Category: Life according to Angela

This weekend we spent one night in the ER and one night on the phone with Amazon Kindle support.

I have decided that Amazon should be in charge of our health care system.

After holding for 30 seconds, someone worked with me and my broken Kindle over the phone for over two hours. It was after midnight when the solution was found. All the time, the employee kept apologizing for the inconvenience I was experiencing with my electronic device. The Amazon employee called back this evening to make sure everything was still working. Can you believe it? The employee’s name was Carl and he cured my Kindle. Most Kindle owners can understand the bond between a person and their e-book. I feel so relieved and pampered.

Contrast that with the ER personnel we dealt with. Our wait time was short, according to ER standards: only 2 hours.  They were abrupt and ultimately not helpful. No one made a follow-up call to see if our kid was feeling any better. Although we spent 3 hours in the emergency room, we had 15 minutes with the payment guy and 5 minutes with a doctor. I realize a cure or a diagnosis is not always possible, but I think the doctor could learn some lessons in customer service from Carl.

Carl would have said, “I’m so sorry you’re experiencing difficulties. Thank you for choosing this hospital. We’ll do all we can to make you as comfortable as possible.”

And, “Would it be okay if I called back tomorrow evening to see how you are feeling?”

Or, “I’m so sorry you waited two hours for me to come.”

Carl, YOU should consider practicing medicine!

P.S.: The kid is okay!

Much of this month I have felt like “too little butter spread over too much bread.” I don’t count myself as being remarkable in this feeling; I think it’s universally acknowledged that motherhood makes a person stretch. I have been tossed two new balls to juggle: baseball and a new church responsibility. New church callings always throw me off balance a while. Then I settle in and things become easier. I’m just trying to push through this rough spot.

I keep deleting grumpy sentences as I write this, so I will stop and wish you a well-balanced life this week, which is what I think will bring me and you the most happiness.

 

 

 

 

The other day on the radio I heard a person discussing the value of meditation on mental health. He was advocating yoga and he sited a study where they found that people who devoted 27 minutes each day to meditation literally changed their brain. The memory center of the brain became more effective and the emotional center became more regulated. In other words, people who meditated had better memory and fewer emotional ups and downs.

Now I feel validated in my habit of resting each evening before bed, thinking (or not) and showing a blank look on my face. People who have to live with me know what I’m talking about. It’s an emotional survival skill that I developed early in my life.

I also eat sweets late at night to avoid modeling this kind of behavior for my kids. And yes, it helps me a great deal, too.

The following post is rated PG.

One day in high school accidentally walked into the men’s bathroom…in Egyptian make-up from drama class. *sob*

I still have nightmares that my gingham p.e. shorts are in the locker and I can’t remember the combination. *waaaah!*

I never used my own locker in 10th grade because it was in the scary cowboy hallway. *Skoal + Marlboros= smelly folks*

In 9th grade my locker was heavily stocked with lip gloss which Thora and I would apply liberally in front of our magnetic mirror. *gag*

I skipped class one time… to study biology. *scoff*

The first day I drove to school I got in a car accident. The policeman made me sit in the back of his car IN THE HIGH SCHOOL PARKING LOT. *shudder*

I ate pizza or Taco Bell almost every day in 11-12th grade. *blech*

Two of brothers went to high school while I was there but I don’t think I ever saw them. *sigh*

I’m pretty sure the high school counselor waved her magic wand to delete a 1/4 credit hour class I never took so I could graduate. *phew!*

And then there were the 8 a.m. P.E. classes where we studied swimming. Wet hair in the winter in Provo=not good. *shiver*

My science teachers inspired me. *exclamation*

An English teacher caused a continual state of frustration. *yikes*

I have stayed in touch with ONE friend from high school. *hmmmm…*

I’m not sure how many play try-outs I sat through, trying to kindle the courage to audition. I could never do it. *sigh*

One day I looked across the room at the wealthy girls sitting in a row with their mini Levi skirts. I could see the underwear of nearly every one. *insert eye roll*

One day in biology class the teacher was trying to explain genetics. To illustrate what would happen if an attached ear lobe crossed with an unattached ear lobe, she implicated me and the boy sitting beside me as a possible genetic cross … I don’t remember the rest. The blood rushed to my head too quickly. In fact, I’m still blushing…and the teacher is still apologizing to me…  *gasp*

I had an orchestra teacher with a heart of gold. *awww*

I bought and ate an Atomic Fire Bomb jaw breaker each day during chemistry class. *cringe*

I had one copy of a portrait of me in high school that I liked and I gave to a boy and he never returned it. *hmph!*

Sorry if I have triggered angry/painful/embarassing/lively memories that will lead to nightmares that you have forgotten a class in your schedule and it’s halfway through the term. For me, high school memories are tied to an inevitable emotional response.

“You haven’t fully embraced the concept of the internet,” said Richard to me one night. I was worrying again about sharing so much about ourselves on the old blog, although I realize that’s pretty egocentric.

We have conversations like this all the time. It begins with me asking, “Aren’t you worried….”

• someone will arrest us for leaving the kids?
• someone will start to stalk us?
• some kid will fall through the gaps between the springs of the trampoline?
• we’ll get sick from all the dog droppings in the yard?
• our kid will need counseling because I don’t want him to play baseball anymore?
• our kids will never reach their full stature because they won’t eat peas?
• our kids will never get married?
• I’m becoming the Miss Havisham of baby clothes hoarding… an old shriveled hag, hanging on to sizes 0-3 mos?
• our dog will permanently destroy our relationship with my family?
• our kid will get whooping cough because I might have missed an immunization…?
• someone will use our family as a poster family against homeschooling?
• people won’t like us?

“Worry is just in your nature,” the husband replies, although that’s not an answer to my question(s). Maybe he does worry, but it’s just not in his nature to vocalize it.