And This Is The Thanks I Get?

We tipped the mailman, and the UPS man for the holidays. I avoided getting my nails done, getting a haircut, and, in general, anything that smacked of needing to tip extra. No sacrifice there, what with my quarterly haircuts and bimonthly (meaning every other not twice monthly) pedicure.

I'm not sure if I've fully accepted tipping above and beyond the regular tips you give. No one's tipping ME for being a good customer. For not taking up extra time. For having my receipts ready. For not bouncing checks. I'm not sure if something above the 20% norm is needed.

The mother's helper got a gift, as did the summer sitter. The neighbors got tokens. I would have tipped the trashmen were I abusing the service, and I waited for a card from the paperman. (No longer paperboys. Someone abruptly brakes at 5 am, a thwak and a thud, the paper hits the door, then tires peel off. It's all so impersonal now.) I would have tipped him but we got no card this year. Maybe it was folded into one of the numerous discarded papers.

So you know, I thank people. I thank people who do for me. Even though we sure as shit aren't shaking a money tree.

But you know who pissed me off? Who I think OWED me a card in the mailbox? You know who should have hauled their ass out of the car and given ME a thank you?

The guy that steals the recycling.

Seriously, week after week I separate the cans from the bottles from the rest of the recycling. I put the cans in a white plastic bag, the bottles in paper, and I position both "just so" on the curb so when he pulls up in his tricked out white Buick with the compartments in the trunk, all he has to do is cruise up, swipe the bags, and drive on. He barely brakes. Add to that I sometimes put them out early. Saturday vs Sunday. Or early evening so he's not driving by at 2am. I counted it out tonight. On average I'm a $3 contributor. No, I know, it's not much. But week after week I provide the same service. Clean cans, clean bottles, separated by type, packaged with care. He can count on me.

Do I ask for anything? No. Have I ever shook my fist or pepper sprayed? Absolutely not. Do I threaten to call the cops? No, not ever.

So at a minimum, a card. He could have left me a card.
I'm seriously, seriously, seriously considering returning my own bottles.

Just in case anyone else was curious...

10 Things You Didn't Know About Me:

1. I googled the guys from the Free Credit Report dot com ad because I'm thinking they'd be a fun band to see.
2. I bought "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" and was surprised that it did not taste like butter.
3. I miss my faux oriental carpet car mats. Darn clumsy foot husband.
4. I still don't have a new Years Resolution or a "things I need to do to better myself ASAP causing me much anxiety" list. Written down that is.
5. I haven't felt pretty in about a year now.
6. I'm not on facebook because I just know I'm going to hear from some hookup that I forgot about.
7. I wish we had a cat.
8. I have a makeup brush bought on St. Patrick's Day almost 4 years ago now that I still think of as "my new blush brush".
9. I catch on to country line dances amazingly fast.
10. I had, until about 4 days ago, though Sam Cooke was "dancin with the chicken slats" which I assumed was a band, or like, doing "The Mashed Potato" but now realize he was dancin' with the CHICK in SLACKS. Which is kind of cool. And reminds me of my mom. Who was wont to ask, while you were trying pants on "How do these slacks feel in the crotch?" Forever ruining the words slacks and crotch for me. Not that I was liking crotch as a word. Except for crotchety, which is cute, like cantankerous.

Three things EVERYONE knows about me:
1. I don't high five
2. I don't like chocolate
3. I like rainy days AND Mondays. A lot.

No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service

I don't wear a coat. I layer. I -HEART- the layer. Sweaters over shirts, wristies under gloves, a scarf, a hat, kneesox and boots. Torso, toes, tips and head - all cozy. But I don't wear a coat.

I love going out unencumbered.

"Where's your coat?"
It's out keeping the car warm.

"Aren't you freezing?"
Nope
"Are you warm enough?"
Yes

And now, with a child it's:
"Aren't you going to put a coat on Ellie?"
No. I'm not. Because we are leaving my heated house to get into a heated car to drive to a heated building where will will play and get hot, afterwhich I will move Ellie back to the heated car to drive to the heated home.

Although I think surely people are used to me by now.

I left the baby gym today with a group of moms, some hard core: children armed in bunting and ski patrol regalia; some casual, a parka and hat does the trick. No judgement from any of us, just making our way to the car. My daughter had on a long sleeve onsie, a cotton sweater, jeans and socks. Oh. And a hairclip. Clearly underdressed for the weather. Her fleece lined coat and hat stuffed in my bag, her shoes under her dirty diaper.

I had parked by design, with the right side to the sun, pulled all the way up and to the back of the parking lot. I wanted maximum sun to melt the ice from the roof. My car has an automatic starter.

We walked to the car, outside anywhere from 45 seconds to a minute 15. Ellie transferred into her sunwarmed carseat, grabbed for her milk and away we went.

I wondered briefly if my "bundling" mom friend was chortling to herself.
Or speed dialing child services.

Although, as I said, surely she is used to me by now.

So I thought about it.

I don't wear a coat. My brother doesn't wear a coat. Neither does my other. My sister? What coat? My mom tends to wear a scarf and gloves. My dad? A tshirt. His wife. Coatless. We are a coatless people. Husband goes to work? No coat.

It's not like we were raised that way. Come to think of it, we ALL wore coats growing up. When I worked in town I was the queen of coats - trenches, rain, sport, fleece, faux fur, wind, and parka. I have coats for every occasion and a few sports that I don't even play.

But we are quintessential fat americans. I may as well be from LA. I drive EVERYWHERE!
So why a coat?

My adorable bundling friend has me in hysterics when she innocently queries why it is that her daughter sweats so much.
"I just don't understand it" she says.
Well, for starters she's a onesie, a long sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, jeans, shoes, a jacket and a hat. Maybe she's sweating because, and this is just a guess here, she's um, HOT?
Meanwhile she's ready to kill me. "Put some clothes on that child" she admonshes me.

I could see if we were living on the plains ala The House at Plum Creek. I could see if my daughter and I labored at the shipyard, on the docks, on the decks. I could see if we were shoveling snow, trekking through wind or qualifying for the Iditarod. I could see it if my child was actually PLAYING outside. But we're not. It's just not worth the hassle. Oh sure we OWN coats, and they get worn. In the morning I throw Ellie's coat on to get her to the car. But once we get to the destination, on the way back out, if I don't feel like putting it on, it stays off.

It's not because there's a power struggle (there isn't), and it's not that I don't care. It's just that I can't imagine why it's important for a 30 second walk to the car.

"Oh but you need to get her in the habit now so she'll put her coat on later."
Hmm. Maybe. Or, you know, she'll just be cold.

I get a lot of good, practical parenting advice from my sister. By example. When her daughter was younger - not as young as Ellie but say 3ish - my sister would say "It's time to put your coat on". If her daughter responded, great. If not, she'd say it a few more times, maybe, if it was important, put her in it. But if it was cold enough out, not raining, not snowing, just cold - my sister would simply say - casually - "Oh ok, but you're going to be cold" and out they'd go. And she'd let her be cold.

And now my niece wears a jacket.
When she's cold.

There are things I care deeply about. Like Ellie yelling "Mine" Where the HELL she picked that up I have zero idea. And I'm not a big fan of hitting. Which fortunately hasn't happened yet. Tantrums? Couldn't bother me less. My husband and I are so blase about it they end in under 15 seconds. Then it's a hug and a kiss and off you go. But all the hullabaloo about dressing them warmly? Bah.

I've yet to hear "Child dies from 30 second exposure to 58 degree weather, Film at 11"

I May be Fat But You're Ugly and I Can Diet

So I'm on the phone today with my good friend Zelda bemoaning my lack of coolness and the fact that we don't see live music anymore and she offhands a clever remark about a Pogue cover band that would have been dead on if the lead singer was (even) uglier.

It was impeccably timed and surely witty...except that I know of the Pogues only peripherally.

Kindly, she laboriously explained about the lead singer. The nicotine stained hands, the chiclet teeth, the skin...and I tried to rally, really, but eventually I admitted my almost 40 year old uncoolness.

She was kind and covered for me.

Shortly thereafter I received the following email:

not that you care, but this makes my joke about the singer from the pogues cover band that we saw at the plough much funnier (about how the guy wasn't ugly enough to be him, but he sounded just like him).
this is shane mcgowan, lead singer of the pogues:
http://www.showbizireland.com/images/stars/macgowan-gig01.jpg

he's like, the ugliest man alive.
and now you know. :-)(i wish i could make that swishy star noise like they do on those 'now you know' psa's)
cheers.

Seriously, I almost threw up.
Honestly it’s a redneck postcard.
He’s gross.
I’m dying.
He disproves the myth that anyone in a band will get laid.
I wouldn’t give him change in the subway.
He needs Extreme Makeover Dental Edition.

Sigh.
So ends my foray into coolness.
Next I'll be singing the Friendly's song in my minivan.