7/31/2008: Encounters with Bloated Egos

You know, some people value humility as a virtue. Some of us even get through life fairly well while stunted by a modest self-esteem. At the very least, most of us begin to realize as we become more mature (somewhere between 5 and 19), that the world does not revolve around us - even if we sometimes forget this wisdom while we are behind the wheel of a car.
Then there are others. Those whose sense of self-importance has somehow become bloated out of proportion. Either that or they just cannot reconcile themselves to the fact that they are not the center of the universe.

I encountered a few of those people this week. My spouse and I attended a conference at a nice beach resort. We flew out of a nearby small, regional airport and then changed planes in Atlanta and flew on to our south Florida destination.

While waiting for our puddle-jumper at the regional airport, we were forced to listen to a know-it-all doom and gloomer. He was on the far side of middle age and stood with his back against the wall near the gate. He was spouting his years of collected expertise to a man next to him and to anyone else within earshot - which was almost everyone in that small airport.
He was apparently an ex-flyer or mechanic. He talked on and on about all the terrible things that are going on the airline industry today. He advised his quiet new friend that the safest place to sit on an airplane was above the wings. He gave a quick lesson in aerodynamics and flight emergencies. He told a charming anecdote about flying next to a woman who was ridiculous and naive enough to think there were holes in the wings when she saw the flaps down. He boasted that he could close his eyes on a flight and tell EVERY MOVE the pilot and co-pilot were making.
And, of course, he knew when they were making wrong moves.
I have to tell you, thinking he was flying with us made me feel so much more comfortable once I discovered he was actually on another flight.

Then I ran into, almost literally, another person of the-world-better-pay-me-homage persuasion at the resort. We had a free afternoon and were heading to the beach, coming down the elevator in a 6 floor hotel. As the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, a woman in beach attire rushed the doors. She almost ran straight into me. Now, I could be mistaken, but I thought elevator etiquette required that you let passengers off before you step onto the elevator. So why did she roll her eyes and let out a short, exasperated snort when she had to pause for me and other passengers to get out of her way? I mean, she's at a resort, in a bathing suit, coming from the beach or pool, and she only had to wait for the elevator to come down 5 floors - at the most. Are you late for your afternoon dose, lady?

Then, on our flight back, there was "The World's Most Important Mom" (WMIM). As the plane touched down and we were given permission to use our cell phones, she immediately made 4 or 5 phone calls in about 3 minutes. The first was to the individual who was supposed to meet her at the airport. She apparently believed she was important enough that she shouldn't be made to wait at all, because this individual was informed that if he "left the house now" he would be there by the time she got her bags. I want to assume this was her husband, but there was no "Hi Honey" or "thank you" or "love you". Just the terse info that "We just landed" and that he should leave the house now.
She then made her second call, but did not get an answer. So she immediately called a third number and said, "Are you talking to my daughter?" World's-Most-Important-Mom then relayed to her seatmate that the reply had been, "I was."
She then calls her daughter back and says, without any preliminary greeting, "YOU need to get your priorities straight! Your mother is more important than your boyfriend."
Sitting in the seat in front of her and overhearing this (I couldn't help it - she was talking so importantly.) I almost laughed aloud. What alternate universe does she live in? Seriously, does she really think her daughter should dutifully cut off any and all calls from her boyfriend so as not to miss the announcement call from her beloved mother that she had just touched down at the airport?!? This daughter wasn't even the one ordered to meet her at baggage claim after all! She was just being notified that her all important and beloved mother had arrived on the tarmac! "WMIM" didn't even give her daughter two seconds to call Mommy-dearest back before she got the boyfriend on the line to make sure he was not interfering in her attempt to contact her daughter the instant the plane touched the ground.
Wow! She's really bloated! I think if this girl were a teen, any normal mom would have been thrilled if she just got an acknowledgement when she walked in the door at home.
And if you are thinking maybe she had something important going on; just remember, she was on a flight from south Florida and obviously heading home. She was tan and traveling with her quiet female seatmate. It seems like the separate vacation did nobody any good.

From 6/24/08: Who Says Crabs Aren't Adventurous?

Do your dogs ever keep you awake at night? Don't you hate it when you lose a good night's sleep because the dogs won't shut up? And don't you hate when your pet hermit crab keeps you up?
Huh?
Aren't hermit crabs supposed to sit around in an attractive terrarium quietly expiring in their little turban shells? That is what most of mine did.
When deciding to get into the hobby of hermit crab keeping, I did research and reading on the care and characteristics of hermit crabs. I wasted hours shopping for a 15 gallon tank, the right sand, the fake corral climbing toys, lots of alternate shells, clam shells to use as water and food bowls, a ceramic kidney shaped hermit crab "pool", and the perfect hermit crab diet. Then my children and I went to a pet store and carefully selected an assortment of little crabby friends.
Over the course of the next year, despite the lovely habitat and careful temperature and humidity monitoring, they died off one by one - like I said, quietly expiring in their little turban shells. With one small exception. The smallest crab, about the size of a large ant at time of purchase, survived. It survived several moltings - the shedding of its exoskeleton that is required for growth - and moved into a series of larger shells over the course of about four years.
When he became the last of the mo-hermits, I ditched the big tank and stuck him in a little plastic-lidded pet container and parked it in my daughter's room, where he languished as we often forgot to give him water or food for days or a week at a time. He seemed to thrive on the neglect.
At some point I decided, well, if he's going to insist on survival I guess he deserves better digs. I purchased a large, glass chimney bowl, decorated it with some nice crabby furnishings, and placed the crab in his new apartment beside my tub in our master bathroom.
A few weeks later Crabby disappeared!
At first I decided he must have buried himself deep in the sand for a thorough molting of his now almost infant-fist sized body. But a couple of weeks later, I gingerly lifted out all his cool furniture and took a careful look-and-poke through the sand. Crabby just wasn't in there!
Where oh where could Crabby be? With his pointy little legs and clunky shell? He couldn't have gone too far!
Then last night as I was deep in light mom-sleep (you may know what that is), I was disturbed by a strange tapping and scraping sound. It was coming from the bathroom. I crept out of bed to cautiously investigate. And what do I discover, but a miniature crustacean Tarzan climbing down a plant tendril out of a large planter beside the tub!
It seems that somehow our intrepid survivalist had vaulted out of his glass cathedral and found his way into a potted plant. He was now shimmying down the side of his tropical paradise to seek further provisions, I suppose.
I rescued him and placed him back where he belonged - or so I thought. He apparently preferred his jungle home, because for the rest of the night, he clanked and scraped and knocked about trying to leave the glass house and return to "the wild".
In the morning, groggy and grumpy, I staggered into the bathroom and plunked him back into the pot. Hopefully I'll remember to keep that plant watered regularly.

6/17/2008: In-laws and near breakdown

My in-laws came from several states away to visit us recently. I was willing to move one kid in with another kid temporarily and provide a guest room, but they brought their RV. They parked it behind the house and "plugged in". They even ate their own breakfasts out there. I didn't know whether to be insulted or relieved.

They never call and ask us when would be a good time for a visit. They call and tell us when they are coming. It's as if they think we are retired and masters of our own schedules like they are. So they came while the kids were in school and while we had to go to work. Of course, this meant they were going to be on their own for lunch, too, and in this case I WAS relieved. I only had to come home from work and make ONE "company" meal each day (YIPPEE!) They did stay through a weekend though. We got to take them to church with us.

Now, the In-laws are not in the best of health. They really have no business traveling around the country in an RV by themselves. During this visit, the stepmother-in-law was getting over a long bout with the Shingles. That's right, you heard me. Yes, it IS contagious and related to the chicken pox, except it affects the nerves. Yes, we do have three children. BUT - she claimed she was no longer contagious.

OK! So we go to church on Sunday. We get in and sit down, get the kids settled with all the warnings to sit still, don't talk, don't rustle paper during the prayers, don't yawn and stretch your arms over your head during the sermon, don't poke anyone, don't squeal if you get poked, etc... AND about the time the service is about to start, the step-MIL says, "If you're having a heart attack it hurts down your RIGHT side, right?"

I say, "No-oo, the heart is usually on the left side of the chest, so it would probably hurt on your left side." (I'm giving her a frowny-look)
She says, "I was hoping it was the right side, because my left side and arm are really hurting."

So at this time I am giving her the frowny look BIG-time and THINKING, not saying; "AAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! Don't you dare be having a heart attack!!!"

Then she says, "Actually, I think it's just my shingles acting up again."

I'm still screaming inside; picturing her keeling over, my Father-in-law freaking out, rushing her to the hospital, shipping her body back across the country, having my FIL living in his RV behind our house for the foreseeable future.... AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEE!
However, I manage to stay in my seat and whisper to her that she should take an aspirin just in case; while I rummage around in my handbag for some Xanax for me.

Neither of us keeled over - praise God!