Introduction to the World of PRs

Our youngest son introduced us to something new this spring.

Track & Field.

I know what you’re thinking.

A Peacock kid running?

Nope.

They don’t call him “Greased Lightning” on the football field for nothing.

(The nickname is ironic, just so you know.  And actually, just to set the record straight, it turns out Tyler can run.  But this is Bryce’s story today).

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yeah, throwing metal objects.  That’s what Bryce did in Track & Field…

Shotput

And Discus.

I guess they don’t let high school kids play with javelins.  Probably wise.

So here’s the interesting thing.  Well, it was interesting to me, since my kids have always played team sports.  There are amazing lessons to be learned in team sports but what I really liked about throwing is that it was much more about improving yourself instead of beating someone else.

PR.

Personal Record.

That was the goal each week—to do better than you did last week.  Someone didn’t have to lose for you to win.  Sweet.

Of course, if your best was better than someone else’s best, then you did get points for your team.  BUT.  The focus was on the individual competing against himself.  Is he progressing?

Bryce progressed.  He was awarded most improved on the throwing team. (Proud mother moment, sorry).

New life lessons with great applicability in real life.  I love the idea that we don’t have to compare ourselves to others to feel successful.  That someone else doesn’t have to lose for me to win.  And I love that the goal is to seek personal improvement rather than winner take all.

PR.

I like it.

The Lost Art of Groveling

I’ve had a hard time spending money the last few months.

Unbelievable, but true.

Put your feet up, it’s gonna be a rant.

First, I ordered new couches for the living room.  “Oh,” the salesman said, “we have these made to order couches where you can pick the fabric, the size, the arm shape, etc. and it only takes a 1-2 weeks.” 

Sounds good. Sign me up. 

At the end of week 2, I donate my old couches to a yard sale to send kids to soccer camp.  Win-win.  They make money, I have plenty of space for my new couches that are imminent.

That was 8 weeks ago.

I call the next week to get a status report.  They would check and call me back.

“Oh,” the voice says, “the factory would like to have a better picture of what you have in mind with the tufted pillows.”

They’re asking now?  1 week after the couches were to be delivered?  Alright.  I send a picture.

Two weeks later, I call to get a status report.  This is week 5.  They say they’ll call me back.  No call.  I call back two days later.

Oh, the fabric is on backorder.

For 8 more weeks.

Maybe someone should’ve told me that?  Like maybe the first week when they got the order, but certainly by the time I queried week 3?  Is there no follow up?

Um.  I’ve got no furniture in my living room, and company’s coming.  “We can get you loaner couches!”  They say.

Loaner couches? 

Alright.  8 weeks.  We’ll see.  Glad I only put a deposit down. 

Second.  (Yes, there’s more!)

I may have mentioned my obsession with this little beauty:

Well, I got the green light from the hubby so I headed on in to my local dealer and plop my checkbook on the counter.

Only.

Well, I guess I must be getting a little picky in my old age.  First I can’t find a couch I like so I have to build my own and now there’s not a car on the lot with the right mix of this-n-that to satisfy me.

I’ve waited 11 years for a new car.  I want what I want.

(Cue the violins, I know.  Everyone should have such problems.)

Of course, I get a green salesperson.  I tell him I’ll make it easy on him, just find me the car and I’ll buy it.  I’m happy to be his first sale.  Ever.

By that evening, he’s still coming up with lackluster solutions and not being creative.  We complain just loudly enough in the dealership that we get kicked up a notch.

The fleet manager will take care of us.  Oh there’s a car that’ll work in San Fran and another in Denver.  It’s late, he’ll try to make a trade and get one of them to me.  If not, we can order exactly what we want and it’ll take about 7 weeks.  Like I said I want what I want and I’ve waited 11 years, so I can wait 7 weeks.  He’ll call tomorrow.

But he doesn’t.  Seriously, the phone works just fine.  Just ask the telemarketers.

He finally calls me a day later.  I’m outside at a football event and there’s a gazillion people around so it’s hard to hear but I do get the gist that neither of the cars are available and he’s ordering my car. 

About halfway through the 7 weeks, I email just to get an expected delivery date and confirmation of the order.  Three days later I call his direct line (which he gave me to show how responsive he was being to our needs when we were sitting at his desk) since I’ve had no response.

“Oh.  Remind me the situation.  Do you have an order #?”

No lie.

No I don’t have an order number.  You told me over the phone you’d take care of me and you were ordering my car.  That’s ALL I know.

So, I tell him and he says he’ll call me back.  But, of course, he doesn’t.

I get busy, two weeks go by.  I call him again.  Of course, he has to call me back because he’s not in the office.  “And what was that order #?”  AAAARGH!!!

I’m done.  I start looking through on-line inventory and by now the new model year has come out so there’s a lot of cars.  None are MY car exactly, but there’s a couple of close ones.   I send in a query, and note in the comments that there may be, possibly, but I’m unsure, an order placed on a vehicle already for me, just in the interest of full disclosure.  I know how to communicate.

So the internet guy calls me 2 seconds later (now THAT’s what I expect from a car salesman!).

He’s happy to sell me the car I asked about but he’ll check on the order for me first.

Now I get a call from the OTHER fleet manager who actually orders vehicles.

“Do you no longer want the car on order?”

“Do I have a car on order?”

“Of course. The order was placed 3 weeks ago.”

Three weeks ago.  Exactly when I started calling Fleet Manager #1 to check on the status three weeks AFTER he said he’d ordered it.  Oops. 

Then Fleet Manager #2 starts telling me how wonderful he is for expediting the order after Fleet Manager #1 failed to order it originally.  Aren’t I just so impressed with FM #2?

What is missing is this part:

“Mrs. Peacock, I’m SOOOOOOO sorry WE dropped the ball originally.  You are so very important to us and we want to make sure you are satisfied in every way in making this VERY MAJOR purchase.” etc. etc.

Groveling.

Yes, I so miss groveling.  It would have made all the difference in my perception of both of these experiences.  Call me and tell me what’s going on.  Even if it’s bad news.  Apologize.  Accept responsibility.  Free stuff never hurts.  That I can live with and even come away with a positive experience.

You just don’t get enough of it these days.

Missed Opportunity

It occurred to me that the picture I should have included at the end of the last post was this one:

Now that’s more like it.

Thanks to Bryce for his mad SKILLZ.

Boys Being Boys… & I LOVE IT!

Bryce loves this show:

Recently, they had an episode where Adam and Jamie  (those guys ^ up there) were placed on a deserted island with an unlimited supply of duct tape and nothing more.  At the end of the episode, they made a canoe out of duct tape (see the last clip HERE).

Well, what should I see on the back porch the next day?

The engineers (Bryce & cousin Zack) hard at work making magic with duct tape, palm fronds & assorted items collected from the recycling bin.

Of course, then they needed to test it:

Pretty good, but how strong is it?  Let’s see if it will carry a 1 gallon container filled with water…

OR.  What about this ROCK? 

Um. No.  They mentioned trying to put a dog in it, but I nixed that idea too, much to Sparky’s relief.

SOOOO much better than playing video games.  I don’t even care that they used $20 worth of duct tape.  This is what boys should be doing on a beautiful spring day.

This Week’s Epiphany

Middle kids have it made.

First kids get the experimental parents.

Last kids get the worn out, lax parents.

Middle kids get the parents who are just right.

That explains why this middle child is nearly perfect in every way!

Could I be biased?  Absolutely.

The Kissing Gardener

We’ve had the same gardener for a couple of years.  He’s a great guy and eager to please.

There’s just this one little thing.

He’s very friendly.

VERY FRIENDLY.

Ordinarily, this would not be a problem.  Except.  He likes to kiss. Me.

It started simply enough.  I asked him to do a little extra in the yard last year.  Change out some plants, plant some flowers.  He was happy for the work.  He kissed me.  OK, I thought, he’s just expressing his gratitude.  That’s cool.

But then, the next time he saw me, he greeted me with a kiss.

I swear, only through my lightening quick reflexes did the kiss land squarely on my cheek.  Otherwise…!!!

It became a pattern.  A greeting kiss.  A see you later kiss.  And, I’ve really had the practice that quick face turn.  There have been many a near-miss! 

Last week he “greeted” me as I pulled into the garage after driving my husband home from a medical procedure.  Did I note a little surprise when Jeff got out of the car and he had just planted one on me?

Now, I like kissing as much as the next girl, but I’m kinda old fashioned.  Spouse, family, close friends. 

You can never overestimate the value of a good handshake.  I’d even settle for the ever popular air kiss.

 

OK, I’m a little uptight.  My friends keep telling me it’s nothing.  De nada.  It’s cultural. 

My response has been to hole up somewhere away from the windows on gardener days so he doesn’t know I’m home.  Even better, I plan NOT to be home.  I swear, he finds excuses to talk to me.  I know, now I’m just being paranoid.  It’s not like I’m overwhelming him with my revealing attire and flirtatious ways.  Kind of the opposite, I think.  Maybe he likes slightly dowdy middle-aged ice maidens?

Happy Birthday to my Honey Cousin

Today is my cousin Cathy’s birthday.

It would also have been Grandma Virginia’s 91st birthday. (Happy Birthday Gram!  I still miss you!)

I share Grandma’s name (my middle name is Virginia), Cathy shares her birthdate.  Grandma always said “honey cousin” instead of “cousin” in order to give full weight to this very special relationship.

Cathy was the first one who called me after I learned our Grandma had died.  She was the first one I wanted to talk to and I’m so glad she called me since she lives in Italy now and I have no idea how to call her.  She’s smart like that though, and she was so good to call our Grandma all the time and amuse her with funny stories about goats and vineyards and tractors.  Who knew when we were growing up that Cathy would come to know about goats and vineyards and tractors?! 

Cathy was the cousin nearest to me in age and we had many a caper growing up.  She was my person for so many years.  She talked me into shaving my legs and plucking my eyebrows for the very first time (Mom wasn’t so sure it was time but I thank you!).  I trusted her because she was older and wiser, and let’s face it, way cooler than me in the social hierarchy (we went to the same schools).

When we were young we grew our hair long and measured to see whose was longest.  She always won because mine was straighter than straight and hers was curly so when you stretched hers it was always longer.

She always wanted straight hair and I always wanted curly hair.  We used to get our hair done at the same place and she would be getting hers chemically straightened while I was perming mine. 

We spent many days together at our grandma’s.  Grandma had a closet with all of her fancy clothes and old prom and wedding dresses of my mom and aunts.  There were accessories and dyed to match shoes and Cathy and I would spend hours trying things on and pretending we were in pageants.

One time Cathy was over at my house and talked me into running away because she was mad at her mom for some random reason.  I wasn’t mad at mine, but somehow she convinced me that we should take my life savings ($.49, no lie) and hike to grandma’s 40 miles away.  We were convinced grandma would never rat us out so we started walking.

We lived in a small town so of course we ran into someone we knew (Cathy’s aunt on her mom’s side) at Circle K when we went in to spend my life savings (which only purchased a small grapefruit juice which neither of us liked but we thought we should hydrate).  Just out for a stroll, we said.

We continued on but regrets started creeping in.  By the time the sheriff spotted us, we were totally ready to go home.  Cathy returned to a hero’s welcome and I was grounded.  Really?

I love my honey cousin.  She is beautiful and funny and thoughtful.  I don’t know how I’m going to get through this weekend without her.