Tipping - is it mandatory?

I have always left tips at restaurants. Sometimes I leave 10%, other times I leave 20%; I've even left 30% before. Up until last night, I can honestly say that I had never NOT left a tip.

So what's the deal? Why was last night different? You be the judge!

I took the Little Man to a restaurant at the mall, a family restaurant (it's a cute little 50's diner) that we've dined at many times in the past. We've always had exceptional service and good, if not great, food (may I recommend the Grilled Shrimp Club Sandwich, yummm!!!). Anyway - the Little Man is a little on the independant side and loves to order his own food. This usually has the wait staff cracking up and in my book - you score points with the kid, you score points on the tip. $$$ The lady last night seemed less than smitten with my adorable young man (who can resist his charm and excedingly good manners?) "I would please like a cheese sandwich, and fries, and lemonade, and white dip." "Thank you!" Come on now, give it up for the five year old who says please and thank you without reminders! Granted, she might not have a clue what 'white dip' is but most people can figure out that the boy wants some ranch with that.

Okay, obviously she's not a big fan of the shorter, cuter humans - I can't hold that against her. I can get mildly annoyed when my iced tea is gone before my meal arrives and she says "I guess you're gonna want another one of those, right?" Yep, that got on my nerves a bit but I can look past that too.

I can even turn the other cheek when she comes to check on us and leaves my empty plate sitting in front of me when she walks away. Annoying, but not 'tip-loss' worthy.

Here's where she looses the tip.

I paid with my debit card. Stuck it in the goofy black foldery thing and she took it to ring up my bill. Then I watched her take it to the WRONG TABLE! She's caught up in her spiel about top copies and bottom copies and have a great night, yada, yada, yada. The man at the table is trying desperately to get her attention and she just won't have it. Finally he says (rather short with her) "Excuse me!" She looked stunned for a moment that he dared to interrupt her. "This isn't mine." Then she says something like "oops" and walks off, over to my table. She hands me the goofy black foldery thing and says (laughing) "I just gave your card to the wrong table." And then she walks off.

She. Just. Lost. Her. Tip. Luckily this guy was paying attention. He could have easily signed the receipt, put my card in his wallet, and walked away. He could have been some identity thief and thought "Hot Damn! It's my lucky day!". Thankfully he was an upstanding citizen and did the right thing, and luckily I saw the whole thing happen. It could have been really awful, I don't do awful very well.

So...are tips mandatory, or are they a direct reflection on service received? I don't judge a tip by the food - that's the cook, not the waiter/waitress, but you most definitely have control over what table you take my card to.

Rock Me

A funny for today...


I'm driving along in my minivan with the Little Man in the back. We've got the radio on, loud, as my rocker likes it. (His favorite CD right now is Queen, "Stone Cold Classics", favorite song: "Another One Bites the Dust")




Then this little diddy comes on. I know you all have heard it, though probably not quite like I heard it today. The song is "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco. Today the song goes a little like this:


Hot Potato Hot Potato, Hot Potato
Hot Potato Hot Potato, Hot Potato
Hot Potato, oh oh oh Hot Potato.


I don't know, take a listen for yourself. I could totally hear Hot Potato (if I'm trying, hard, real hard).

Thanks Little Man.

It was just a matter of time.

The other day the Little Man announced that he wants to see his Daddy. Yikes!

He and his Daddy haven't seen eachother in almost 9 months, they talk on the phone periodically, but the last time they saw eachother - Daddy was in the hospital. The Little Man goes through phases where he wants nothing to do with him, won't talk to him or even talk about him, and now - he wants to see him (actually - he wants to take him to the zoo...you can come to your own conclusions on that one, LOL).

We were eating dinner two nights ago and the Little Man was playing with some Hot Wheels that Daddy gave him for his birthday. Out of the blue it happened, no warning, no prepared speech from me. "I want to take Daddy to the zoo." The kicker is that he wants to go just the two of them, that is a scenario that will not be happening, not now, not ever. It's a package deal, my dear - you do not get your Daddy all to yourself, just not gonna happen.

Now that the divorce is final, visitation can happen, and is supposed to happen, though there are some stipulations. The Little Man has to want it on his own, without prompting from anyone else. The Little Man's therapist needs to be aware, and seeing him (or me) to help through any issues that may arise. And most importantly - Daddy needs to be seeing HIS therapist. Seems as though most of the puzzle is complete - with the exception of Daddy who not only isn't seeing a therapist, but doesn't currently have a therapist!

It pretty much bites. The Little Man is ready, after nine months is able to vocalize that he wants his Daddy, but...his Daddy isn't ready, or able, to meet those desires. Daddy knows that the Little Man wants to see him, maybe that will be enough to kick his butt in gear, who knows. He deserves to see his Daddy, as long as his Daddy is doing what he can to get himself healthy.

I'm sorry Little Man. I wish I could wave my magic wand and all your dreams would be answered. Looks, though, like you need to wait just a little bit longer for this one.

100 Years From Now

Throughout my adult life I have worked exclusively with children - I have been a preschool teacher, a daycare director, a nursery caregiver, an in-home care provider, and a nanny. In all my years I have always been drawn towards the more difficult children, usually boys, and I embrace the challenge with open arms. Who knows - maybe that's how I was blessed with the Little Man, and all his...glory.

A few weeks ago I, again, became a preschool teacher. I did not enter in to this new endeavor lightly, it involved leaving a part-time position for full-time and putting the Little Man in to childcare. I am quickly realizing that this position came to me for more reasons than just my own.

My first day at work I met a young boy. Being introduced to all of the children, they left him for last; and it was obvious, in my first five minutes, that he was not your run-of-the-mill, happy-go-lucky preschooler. This boy is a handful, I met him in a 3's class, he is almost 5. The teacher in his age group can not handle him so they moved him back.

As I filled in for another teacher, I took my place following him around so that I could intervene if he got out of control. I felt as though I was constantly putting out fires - "We don't throw blocks.", "Your feet belong on the floor.", "You need to share the toy.", "Walking feet in the classroom."...you get the idea.

The moment we met, something connected between the two of us. I saw so much of my son in this little boy. He needed to be in an environment where he could succeed rather than be forced to live behind the label of 'the bad kid'. My sons disabilities have given me the opportunity to learn new skills in approaching challenging children. I have learned that children express their emotions through their behavior, because it's the only way they know how. I did the unthinkable, in the eyes of the other teachers that is, and I asked for him to be in my class.

The first day with him was hard, there's no getting around it. I spent 15 minutes attempting to get him to join circle or do a table game - he played, loudly, in home living instead. During nap time he kicked the wall, then the floor, and he talked - loudly. He defied every rule and pushed every button and I tried my hardest to not set separate rules for him than for the rest of the class.

The next day, Tuesday, we took a new approach - every 30 minutes he could earn a smiley face for participating and following directions. I don't think he earned any smiley faces that day; I was beginning to get discouraged but instead I persevered.

Each day was a little better, not perfect, but baby steps. Friday he sat through 1 1/2 circle times, he participated in group, he cut with scissors even though he said he couldn't, he wrote the first letter of his name - Monday he couldn't hold the pencil correctly, and he got ALL of his smiley faces! I have learned that he yearns to please, that he loves to give hugs, and he can clean a mess better than any other child in the class. He has an amazing smile, his laugh is infectious, and most importantly - he just wants to be liked by everyone around him.

Maybe I am giving myself too much credit, but I hope that I am making a difference in this sweet little boy's life.

One Hundred Years From Now

By Forest Witcraft, "Within My Power"

One hundred years from now,

it will not matter what kind of car I drove,

what kind of house I lived in,

how much was in my bank account,

nor what my clothes looked like.

But the world may be a little better

because I was important in

the life of a child.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D

I have to keep saying it to myself because it has yet to sink in. This has been 'in the works' for 8 months, 8 agonizing, long months, yet it still hurts like hell. Yesterday morning I was married, last night I wasn't - that fast. I got a message from my attorney on my lunch, she had received papers and was going to file. A few hours later there was another message "Congratulations! You're divorced!" Ton.of.bricks. That's what hit me last night.

Many a tear were shed last night, visions are running through my mind like old fashioned home movies. Things I remember like they were yesterday - the day we met, the day we touched hands and sparks surprised the both of us. I remember the first "I love you" - I told him, I remember getting engaged - I asked him. The first time we made love.

Now those visions are tainted with doubt. Was the love really ever there, can you fake chemistry, can you force yourself to love a person because you think it's the right thing to do. My ex-husband (wow, that's hard to say) has a list of mental illnesses a mile long. None were shared, with the exception of minor depression (which should have been MAJOR depression), prior to the birth of our son. In the past 3 1/2 years I have gone from the perfect stay-at-home-housewife to the woman married to the sociopath. I literally had everything but the white picket fence (and that was only because our yard was on a slope and it would have looked weird) until one day the bottom dropped out - it dropped so far that I have yet to see where it landed, if it landed at all.

It's a very cold day in hell when you find out that the man you love, more than life itself, wants to take yours away. Worse yet - he wants to also take the life of your only child. I have seen hell on earth, I have been hours away from losing my son to foster care because the state feared that I was not grasping the gravity of his fathers disease. I married "till death do us part" and "in sickness and in health" - I have now seen that there are limitations to those terms, and no where did it say "through threats of homicide". In the eyes of the law, I am the victim of domestic violence, my son is a victim of child abuse. I was that woman that goes to her home, crams as much crap in to her car as she can, and flees.

I am not the same woman and mother that I was 8 months ago. I hope I am better, I hope that each day I can make the best decisions possible for my son and I, I hope that I will do right by him from here on out. I am strong and I am courageous, I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders some days. I am divorced, but thankfully - I am not broken.

Happy FIFTH Birthday!!!

Five years ago (on the 10th) you were born, 2 months early and amazing to everyone. You began your brave journey that very day and have been a fighter from the start. After only four hours of blow-by oxygen and a mere 9 days in the NICU, you came home. There hasn't been a dull moment since then!

You have had ambulance rides, CT Scans, surgery, a laundry list of medications...but every day you smile, and every day you light my life.

The first year after you were born I did a lot of writing, mostly poetry, to get my thoughts on paper. This is a letter that I wrote to the Little Man while he was still in the hospital, little did I know that this would be just the beginning to a crazy roller coaster ride that will not be disembarking any time soon:


Dear Little Man

March 15, 2002


I can’t believe how much you mean to me, I love you so much. The last few weeks have been a whirlwind. I knew I was getting sick, that they were watching me closely, but I was not expecting our lives to turn out the way they did.

It started at my appointment on Thursday, February 28th when they admitted me to the hospital for the first time, I was scared for you, they told us there was only a 10% chance we would deliver you that night, everything just stopped, I couldn’t believe what was happening. They sent us home the next day but my blood pressure kept rising, we knew we were headed back.

On March 5th we were readmitted to the hospital – to stay. On Saturday I started feeling sick, my protein was rising, and my blood work was getting much worse. The doctors decided it was time, luckily you had already received your steroid injections. By this point, we were more prepared, but still had no idea what to expect for you. They started to induce that night but I kept getting sick, they resumed induction on Sunday morning, and here you are – my miracle. That’s the only way to describe you. You have amazed everyone, me and your daddy, your nurses, and even your doctor. I can’t even describe what I felt when I heard you cry – we didn’t know with your lungs if you would or not.

Daddy got to see you about an hour after you were born, so did Grandpa and Grammy, I got to see you a few hours later. I was scared, I didn’t know what to expect or how I would feel. I still think I was a little numb and don’t remember it very well and unfortunately I will never get that back. The next few days we just took it slow. So many feelings and questions – angry, guilty, and sad, feeling like it isn’t fair for you – your nurses know you better than me and you are new – you’re supposed to be held and loved, not just wrapped in a blanket and left by yourself. Holding you is so unnatural with all your wires, I don’t want to move you because I am afraid you’ll stop breathing.

Then there was the 14th. Daddy and I got to the hospital and you were sitting at the nurses station with your nurse. I recognized you immediately and you calmed down as soon as I held you. You didn’t have your wires hooked up – we were a real family for the first time! We held you for over an hour – it was amazing – you are amazing! I got to change your diaper – you were four days old and I had never changed you diaper before.

This isn’t how it is supposed to be, but it is how we were supposed to be. I have never felt as close to anyone as I do to you and your daddy now. Thank you for coming to us as perfect as you are. You’ll be home soon and we can all get on with our life together. You are my miracle.

Love,
Your Mommy

Happy Birthday Baby! I can't believe it's only been five years. I can't imagine my life without you in it, not for a single second. You mean the world to me. I love you more today than the day you were born.

For REAL!

Tonight the Little Man was not in his best frame of mind, and because of that - neither was I. The bedtime routine was swift and too the point, complete with him refusing to give me love (a show of spite for my insisting that it was indeed bedtime). As I do most evenings, I retired to my computer after reciting bedtime stories x2, and forcing the Little Man to give me at least one hug and kiss (I have a rule that he needs to give and/or receive 'love' before I leave the room; he, on the other hand, vows that there are no rules in his bedroom...).

The past few weeks we've had some early mornings, some out the door before the crack of dawn mornings. Mornings where I have employed a trick taught to me by my sister - dress the Little Man in a clean shirt, clean underwear, clean socks, and clean sweats BEFORE going to sleep so he can get out of bed and roll out the door before the rooster crows.

Here I am, sitting quietly at my computer, when the Little Man enters my room. He is not dressed in the clothes he went to bed in. He's wearing a clean shirt, clean underwear, clean socks, and clean sweats. He then proclaims: "I think I should sleep in here...so I don't change clothes again." I rolled my eyes. Then he said: "For real!" Here I am annoyed by the behavior and attitude he shared with me early in the evening, annoyed by his mere presence during MY time at my computer, and I'm laughing. He starts laughing too, with his deep belly laugh (I LOVE that laugh!) and then pauses (as if it just dawned at him that while I think it's cute, I'm surely not falling for it) and says "I mean it Mommy, for REAL!"

I'm happy to say that he is now sound asleep in HIS room, a mere 10 minutes later.