xo M.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

True Confessions of a Library Vandal

I have a confession to make.

I behaved badly last week.

Okay, so I probably behaved badly more than once last week, but this time was particularly bad. And also, it had consequences. My bad behaviour is going to cost me money. Not a lot of money, but money no less.

The other upshot of my uppity actions: I have besmirched a local establishment I and my children frequent often, and hold in high regard. Besmirched, I say.

The place I have besmirched is the library.



Here’s what happened:

You may recall there were a few rainy, windy, crappy days last week. And while I know in my last post I preached the benefits of gratefulness and not making a big deal out of the small stuff when the alternative is being buried under a pile of rubble, on this particular windy, stormy day, I wasn’t feeling especially grateful. The kids had runny noses (and have had runny noses, it seems, for the past month, with no end to the snot storm in sight), the wind was buffeting us down the street at an alarming rate, I feared an errant tree branch was going to be the end of us all, we were freezing, some of us were crying, and we had one last errand to run before we’d finally be able to return to the safety of home for a nice, warm lunch.


Our final task on this blustery day: We had library items to return. Books and a CD.
I pulled up to the library, scooted the stroller up the ramp, and attempted to open the book-return drop box on the lower level of the building. But the box was locked.

I jiggled it, annoyed. Definitely locked.

Which is when I noticed the cloth bag I was holding, containing said (already late) library items slated for return, was dripping.

I reached inside. Everything was soaked. An errant sippy cup had made it’s way into the bag and leaked its water contents all over everything.

Damn it.

"Poop," I said aloud.

"Poop," my son repeated with a laugh. (We recently had an f-word incident so are working very hard around our house to clean up our potty mouths so my son will stop, for the love of God, saying at every possible opportunity, "We CAN'T say FUCK, Mama. FUCK is a bad word.")

While the wind continued to howl and rage, I removed all items from the bag and wiped them with my coat. They were just a little damp, nothing a few wipes wouldn’t cure.
Except for the CD -- which was called Healthy Kidz, by the way, and was so lame we’d nixed it as a family in favour of some Pretenders (Maia’s new favourite band; you should see her kick it to Back on the Chain Gang). The water had leaked into the case and soaked the liner notes. Although the CD itself was fine (still lame, but fine) no amount of wiping could hide the fact that someone had wet the CD case. Besmirched it, if you will, with an unknown substance.

Oh how I wished the drop box wasn’t locked.

Oh how I didn’t want to have to plunk my pathetic wet CD case in front of the librarian and see the judgement in her eyes.

Another gust of wind blew off my son’s hat. I ran down the ramp to retrive it while he laughed and shouted "Poop!" into the wind.

By this time I was feeling annoyed. Okay, not just annoyed. I was feeling downright indignant. I’m a taxpayer, dammit, I was thinking. I pay taxesand, if I’m being honest, far too many library late fees -- so that things like book return drop boxes will be bloody well open when I need them to be open, in order to avoid pulling my unwieldy stroller all the way into the library, loading it and the kids onto the elevator, going up the elevator and handing my (wet, damn it, damn it, damn it) books and CD to the librarian! Why the hell isn’t the drop box open?! Why, I beseech you?!

(When I'm angry, my inner voice tends to become extremely wordy and drama-queeny.)
So I parked the stroller and ran through the glass doors of the library, then shouted up at the librarian, who was at the top of the stairs behind her counter.

“Why,” I shouted, my hair flying out everywhere, an angry expression on my red face, “isn’t the drop box open?!”
“Because,” she replied coolly. “It’s only open when the library is closed. And the library is open right now."

Like I was stupid or something.

And I wasn't the stupid one. The library was the stupid one!

“Well, that’s stupid,” I shouted. “Even Blockbuster keeps their drop-box open all day and taxpayers aren’t even paying for that drop box.” (Listen, I told you: I behaved badly. I didn’t say I was proud of myself.)

The librarian didn’t respond. She gave me a very judgmental look. It made me angrier.
I stormed out the door, grabbed my library books, pulled the kids inside the library – making a big show about how difficult it was to pull the stroller through the doors with all the wind – parked them at the bottom of the stairs, stomped up the stairs, and dumped my books and (wet) CD in front of the librarian.

Then I ran away before she noticed that everything was damp.

Heading for home, I felt ashamed already. I mean, the librarian herself probably hadn’t made the decision that the drop box was to stay closed during library hours. And it probably wasn’t a calculated attempt to burn idiots like me who spill their kids’ water all over their stuff.

What was I thinking, being such a cow? I let my temper get the better of me. I yelled at the librarian. I stomped around the library. Library's are quiet, nice places. Quiet, nice places with books.

I probably shouldn’t have been surprised today when I got a notice in the mail from the library informing me (or, more accurately, informing my son, whose library card the items were taken out on, for shame) that I owe $15.98. For the damage of the Healthy Kidz CD, natch.

Part of me wanted to stomp over to the library and say, “Come on, people, the CD wasn’t damaged, the liner notes were wet, that's all! Geez! Half the stuff we take out of the library looks like it's been chewed by a pit bull before we even get a chance to chew on it ourselves!"

But another part of me knew this notice probably never would have arrived if I hadn’t behaved so badly.

If I'd been nice, if I'd explained to the librarian what had happened, if I'd apologized for wetting something that wasn't mine, things probably would have turned out differently. Even if the CD was damaged -- which I am SO sure it wasn’t by the way (and yes, I do have a thing about being right even when I know I’m wrong) -- the librarian might have decided to go easy on me and not make me pay for the lame CD that probably came free with a box of cereal.

Instead, I stomped, I yelled, I potentially wrecked her morning.

I have to pay the $15.98.

While I’m not saying I’m never going to let my temper get the better of me again - I'm me, after all, and not always the cooleset customer on the block - I am saying I learned a lesson. It's a pretty basic one: It's always nice to be nice. In the immortal words of the Stone Roses, Love Spreads. Plus, if I had been nice, I would have been setting a better example for my children, too. Because they are (the f-word incident being a case in point) watching and listening.

Poop.

xoMarissa

Sunday, October 4, 2009

I'm Thankful For ...

Gratitude is the key to happiness. There, I said it. You can stop wondering, quit going to therapy and return all those self help books, because that's the key, right there.

According to a recent study by a prof named Todd Kashdan, women are statistically happier than men because they are more grateful. (And here I thought we members of the fairer sex were happier because of the unabashed shoe shopping, playful accessorizing, and not having to deal with having a penis.) But no, says Kashdan. It's thankfulness and joy, the essential elements for living a good life.

There's a group dedicated to gratefulness called The Grateful Nation, and they insist people who are grateful are happier in general, whether they're male or female. Being thankful is good for your health, these full-of-gratitude people say.

But how can this be achieved? What if you just don't feel like you have anything to be grateful for? What if you screwed up at work, got stuck in traffic on the way home, flipped another driver the bird and felt like an idiot, got dinner going late, burned it, became hangry* at your loved one and said something mean, then went to bed annoyed with the world?

What if you forgot to pay the hydro bill and your power got turned off and you're cold and pissy, or you misplaced the novel you were reading right when you were at the exciting climax, or you lost your cell phone while drunk and have descended into a feeling of alcohol fuelled paranoid fear that none of your friends are ever going to be able to reach you again or that someone is stealing your identity as you speak?

Or, worse, truly worse, what if you lost your job and don't know how you're going to pay the mortgage, or someone you love is sick, or you feel alone, or anxious, or simply blue, for any number of very valid reasons?

I wish I could give a pat answer, something like, Hey, channel Pollyanna, because it could be worse, my friend, you could be living in Sumatra right now.




I'm not going to do that, though. I, too, have days when the little things, like household chores, or kids with colds, or not enough time in the day to read or rest, or not enough money for this season's so-cool thigh-high boots (where would I wear them anyway, I think, and that fosters even more petty ungratefulness ...) or a million other things toss me towards a sulky, thankless pit that not even the happy prospect of not being buried under a pile of rubble can pull me up from. It's human nature to be unhappy, I suppose.

Except that maybe it isn't. Maybe we all just need to be more grateful for what we do have, instead of focusing so determinedly on the things we don't.

My Seasonal Resolution (I like to make resolutions - and get a facial - every time the seasons change, not just in January) is to be more grateful. And what better time to make that resolution than autumn, the very season of giving thanks, a concept as old as pioneers, pumpkin pie, and possibly Stonehenge?

My plan is to focus on the small things this fall. Because, as they say, God is in the details. Or is it 'The devil is in the details'? Either way, I like details.

Here are a few of life's details that I rather enjoy: sitting by my son's bedroom window, looking at the full moon with him and feeling like we're sharing a secret ("Wow," he breathed last night, his eyes as wide as the celestial orb itself. "Is it a big flash light?"); when my daughter cuddles into my chest, nestles her head under my chin, sticks her thumb in her mouth and emits a coo that says, "Ah, this is the place, the place I belong"; the way my husband's cold feet always find mine in bed on these chilly fall nights; an extra duvet; spending a day at a fall fair; the flash of pleasure the comes from reading, in a poem, story, or any other written work, something that is beautiful. Even when it's about something sad. Like this: “My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.” -- Robert Frost.

Happy autumn, everyone!
xo Marissa


* - Hangry is a term bandied about in our house, meaning one who hasn't eaten in several hours, has low blood sugar, and is feeling irritable. This person must be fed immediately or they will say or do something they will regret later.