Brilliant … But Bouncy

NOT VALID!

This morning, to finish up my Christmas shopping, I ordered gift boxes and tissue paper at Target – then went to the store and picked up my order.

I’ve made it my mission to actually pay for (rather than charge) everything I buy this year for Christmas. As such, I’ve been keeping a close eye on my credit cards and paying my bills as soon as I make any charges. But for Target, I save 5% (woo hoo!) by using my Target credit card – so I have to pay that charge separately.

So I hopped online to login and make a payment. This is usually pretty easy. I typed in my username and password.

A bold, bright red error message appeared: NOT VALID!

I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Maybe I had changed my password. I tried a few different ones, and finally – humiliated – I clicked on “forgot password?”

“Please choose one of the following ways to login,” said the new page. My choices were to type in the year that I got my Target credit card (which could have been ANY year in the past 30) or the last four digits of my social security number. I typed in the last four digits of my social security number.

An error message appeared next to my the SSN box: NOT VALID!

  We’re sorry, but the Last Four Digits of the Primary Cardholder’s Social Security Number you entered is incorrect. Please try again.

I was beginning to get peeved. Rather than re-enter the correct digits a few dozen times, I decided to call. I found the number online, and dialed.

“So that we can help you, please enter the last four digits of your card number and press pound.”

I did that.

“Now please enter the last four digits of your social security number and press pound.”

Then I did that.

The system responded with: “Want to make managing your account even easier? Go to target.com/myredcard to enroll online….”

Gee. I had already enrolled online. I needed to speak with someone about accessing my account. I tried pressing zero.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t recognize that,” the system said. I pressed zero. I pressed 1, 2 and 3. I listened to all of the automated prompts. I couldn’t speak with a human being.

So I visited gethuman.com – the best resource for finding out how to talk to a real person when phone systems are useless.

After 20 minutes, I found something that told me to “repeatedly say ‘customer service’ until you get the option to dial 0.”

I called back. I said, “customerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservicecustomerservice….”

Finally, something shifted in the system. I pressed zero – and got a real human being. He helped me reset my password, but did nothing to help the system recognize my social security number. (The second person with whom I talked assured me that this “just happens sometimes, for security reasons.” In other words, no one will ever fix the system, and it will never recognize my social security number.)

Still, finally, after only an hour, I was able to log in to my account. With my pending purchase this morning, my total amount owed was $104.58. So I logged in, clicked “pay my bill,” and typed in “$104.58.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. There it was – another “NOT VALID!”

“The amount entered exceeds the amount owed,” the website said. “Please enter a lower amount.”

Quietly, without throwing anything, I left the Target website. I went to my bank website, clicked on “Make Payment,” and paid Target $104.58.

And I sincerely believe I will never, ever use the Target credit card website again.

Are You Absolutely Sure?

The second quarter started while Dylan was out of town. We were on our final college road trip of the year (I hope) so I deemed it worthwhile that he miss yet another day of school to become inspired about his future.

The following Monday, on the second day of the second quarter, Dylan came home with no homework and nothing to do.

“I’m already all caught up,” he said. “There was surprisingly nothing to do.”

“Great,” I said – fully believing him.

On Tuesday, Dylan was having a friend over after school. “Did you get everything done for tomorrow?” I asked. “And did you talk to your teachers about any missing work?”

“YES, Mom,” he said. “I did everything I needed to do.”

“And you talked to all of your teachers about it? Are you absolutely sure?”

“YES!” Dylan growled, nearly biting off my head. “I talked to every single one of them! I don’t have anything to do!”

“Okay,” I said – mostly believing him.

The following day, I randomly checked online to see if any grades had been posted for the new quarter. Dylan was failing history, since he had turned in absolutely nothing, and he was missing two out of four precalculus assignments – one of which was already past due and could not be turned in.

The other classes haven’t posted any grades yet, or I am certain that Dylan would have more missing assignments.

I texted Dylan. I was vague, but I made my point. “The next time you want to have a friend over, I will think twice about it.”

He went off the deep end (via text). He assured me that, as usual, “I’m still making up some stuff…. but I know what all of it is.”

When I reminded him that he’d told me it was already done, he said – and I quote: “I did not say that. I said I had all the work DONE which is true. I did not say it was all in.”

Sigh.

From now on, I will not “fully” believe him – ever. Sadly, I will probably still “mostly” believe him more often than I should.

What Would Bill Do?

Today is Bill’s birthday.

Bill is a good husband. Not only does he work hard, pay the bills, and fix things around the house, but he constantly strives to make me happy. Both the fixing and the striving, however, make me absolutely crazy. On most days, I just want him to relax and worry about himself, instead of working 24/7 to make everyone else happy.

But he is a decent man and a good provider, and he’s both funny and incredibly smart. The fact that he drives me bonkers isn’t surprising – because I am generally unsatisfied with everything, all the time. Almost anyone can drive me bonkers.

Luckily, I am not my children’s only role model.

While Bill is a good husband, he is a great father. He has three wonderful boys, and they all know that they can turn to him if they need anything. Sometimes they need something simple, like a new battery for a toy. Other times they need something more substantial, like advice on navigating relationships. Somehow, Bill always responds in a level-headed manner. He answers questions in ways that make sense.

I think this stems from the fact that Bill is a truly moral human being. Most people recognize this as soon as they meet Bill. It’s easy for me to overlook when he leaves his cup on the counter or his shoes on the living room floor – but it is obvious to me when I reflect, and it is always apparent to his family and friends.

One of the reasons I love Bill – and certainly one of the biggest reasons I am glad that he fathered my children – is because of his moral decency. He works hard to make the world a better place, starting with the way he treats other people. Bill is the strongest proponent of the Golden Rule I have ever known. And as such, he is a spectacular role model for his children and everyone around him.

Sometimes I find myself saying, “What would Bill do?” Then, when I imitate my husband, I find that I get better results than if I had followed my own, more limited instincts.

Bill and I have our issues, as all couples do, and he definitely drives me crazy. He’s 100% ADHD, and I am fairly certain that Bill also has a vision processing disorder. Both of my kids’ issues can be attributed to my husband’s genes, although he’s never been diagnosed with anything. And it’s terribly challenging dealing with an adult with ADHD who medicates himself only with coffee, and who doesn’t process things in any organized fashion. We argue way too much over very small things.

But the big things are what matters. And Bill’s heart is in the right place. His goodness is real.

So when someone comes to him – a stranger or a coworker or a cashier or one of his beloved children – when someone comes to Bill for help, he listens to the best of his ability. Then he responds calmly and rationally. And whatever solution Bill suggests will cause the other person to believe that they’ve come up with the solution on their own – even though it’s actually from the wisdom of Bill’s years of experience.

And today, we celebrate another year of that wisdom. Happy birthday, Bill.

She Suggested That We Try a Planner!

Dylan really struggled with the forty assignments due in history during the first quarter. So I wrote an email to his history teacher:

“Even with all the allowances made for his being sick (THANK YOU!), Dylan has three D’s and six E’s due to missing assignments…. What can we do to improve his communication with you, so that he knows what’s due – and actually gets it turned in WHEN it’s due?”

I got a response a few days later, and I nearly guffawed at his teacher’s suggestion. I know she is young – it may even be her first year teaching – but to think that we hadn’t tried this already was laughable.

“A suggestion I have for Dylan to know exactly what is due and when it is due is a planner (or some other way for him to consistently write down assignments and due dates).  I have plenty of spare composition books and spiral notebooks, and his school has planners he could use.  Because Dylan prefers things to be on the computer, he could also have a chart (online) that he can share with his teachers and add to daily?  I think these are better than a weekly piece of paper, because it is less likely to get lost.”

She suggested that we try a planner! I nearly fell out of my chair. A brilliant idea, yes! But would it work?

No. Categorically, no, it would not work.

The following was only part of my gently constructed response:

“We have tried regular planners, special ADHD-organized planners, personal lists, special folders, small chalkboards, special notebooks, recording devices, phone apps and combinations of all of the above. We even tried having him write the assignment on the board AND then take a picture of it with his phone – but he often forgot to do that, too….”

I am not sure his teacher understands that she is suggesting something that didn’t work for Dylan after trying it for eight years.

So we are at Square One in history. Sometimes I think it’s just a matter of the teacher realizing that there are kids with ADHD – real ADHD – who can’t organize and remember everything the way we would like.

A planner. What a wonderful idea.

We Are So White!

We were getting ready for Thanksgiving dinner.

“What time are we going?” Shane asked.

“We’re eating at 2:00,” I replied.

Dylan chimed in. “We are so white!”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean,” Dylan said, “I just saw a meme that said, ‘White People.’ The whole family was sitting down to dinner at exactly 2:00. And now we’re eating at exactly 2:00. We’re just like the meme!”

“For the record,” I said, “we were originally going to eat at 1:00 but we weren’t sure the turkey would be done in time. We actually changed the time to 2:00.”

“We’re just doing what all the other white people do,” he said. Dylan did not sound enthused about this.

I am not sure what other races do. We are pretty much all white. We’re like unhealthy bread, I guess.

I don’t know if Dylan was just stating the obvious, or if he was concerned that we were too average, or if he wanted us to be more like … well, some other race.

We live in a country where the word “white” has recently become even more associated with “supremacist.” And we live in an area of the country – the nation’s capital, in fact – where the “white” population is a minority.

So Dylan is torn. He’s very conscious of the fact that he is white, and he’s not necessarily proud of that fact. And as much as I am fine with “who I am,” I have to agree. In the past year particularly, I have been exceptionally stupefied by the words and actions of people claiming that – by some odd miracle of birthright – Caucasians are “more worthy” of all the goodness that life offers.

Personally, I think that goodness is a gift from God – and that everyone has a right to live however they want to live, regardless of where, how or to whom they were born.

And while I make no excuse for sitting down at the table at 2:00 on Thanksgiving day, I now have the thought lurking at the back of my mind: “We are so white.”

Maybe next year, just to be safe, we’ll eat at 1:00.

I’ll Restate the Question.

Shane was incredibly nervous about his upcoming Mock Trial Competition. His student court class woke up in the middle of the night, hopped on a bus that left at 4:00 in the morning, and arrived at the real Durham, North Carolina courthouse in time to present a civil case to an actual judge and mock jury.

Shane was one of the lawyers for the plaintiff. His greatest fear was that he wouldn’t know how to respond if one of the defense team’s lawyers objected to any of Shane’s questions.

“What is it, exactly, that’s worrying you?” I asked him.

“I just don’t know what to say back,” Shane said. “And we’re competing against another school. I don’t even know why they will object. And I don’t even know the people.”

“Just pretend that they are your friends,” I said. “And answer them as best you can.”

Later, when I saw Shane’s script, he showed me the notes he’d written in the margins. He’d analyzed all of his questions, guessed at any and all possible objections, and written down answers to every, single objection.

But when Shane questioned his witness, there was only one objection – and it didn’t have anything to do with Shane’s question.

“Objection!” bellowed the defense. “The witness is using notes!”

The judge – a real, sworn judge commissioned to oversee the mock trial – looked directly at Shane. “Your response, Counsel?”

Shane barely blinked. “I didn’t know there was anything wrong with that,” he said.

The judge stepped in. He explained for a few minutes how and when witnesses are allowed to use notes – and that, if the case were real, she would not be able to use notes. He talked about expert testimony, and the differences in kinds of testimony.

While the judge talked, Shane sat completely still. His fear had come true – the defense had objected – and this unexpected turn of events kept him listening carefully, waiting to see what would be next.

Given the nature of the mock trial, though, the judge finally said, “In this case, I will allow the witness to use notes.”

Shane didn’t stammer, and he didn’t miss a beat.

“I’ll restate the question,” Shane said. And then he restated the question.

There were no more objections made during Shane’s questioning. And after the trial ended, the other school voted for Shane as “Best Attorney” on the plaintiff’s team.

I still have the award hanging on the refrigerator, next to a photo of a very stolid Shane in his suit and tie, standing in that North Carolina courtroom.

Get Up Here!

Shane was reading my blog, and was rather disheartened to find so very few blog posts “about” him. He read me about a dozen titles in a row – all of which were focused on his brother.

But he was especially interested in the new blog about his ability to remain anonymous for an infinite number of school bus rides.

He highlighted a short part of the post, and pointed to it. “Mom,” he said. “That’s completely an understatement!”

Then Shane told me the story – the way it really happened. I told him to write it down. And while I proofed it just a tad, I allowed Shane to write my blog post this time.

So here is Shane’s corrected version:

School was finally over. Shane walked to the back of the bus and sat down.

After about a minute, a loud, female voice came through the bus’ loudspeaker. It was the bus driver.

“Hey, you! In the red, in the back of the bus!”

Shane looked down at his outfit. He was wearing all plain black, no red at all. He looked around and saw a few other people wearing red jackets and t-shirts. He decided to go back to minding his own business.

The bus driver angrily spoke again. “You! Get up here! Come to the front of the bus!”

Shane decided to stand up to see if she was talking to him. He pointed at himself and mouthed, “Me?”

“Yes you! Get up here!”

Shane walked up, confused about what he had done to cause this aggression from the driver.

“I’ve never seen you on this bus. You don’t ride this bus!” she said.

“Bus 6195, right?”

“Oh. Never mind. Go back to your seat.”

So, in fact, the school bus driver made the entire experience substantially worse than I remembered. Thanks for sharing, Shane!

The Comedy Class is ON!

Shane is not an overtly emotional person. If anything, the word “reserved” is an understatement.

So-called “bad” things seem to roll off of him, or even over him. And while he does process these things, he almost always considers them with intelligence and rationality. Shane rarely gets upset, and when he does get angry or sad, he deals with his emotions on a personal level. Then he moves on.

In other words, emotionally speaking, Shane is the most mature person I’ve ever met.

But I am watching from the sidelines as his increasingly rare “wants” are all-but ignored. It starts at home, with Shane’s parents spending most of their time and energy on things other than Shane. While Shane entertains himself, his parents are on the phone, the computer, and working elsewhere. On the occasions when their time isn’t already taken on themselves, their energies are almost always focused on Dylan’s wants, needs and happiness.

Meanwhile, Shane has only a few interests – one of which is rock climbing. Last year, he took rock climbing lessons – and loved them. Unfortunately, he aged out of the class while still a beginner, and wasn’t practiced enough to get into any of the teen leagues – so he had to give up rock climbing.

A similar plight happened two years ago, when Shane was incredibly excited – for the first time ever – to learn how to play baseball. He got a new glove and practiced throwing in the yard. He took an hour’s worth of batting lessons at a local cage.

But they only had enough players for two teams. The “other” moms and dads didn’t want to watch games between the same two teams every week, so they canceled the entire season.

Shane didn’t ask to play baseball again. And he won’t have a chance to do any rock climbing until he joins the high school club (if he still wants to do that by then).

We also signed him up for a comedy/acting class this fall. I got an email last week that said the class “may be canceled due to low enrollment.”

Given our history, I was genuinely surprised when they decided they had enough people enrolled after all! It was a glorious day.

After warning him about the possible impending doom last week, I texted right away when I got the news: “Shane! The comedy class is ON!”

Several minutes later, a texted came in from Shane. “Okie,” it said. (That’s as enthused as he gets.)

And Shane is going to play ping pong again for the winter session. Shane loves ping pong. We are fortunate enough to live near a world-famous table tennis center – one that has actually trained champions and Olympians in the art of ping pong.

My pessimism, however, is getting the best of me. I expect that, sometime soon, the Olympic-ping-pong-training center will suddenly decide to make a move, taking its entire organization and reputation far away – maybe to California, or New York.

It’s just the way things go for Shane.