Me & My Valentines

I did the math last night. This February 14th will be the eighteenth Valentines Day that David and I have celebrated. Eighteen. More calculations and that means that the Mr. and I have been together for half of our lives. I met David October of 1992, when I was a mere eighteen years old. A teenager. Zachary is now closer to eighteen than I am.

I remember the first Valentines Day I spent with David well. I showed up at his dorm room to find a stuffed bear, I would later name Swanson holding a red rose (awwww....how 18 of us.) We had dinner at Paisans, a restaurant which has since been torn down and replaced with a parking garage, across the street from our dorms which have also been demolished.

It was my first real live out-to-dinner-I- have -a -Valentine, Valentines Day. Over the years we have celebrated the day in different ways. I trained the boy from day one that Cupid's Day was not one to be messed with. I do not care if flowers are more expensive on February 14th, I want them. I do not want to hear about how cheesy all of the greeting cards are, pick one. And he has obliged, and our Valentines Day's have been lovely. Until recently the holiday always meant dressing up, sipping cocktails and having a date night at a more expensive than usual restaurant. Steak, Sushi, tapas, always the restaurant was crowded and always the service was lacking, but I never cared. I always enjoyed the scene.

Once the kiddos arrived the nature and the meaning of the holiday changed. Now I have three Valentines. I shop for cards with puppy dogs and firetrucks. I buy the boys the same Russel Stovers chocolates my mom always got me. I greet them in the morning with heart shaped toast and pink cream cheese. David and I forgo the restaurant experience and opt for a quite evening at home. A bottle of wine. Home-made sushi. I no longer get flowers sent to an office, instead maybe supermarket flowers, but if I am lucky *maybe* I will be the recipient of a red construction paper heart with glittery stickers haphazardly glued on for decoration, handed over to me with sticky fingers and an eager smile.

How lucky am I?

I love each of you my three Valentines....

A Valentine for the Haters.

I am one of those people who adores Valentines Day. Cellophane wrapped heart shaped packages of chocolates, red roses, construction paper valentines, sugary "conversation" hearts, I (literally) eat it up. I know this puts me in a somewhat unpopular group.

There are so many Valentines Day haters out there. Some of you have good reason, it's a lovers holiday, and for those who are not in a relationship it can be an unnecessary, over-the-top reminder of your single status. Back in my working days, I was one of those women who would be called down to the front desk because my annual roses had arrived. I was the envy of many of my colleagues, and the recipient of evil glares from the lonely hearts in surrounding cubicles.

Some of the haters call it a "Hallmark" holiday, a holiday created by marketers with the intent to sell. To that I would respond with two things 1) Florists need to make a living too. 2) Really, commercialism, how does that set apart Valentines Day from any other holiday? As if Christmas and Easter don't have their share of over-spenders. (Hello-Giant Target Easter Basket?)

But in any case in order to ingratiate myself with all of you anti-Valentines, I am going to go ahead and list my three WORST Valentines Days ever.

1. 1997: Valentines Day in London. Romantic right? Wrong. I celebrated Valentines Day waitressing at the Chicago Pizza Pie Factory. We got in early and decorated the hip pizza restaurant with red checkered table clothes and candle light. I handed half-dead pink carnations to every lady that came in that evening. I served up heart shaped pizzas to a) couples who couldn't afford a night at a better restaurant or b) drunk groups of Valentines Day Haters. On the bus ride home at 2am, I got vomited on by the extremely intoxicated man sitting behind me. It was stuck in my hair. Not kidding.


2. 1998: I wanted an engagement ring. Is there a better way to tell the love of your life "Happy Valentines Baby, I love you" than a sparkly diamond and a life-long commitment? I had it coming after all. David and I had been dating for six years. We had talked about it for crying out loud. I got my hopes up. That year I unwrapped....a cookbook. "Secrets of Fat-Free Italian Cooking" I kid you not. Yes, there was a fight.


3. 2008: I was just about twenty weeks into my second pregnancy. I was hoping that I was having the girl that I had always dreamed of. An ultrasound scheduled for February 14Th, had to good luck right? The husband sent pink roses to the office that day. He gave me truffles dusted with pink sugar. I wore a pink shirt to the appointment. Two minutes into the exam, the technician announced "I know the sex!" If she knew that quickly, and that definitively, I knew too. She saw.... a penis. I burst into tears. I didn't want another penis. I wanted a girl. I cried through the rest of the appointment. I made quite a scene. At dinner that night my husband told me he felt as though he were at a funeral. I told him, he was witnessing the death of a dream. There would be no tea parties, no prom dress shopping, no wedding planning. Talk about melodrama. In retrospect, had I known that it was Evan who would be coming into our lives I should have been overjoyed. Hindsight.

So there you have it folks. My Valentines-Hating friends. See, even I have had a few duds.

Happy Valentines Day!

Not that kind of blog

No. My blog is not that kind of blog. Not the kind of blog where proud mama posts a bunch of pictures of her darlings and hopes that the world will ooh and ahh over the updates of juniors growth charts, the progress in baby's vocabulary and the overall adorableness of her offspring. Nope my blog is so much more than that. Funny stories, deep and thought-provoking essays. Right? Well perhaps not. At least not tonight. Tonight my blog is-look at these kids-are they freaking cute or what?? Come on now. I am one lucky mommy!

Sleepless in Berkeley

Is there anything worse than lying awake at 3am, knowing that you are wasting precious sleep time? Craving dreamland, but tossing and turning and letting your mind run over with the mundane details of your day?

I go through boughts of insomnia. Long nights and too many cups of coffee in the mornings. I usually fall asleep fine, but awaken for whatever reason at 1 or 2 and find myself wide awake.

A couple of nights ago it was all my husband's fault. He and his annoying coughing. And coughing. At 1am. He wasn't even sick. What was his problem? He got up and because he is a selfless person excused himself to the sofa, but it was too late. The damage was done. I spent the next three hours unable to get back to sleep.

I started thinking about my recent job search, and all of the frustrations and confusion wormed it's way back through the corners of my totally awake mind. I quickly attempted to shove those thoughts aside, but something far worse happened.

A song got stuck in my head. A children's song.

Hello Everybody so glad to see you,

Hello Everybody so glad to see you.

Hello to Evan so glad to see you.....

Stop that! Clear your mind Rachel. Focus.

Hello to mommy were so glad to see you too.

Think! Think of something else. Don't do this.

Hello to the daddies so glad to see you,

Hello to the nanny's were so glad to see you too.

Can't you count sheep or something? Meditate? SOMETHING?

Hello to the guitar so glad to see you,

Hello to the grandmas were so glad to see you too.

ARGGGGG! That is enough!

Then I hit on something. I started to think about my blog. I could write about insomnia couldn't I? I started to compose a post in my head. I am sure it was brilliant, but somehow when morning came it was gone, and this was the best I could come up with.

Clueless

Yes, I am in a "funk". Down right bad mood actually. This post may end up embarrassing me at a later date. I actually do not even know what I have sat down to write. No plan. One of those situations when, if I were sixteen I would have turned up the Eagles and sat down with a diary and pounded out a heartfelt, sob-filled eight pages of whine.

Today, it was rainy again. And although I am quite unsure about my work intentions, I have been applying like mad, and have felt the sting of rejection. My resume has resulted in limited response. Today I was told by a perspective employer that they were looking for someone with more...stability. I get it. I get it. If you are looking for stability, yes, my track record leaves something to be desired. I won't waste your time by documenting all the reasons why I should be hired, but I should. I am a catch after all. For real.

With my job search stalling, I start to wonder, should I take my career in a totally different direction? What would that look like? What would I really want to do? A million years ago, when I was a Freshman at UW Madison, I thought I wanted to be an elementary school teacher. For whatever reason, my direction changed and I thought I would be a social worker. I ended up a recruiter. And I liked it. I like it. I like being a corporate recruiter. But, is there something else? Something entirely different? What would it be? I do love writing. But what does that equate to professionally? In case you have not noticed, I am not exactly a grammatical genius. I like people, but I don't think I am therapist material. What? A matchmaker? I love that show Million Dollar Matchmaker. But I am not an entrepreneur. A sales person who sells jewelry or Tupperware or makeup at parties? I don't want to work evenings and weekends. A preschool teacher? The pay is so low. Where does this leave me? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I have never known.

I am.... clueless.

I don't want to know.

I walk around carrying a $20 backpack from Target. I no longer carry a purse, or even my trendy $200 diaper bag. My ugly pack is more practical.

What is happening to me?

I wear running shows everyday. On a rare occasion, you might see me sporting a slightly more fashionable beat up pair of Sketchers, but mostly it's my dirty running shoes. I walk a lot after all. My heals just don't cut it.

What is happening to me?

I have been wearing the same pair of diamond stud earrings for two weeks. I have hundreds of beautiful earrings that I adore. With my short hair I really can rock the big "statement" pieces. But it's too much effort to pick out the right accessories, and I am in a hurry in the morning. So simple studs it is

What is happening to me?

I am looking forward with much anticipation to my first concert in ages. Dan Zanes. 11 am. Apple juice is extra.

What is happening to me?

I haven't been to a real bar in a couple of years now. Happy hour- that would be impossible. I don't even think I would take advantage of the specials, they only offer the cheap "house" wine at happy hour price, and I don't drink cheap wine. It gives me a headache.

What is happening to me?

I rang in 2010 at 6:30pm. It was a crazy night. There were party hats.

What is happening to me?

I consider goldfish crackers and honey nut cheerios excellent snack options.

What is happening to me?

I hear myself thinking "shut up or I'll give you something to cry about" (no I haven't actually said it...yet)

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME???

Do me a favor, don't answer that question.

Two Thumbs Down

If you are not the type who enjoys reading negative reviews on Yelp, let me save you the trouble, skip this post. I have in fact already posted my feelings about this horrible "business" on said site, but apparently I have not yet worked it out of my system. There is more to say.

The operation I am speaking of is Western Dental. It was time for Zachary's six month cleaning and we didn't yet have a dentist here in Berkeley. Zachary's previous dental experiences had been stellar. We went to an office (Highland Smiles) in our Denver neighborhood. It was modern and friendly. As soon as you arrived in the office you were handed a bottle of water. There was an area of toys for the youngsters. During your cleaning you were given the choice of watching a video or listening to an Ipod. Zachary of course selected the video. At the end of the visit he was presented with a bag containing a polka dotted toothbrush, floss, and some stickers. He also got to pick out a toy from the treasure chest. All and all a great experience.

Our experience with Western Dental on the other hand was in a word- miserable. I arrived for our 4:00 appointment with both boys. I had to park several blocks away and plug the meter (it is Berkeley after all). As soon as I entered the facility I knew I had made a mistake. The place was dingy, crowded and chaotic. People sat in ugly chairs that hadn't been updated since 1970. They looked...defeated, like they had been there for a very long time. I checked in with a receptionist who handed me a stack of paperwork to fill out. Pretty standard information, except they asked a lot of questions about how I planned to pay for my services and requested three personal references. References for me? Aren't I the customer? I skipped that part. We settled in and waited. I kept Evan happy by feeding him goldfish crackers. That worked for about ten minutes. The challenge was keeping him busy for the next hour. That is right, they didn't get us in until 1 hour and ten minutes after our scheduled appointment. I even had to take both boys back to the car to replug the meter. Not happy. Not at all.

As it turned out Zachary had a cavity. We would have to come back another day to get it filled. They got me an appointment for first thing Monday morning. They told we would be the first appointment so there would be no wait. Monday morning arrives. I had warned Zack about the needle, but felt confident that he would do okay. He has been fine with shots in the past. The shot of anesthesia didn't bother him much, however he became fidgety and squirmy with the dentist's hands in his mouth. The dentist got very anxious. The assistant announced she was feeling sick and excused herself for the bathroom. The dentist YELLED for "back-up" assistance, like she was in the middle of open-heart surgery in a scene from E.R. I was flabbergasted. The process took a very long time. The dentist seemed completely beside herself pleading with Zachary to please, please stay still. He is four for crying out loud. What exactly had she expected? She kept looking at me and telling me that we couldn't possibly let him go without getting the tooth filled, like I was considering fleeing. Perhaps I should have.

In the end the dentist told me that she hoped Zack would not get any additional cavities, at least until he was older. No kidding. As I left the office I checked out with the receptionist. They did not have a bill ready for me, they would have mail it. Fine.

Two weeks later, I receive a collections letter in the mail, not a bill, a collections letter. I owed $59.00 . That very same day I received not one, not two, but three messages from their collections department. It was after hours when I got the messages so I didn't call them back. Over the course of the next three days they called relentlessly, I could see by the caller ID history on my phone. Finally on the fourth day, I called back ready to settle this and be done with Western Dental for good. The agent informed me that I now owed a $30 late fee on top of my $59.00. Deep breath. I informed the agent that I would under no circumstances pay a late fee on a service that I never received a bill for, and that occurred only two weeks ago. He tried to argue with me for a few moments, but ultimately waived the late charge. (One small victory). I paid up and then vented to him about the whole terrible experience. The man listened with a bit of rehearsed empathy, but was clearly a collection agent earning $10 an hour who had a script and was sticking to it. I hung up frustrated.

That is when I headed to Yelp. (click on the link for a prime example of a recent review this poor excuse for a dental clinic received). As it turns out, I should have visited the site prior to dragging my innocent child to Western Dental. It was like feeding a lamb to wolves. The practice has a terrible reputation. Nothing I had to report was new. It had all been said before. Long waits, incompetent dentists, ridiculous billing practices. Now I know. So perhaps this post is as much a bash against the worst dental practice in America, as it is an advertisement for Yelp. Hurray for Yelp. It could have helped.