Kay's Blog

Kelly's Drivers Test, Supersized

This afternoon, Kelly took her much-anticipated drivers test.

"I'm nervous!" she said, fidgeting as I drove toward the Department of Licensing in my VW Bug.

"Everything's going to be fine," I reassured her.  "You've been driving this car for almost a year."

"What if I drive like you did, mom, and barely pass?"

(Hey! I got an 81, passing with a one-point cushion!)

"I'm sure you'll do a great job. What are you worried about?"

"I'm nervous about backing around a corner," she answered. "And I'm super-nervous about parallel parking!"

We pulled into the Driver's Licensing parking lot, and I pointed toward the bright orange plastic posts they'd set up for parallel parking. "Look how far apart those posts are! Compared to the Bug, that space is huge!"

"I guess so," she agreed.

"Imagine parallel parking the Jeep," I said, referring to our other car, Steve's much-bigger, harder-to-maneuver, Jeep Grand Cherokee. "Or, backing that thing around a corner."

"Are you kidding? No way!"

I parked the car as Kelly gathered the required paperwork. She reached into the glove box to retrieve the last thing she needed: a current Proof of Insurance.

“MOM!” she cried, studying it. “This Proof of Insurance is EXPIRED!”

Expired? Unfortunately, it was possible. Due to the state I live in - the state of chronic disorganization - I could have easily forgotten to put the latest Proof of Insurance in the car. Kelly handed me the slip she was holding, and I looked for myself. Yep, expired. If you want to know how expired, the Proof of Insurance was even more out-of-date than my outfit.

My mind was racing. “Okay...stay calm.”

“How can I stay calm? If I don’t take the test today, I’ll have to wait a whole month! That’s how far out they’re scheduling the tests!”

To her, a month is a lifetime.

Just then, Steve pulled up. He’d wanted to meet us before the test to give Kelly moral support.

I turned to her. “You’ll have to take your test in the Jeep.”

“The Jeep?” she asked, incredulous. " I NEVER drive the Jeep! I’ve never backed around the corner in the Jeep! I’ve never Parallel parked in the Jeep!”

Too late; it was time for the test. Steve and I both gave her some words of encouragement, and hugs for good luck. We paced nervously while she took the test.

I was proud to hear that before her test, Kelly told the instructor what had happened. Then she said to him, “I know I can still pass.”

After the test, Kelly stepped out of the Jeep and flashed a huge grin. Steve and I both smiled and gave her a big thumbs-up.

I was happy and proud; Kelly had taken the drivers test with my help.

And she'd passed in spite of it.

 

Kelly is Driving. Me Crazy.

My daughter, Kelly, turned sixteen in August. The candles on her birthday cake had barely stopped smoldering when she said, "Now that I'm sixteen, you know what I want, right?"

"A job?" I guessed.

"Very funny, mom.  I want my Driver's License."

"You just turned 16!" I said. "Let's wait awhile."

"Mom, you got your License when YOU turned 16."

She's right, of course, but that was a  different time. With inflation, 16 isn't even close to what it used to be. The older I get, the younger teenage drivers look.  I just saw a neighborhood kid driving - I think he bought his car with a Trade-In from his Hot Wheels collection. 

As for Kelly, she's very responsible, but the thought of her behind the wheel is frightening. It wasn't always that way. When she first started driving,  everything was great. I was calm. My vital signs were normal.  I even complimented her on her command of the vehicle.

That all changed when we backed out of the driveway. My palms started sweating, every muscle tensed, and I strained to catch my breath.

"MOM!" Kelly cried out, as she edged into the busy street. "You're REALLY making me NERVOUS!"

I'm making YOU nervous?? Gee, I'm sorry. It's probably because I'M PRETTY SURE WE'RE BOTH GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW!

Since then, I've learned some tips to relax, like practicing Zen breathing. Also, I close my eyes.

Last week Kelly passed her written test, and her drivers test is coming up. She's learned a lot and I have to admit she's a very good driver.

Still, she's afraid she won't pass.

I'm afraid she will.

A Heated Exchange

We just paid $4000 to have a new furnace installed. You may be wondering why we got a new furnace. I'm wondering, too.

Our old furnace seemed to work just fine. In fact, I had no idea anything was wrong with it, because it was providing the one and only thing I expect from a furnace: heat. Everything was just dandy until I made the mistake of getting it serviced.

I'd signed up for an "Annual Maintenance Agreement." This means the furnace company comes out every year instead of waiting until something breaks. Financially, it's a much better deal -- for the furnace company, anyway.

On the morning of the appointment, Chad, the "technician," worked on the furnace, banging around for awhile in the laundry room, possibly to prove he was actually doing something. Then he came to see me in my office down the hall.

"You have a problem," he said.

Duh, I thought, I have a lot of problems.

He continued, "You have a crack in your heat exchanger."

Oh. A new problem.

I followed Chad to the laundry room, where he told me that even though my furnace looked fine, sounded fine and even worked fine, it wasn't fine.

Yeah, right, I thought. Obviously the furnace isn't the only thing that's full of hot air.

He went on, "This happens with old furnaces because of the high temperatures.  The heat exchanger develops a crack, and it's dangerous.  Carbon Monoxide could be leaking right now and if gets worse, you could die."

That sounded like some sort of scare tactic, which made me...well...scared.  My mind started racing. I felt nervous. I imagined the heartbreaking newspaper headline: Family of Three Killed by Crack.

I looked at the furnace. "Where is the problem, exactly?" I asked.

"You can't see it from the outside. But trust me...you have a fairly large crack."

No kidding.

He reached into the furnace. "Yep, there it is...do you want to feel it for yourself?"

"Um, no thanks...I believe you."

And I did believe him -- as soon as I heard the same thing from two other furnace companies that I called for second opinions. Neither one argued with the fact that I had a large crack.

The bottom line? I have a new furnace. Like the old one, it seems to work just fine.

What Can Brown Do For You?

Mother Nature gave me brown hair. Now, Father Time is taking it; my beautiful sable locks are being replaced by a color of gray that's as dull as a Presidential Debate.

Luckily I don't have a ton of gray hair - yet.  But I have too much gray hair for a woman in her mid-thirties, which is how old I am...trying to look.

I first noticed the strands of silver in my hair a few years ago. I didn’t mind, because there were only a few.  But their numbers keep growing, and I’m afraid soon I'll have so much silver someone will try to polish it.

There’s a solution, of course. Unfortunately the solution contains harsh chemicals, is a pain-in-the-butt, and costs an arm and a leg. It’s easy to see why some women say, “no way” to hair color. As for me, I'm vain; I firmly support the right-to-dye.

Every six weeks I go to my hairdresser, Stefanie, to get my locks changed. She mixes a combination of noxious chemicals into a goopy potion and smears it on my head. She slaps on a shower cap. Then we wait.

At this point, I avoid glimpsing myself in shiny surfaces, because I look ridiculous. When it comes to getting your hair colored, it’s the Destination, not the Journey; on the way to the land of the Beautiful, you travel through the town of Ugly.

Guys are lucky. They don’t worry as much about having gray hair. My husband, Steve, has gray hair, and he only covers it up once in awhile. Even then, he eventually ends up taking off his hat.

Most women feel differently. If someone asked me, “What Can Brown Do for You?” I’d answer: Make me look younger.  Yesterday I felt fantastic when I walked out of Stefanie’s as a shiny brunette.

I’ll be back in six weeks to do it again. Because for me, dyeing is just part of getting older.

That New Year's Diet? Here's the Skinny

It's January, which means it's time to think about New Years Resolutions. I have a long list. On the top is my bottom.

Along with the rest of my body. I ate way too much over the holidays; now I'm carrying more pounds than the British Treasury. When it comes to my weight, I need to make like those out-of-town relatives and take off.

That's why I paid close attention to a recent article about healthy eating in Time Magazine.  (Yes, I subscribe to Time magazine, thankyouverymuch. I've found reading it makes me a lot smarter-looking).

You might not want to read Time magazine -- I know I don't. So if your New Year's Resolutions include weight loss, here's a summary of the latest healthy eating tips, along with my thoughts:

"When you eat carrot cake, scrape off the icing." 

I already do that; the icing is my favorite part.

"Use tub margerine to make a Hot Buttered Rum. It will have less cholesterol - and fewer calories."

It won't have ANY calories when you offer your guests a Hot Margerined Rum and they say "Um, No Thanks..."

"When dining with a friend, order one dessert and 2 spoons."

Try to choose a friend that's coming down with the stomach flu, which you'll probably catch.  By the time you finally recover you'll be 5 pounds thinner.

"Instead of Cream, substitute Evaporated Skim Milk."

However, when describing something as REALLY GREAT do not substitute the saying "the Evaporated Skim Milk of the Crop."

"Use portion-control. When it comes to meat, estimate your portion size using a deck of playing cards."

Be careful when eating in restaurants, where portions are estimated using the size of an actual deck.

To get the proper nutrients in your diet, include all colors of the rainbow."

Easy if you like M and M's.

Only eat while sitting down.

While keeping one hand on the steering wheel.

---

By following these healthy eating tips, winning the game of losing should be a piece of cake.

With the icing scraped off, of course.

The Perfect Christmas

Some people live too far away from their families to spend the holidays with them.

Others aren't so lucky.

The holidays are stressful enough without extra people around. Of course, like that very first Christmas, most of the work falls on the woman.

It's our own fault; women get caught up in a holiday vision that's sappier than a Christmas Tree. We not only buy the gifts, we buy the idea of perfection. Even though it's just a dream, we drive ourselves crazy trying to make it come true. We shop. We cook. We do more Wrapping than Ice Cube.

When it comes to all these details, nobody else seems to care. In fact, the only guy I know that worries about Christmas is Santa (I've heard he carries that extra weight because he's a Stress-Eater).

When I woke up on Christmas Day, I admired my perfect house. It was sitting on the coffee table. And it was made of Gingerbread.   

Meanwhile, our hair-do's looked like hair-don'ts, our menu for the day consisted of Chips and Dip and the floor was littered with dead pine needles.

Nobody seemed to care.

Getting (Gift) Carded

"It's better to give than receive." That's what I'd say if I opened a Christmas gift and found a one-year membership to AAA Travel Service.

Despite the ads I've heard, promoting a one-year membership to a travel service as a "great gift idea" is such a big stretch it could leave marks.

I'm not saying I don't like giving - and getting - presents.  Without presents, Christmas would be Ho-Ho-Hum.  But sometimes I wish I could turn on the TV or radio without every retailer begging me to pass the buck.

Of course, we all want to buy that perfect gift for family and friends. Since we don't have a clue what that is, many of us buy Gift Cards, found everywhere from Subway to Amtrak. They're a "one size fits all" option. They save time. And you can spend a little or a lot.

If you're like me, this Christmas you'll card more people than most bartenders. 

Here's the problem: it turns out many Gift Cards are lost, forgotten, or never redeemed for some other reason; over 10% of Gift Cards are never used. I'm in that 10%. I'm slightly unorganized - on a good day. When it comes to Gift Cards, I could easily win the prize for the Biggest Loser.

I'm not saying you shouldn't buy me a Gift Card; unlike a AAA Membership, they're fun to receive. But if you're wondering whether you should spend a little or a lot, the answer is: a little. I'll probably never know the difference.