Please Support a Worthy Organization

This post will be a little bit different from others I have posted. I apologize for the seriousness of this post, but I am so upset, I don't know what else to do. You see, my husband and I moved into our first house last year. After we got the utilities hooked up and the phone connected, we started receiving calls for the previous owners of our phone number. That is to be expected. And really, most companies are so nice about removing you from their list once they realize that you are not the people with whom they have previously done business. (I mean, it seems silly to renew a warranty on a boat that you don't have, right?)

Well, after a few months, the phone calls ended for all companies except for one, Amvets. Knowing that they are a charity, I tried to be nice. I explained that the people for whom they were calling no longer owned this phone number and that I did not even live on the same street or even in the same part of town that they do. And, I asked to have the number removed from their call list. Each time the person said they would and hung up. (Sigh) Yet the calls continued.

As you know, I now have two beautiful babies under two. If they are not napping, then I am changing them, feeding them, or running after them. It is terribly difficult to get the phone within the first few rings. And whenever the phone does ring, I fear that it might be my husband with something important. Also, since my health is not the best, I hate not to get his phone calls for fear that he would think I were in medical distress. Thus, it is extremely frustrating for me to run to the phone only to find out that it is Amvets calling for the previous owners who have not had this phone number for over a year.

Since my asking the organization to stop calling had no effect, I sent an email to Jim King, the National Executive Director of the organization. Yet I am still receiving calls. I filed a complaint with the Do Not Call Registry and announced my complaint in another email to the NED. Yet I am still receiving calls. I was, however, copied on an email from someone within the organization who sent my issue to someone else. I have heard nothing since, and I am still receiving calls.

The law states that even if your phone number is on the Do Not Call Registry, charities may still call you unless you ask them not to (which I have done repeatedly). As it is, I have never had any dealings with Amvets before. I did not give them my phone number, and I have never given them permission to call me. Even the person who called me today from Amvets said that other people were complaining about being called after asking not to be contacted. Amvets has a problem within their organization that needs to be fixed. And it makes me wonder, if they have these kinds of problems in one area of their organization, how many other problems do they have? Are the donations even doing any good?

As a result, I am asking everyone I know and everyone I can reach to stop donating to Amvets because by doing so, they are supporting an organization that harasses people and shows blatant disregard for the law. And if you aren't donating, you may not want to start. Once they get your phone number, they will never stop calling. Instead, please donate to someone else. There are many terrific charities out there who would gladly accept your support.

You may think I am calloused and maybe even evil by asking people not to support Amvets, but they are driving me crazy. Perhaps I have a low tolerance, I don't know. Regardless, it doesn't matter. The fact is that I asked them to stop calling and they didn't--and won't. Maybe if their donations suffer, they will care enough to fix the problems that they have with their organization.

Again, please support a worthy charity, not one that harasses potential donors like Amvets.

Thank you.

Faster than a Speeding Bullet

As you are probably aware, I fondly call my son the J Man as if he were a superhero. Well, yesterday Double O Daddy and I discovered just one more of his super powers (that is besides his uncanny ability to pull MacGyverisms and Houdini himself out of the high chair straps). We have come to realize that given the right code phrase, our precious J Man is faster than a speeding bullet. Now please note that it is only by using the proper code phrase that our little cherub is able to break the sound barrier. What is the secret phrase, you ask? "Let me check your diaper." (Of course I cannot help but chuckle as I type this.) As soon as I uttered that phrase, his cute little arms came up and he ran for the safety of the corner behind his bed as fast as his little legs could take him. As I began to laugh, I explained the situation to Double O while he was coming from the stairs, so he had to try it. Sure enough, with a puff of smoke, the boy took off for his favorite safety spot.

After trying it a couple more times, Double O Daddy decided to play with the boy and alter the code phrase a little. First he said, "Let me check your diamonds." The arms lifted and he took a step toward his hideout, but then he stopped. Then Double O said, "Let me check your diabetes." Again, the arms lifted and he took a step. Finally, he said, "Let me check your diaper!" and off he ran. Oh man, I absolutely love my kids!

J Man-ese

Wow, the J Man just turned 21 months old last week. Where has all the time gone? Anyway, he finally started saying "No" a week or so ago. Because of that, Double O Daddy is telling people that life as we know it has now ended. But the truth is, he isn't using it in context yet. Yet. (*Chuckle*) He also says it in a sing-songy voice and sometimes with an "m" on the end as if he is saying "gnome."

A few months ago, his favorite phrase was "It's ok" which sometimes sounds like "Isaac A." Today, he has been saying "I say yes." I must admit though that I was most impressed when he started saying "Hop Pop" whenever he wanted me to read him the book "Hop on Pop." He's also been saying "Hop op op oh." Can you guess what that means? I'll give you a hint, he likes Sandra Boynton books. Yes, that means hippopotamus.

The most intriguing word he says is "I so po." I noticed that unlike the other gibberish that he continues to spout throughout the day, he says "I so po" over and over. I figured that it must mean something, so I thought and thought and thought. "It's so po..." "I so po...." What on earth could the boy be saying? Then one day, he stood near the gate, held out his arm, and while opening and closing his fist said, "I so po." Then, I knew what he meant. Do you remember my post on June 3rd entitled "Everyone's a Critic?" Well, since then, the boy has been absolutely obsessed with the vacuum cleaner. It scares him so that he shakes and runs, but he loves it and asks for me to use it every single day. Yes, "I so po" means vacuum cleaner. Who woulda thunk it? I guess the boy is just creating his own language when the actual words are too difficult to pronounce. But what can I say, he comes by it honestly--this coming from the girl who called Pinocchio "Uh luck a luck."

Stargate Motivational Posters

I know this has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but it was so much fun that I couldn't help sharing. While I was perusing the web the other day, I came across a thread where people made motivational posters with Stargate pictures and/or sayings. Here's the link if you want to check it out for yourself: http://forum.gateworld.net/showthread.php?t=44241. And here's the website they listed to create your own posters: http://bighugelabs.com/motivator.php. I even came up with a few myself as you can see below...

I hope you like them.

Tripping Down Memory Lane

Last night I had a dream. (I'm leaving off the adjectives for now because choosing just one to describe this thing I had is just too much of a challenge in the time I have.) In this dream, I was at a mall where they were setting up for a scifi convention. (Gee, I wonder where I got that idea--see Letters from Pegasus, which I follow.) In the distance I could see some of the celebrities signing autographs for a few people who had already begun to gather. I noticed David Nykl was among them. He was wearing a white button-down, long sleeved shirt with thin light brown lines running horizontally and vertically making one inch squares across the fabric. Oh, and he had the moustache that he sported in a picture at the aforementioned link. (My dreams are very vivid and detailed, but just wait...) I was excited about seeing David Nykl, but I didn't want to look like an idiot and rush right over, so I decided to play it cool and wait for him at the next place he was scheduled to be. Well, I turned around to go there and saw him in front of me. For some reason, I thought it would be fun to barely brush his shoulder ("accidentally" of course) as I passed by. After I passed him, I began to run like a nit so as to get a good spot in line. I figured he wouldn't see me then, but he turned around and said, "Hey you with the go-go boots and hat, run this way later..." I looked down and saw what I was wearing. Oh, my gosh! I was wearing my mother's brown boots from the 70's with the clunky heels. (But instead of zipping up as hers actually did, these just pulled up--like go-go boots. And yes, I did have a pair of go-go boots in the 70's. Mine were white though.) As my eyes moved up my body, I noticed that I was also wearing my Mom's polyester shirt with the brown lines forming a "V" right in the middle. It had the big collar and matching belt tie. And of course to top it off, I was wearing my mother's crocheted winter hat with the crocheted bill and the big pom pon on top, except this one was brown and not orange. What a dork! (me, not him). I wanted to die.

Now, please note that when it comes to fashion, I hated the 70's. In my opinion, there were absolutely no redeeming features. I detest polyester (for myself anyway), which I was made to wear until the 80's because of an allergy to cotton that (Thank You God) I outgrew in 1974. (Yes, do the math.) I also cannot stand wearing brown or orange. My mother looks absolutely great in both, but me, well, let's just say I would have been better off naked and letting my long hair create a Lady Godiva effect. In this dream, I could feel my entire body covered with synthetic fabric. Ugh! So not only did I want to die of embarrassment, but I also desperately wanted to strip--and that takes a lot considering how modest I am.

If I were to tell Double O Daddy the whole dream, he would likely say what he usually says when I tell him my dreams, "Stop eating chili after 9." But, I suppose the real culprit here is the fact that I am due to turn 40 next week. You know, it's strange. All my life I have wanted to be older, and I have always looked forward to birthdays. When I was a kid (under 18), every birthday meant one day closer to being 18 and freedom. (I won't tell you what kind of freedom I mean, but I will tell you it's not what you think.) After I was 18, I felt that each birthday would bring me one year closer to being respected by others. And although that is not entirely the case, I will say that I feel that people respect me more now than they did then and certainly more than anyone ever did when I was a kid. And now, I don't really care if anyone else respects me because I respect myself. Sure, I've made mistakes--who hasn't? But, I think that even though I still have so many more improvements to make, I am happy with many of the ones I've made so far. And I respect myself because I keep on trying.

Back to birthdays... This is the first birthday that I have ever felt "old." I know that 40 isn't really old, but after having two kids within the last three years and wondering if my latest bout of nausea (that has lasted for the past three days) is something more than a bad burrito--not to mention a bad knee, bursitis, and a bad back--I feel so much older than I actually am. (If I am pregnant, then I think I must have looked at that photo of Paul McGillion too long--see my earlier post entitled, "I Dream of Paul McGillion?" Thanks, Paul.) Oh well, that's life. I just hope I didn't break my nose tripping down memory lane.

Things I Didn't Know Before I Had Kids

You know, there are so many things I didn't know before I had kids. (And there are still so many more I have yet to discover I'm sure.) For instance, I had no idea that for a child, selecting a Crispix from the cereal bowl was more stringent a process than selecting the next Miss USA. It's true. Here's something else I didn't know: children can start training for the Olympics in their own homes before they're even 12 months old. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it, but the J Man practices his discus throw on a regular basis. He may throw things backwards, but he's got great form. I also didn't know that a child less than five months old could do what I like to call "motor boating" where the child uses wet lips to make the sound of a motor boat engine--even with a bottle in her mouth. Nor did I know that a child could effectively get pinned in a child safety gate. Yep, the J Man (who is a big MacGyver fan and Angus wanna be) got his arm stuck between the wall and the child safety gate trying to open the basement door from this side of the gate. But I've got to hand it to him (no pun intended), after a few moments of wailing and tears, he went right back over to the gate and quite successfully started trying to open the basement door with his other arm. We would put a safety door knob cover on the door, but he learned how to pull those off months ago. (Did I say MacGyver wanna be?)

Speaking of MacGyver, I guess you really have to be careful of what you watch while your children are young and even while they are in the womb. Yes, when the J Man was only a few months old, I discovered the joy of hulu.com and fancast.com. We watched all of the MacGyver episodes they had. It was nice since I had missed them all the first time around. (During the years that I was in school, I really didn't watch any television.) Anyway, now, the kid thinks he's MacGyver. I guess it's not a bad thing that my child aspires to be like Mac, so I guess I lucked out on that one. It's just going to be a little tough during the toddler years. Oh, and I put Pretty Girl's outgrown bassinet in the way of the basement door so he can't open it. So far, it's working.

Here's another case in point. This last Christmas (while I was very pregnant with Pretty Girl), I received season 1-4 of Stargate Atlantis. I watched them faithfully whenever I needed a break, had to eat, or found a little time after the J Man went to bed. So, what happened? Pretty Girl was born on David Nykl's birthday. It was her choice, I had nothing to do with it. In fact, the doctors tried to induce her twice, but she wouldn't budge. I rather think it's kind of nice though; after all, he is my favorite, and I guess she must like him too. (But come on, who doesn't?) So, I guess I lucked out again.

I Dream of Paul McGillion?

Let me preface this post by saying that I quite often have very vivid, yet very weird dreams. In fact, anything, yes, anything can happen. That being said...

The other night, I dreamt that I was at my childhood church. I was about 20 and had two kids but was unmarried (in the dream, not in real life), and I don't recall any details as to who the father was or exactly how it came about that I had two kids. I just did. (You know how dreams are.) Anyway, while I was there, I saw my friend Paul McGillion who was also 20. (In my dream he was not a celebrity, just a friend and nothing more.) He put his arm around me in just a casual, friendly fashion and I felt a kick. Apparently, he was, well, um, potent (that's the word I'm going with) enough to cause my body to instantaneously conceive all by itself. (Where's the fun in that?) Later, when I tried to tell him what had happened, it happened again. So now, I was carrying two. Of course by this time, I was afraid to talk to him in any way except by telephone.

The next morning (now back to real life), I told Double O Daddy that I hadn't slept very well because I was dreaming, and I told him about it. I assured him that there was no funny business going on in the dream, but he didn't seem too worried about that. His response was a very casual, "Stop eating chili after 9 o'clock." Thank you Jeff Foxworthy.

Golly. Ah well, I suppose it's all Paul's fault anyway. I mean look at that photo. But I guess I better not look too long, huh?


P.S. If Paul M. ever reads this, I hope he's flattered and as good a sport as David N. was a few weeks ago. Thanks in advance.