Important Recalls? Really?
I don't wish to make light of the recalls that have been happening across the toy and baby care world lately. Ok, maybe I do wish to make light of it. It's just that when I read them, sometimes I have to laugh a bit. If it were my child, hurt by a faulty product (and truly the product's fault), I would definitely be upset. But aren't some of these recalls going a bit over the top?
I saw one today for a child's trike bike type thing. It said that the ignition key sticks out and can cause harm to a child if they fall into it or onto it, potentially causing genital bleeding. Can't the same thing be said of handle-bars or cross bars on bikes? One time when I was in college, I was riding my bike home from work. I decided to jump up the curb instead of getting off and placing my bike on the curb. What happened next was brutal and made me realize that crotch-shots, no matter if on a girl or a boy, are ridiculously painful. I slammed down onto the cross bar of my mountain bike and into a bush. It wasn't pretty. I couldn't sit right for a good week. Should my bike have been recalled? No, I was a naive idiot with an ego-inflated Lance Armstrong complex. Who did I think I was, trying to jump that curb on a busy Pittsburgh street? Is it really necessary to recall a bike with an ignition key that sticks out? I mean, hand a kid a Nerf ball and he's going to find a way to hurt himself with it. What if he tries to eat the thing and chokes on it? Should the Nerf ball be recalled? It's called childhood and that's what happens.
I don't know. To me, some of these recalls just seem silly. It would be like recalling toothpaste because it shouldn't be used as an eye make-up remover; screwdrivers because they fit into electric sockets; or Boppy pillows because they could be tripping hazards if left on the floor.
Personally, I think a lot of these recalls are brought about because of fly-off-the-handle parents who don't watch their kids well enough and they end up getting hurt because of a lack of parental supervision. We live in the blame-it-on-everyone-else society and these toy recalls are really no different. If my child had fallen into a protruding ignition key on a bike, I doubt I would be contacting the company and reporting a faulty product. I'd be chalking it up to childhood. Injuries and accidents are just a natural part of that world.
If you're looking for something to recall, how about that screw that broke into four pieces while in my tibia? Now that would be legit.
A Bittersweet End
Today was my last day of physical therapy. These "last days" are always bittersweet. I'm happy and excited to be on my own, but it usually means I'm saying goodbye to new friends too. I walked into physical therapy with a bad attitude this time around. I had not expected to need PT after this last surgery. I wasn't anxious to give up hours of my week once again; but after one day of PT with this group, I was feeling motivated again. Leaving PT though, means that it's all up to me from here on out. I need to get to the gym on a regular basis and treat it like it's a required appointment.
The best part about physical therapy, this time around, is that I'm leaving with some confidence I didn't have before. My PT pushed me outside of my comfort zone, making me stand on wobbly foam while doing squats, snap kicks and side kicks. He added weight to the leg press when I didn't think I could take anymore, and I did. He made me do crazy one-legged squats while balancing on a crescent shaped piece of styrofoam; and while I initially was kind of cursing him for it, I can't think of a time when my leg was stronger. The visual difference in my muscle over just a few weeks is obvious. The way it feels makes it even more exciting. My leg truly feels good for the first time in a really long time.
I brought the guys a giant container of donut holes this morning as a "thank you." I'm feeling better than I have ever felt and I owe the new strength in my leg to them. Donut holes don't seem to be quite enough for what they've done for me.
We talked this morning about a game plan for heading back to karate and eventually tennis. The plan for now is to continue working out on my own and building up strength and confidence. Then I'm going to start doing some karate at home on my own, slowly, to get used to things again. Once I find time in my schedule again to make paying the monthly fee worth it, I'll go back on a gradual basis. My PT warned me against going in there all gang-busters and then messing something up. He doesn't need to worry about that. Caution is practically my middle name now. I need to give my bone sufficient time to heal from the hole that removing the screw made.
Graduating from PT this week was the boost I needed to make me feel like I'm getting somewhere. I have to say though, I'm really going to miss those guys. Randy and Brandon. . . thank you SO much. One of these days I'm going to buy you both a drink (or school you at beer pong, your choice). You helped me gain strength and confidence; and I consider you both friends.
Getting Back Six Hours
Today I arrived at my orthopaedic surgeon's office with a folder full of grading to complete. I finished all but three speeches. That's how long he typically makes me wait. Usually I am accompanied by Lil C who puts on quite a concert in the exam room, but today Mr. BBM kept her at home while he worked. He read my blog post of yesterday and I'm pretty sure he knew I needed some "me" time. Funny that the only "me" time I get right now is waiting to be poked and prodded by a doctor, huh?
My surgeon came in and examined my leg as usual. He took a bunch of notes, and then asked me what I want to be able to do, activity-wise.
"I want to be able to go back to karate," I said. And then, because my PT told me it's a possibility, "I'd also like to be able to play tennis again."
He nodded, talked to me about my braces, and told me to get to a track and start running three times a week. Sure, I'll do that. In all my spare my time. He told me two weeks of running, followed by two weeks of agility stuff can get me back to tennis in four weeks. I'm thinking I'd be totally cool with being able to play tennis next summer.
Then he told me I can stop going to PT and just get to the gym three times a week instead. I was hoping to be released from PT, but not fully expecting it. Yesterday I was able to get my heel stretched to my butt again for the first time in a long time. Tomorrow will be my last day there.
Yesterday I had no time to do a thing; today I was given back about six hours a week. Those six hours happen to be when Lil C is in school. Coincidence? A sign not to give it up?
When I came home from campus today, Mr. BBM was dealing with me with kid gloves. I didn't know he had read my blog post. So we started talking about it and I got upset. This is what it boils down to. . . I am a super competitive person. I like to be the best at everything I do. Ask anyone who has ever played me in a simple game of beer pong. I don't like to lose and I don't like to hang out in the middle. I either do it right, or I do it right. There are no other options.
That's why this whole knee business has been so mentally trying for me. It's why being on the board of directors at the club has frustrated me so much. I've been held back and limited physically and by other people, and I don't like it one bit. Sometimes, although those of you know who know me may find this difficult to believe, I just get tired of fighting all the time. It's exhausting.
One of my friends said something on my Facebook page today that made me really sit up and take notice. I've lost so many of the things that define who I am: karate, tennis, being that girl who can jump in and play any sport she chooses. Right now I'm nothing more than a stressed out Mom and a teacher with too much stuff to grade and too many lessons to plan. With my writing though, it doesn't matter if my knee is banged up. It is the one thing I have that is all mine, and hasn't been taken away from me. So why am I not happy with it? Why would I consider stopping it when I haven't reached where I want to go with it yet?
I'm not happy because I want to write more. I'm not happy because I want to find an agent and a publisher and do amazing things. I'm not happy because I sent a book proposal over a year ago and haven't heard anything back yet. I'm not happy because I simply don't know what to do about any of these things I'm not happy about. I have no clue how to get an agent or how to get my blog syndicated more than it is right now. I don't know how to grow it and get my writing out there. I really don't even know where to start.
It feels like standing on the edge of a giant trash heap and being told to find that one lonely paper clip. I don't have time to be misguided. I don't have the energy or the time to send out query after query to the wrong people. And it's not like people who are published are telling people like me their secrets. There is a giant brick wall and on one side are those who have made it to the publishing world; I'm on the other side with the ones who are dying to be published, but we simply can't figure out how to get over that wall.
I have had a post from this blog published and I was paid nicely for it at the time. But that editor found my post when she was out searching for writing on a certain topic. I didn't approach her. I've been syndicated and published in other places. An entire page of my resume has my publishing credits on it, but the gaps between them are spreading out and I need and want more. Every once in a while, I'll buy myself the new Writer's Market book, send out a bunch of queries, articles and manuscripts and then I wait months at a time as I watch rejection letters roll in, and that is if they even bother to tell me they're not interested. There has got to be a better way. Someone has to know someone. Someone has to be able to point me in the right direction.
If my readers keep coming back for more of my drivel, there has to be some agent out there who would like it too right? I've been told that if you don't have an agent, there is no point in even trying to contact a publisher. There has to be a way to break into that world; and today I was handed back two mornings of my week to try to find it. I can't give up; I just have to find a way to make this happen more efficiently. I have to, because that's just what I do.
Throwing in the Towel?
This may come as a giant surprise to many of you, but today I actually comtemplated throwing in the towel and taking a break from blogging for a while. I am so ridiculously busy with running the girls to all of their activities and running myself to physical therapy, that I just haven't found much inspiration to write lately.
I used to savor even 15 minutes of time so I could quickly write something and put it out there. Lately, when I have 15 minutes, I grade something or clean something or start preparing a meal that we'll barely have time to eat before running to the evening's activities.
My original audience is long gone. So are the posts about all things martial arts related. If I do eventually get cleared to head back to karate, right now, I don't even know how I'd find the time to get to class. My girls have something every night of the week. Soon, the competitive swimming season will begin and it will only get worse. My student's papers will only get longer. I'm already sleep deprived. When will I find the time?
I spent time and money on going to a blogging conference this summer and it was a lot of fun to meet so many interesting people. It was also a bit frustrating to me. I've been blogging for almost five years now. I love this writing space, but I've also wanted to turn it into something else. I've wanted to be "discovered" and published. I wanted to use this as a launching pad; but it seems my rockets are fizzling out.
Maybe I'm stagnant because of all the negativity from the past months: the loss of our long-time pet Colby, my Grammom's repeated hospital admissions and death, a third knee surgery and recovery, and many frustrating days trying to turn a country club around when the old-timers don't want to see it turned around. The list goes on. . .
Right now I am frustrated with my writing and I'm frustrated with my life. Would anyone even notice if I packed up and left right now? Would anyone care? Would I? I just don't know.
I’ve Had it Up to HERE With People
Filed under: Things that get my gi all in a bunch
Sometimes I get really crappy comments on my blog. As a blogger, it's pretty much a fact of life. The longer you blog and the more your blog grows, the more idiots show up to try to bring you down with nastiness. Some people just weren't raised right, and on the internet they are given a free pass to say whatever they please. A couple weeks ago, I received a really crappy comment. Last night, I got a really craptastic comment on my review blog of all places. My review blog. . . where I give stuff away. . . to readers.
The comment on my review blog was juvenile and ridiculous. It basically said this: "Wow, this giveaway must be worth a whole $5 or $6." It then went on to call me a turd in multiple ways. Nice.
I'll admit it. It doesn't compare to the last giveaway on my blog where one lucky winner got $150. But let's be honest; companies aren't exactly lining up to hand out $150 a pop to random blog readers. Personally, I'm fresh out of free money to give away to people; all my money is already going to swimming lessons and physical therapy. However, I don't know a mom or dad of a school-aged kid out there who wouldn't appreciate a backpack loaded with school supplies. For one, it saves money and more importantly, that backpack arrived just in time to save me from having to run another errand. I'll take anything that eliminates an errand for me these days. I barely have time to breathe.
So, I did what any review blogger with a crappy comment on her blog would do. I logged into my secret spy software, logged the IP address of that nasty commenter, and labeled them within the program as a jerk. Actually, I labeled that commenter as something else. Use your imagination.
Then, I took the next logical step. I logged into my blogging software and blocked that commenter's IP address for all eternity. Guess who won't be entering the next giveaway I host for $150?
What irritates me more than the administrative steps I had to take to make myself feel better is this: why log in and leave a stupid comment for something you clearly don't want to win. Isn't that even more a waste of your time? Shouldn't you really be off looking for blogs that are giving away new personalities perhaps? Because geez, I mean, you could surely use one if you're so easily offended by free hi-lighters, glue sticks and floppy calculators.
I also spent a couple minutes looking up the value of that backpack. It's actually closer in value to about $35-$40. So, whatever, let someone else win it.
The mean people aren't limited to living inside my computer this week though. They are everywhere; the world is crawling with them. The other day I was driving home from the store on a back road where the speed limit is 25 mph. I was driving exactly 25 mph. As I came up the hill, I noticed a school bus approaching me from the opposite direction. The yellow flashing lights came on.
In my head, I thought, "What do those yellow flashing lights mean? Am I supposed to stop or is that only for the red ones?" I wasn't sure what to do, but then I saw a couple parents standing off to the right up ahead and I figured the bus was slowing down and turning left into the development. It made sense for me to just keep going since the stop arm wasn't out and the red lights weren't yet flashing; but I had a moment of panic and thought, "Maybe I am supposed to stop!"
So I did. I'll admit that I stopped a bit abruptly because I was having an internal monologue at the time; but how abruptly can one really stop when only going 25 mph? I mean, really.
As I stopped, I noticed one of the parents off to the right waving his arms around wildly and gesturing at me with gusto. He was also yelling in my direction. I couldn't hear what he was saying because I was listening to Nelly; I didn't want to hear what he was saying because I could instantly tell he was suffering from short bald-man's syndrome, a rather severe case of it.
Thirty seconds after I had stopped, the man was still wildly conducting the ticked off orchestra and finally the red flashing lights came on the bus and the stop arm extended. I was at a complete stop well before this happened. I was also a good 25-30 ft. away from the bus.
The children exited the bus and ran across the street to their waiting parents. The short cranky man embraced his son as if he had just been released from the evil clutches of the Taliban or something and continued to yell and gesture in my direction, while trying to engage this bus driver in his quite obvious irritation with me. I wanted to yell back at him, but I controlled myself and turned out one of my famous evil glares, threw up my hands in mockery and mouthed quite clearly, "What is YOUR PROBLEM?"
The bus driver pulled the stop arm in, the man continued to gesture wildly, and I slowly continued on my way. I normally don't let crazy people get under my skin like that, but I was a bit upset. Had I done something wrong?
I came home and consulted the school bus laws in my state. They state the following:
- When you meet or overtake a school bus with red signal lights flashing and an extended stop arm, you must stop. (The lights were still yellow when I stopped and no arm was out.)
- You must stop at least 10 ft. away from the school bus. (I was a good 25-30 ft. away when I stopped.)
- You must wait until red lights have stopped flashing and stop arm has been withdrawn before moving. (I continued to wait and get berated by the crazy man until the bus was also moving on.)
- Do not move until all children have reached a place of safety. (The child was clearly in the arms of his psycho father before I ever touched my gas.)
Clearly, if there is anything I'm guilty of doing incorrectly, it's stopping when I didn't have to yet stop since the lights were still very much yellow. What I'd really like to do is print out those school bus laws, form them into a paper airplane with an uber-pointy nose, and go throw them at that dude's head while he waits at the bus stop.
I have just about had it with mean and ignorant people this week. They're rampant in the 4th grade as my daughter has certainly encountered her fair share of them in recent weeks; they're standing at bus stops; and they are all over the internet. And they can go pick on someone else; I've reached the mean person quota for September, thank you, and I can't be held responsible for what I may or may not do with some pointy school bus laws.
Disclaimer: Not all short bald men have short bald-man's syndrome. I am aware of this. Thank you for not pointing it out, because like I've said, I've reached my quoto of crazy this month.
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