Sticker Shock
What’s the deal with kids and stickers? I mean, I have never ever actually purchased a package of stickers, yet I’ve ended up with an entire drawer dedicated to their storage. You know, it’s the same with stuffed animals…never bought one…yet they seem to be breeding while we sleep.
Can you tell that she's my troublemaker?
Unfortunately, sometimes those stickers stick to the wrong places in my house. Occassionally they will just appear in odd places around my home…a door here…a cabinet there….and a chair or two or three. Pretty annoying, but harmless.
But harmless turned into humiliating one morning recently, when a sticker adhered itself to the wrong place…at the wrong time. Yep…this is a church story.
You see, in our church, there are stickers in the pews. The stickers are meant as name tags for adults. The blue stickers are for chruch members. The red stickers are for the church visitors. That way folks can identify and greet each other by name.
But let’s face it, when kids start to get bored during the sermon, the stickers become something to occupy their time. So I guess we shouldn’t have been too surprised when a distinguished looking gentleman walked down the aisle one morning, tapped my husband on the shoulder, and whispered, “Mr. Martin, pardon me, but there is a sticker on your bottom.”
Keep in mind, we were all standing up ..and the entire congregation had a pretty good view of the sticker that went astray because of the way the aisles were elevated where we were standing.
My husband’s face turned red as he continued to sing How Great Thou Art because he figured the sticker must have been planted there for almost a good hour since church service was nearing the end. In our church you stand up and down multiple times throughout the service, so dozens of members most likely caught a good glimpse of the huge blue and white sticker in the center of his behind.
Eventually, he turned around–still standing–and peeled the sticker off his butt. As he did, he looked back at the entire congregation and saw nothing but faces of laughter.
Wheels: When in Rome…
Warning! The following post is for those of you who are NOT easily offended by human anatomy and its functionality…as well as those of you who can appreciate a twisted sense of humor.
That must mean you because you’re still with me. So here we go.
Fun in Las Vegas
We were strolling “the strip” and entered into Caesar’s Palace. Several Roman statues adorn both the interior and exterior of this legendary property. And many of these statues–in true Las Vegas style–bare it all.
One of the statues was a nude David. I’m told that it’s a depiction of him the moment before his powerful fight with Goliath. Nude David displayed a calmness (cough) about him.
My husband Cary convinced me to stand in front of the naked statue to get a picture. I guess he wanted to –um–get a rise out of me. As I stood there and smiled, with David’s naked body behind me, Cary told me to raise my hand.
“Higher, higher, higher.” Cary repeated. Over and over again. “No, lower. Now higher, higher higher.” And for 5 minutes I stood there raising and lowering my hand until he could get it right. Whatever “it” was, I was about to find out.
Now STOP!” Cary shouted down the grand hallway. Echo, echo, echo….remember we were in the solitude of a “Palace.” At this point, I was so ready to move beyond my humiliation as all the distinguished passers-by were chuckling at my odd posing position in front of the nude statue.
“Now do this,” Cary blurted out as he put his thumb and pointer finger together, as if pinching the air.
What the heck…I complied.
Click. And he finally snapped the picture.
I went over to the digital camera to take a peek. Laughing hysterically, I looked down at the image, with my hand strategically placed in the photo. (see photo)
Ha Ha. Very good. In fact it was so funny I told my husband to go over there and do the same. “Higher. Higher. Higher.” I repeated, and snapped a similar picture. We were so caught up in our own silly moment that we didn’t noticed what was happening all around us.
Everywhere we looked, people had their hands held high. (not their heads held high!) And they all were taking the same picture, stealing our pose.”Higher. Higher. Higher,” people shouted out all around us to their traveling partners. We even heard it in other languages. “Hiyah. Hiyah. Hiyah,” one Asian man repeated to his wife.
You see, I'm not making this stuff up
Now that I’ve risked my reputation, I’m pretty relieved to be finished with this post. It was hard, um, I mean difficult.
Tags: Caesar's Palace, Gina Martin, Las Vegas
Wheels: Judgement Part 2
I just read “Mom on a Wire’s” very insightful Judgement Day post. I’m sorry I didn’t ask permission, Cindy, but I wanted to write your sequel.
Why are we women so hard on each other? Why do we judge each other? I have been saying that for years. And isn’t it interesting that our perception of other women and their lives is probably far different than reality?
In fact, just yesterday I had an employee who came to me in tears, weeping about her recent financial struggles after her husband lost his job. After trying to console her, she managed to say something that really surprised me. She suggested that I didn’t understand true hardship…because my life has been a “fairy tale.”
At that moment, it really sank in that her perception of my life came from somewhere or someone other than me. I wondered just where she got her information. Was it from another employee? Or did she just conjure up this image of what my life has always been about?
So I proceeded to tell her about my “fairy tale” of a life. Once upon a time, when I was 5, my parents divorced. I hardly ever saw my father again. My mom worked three jobs trying to support my sister and me. We were left alone night after night, as she waited tables at a local hotel restaurant struggling to make ends meet. We lived on bread, water, and hand-me downs. And the phone rang often from bill collectors and a stalker we nicked-named “the weirdo” who harassed my mother and twice threatened to kidnap us. He only managed to break into the house once when I was there alone. I hid in the closet until police arrived.
As I grew up, books kept me company at night because there was no one ever at home. I loved to read, and write. So when it was time to go to college I was thankfully able to earn an academic scholarship to at least pay all the tuition. The three jobs I worked paid the books, meals, and rent. And there were many months when I didn’t know if I would be able to pay for it all.
While I experienced the exhilaration and exhaustion that came with TV news jobs for many years, I also dealt with odd hours and oddballs. In fact one crazy viewer hid behind my car one night–naked from the waist down–put a knife to my stomach, and threatened to kill me if I didn’t get into the car with him. Thankfully I refused and fought long enough in the parking lot with him to have a friend hear my screams and rush to my rescue. But post-traumatic stress lasts awhile, especially when this oddball was never caught.
I moved to Arkansas not knowing a soul, other than my husband. We worked opposite schedules in journalism until we decided to grow a business and a family simultaneously, not an easy thing to do. There were many sleepless nights caused by both crying babies and the enormous burden of meeting business overhead, and the payroll to support dozens of families in a down economy.
However, the biggest worry came from the health problems we all experienced together after an environmental disaster. And while I was only hospitalized for 8 days, I was more concerned about the health of my girls whose little lungs were in danger. We had to move out and gut our house, I mean, our castle, before we could come home safely. And, of course, insurance wouldn’t cover a penny of the expenses. But because we recovered, we lived…. happily every after.
In business and in life, we all deal with success and survival. But I can’t imagine a fairy tale life, for anybody. So –as Cindy said–why should we cast judgement on those we hardly know anything about?
I wouldn’t trade “the chapters in my storybook” for anything. I am who I am because of them. Now I must run..otherwise I will turn into a pumpkin…
Wheels: Inquiring Minds
Meeting of the Minds
Didn’t there used to be a show called “Kids Say the Darndest Things?” You know, the one with Bill Cosby. I can recall Mr. Cosby having these ordinary conversations with kids. And somehow, their innocence and honesty seemed to make us all laugh.
Well, I think its time to bring that show back. Better yet, revise it. How about calling it, “Kids Ask the Darndest Things.” In fact, I could provide plenty of material just from my own household.
Here’s a sampling of some of the “Darndest Questions” I’ve tried to answer recently…
Did God make Earth using a magic wand?
Do bugs go to heaven?
Why does a cat pee in the “glitter” box?
Does God live in outer space?
Why does my tummy “growl” when I ride a roller coaster?
Can you buy more money at the store?
Okay, I know I’m not the only parent who deals with inquiring minds on a regular basis. In fact this past weekend I was reminded of a very public question and answer session I had with the entire second grade class at my daughter’s school.
Here’s what happened that day:
I was invited to speak to the second graders about the importance of writing and how I use writing every day in my life. I had about 30 minutes to speak. So I talked about writing in my business, Little Rock Tours. I talked about writing when I was a TV news reporter. And finally I talked about writing as a “mama blogger” here on this very website.
With ten minutes left I asked the class if they had any questions. Two hands immediately went up.
The first little boy enthusiastically asked, “How much money do you make?”
Before I even had the chance to respond, the teacher quickly moved on to the next boy. His question had to be easier. Or maybe not.
“Do you breastfeed?” he shouted out. “And if so, will you write about it?!”
Wheels: Now You’re Talking
Don’t get me wrong. We still have our regular hair-pulling and “she pinched me first” moments in our household. And at times, they have drawn blood. But for the most part, we’ve never had to deal with the wrestling, punching, or rumbling on the ground antics we often hear about from parents of little boys. And jumping off the furniture in the form of superman is not even a passing thought in our home.
Mouth is open...all the time!
In our household…talking is the thing.. their thing. I guess that means listening has become my thing. My girls will talk and talk…and when there is a rare moment of silence..they will sing, make up a word, make weird noises… anything to fill the awkward gap of dead air. They talk over each other, they talk about each other, and they talk to each other. And when one of my girls finds herself with no one to talk to….she’ll talk to herself.
Talking is okay. In fact, it can even save you money if you are a parent. Our emergency room visits have been kept to a minimum because our girls engage in the low-risk activity of talking.
To my counterparts, those parents of little boys, I do not envy the broken bones, bumps and bruises you have had to deal with on a regular basis. Then again, your ears are probably much better off than mine…….
Wheels: Poor Snow Angels
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- Snow Angel on Concrete
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- Snow Angel on Concrete
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- This is all we got…but it was enough.
Every year it grows more apparent that my girls’ childhood experiences are turning out vastly different than my own. Some of it is upbringing, some of it is cultural…but this latest example is environmental.
Since I was raised as a full blown yankee, and my daughters were born in the south, rarely do they get to see accumulation of snowflakes. Unless, of course, they are visiting my mom in Ohio.
So you can imagine the glee when the snow started to fall on Friday. Not only was school cancelled, but with so few opportunities in their short lifetimes to play in snow, they got to venture out in it.
You would have thought we had a foot on the ground, but it was barely a dusting, just enough to add excitement and adventure to their day. Even though you could still see the grass on the ground..they were so excited to put on their snow boots, you know, the ones we purchased a couple seasons ago before our trip to Ohio. We pulled the cobwebs off them and managed to squeeze into at least one pair. The other pair both girls had already outgrown.
And then the real fun began…sort of. They couldn’t really go sledding or even make a snowman because there wasn’t enough accumulation on the ground. But there was one activity that worked…..just a little differently.
Luckily, although our yard could still see lots of grass poking through, our driveway managed to be completely covered! Hip hip hooray! And so the girls became snow angels….right there on the hard, cold driveway. It didn’t matter that they were laying on concrete and probably in a whole lot of pain. The only thing I saw was an abundance of excitement…which was far better to this mom than an abundance of snow.
Wheels: My Year without Walmart
It all started nearly a year ago. It was February of 2009 when I was at swimming lessons with my girls and my friend Adrianna, and her little boy. Adrianna got a text message from her friend advising her not to shop at Walmart that day because there had been criminal activity at the Walmart Supercenter where we all shopped.
“My friend says don’t go to Walmart today,” Adrianna said to me in her very cool Brazillian accent as she looked up from her phone. “It seems some very bad things are going on there today.”
“Oh, okay. I’m glad you told me because I was on my way there after swimming lessons today,” I responded. “Thanks for warning me…I guess we’ll change plans.”
That day after swimming lessons I ended up going to Target. Two days later I breezed into Kroger for a few more grocery items that I couldn’t pick up at Target. At the end of that week, I realized that it had been about three weeks and I hadn’t stepped foot in any Walmart. To my knowledge I couldn’t remember when I had ever gone that long without a trip to Walmart since I moved to Arkansas 10 years ago. Hmmmm, there didn’t seeem to be anything missing in my life….or in my pantry.
And so it began….my new life without Walmart.
For those of you readers who are out of state (out of Arkansas…that is) you have to realize how Walmart is just a part of life here. You see, the world’s largest retailer is based in Arkansas. Some of the nicest and biggest Walmarts in the world are right here. And for you native Arkansans, Walmart is not a part of life for people who live everywhere else, at least in my opinion. Whenever I travel, Walmart just doesn’t come up in conversations like it does when I’m in Arkansas.
“I have to go grocery shopping” or “I have to go to the store” is what I hear when I visit relatives in Ohio and Pennsylvania. Around Arkansas it’s “I have to get to Walmart.”
In Arkansas, whenver you need anything, Walmart is The Place. You can get your nails done, your hair done, and your banking done. You can get groceries, get McDonalds, and even get a diagnosis. Yep, it’s true…a diagnosis. They’ve now opened up medical clinics in some Walmarts. It’s a nice thought that people with flu-like symptoms are browsing in the produce department with their hands all over the vegetables.
After another month went by I said to my husband, “Do you realize I haven’t been to Walmart in almost two months?!” It was as if I had accomplished something no one in Arkansas had ever done before. Well, at least no one in my circle of friends.
That was the moment I decided to challenge myself to going an entire year without shopping at Walmart. It’s been a year of fewer unecessary purchases, fewer frustrations, and fewer mechanical pony rides. Instead of wandering out aimlessly into a sea of cars trying to locate my minivan by following the chirping sound when I hit my keychain, I have a new less-stressful post-shopping experience. A bag boy now follows me out to a parking spot right outside the door and loads everything into my car for me, as I get to take care of my kids.
Here it is…January of 2010 and I actually made it through the most difficult part….Christmas shopping season without Walmart. I am only a couple of weeks away from celebrating a full year without them.
And life has gone on…happily.
Wheels: When Disaster Strikes
When disaster strikes…I have been there time and time again. My entire life. For many years, I reported on the so-called “disaster” for the news. Today, I am directly involved, usually in its aftermath.
I never imagined how similar the tour and transportation industry was going to be compared to my 10+ years doing television news. I mean, never in my wildest dreams could I envision how that experience in news reporting would some day come in handy in our efforts to spring into action with my bus business. I know my journalism friends can relate.
There's our bus, in the middle of this past week's train derailment.
Once again, we went into “breaking news mode” this past week. A train derailed near Searcy, Arkansas. Back in my TV news days, I would get a call in the middle of the night from the assignment desk telling me that a train derailed and that I needed to go out there ASAP with a camera crew. Today, we get called directly by Amtrak at 3:52am. Rather than sending a camera crew though, we are sending out 4 of our buses. This time it was to rescue the 212 folks who were standing out in the bitter cold needing a lift. Oh there is still an element of news involved. But rather than being the interviewer, I am now the interviewee.
Ice Storm Coverage, CNN, Circa 2000
We have similar stories with every recent major Hurricane. Only this time instead of going into the storm..we are getting people out of it before it strikes and evacuating the coastal residents via motorcoach.
Hurricane Gustav? Check.
Hurricane Ike? Check.
Hurricane Rita? Check.
And guess whose bus company was the first to arrive on the scene at the Superdome after Hurricane Katrina? Yours truly. Only rather than win an Emmy for our “breaking news” efforts, our bus drivers were inducted into the Bus Driver Hall of Fame for being the first upon arrival. That’s right….there is such a thing…and three of our drivers names are etched on plaques somewhere in Pennsylvania.
When disaster strikes, there is no time to mess around. Whether you are in the news business or the bus business. Of course none of these rescue efforts would be as quickly carried out as they have been without our years of experience in the newsroom. So I’d like to take a moment and thank all my assignment editors for calling me in the middle of the night. And I’d also like to thank my many news directors from years past who always pushed everyone in the newsroom to be the first on the scene.
Oh yeah…and I’d also like to take a moment to thank Geraldo for looking like a complete idiot, standing out there blowing around in hurricane force winds. After all he tells me what I need to know…so I can pass it along to my drivers.
Gina Martin is co-founder, with her husband, of Little Rock tours. Before that, she was an award-winning television news anchor and reporter. Gina has two daughters, Presley and Brooke.