At the risk of losing my job, I am going to rant about a parent. I do not teach her child. This parent purchased a full page ad in the yearbook and she thinks she now owns me, the talent of my yearbook staff, and my school.
She turned in her artwork two months late. The lesson I have learned from all of this is refund the money. Nothing is worth this harassment.
Not only did she submit her artwork two months late, but she supplied 67 photos for her ad. Any idiot knows that 67 photos on a 9 x 12 inch page (with no bleeds, and .5 border) will be less than 1 inch square. Hello. The limit is 20 pictures. End of story. Don't I wish.
But because we "aim to please," we worked with this mother (f.....). We tried to build an ad for her lovely son, and we invited her to the newsroom to consult with us, and because I was out sick, she abused my advertising manager - who tried to accommodate her and made a new ad for her. When she saw her proof, she went off, to put it mildly. "NO! NO! NO!" she wrote on her proof.
Long story short, I told the mom she could take her artwork and pay a professional designer @ $85.00 an hour to design her ad for her. In three days.
Same mom has been back to the school to abuse the front office staff. "Where's my proof? I want to see Ms. Lyons! I paid $300 for this!" bla, bla, bla.
To Mrs. Mom: You need to get a grip. Look into my eyes. Hug your son. Two sets of our parents don't get to do that right now because their sons are dead. I am too busy right now to accommodate your delinquent needs because I have REAL parents who need my attention, 142 kids in my classroom who need me to teach them how to grieve and deal with the realities of life, a newspaper and a yearbook to manage, 80 pages of yearbook to lock up, and my own life to live (with my own family to attend to). Your tardy ad and ass can WAIT.
I have never felt so strongly about teaching a PARENT how to behave. Do you have any idea that there are other people who have bigger things in life to do than to accommodate your sorry ass?
You send me an email at 2:16 pm (about the time the fire drill bell rings) telling me that you are going to the grocery store and then stopping by the school to see your re-proof, and then have the NERVE to fuss at the office staff? You have NO appointment with me. I'm in my classroom redirecting the attention of 30 sophomores to the merits of Julius Caesar after a fire drill - oblivious to the chaos you are causing in the front office.
You have SOME nerve! I am so looking forward to the day I tell you this to your face - and it will be very soon. Like I said, hug your son. That is what really matters.
Get a grip.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Love
Such a wonderful thing, love is.
I love love. I love my life, my family, my friends, my critters, my job, that I have a beautiful home and days doing the thing I love most - publishing. I love that I have enough money in my bank account to live comfortably, food in my refrigerator and a great place to sleep at night. I love that I have a garage to keep my car in so I am not cold in the morning driving to work. And that I get to wake up every day knowing that each day is a new day.
I used to love the men in my life. I loved my husbands - Bruce and Michael - when they were lovable. And they were for a time. Bruce I fell in love with in 1986 because he was fun. He had been an outstanding musician in the band Oscar and I remember how great they were. He had two beautiful daughters and he so doted on them. During the year we dated, he treated me extremely well, and he seemed to want a better life for himself as I did. So I married him. But then he wasn't fun. He preferred drinking alcohol and doing drugs to socializing with the great new neighbors we met when we moved to a fabulous up-and-coming neighborhood. Then he started siphoning the money out of our bank account and then left me on the interstate five miles from home one cold, December night. He beat the tooty out of me for 17 minutes and burned me with his cigarettes and kicked me and tried to make me feel small. He was sick, and I was sick and tired of being maltreated. It was extremely unpleasant for several months. It took almost two years to undo that marriage, but I got to keep the house. That was my reward for that love affair.
Michael. OMG, how I loved him. He came into my life like a whirlwind. Just when I was ready to give up on love, he swept me off my feet and reminded me of how it feels to be loved unconditionally. We danced, we laughed, we sang, we camped, we travelled, we watched tv together and shared our fears and our failures. He won my mom's heart. We joked about commercials and saved dogs on the highway. But then he obsessed about physique. I was was thinner and more fit than I had ever been in my life, and he told me I was fat. He never knew the 190-pound me. I weighed 119 the day we married, and that wasn't good enough. I worked my ass off, literally, for him. And then, if that wasn't enough, I quit my job to be self-employed, he offended my neighbors, and he abused my credit cards when I was not paying attention. The clincher was Hurricane Isabel. My parents had a 10-ton tree land on their house, no power and enormous devastation to their home, and he refused to come help them. My brothers and I went to NN and when I returned five days later, Michael asked me to bring him ice - which I did. Then he told me I looked like hell. I hadn't had a hot shower in six days and he needed ice. I dumped the ice on the driveway, retrieved my dog and went home alone.
I don't regret loving these men. I learned a lot from them. Mostly, I became a stronger woman because of them - and for that, I can never thank them enough. I became self-reliant because of them - not despite them. I learned to love myself and my life unconditionally. Both of them taught me how conditional love is, and that conditions are unacceptable terms in a relationship. I hated that about them - and I think they know that now. But I can't say for sure.
Both of them have tried to reconnect with me since those days of long ago. I can't go back to unacceptable terms. I won't. They taught me how to love, but they also taught me how not to. For that, I am thankful, and I choose to love unconditionally anyway.
My terms? Love me because I am who I am. Don't tell me your terms. I don't want to hear them. Been there, done that.
What I love now is friends who accept me "warts and all"... and family members who don't put conditions on my love. There are only three of those: my mom, my dad, and my sister. And I have other family members who have stated conditions - well, you all can "bioya" because I don't accept the terms. There are no saints in this life. You can believe if you want to, but I don't - because I know you, I know who you are, what you've done, and you ain't no saints. And I am not one either - and I don't pretend to be.
What I want to be, and what I love the most about myself, is that I am true to who I am and what I am capable of. I love getting up every day and pushing myself to my limits. And God gives me the strength to be this person that I am.
I love that. So, Happy Valentine's Day, everybody. I love being me. So there.
I love love. I love my life, my family, my friends, my critters, my job, that I have a beautiful home and days doing the thing I love most - publishing. I love that I have enough money in my bank account to live comfortably, food in my refrigerator and a great place to sleep at night. I love that I have a garage to keep my car in so I am not cold in the morning driving to work. And that I get to wake up every day knowing that each day is a new day.
I used to love the men in my life. I loved my husbands - Bruce and Michael - when they were lovable. And they were for a time. Bruce I fell in love with in 1986 because he was fun. He had been an outstanding musician in the band Oscar and I remember how great they were. He had two beautiful daughters and he so doted on them. During the year we dated, he treated me extremely well, and he seemed to want a better life for himself as I did. So I married him. But then he wasn't fun. He preferred drinking alcohol and doing drugs to socializing with the great new neighbors we met when we moved to a fabulous up-and-coming neighborhood. Then he started siphoning the money out of our bank account and then left me on the interstate five miles from home one cold, December night. He beat the tooty out of me for 17 minutes and burned me with his cigarettes and kicked me and tried to make me feel small. He was sick, and I was sick and tired of being maltreated. It was extremely unpleasant for several months. It took almost two years to undo that marriage, but I got to keep the house. That was my reward for that love affair.
Michael. OMG, how I loved him. He came into my life like a whirlwind. Just when I was ready to give up on love, he swept me off my feet and reminded me of how it feels to be loved unconditionally. We danced, we laughed, we sang, we camped, we travelled, we watched tv together and shared our fears and our failures. He won my mom's heart. We joked about commercials and saved dogs on the highway. But then he obsessed about physique. I was was thinner and more fit than I had ever been in my life, and he told me I was fat. He never knew the 190-pound me. I weighed 119 the day we married, and that wasn't good enough. I worked my ass off, literally, for him. And then, if that wasn't enough, I quit my job to be self-employed, he offended my neighbors, and he abused my credit cards when I was not paying attention. The clincher was Hurricane Isabel. My parents had a 10-ton tree land on their house, no power and enormous devastation to their home, and he refused to come help them. My brothers and I went to NN and when I returned five days later, Michael asked me to bring him ice - which I did. Then he told me I looked like hell. I hadn't had a hot shower in six days and he needed ice. I dumped the ice on the driveway, retrieved my dog and went home alone.
I don't regret loving these men. I learned a lot from them. Mostly, I became a stronger woman because of them - and for that, I can never thank them enough. I became self-reliant because of them - not despite them. I learned to love myself and my life unconditionally. Both of them taught me how conditional love is, and that conditions are unacceptable terms in a relationship. I hated that about them - and I think they know that now. But I can't say for sure.
Both of them have tried to reconnect with me since those days of long ago. I can't go back to unacceptable terms. I won't. They taught me how to love, but they also taught me how not to. For that, I am thankful, and I choose to love unconditionally anyway.
My terms? Love me because I am who I am. Don't tell me your terms. I don't want to hear them. Been there, done that.
What I love now is friends who accept me "warts and all"... and family members who don't put conditions on my love. There are only three of those: my mom, my dad, and my sister. And I have other family members who have stated conditions - well, you all can "bioya" because I don't accept the terms. There are no saints in this life. You can believe if you want to, but I don't - because I know you, I know who you are, what you've done, and you ain't no saints. And I am not one either - and I don't pretend to be.
What I want to be, and what I love the most about myself, is that I am true to who I am and what I am capable of. I love getting up every day and pushing myself to my limits. And God gives me the strength to be this person that I am.
I love that. So, Happy Valentine's Day, everybody. I love being me. So there.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Good news.
I love good news. Happy things.
Like today. I shipped the third issue of the paper to the printer. I never thought it would happen, but it did. A week and a day late, but it is at the printer. So, the good news is just that. Now, we'll see how it is perceived.
Like today. I shipped the third issue of the paper to the printer. I never thought it would happen, but it did. A week and a day late, but it is at the printer. So, the good news is just that. Now, we'll see how it is perceived.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Deadlines
One of the reasons I like the publishing world is there is an end. Deadlines make things real. Today is the day it is due. No ifs, ands or buts. Today is the day. It's a simple concept, really. If a story is due for the newspaper that publishes tomorrow, today is the day you must turn it in or it won't be in the paper. Likewise, if a page must be finished before it can be printed, that means all the words, pictures, headlines, captions, text, art, etc. must be there, or it won't be ready to print. Simple. Not rocket science.
Explain that to a high school student journalist. Worse: Explain that to their parents. "URGENT EMAIL: I forgot to submit my senior ad in November. I know it is February, but can you make room for my late tribute to my child." That would be a no. "HI, AGAIN. I know that underclass pictures were taken in Sept. and Oct., but can you put my cherub's picture in the yearbook?" People pages locked up in December. "IT'S FEBRUARY, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!!!!! What part of NOOOOOOO don't you understand?"
I hate them, the "deadline extension mongers." Not just an extension, but an abuse of dignity. How dare they. They will be the first ones to complain when a paper or a yearbook doesn't come out "on time" but yet they are the ones who want to drag it out, try to squeeze in their special something. I hate them. And they are rude about it. "I WANT TO KNOW WHEN THE DEADLINE WAS AND WHEN YOU DECIDED THAT MY CHILD WOULD BE LEFT BEHIND!!!"
Hello, mom. Hello, dad. You're child got left behind when you didn't turn in the freaking paperwork on time. Or you let your child miss school that day and he didn't get his ugly mug taken for the yearbook. Then, your child is so used to you jumping through his ass that he didn't show up to get his picture taken on make-up picture day. This is why his picture won't be in the yearbook. You don't get to write me a nasty email and accuse ME of something that YOU failed to do.
I can't wait until I get to tell them this to their face.
In the meantime, I'll just say "No. It is too late. Sorry!" and then I'll come home and write a 20-minute blog about it. I hate rude people who can't accept that they have failed at something and don't want to hear "no" as the answer to their request.
Whatever happened to grace and dignity? I guess some people would blame it on the Bill Clintons of the world and excuse themselves by saying "I did it because I could." Well, no, bubba, you can't. Some of us will be offended and stick by our deadlines. Even if we could fix this problem for you, we won't - because we can simply say "no."
A deadline is a deadline, and I stand by it. Because I can.
Explain that to a high school student journalist. Worse: Explain that to their parents. "URGENT EMAIL: I forgot to submit my senior ad in November. I know it is February, but can you make room for my late tribute to my child." That would be a no. "HI, AGAIN. I know that underclass pictures were taken in Sept. and Oct., but can you put my cherub's picture in the yearbook?" People pages locked up in December. "IT'S FEBRUARY, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!!!!! What part of NOOOOOOO don't you understand?"
I hate them, the "deadline extension mongers." Not just an extension, but an abuse of dignity. How dare they. They will be the first ones to complain when a paper or a yearbook doesn't come out "on time" but yet they are the ones who want to drag it out, try to squeeze in their special something. I hate them. And they are rude about it. "I WANT TO KNOW WHEN THE DEADLINE WAS AND WHEN YOU DECIDED THAT MY CHILD WOULD BE LEFT BEHIND!!!"
Hello, mom. Hello, dad. You're child got left behind when you didn't turn in the freaking paperwork on time. Or you let your child miss school that day and he didn't get his ugly mug taken for the yearbook. Then, your child is so used to you jumping through his ass that he didn't show up to get his picture taken on make-up picture day. This is why his picture won't be in the yearbook. You don't get to write me a nasty email and accuse ME of something that YOU failed to do.
I can't wait until I get to tell them this to their face.
In the meantime, I'll just say "No. It is too late. Sorry!" and then I'll come home and write a 20-minute blog about it. I hate rude people who can't accept that they have failed at something and don't want to hear "no" as the answer to their request.
Whatever happened to grace and dignity? I guess some people would blame it on the Bill Clintons of the world and excuse themselves by saying "I did it because I could." Well, no, bubba, you can't. Some of us will be offended and stick by our deadlines. Even if we could fix this problem for you, we won't - because we can simply say "no."
A deadline is a deadline, and I stand by it. Because I can.
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