I've been reading a blog by a woman named Lenore Skenazy. Ms. Skenazy, some
of you may remember, is the woman who let her nine-year-old son ride the
subway alone one day. She wrote about the experience in NY Times column and
suddenly found herself on every talk show in the country defending herself
against accusations of being the worst mom in America.

The introduction of Ms. Skenazy's blog reads: "We believe in helmets, car
seats and safety belts. We do NOT believe that every time school age
children go outside, they need a security detail." The blog entries and
various posts remind me of a letter that was written here several months
ago. I won't go into details of that letter, but basically put the LW let
her eight-year-old son visit the children's section of the bookstore by
himself. She was then pelted with the Internet equivalent of rotten
tomatoes for letting her son do this.

Since then, I've described this letter to many people and asked for their
opinion, including my own mother, my sister, several friends, and my
childless office mate (who lived in New York City and said young kids ride
the subway ALL THE TIME). Only one parent thought this was horrendous
parenting (but she also freely admits she is overprotective and won't let
her kids play in their own backyard by themselves). The rest really didn't
see a problem. One said, "The kid is eight; it's not like he's two."
Another said, "It's not like the kid is wandering the streets at midnight
while the mom's out dancing. It's a frickin' bookstore."

I know many people will point out that child molesters and kidnappers are
EVERYWHERE and no place is really truly safe. I agree. But, as one
commenter on Ms Skenazy's article put it, "In the interest of keeping our
kids safe, we are raising overprotected, sheltered dimwits who have no
ability to think for themselves or any ability to use common sense." The
poster went on to describe a child she babysits for who has never rode a
bike (his mom is afraid he'll fall and get hurt), never shot a basketball
(the ball might bounce back and hit him the face), or played in his
backyard without at least one parent hovering over him. (He's nine.)

Don't get me wrong. I believe in keeping our kids safe, absolutely. But
there's concern, and then there's OVER-concern, and personally I think a
child is missing out on a great value to learn how to think and use common
sense in situations. I'm not suggesting we should all let our kids roam the
streets at 10 p.m. to learn about common sense and bravery; however, I also
don't think it's bad parenting to let a kid ride his bike to the park or
walk a mile to school by himself.

I mean, I'm back for what - the second time now? It doesn't look I'm
leaving again, so I might as well.

Anyways, I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas (or Chanukah, Kwaanza,
I'm sure I'm forgetting a holiday in there) and happy New Year.

No, I'm not kidding. Sometime overnight, the pod people came in and took my
easy-going, cooperative, and rather congenial child. In his place they put
a negative, uncooperative, defiant, and cranky little boy who looks just
like my son but isn't.

Okay, I'm kidding. Well, not really. My son is now entering the stage known
as "terrible twos." "NO!" comes out of his mouth just as often as "yes" (or
"Mmmm hmmm" in his case). We frequently get into arguments about what he
wants to do versus what I want him to do. And yesterday, after telling him
"no" several times, he ran right out of the gate at the park we visited. I
caught up to him pretty quick, and for his antics he got a stern "no", a
quick whack on the butt, and a warning that if it happened again we were
leaving. (Note: I'm not normally in the habit of spanking my kid, but this
park is right off of a busy street in a nearby suburb, and I wanted to send
a message that is NOT okay to run away from Mommy to a busy street.)

On Saturday, he walked on to our deck and had an immediate meltdown. Why? I
don't know. The air? Trees? Maybe a bird flew by? He inhaled oxygen? Who
knows. All I know is I was thinking to myself just a couple of weeks ago
how easy my son was. I was wrong.

He's not always this contrary. I would say most of the time he's pretty
easy-going. But the "episodes", for lack of a better word, are getting more
frequent, which means I have to change my strategy.

Time-outs, here we come.

As many of you know, I volunteer for our local Humane Society as a Small
Animal Socializer. It's something I've done for five years now, and I love
it. I especially like sitting in front of the small animal room with a
bunny or guinea pig and seeing a child's face light up with excitement at
getting to pet (and learn) about the animal.

But one thing I don't like is the lack of parental common sense I see on a
continual basis. Too many parents seem to think the sign above our building
says "WHS Playground and Petting Zoo." They'll let their children run amok
through the facility, unsupervised, while there are cages of live animals,
easily accessible to eager fingers. It shouldn't take a rocket scientist to
know that even the most docile animal can bite if provoked.

Unfortunately, this past Sunday I had the displeasure of meeting one parent
who wasn't blessed with the common sense God gave even the average billy
goat in understanding this concept. He had his three children with him -
two boys and a girl. The boy got bit by one of our rats up for adoption.
Even though I was close by, I didn't see the actual incident, but I'm sure
I know what happened: the kid has his fingers in the cage and got bit. I
mean, it's kind of difficult to get bit if your fingers aren't in the cage
in the first place, right?

What really pissed me off though was the parents acted like it was OUR
fault. They had to fill out a report (which is standard procedure in cases
like this), but then they insisted on taking pictures of the rat, the set
up in the room, etc. Two WHS employees then made signs stating that fingers
are to be kept out of cages because animals can nibble. The father was
upset: "These signs weren't here before! Why not?" Well, you see sir, we
erroneously assumed parents would have enough common sense to understand
that ANIMALS BITE and letting your kids stick their fingers in an
unfamiliar live animal's cage is A REALLY BAD IDEA. But you proved us
wrong.

The kid in this case was old enough to know better, and if he didn't, the
parental figure STANDING RIGHT BEHIND HIM THE ENTIRE TIME certainly
should've been. So now this poor rat is being re-evaluated for
"aggressiveness" when really, it was the kid's and parents' own damn fault.
Frankly, I consider it a good lesson learned, one the kid obviously isn't
getting at home.

Oh, and thanks for proving Darwin wrong, Dad.

I just missed the lot of you. :) Plus, as anyone who knows me can attest, I
just can't resist sharing my opinion.

To be honest, I don't know how much I'll be posting here. In between being
very busy at work, having a suddenly vocal, active (and often
uncooperative) toddler, and my farm and Mafia Wars on Facebook, I don't
know how much I'll be posting. But I'll be around.

So, what' new? How's your summer going? Mine's going okay. Been kind of
busy.

Anything else? Okay, well see you later.

So everyday I log in to my e-mail account, and everyday there is the big
screaming headline about "THE SWINE FLU." Normally, I just sigh and move
on, convinced it's more fear-mongering by our respected media, but this
time it kind of scares me. A national and international pandemic? In the
year 2009, who would think someone could die of the FlU?

My husband and I are going to Vegas in less than two weeks, and for once
I'm a little concerned about travel. I'm not worried about getting the flu
- my immune system is descended from German gods - but I certainly don't
want to pass anything to my son.

By the way, has anyone read "The Stand' recently?

Last year, I took my son to his three-month well-baby appointment. My
husband and I have been going to this clinic (an offshoot of a major health
organization) for a few years and love the care we receive from our
doctors. The problem was the staff. They were rude, disorganized, and
seemingly incompetent. We'd call to make an appointment and have to wait 10
minutes while the person on the other end figured out how to do this. (I'm
not kidding.) Then, it was a crapshoot on whether the appointment would
even register. I can't tell you the number of times my husband or I had to
reschedule an appointment because the staff made an appointment while his
doctor was on vacation, or on a day off, or canceled the appointment for
whatever reason, or made it for the wrong day...the list goes on.

We were both pretty fed up, but C's three-month appointment was the last
straw. I stood waiting for nearly five minutes while the staff finished up
a personal conversation about some janitor they thought was hot. Then, one
of the women looks at me like I'm some kind revolting bug that stepped into
her field of vision and asks, in the snottiest tone you can imagine, asks,
"Can I help you?"

Aw hell no. Most of the time I just let this stuff go, but after a year (or
two) of shabby treatment I had enough. I kept my cool, but during C's
appointment, I told my doctor what happened. I also said it was just the
culmination of her staff's attitude and lack of capability, and that, while
I loved the care I got from her, I wasn't willing to put up with her staff
anymore.

Unbeknownst to me, my husband had the same conversation with HIS doctor
after having to reschedule an appointment no less than four times due to
their staff's errors. Both of our doctors said they needed to know this and
that our complaints were not the first they had received on this subject.

A year and half later, things are better. I've noticed there are new people
and while they may not be the paragon of professionalism at all times, they
are much nicer, easier to work with, and much more competent. I no longer
dread calling the doctor's office.

Many of you may have noticed that I've been taking the OP's side more. It's
not because I'm trying to be a pain in the ass or get everyone riled up
with my different outlook; it's because I've made a resolution to try and
look at the situation from the writer's point of view.

The reason is that while I've worked retail and know first-hand how
difficult certain people can be, I'm also a consumer and know how difficult
companies can be. I too have walked in a store and been treated like I
don't belong there. I too have waited on hold forever only to be given the
runaround or worse yet, been given really bad information. I too have
ordered something from a restaurant only to get home and find it's all
wrong. I too have tried to pay for a purchase only to find out what I
wanted to purchase isn't on sale due to a store's sloppy signage. I too
have been told something that isn't true by a salesperson and found out the
opposite. And I too have been confronted with policies that don't make any
sense and seem to change on an arbitrary basis.

In a lot of cases, there were things **I** could've done differently -
checked the order, read the contract, brought my receipt - but there are
also many things the company could've done better too: been a little more
pleasant, made sure the order was accurate, not lied to a potential
customer. In many cases, there is a better way to handle the situation.
Let's face it; in this economy, companies can't cherry pick through their
customer base anymore.

I'm not suggesting every complaint is 100% valid and a company should give
in to every demand, reasonable or not. I am saying, however, that in many
cases, there may be some validity in what the customer is saying, and
rather than say the same old thing of "you're wrong", I'd prefer to say
"Well, you're not 100% right, but...."

I'm also trying to be less judgmental. We're all guilty of it - some more
than others - but I think there's enough condescension on here without me
adding to the mix.

The basic premise of PFB is allowing people an outlet to give feedback to
companies (and, I think, to get resolutions for consumers). Without this
feedback, how will a company know what their customers are thinking? I may
not always agree with PFB, but I do agree with the essential point of the
site, and I'm trying to change my commenting style to reflect this.

So, my son starting "speaking" a couple of weeks ago. I put "speaking" in
quotation marks because it's not like he's ready for Masterpiece Theater
quite yet, but he is starting to converse in toddler-ese that I can
understand.

Now his verbal repertoire includes "nyah" (snack), "muh" (milk, along with
the hand sign for it), "hey you!" (when I greet him in the morning), "hi",
"nuh" (no), "dah" (that, as in "I want that...NOW!"), and "eiy" (kitty) as
well as his former favorites of "dada", "mama", and "uh-oh."

But one of the most endearing things he does is say "daddy." As soon as he
hears my husband come home from work, he'll rush to the back door yelling,
"Da-ee, Da-ee!" Or if he and I are in another room, and I ask, "Where's
Daddy?" he'll rush out of the room calling, "Da-ee? Da-ee?"

And I can tell him things, like "Let's get your jacket on" or "Okay, time
to go bed" and he listens. This morning I asked, "Do you want waffles or
french toast?" and showed him the two boxes. (He picked waffles.) It's
great being able to communicate with him but also a little disconcerting
that he's no longer a baby.

They grow up way too fast.

Natasha Richardson's death hit me pretty hard. It's not like she was best
friend or anything, but the circumstances surrounding her death really
shook me. She was only a few years older than me and her life was, in some
ways similar to mine. She was a mother, had a great husband and marriage,
and woke up two days ago never thinking it would be her last day on earth.

Since I became a mother a year and a half ago, these sort of morbid
thoughts will flood my mind at the most inopportune time. Last night I
thought to myself, what if tomorrow (Friday) is my last day and I don't
know it? What if my hugs and kisses goodbye to my toddler are my last?

But I think it has to do with turning 40 this year too. Half of my life is
over. Half! I'm now entering middle age. The term "middle age" conjurs up
images of dowdy women with bifocals and Betty White hairdos. Though I know
that's not always the case (Angela is "middle age" and who can picture her
with Betty White hair?), I just feel like I can't get away with all the
"younger" things I used to do. I guess I never thought I'd get older.

And now that I'm getting older, I'm starting to ponder my own longevity. I
shouldn't; I know I should be focusing on my son, my marriage, my job, but
I can't help thinking that this great shift in my life is occuring.

Gah. Maybe I can pretend it's not happening. Maybe I'll just lie and tell
people I'm 35.

Yesterday, on my way to work, I was listening to the usual prattling of
morning DJs on a local radio station. They were talking about Valentine's
Day and how many people stay in bad or going-nowhere relationships just
because it's easier than being alone. Then they opened the phones to the
question "Are you afraid of being alone?"

Most people who called in said, "Oh no. It's better than being with someone
you'd rather not." I think they're lying. Well, maybe not lying, but
they're definitely in denial.

I think for most people it's the exact opposite: they ARE afraid to be
alone but are ashamed to admit it. Society places a lot of emphasis on
family, marriage, kids, etc. However, society also places emphasis on
self-sufficiency and independence and the unattached get the brunt of this
double-edged whammy. You're made to feel like there is something wrong with
you for being unattached, but then you feel like there's something wrong
with you when you admit it sucks.

I know this because, even though I am happily married now, I spent many
years (and V Days) unattached and alone. (I've also spent my fair share of
time in stupid relationships simply because it was easier than breaking up
and being by myself.) As one DJ said, "On the suckage scale, it ranks right
up there." I can't tell you how many people had the gall to ask me, "Why
aren't you married yet?" I was a bridesmaid eight times before I finally
walked down that aisle as a bride. I spent many V Days and Sweetest Days
watching friends and co-workers get flowers, gifts, dinners, etc. (And why
do we need TWO freakin' "holidays" about this anyways?) And I spent many
nights wondering, "When will it be my turn?"

But the horror if I ever admitted this to anyone. So I thought about that
question in different terms and came up with a slightly different answer:
yes, I **am** afraid to be alone because it sucks. But if I had to be, I'd
survive, just like I did before.

And I don't feel any shame in admitting this.

I just wanted to wish everyone a great holiday season. That's really about
all I have to say.

Stay warm, stay safe, and enjoy whatever you're doing.

I just wanted to wish everyone a great holiday season. That's really about
all I have to say.

Stay warm, stay safe, and enjoy whatever you're doing.

Our condo has been on the market since the end of October. Our agent has
held two open houses and guess how many people have shown up. Go
ahead...guess....

Okay, I'll tell you: nada. That's right, ZERO. Two open houses and not one
single person has come. Yikes.

I realize the real estate market is in the toliet, and the lack of even
passing interest in our place has proved that. I knew it would be tough to
sell right now, but I was hoping for at least nominal interest.

Then yesterday we got an e-mail from our agent that we have our first
showing tomorrow in the morning. Yay! I'm not hoping for much, but at
least maybe we'll get some feedback on layout, price, etc.

At least SOMEONE wants to see it.

I may actually venture out on Black Friday....VERY early.

There is an outlet mall outside of Milwaukee that I love. They open at
midnight, and some friends of mine want to go. The one friend did it last
year and said it was complete mayhem. And since I'm attracted to chaos, I'm
intrigued enough to go.

The problem is that I, like others, enjoy my sleep. I'm also not the most
pleasant of people when I haven't slept (just ask my husband), therefore
going out shopping when I'm tired and ornery may not be the best option,
particularly for other people.

So I'm trying to decide which is preferable: sleeping in and hearing about
the mayhem secondhand or experiencing it for myself. The other caveat is
that I'm fighting a cold and this morning I seem to have lost my voice. (My
son is quite happy about this as he doesn't have to listen to "NO
CHRISTIAN" all morning.)

But I do wish everyone a happy Thanksgiving, and I look forward to all the
Black Friday Sucks letters we're going to get. Who knows? Maybe mine will
be one of them.

I can't believe Christian is ONE today.

Time goes by way too fast.

Just do it. If you know me, you'll know who I'm casting my lot with, but
I'm not going to use this blog to sway you. But as a former boyfriend once
said, "I believe people need to vote their conscious." I agree. So, whether
you're voting Liberatarian, Socialist, Democrat, Republican, Communist (no,
it isn't the same as Socialist), Green Party, or the League of Cats, just
get out there and pull that lever.

Just don't vote for the Nazi Party. That would be wrong.

Well, I wouldn't know. But apparently my son thinks it's a delicacy.

The day before our big move, I took my son for his last walk in Kletzsch
Park (a park along the Milwaukee River and close to our condo). I decided
to take him to the playground but to do so I had to cross part of the park
where the geese had been roaming.

When we got home, it was well after 4 p.m., and my cats were starving
(because they hadn't eaten in like eight hours. The horror!) My son doesn't
like to be restrained for long, so I took him out of the stroller and set
him next to the kitchen. It only took a couple of minutes to feed my
fuzzballs, and I could hear my son next to the kitchen. Hearing is not
always seeing though because when I looked over the pass through, there he
was, peeling crap off his stroller wheels and eating it.

"HI!" he shouted when he saw my look of fright and disgust.

"Christian NO!" I yelled, but as usual, it fell on deaf ears because he
thinks "No!" means "Wow, Christian, you're the greatest baby ever!" He took
another little bite of whatever horrible mess was now on the carpet at
which point I grabbed him and moved him far far away from his stroller.

For the rest of the night, I was worried sick that he might have ingested
some terrible toxin, but he seemed like his normal self. And, save for a
slight cold the past week, it seems like his system processed it just fine.
But still, yuck.

Welcome to my world.

Today, as I was putting dishes away in the kitchen of my new house, I
wanted to yell, "I finally have space!"

I know it's a small thing, but after living in a 1100 sq foot condo with
limited storage and no basement, I can't tell you what it means to me to
have actual places to put things. As I type this, I'm sitting in the office
of my new house. Yes, we finally have a room we can dedicate to the
computer. No more computer on the dining room table!

Other things I realized I'm grateful for:

Actual walk-through space in the living room.

A two-car garage. No more fights about whose turn it is to park outside.

Two large closets in the master bedroom which means I don't have to pile my
clothes in baskets on the floor.

Kitchen counter space that isn't taken up with C's bottles, formula, and
goldfish crackers.

Storage in the basement! OMG, we actually have storage!

My new house isn't perfect (oh the list I could make about the annoying
things here...like the doorbell), but right now the wonderful things far
outweigh the bad.

It's starting to feel like home.

In a little less than two weeks my husband and I are moving to our new
house. (Yay!) We close this Friday, will take a week to paint, install some
carpet, etc, and move all our big stuff in on Sat the 18th. So, we should
be officially living in our new house from the 18th forward.

As many of you know, I have two female cats, age six. Much to my husband's
chagrin, they are coming with us. (Ha ha...) Lately I've been so busy
planning the logistics of our move that I completely forgot about my two
furballs and when I will move them and how I will help them adjust.

When I moved in with my husband four years ago, it was a bit easier. I
moved them the day I officially moved in with him, and I had the time to
help them get used to their new place. It took a few weeks, but eventually
they settled in.

But this move will be more challenging because we have a lot more stuff,
and it will happen over a longer stretch of time. I also don't have as much
time to spend with them. I know no matter what the adjustment will be a
little hard(er) on them, but I still want to make it as easy as I possibly
can. Here are my options:

1). Board them the weekend of the 18th and 19th. There's a great cat/dog
boarding facility near our condo and house. I've used them for grooming,
and they're wonderful. But they're not cheap, and I'm a little nervous
about leaving my girls in a strange place overnight when I'm not there.

2). Move them the 17th and put them in a quiet room with their litterboxes,
food, etc. This would be the easiest on me because I can use my free time
to help Fred with the big stuff. But this would also require me leaving
them alone all night in a strange place (unless I slept on the floor), and
I'm not comfortable with that.

3). Move them the morning of the 18th and put them in a quiet room, etc.
This would be a little less convenient for me, but I will be sleeping in
the new house that night, so I'd be there for them.

These are the three options I have. Does anyone have advice on what might
work the best? Or do you have other options I'm not thinking of?

Venice's blog reminded me that it's October. I love October. The leaves
turn colors, the air turns more crisp, and my wedding anniversary comes
about.

But what I really love about October is Halloween and all the horror movie
marathons that get shown on TV.
So, I thought I'd recap my Top 10 all-time favorite horror movies (and I'm
sure Venice will be around to remind me of some more). They're in no
particular order, except for #1.

1). Halloween. For me, this movie wins hands down. I've seen it 20+ times,
and I'll continue to see it 20+ more times because it never fails to scare
the crap out of me.

2). The Saw. I'm not the type of woman to get freaked out by movies, but
this one did it. By the middle of the movie, my husband told me my face was
white (and in a darkened theater that must have been pretty white). I also
had nightmares after seeing it. That's pretty good for a movie.

3). Hostel. If ever there was an excuse to stay in five-star hotels in
Eastern Europe, this movie was it.

4). Pumpkinhead. Okay, this one gets pretty hokey at the end, but it's good
and creepy up until that point.

5). The Fog. I've never found this one particularly scary, but it stirs up
so many nice nostalgic feelings that I had to keep it on the list.

6). The Exorcist. Too bad Linda Blair peaked at age 12.

7). The Grudge. Who knew Buffy had it in her?

8). The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Reason #525 why I will never, EVER live in
Texas. You've never heard of the Wisconsin Chainsaw Massacre, right?

9). Seven. I have a confession: I think Morgan Freeman is dead sexy.

10). Hellraiser. I have another confession. I think Pinhead's accent is
dead sexy.

And because you can't just limit horror movies to ten, here are my five
runner-ups:

1). Children of the Corn. Religion and rual corn fields. Need I say more?

2). Child's Play. I don't think this one is scary, but what it lacks in
fear it makes up for in humor. My best friend and I watched this a few
months ago. We were mocking it until we realized we sounded exactly Beavis
and Butthead.

3). The Ring. Let's see, watch the video..die. Don't watch the
video...live. Hmmm...I think I'll watch the video!

4). The Stepford Wives. I'll let YOU decide if you think this is really a
horror film or not.

5). Shaun of the Dead. No, it's not technically horror, but dammit Simon
Pegg is so cute!

I can't believe Christian is 10 months old now. It seems like yesterday he
was just this tiny newborn. Now he's 25lbs+ of pre-toddler.

This past weekend he learned to pull himself up to standing. Since then,
he's gotten stronger and thus more efficient at it. Now, he pulls to stand
on everything: me, my husband, his toys, the couch. He babbles a lot but
can say "mama" and "dada" (but I'm not convinced he knows the difference).
He also can make rudimentary sign language gestures. (His daycare teachers
are working with him on that.) And a few weeks ago, he learned to clap his
hands and put them up in the air. So Big!

We're trying to make the transition to table food. He's been eating
crackers and Cheerios for awhile now with no issues, but we're introducing
him to more adult fare. He likes cut-up green beans (surprise!) and apples,
but isn't too fond of cheese. (One of my cats is thrilled with this as he
tends to throw it on the floor.)

It all moves so fast. In two short months he'll be a year old. I barely
get a chance to bask in a new development when he's on to something new.

Hopefully we can have his first birthday in our new house.

My two paternal grandparents intolerant of other viewpoints, to the point
where you are just wrong. No matter how many facts you trot out or
questions you ask, you are just wrong. Many of their beliefs are based on
paranoia, intolerance, and a very outdated view of the world. They practice
an it's-okay-for-me-but-not-okay-for-you philosophy of life that quite
frankly bugs the crap out of me. But I learned a long time ago that any
kind of two-sided discussion is pointless. They are never going to see my
point of view, and I'm never going to see theirs.

I try to practice that on PFB, too. If someone expresses an opinion that I
disagree with, I'll generally leave it alone. I do respond if I have facts
that contradict what that person says, or have a question or another
viewpoint that puts a new spin on theirs, but for the most part, I try to
move on. I've found in most cases that it just isn't worth it to start some
pointless argument.

So I can't understand those OPs/commentators who construe every
disagreement as "attack" or "rude." These are people who, unless you pledge
unmitigated allegiance to their cause, express hyperbolic outrage that
someone should actually - gasp! - have a perspective that doesn't agree
with their own. These are also the people that will accuse you of working
for the company, simply because you have an opinion that differs from
theirs.

So what I want to say to these people is this: When you choose to share a
letter on PFB, you are opening yourself up to many different comments and
perspectives, many of which may not agree with your own. If you take your
cause very personally, sharing your letter may not be the best option for
you.

I also want to say disagreement is not automatically rude. Sure, no one
should mock you for providing feedback, but providing a perspective that
doesn't share yours is not an "attack."

PFB is a community of many different people. We come from different states
and different economical backgrounds. We practice different religions (or
lack of one) and different politics. We work in diverse fields and have
different employment experiences. All of us brings to the table a wide
array of experiences and viewpoints, many of which can be valuable feedback
to an OP's situation. If you can't handle that, PFB may not be the place
for you.

I know it's been said before, but I felt the need to say it again.

Two weeks ago, we put an offer in on another house. We put the offer in on
a Tuesday night and gave the sellers until Friday to respond. In the
meantime, we were asking questions about the house to which they were
cheerfully responding.

We finally got the call Friday at 4 p.m. The sellers weren't just rejecting
our offer; they were taking it off the market completely! I was livid. Yes,
they have the right to take it off the market, it's their house, but geez,
maybe you should've had this should-we-keep-it-on-the-market-or-take-it-off
conversation BEFORE you got a viable offer.

So, now it's back to house hunting square one. I'm seriously getting tired
of doing this and told my husband that if we don't find something this
coming Saturday (our third trip out), then I want until spring to look
again.

Ugh. Maybe I need to get HGTV involved in this.

So, we put an offer in on a house this past Tuesday. We gave the sellers
until tomorrow to respond, but I guess we got spoiled with our last seller
(who responded in less than 12 hours), because we're both a little anxious
to hear back.

But here we sit...tick tock, tick tock....Every time the phone rings, we're
both like, "Is that our agent? Do we have an answer?" Fred is even walking
around with his cell phone, which he never does.

Is it a good thing or a bad thing that they're taking their time
responding? I feel like I'm on camera for HGTV.

So, we had our house inspection this past Wednesday. It didn't go well. The
house has a lot of issues, some of which could be easily fixed by my
husband and I; some, however, will need professional intervention.

What are the problems? Some are easily fixed, like a porch in disrepair, an
air-conditioning unit that should be level with the house, and backyard
stone steps that are loose. But some are more serious: mold, possible water
damage, asbestos in the crawlspace, evidence of pests (mice) in the attic
and crawlspace, and possible structural issues, so much that our inspector
recommeneded we get a structural engineer to confirm his supsicions.

We still like the house, and we still love the location. The house is
unique, which we like, but with a unique house also comes unique problems.
What really worries us though is that the inspector indicated some of the
evidence of the past problems may have been covered with the cosmetic
updates.

We're going to mull over the house this weekend and make a decision by
Monday. There is another house we were interested in, but the one we made
the offer on was more unique, so that won out. We may just pull out of the
offer for this house and make an offer on a #2 choice.

Grrr. Maybe we should just stay where we are.

So, we bought the house, the one without a basement. We'll probably move
sometime in September or very early October.

Whoo-hoo! More space! No more nosy old neighbors who put their sprinkler
systems against our windows! An extra bedroom!

I'm excited. :)

I think we found a house. It's got everything we want - contemporary style,
many updates, great location, big backyard, lots of trees, three bedrooms,
two-car garage - except one thing: no basement.

This may or may not be a big deal. We're currently living in a two-bedroom
condo without much storage space, including a basement storage unit. So,
we're used to not having a basement, and our limited storage has forced us
to abandon any packrat tendencies we might otherwise have. And in a flood,
a basement is the first to go.

However, because we haven't had as much storage space, we're looking for
houses that have it. And a basement not only provides extra storage, it
also allows some extra living space, should you feel like remodeling it.

Arggghhh. If only this place had a basement; we'd have an offer in already.
But I think we might make an offer anyways because we like the house so
much.

By the way, one of these days I have to upload some recent pictures of "The
Boy."

This past Wednesday, my husband and I went to look at houses. We decided to
take my car because it was parked right outside the garage, and I'd have to
move it anyways. Well, in the middle of our house hunting, my car
died...without warning. To be honest, I had thought it was running a little
heavy lately, but I kept forgetting to mention it to my husband.

Anyways, we get in the car to head over to the next house, and my car won't
start. Our realtor had to give me a jump. Since we were close to our condo,
we went back and switched cars. Later that night, my husband jumped my car
again, but it died right after turning it off. He figured it was the
battery, but since he had limited time the past week said it would best
just to take it to the dealership. The next morning, we took it over to the
dealership and asked them to take a look at the brakes as my husband said
they were "making noise."

Two hours later, our service rep called me back. Not only did I need a new
battery and accessory belt, I needed new front brakes, new back brakes, new
rear tires, a transmission flush, and an oil change (which I asked them to
do anyways), all to the tune of $1700. I immediately called my husband.

"What! No way all this is needed. I'll call the dealership back."

To shorten the story, he got it down to $750. It was certainly better than
$1700, but what pissed me off is that the service rep acted like this stuff
was needed immediately or my car wouldn't run, but once my husband called,
then some of this stuff wasn't so necessary.

This isn't the first time I've had to have a guy go to bat for me on car
issues, and it irritates me that they have to. But it's also partially my
fault: I know NOTHING about cars and have made no effort to learn.

I guess I'm just glad that the car didn't die when my son was with me. And
at least it's fixed now.

And it isn't me.

Two weeks ago, I realized that I hadn't brushed my two long-hair,
continually shedding cats in awhile. I admit I don't brush them as often as
I should. From what I've heard, long-haired cats HATE the brush, and mine
are no exception. It takes two people to do it: one to hold the pissed off,
hissing kitty and the other to do the actual brushing.

So, I took Lolly to the bathroom (where I do the brushing) and found
several large, tight mats. She has very thick fur that mats easily. My
husband held her down while I went to work on her mats. Ten minutes later,
I only got a couple of them out, and my husband's hand was completely
lacerated.

"Forget it," I said. "It's not worth our skin. I'll pay someone to do it."

I've had Lolly groomed before, and they did an excellent job. So, this
Friday I'm loading up Tubcat and taking her there. I've already warned them
she's difficult. (I once had to pay an extra $10 fee for "difficult cats."
That's my girl!) They'll stick her in a harness and be able to get all
those mats out. I'll also get her a nice butt shave and nail trim. She'll
look spectacular.

If I really wanted to be an evil cat-mom, I'd have them give her a bath
too. Hee hee hee...

As many of you know, I volunteer at our local Humane Society. I'm a bunny
socializer, which means I help socialize rabbits and make them more
adoptable. I had originally wanted to socialize cats, but the RS slot had
more openings. I thought that I'd do RS for awhile then move to cats, but
after four years I find RS very rewarding. The bunnies all have their own
unique personalities, and I admit I sometimes get attached. So, it's
sometimes hard when one gets adopted. Yes, that's the point of what I do,
but I won't lie and say it's not bittersweet.

However, it's really hard when we have a bunny that isn't doing well and is
probably not going to make it. That happened yesterday. I got to the HS at
my normal time to find the early a.m. socializer very concerned. One of our
bunnies seemed dizzy. She was staggering around and having trouble walking.
Unfortunately, we didn't have a vet on staff yesterday and the vet tech was
only there until 2 p.m. They promised to take a look at the bunny first
thing today. In the meantime, one of the senior adoption counselors came to
look at her. He felt a bump on her back, which usually means the bunny is
having back trouble. Bunnies have very delicate backs, so if they break or
even fracture it, well, that's pretty much it. That's not much we can do at
that point.

I looked at the notes from the previous day, and it looks like this bunny
was fine. She was running around, playing and jumping. But, notes from two
weeks ago said she was tipsy. So, I'm not sure what the problem is. I hope
they can fix it, but I'll be perfectly honest here: I don't have much
hope.

So I've been fairly sad the past couple of days. It's part of the process,
I know, but like I said, I get attached.

Doing anything fun?

I'm still on the fence about our plans. Some friends have lakefront
property north of here, and they invited us up for the day tomorrow. I want
to go, but the mosquitos have been horrible. If it were just us, I'd throw
some bug spray on, but I don't want my son to get eaten alive. And in the
wooded, grassy area their property is on, I'm not sure his all-natural
spray will do the trick.

Speaking of the boy, he's nearly eight months old now. He rolls everywhere
- across the room, on the changing table, off the bed. Diaper changes have
once again become wrestling matches as I try to hold him down for two
seconds so I can get his diaper on. He can easily turn around on his
stomach, and this past weekend he made his first lunging moves, proving
that crawling is not in the distant future anymore.

And he's a talker. All day long I listen to, "Da da da da da da...ba ba ba
ba ba ba..." He loves to yell, watch "Dora the Explorer", and trying to
grab the cats. He eats like a horse and is already in 12-month (and
18-month) clothes. I just wish he'd quit getting sick all the time and
passing it on to me.

So, whatever you do, have a safe and happy holiday.

If you ever watch "Dora the Explorer" then you know what I'm talking about.
Swiper is a fox who "swipes" things. To prevent his thieving ways, you have
to hold you hand up and say three times "Swiper, no swiping!"

That's what I felt like doing yesterday when one of our condo's maintenance
men swiped my bug spray from my porch, right in front of my eyes. I was
sitting on the couch, talking to my mom, when the dude walked by and peered
into our porch doors. I was like, "What is he doing?" Then, he picked up my
OFF! and sprayed himself with it. Okay, no big deal. The mosquitos are bad;
I don't blame him. But then, he grabs the hose off the porch and walks off,
WITH my bug spray. What?!

I actually thought it was sort of funny, so I called my husband. "Oh my
God," he said, laughing with me. "Does he use our grill at lunch time? Come
in the kitchen and help himself to a beer?" But I also was a little pissed
off. I mean, this is MY bug spray, and my only can of it.

So, as I was leaving for work, I saw the guy in the front of the condo,
weeding flowers. I pulled to the side. "Hi, um, when you're done with my
bug spray, can you return it to my porch?"

The look on his face was priceless. I knew then he didn't think I saw him.
"Oh uh yeah...I was just spraying myself because..."

"I understand," I said sweetly. "The mosquitos are bad. But it's my only
can of bug spray, so if you could put it back on the porch that'd be great.
Thank you!"

When I came home, the hose, and my bug spray, were back on the porch. Geez.

Is there something you spend your money on that other people think you're
nuts for doing?

In my case, I spend $55 for a haircut. My husband, who has never paid more
than $15 for a cut, thinks I'm insane. But in my defense, I don't get
regular manicures or pedicures (I'm DIY), massages, or facials. A good
haircut is really my only vanity luxury.

I'm also a shoe fanatic. I LOVE shoes and handbags. I will not, however,
spend more than $50 on shoes mostly because I live in Wisconsin, where the
ice, snow, and salt can kill any decent pair of shoes within seconds. I
also don't spend that much on handbags because I get bored with them too
easily.

I won't spend a ton on lotions or moisturizers. Ditto for makeup. I would
spend quite a bit for a good winter coat though, one that could carry me
through several years.

And of course, I spend a ton of money on my son. :)

So, where does all YOUR money go?

That's what my cats have found since my son was born. I used to lavish a
ton of attention of them, but lately I just haven't had the time. I still
love them, don't get me wrong, and I'd rather die than get rid of them, but
they just haven't had the attention they've to which they've become
accustomed and feel they are entitled to.

I know Lolly, my slightly older cat, definitely is lacking. I know this
because she's been sleeping with me every night, even in the hot weather,
and she doesn't sleep with me unless something is wrong (or it's bloody
cold out). She also has been jumping on the bathroom sink, looking for
water from the faucet. Again, she doesn't usually do this unless she needs
some kitty lovin'.

I also know one (or both) of them was peeing along the floorboards near the
utility room because the area had a definite cat urine stench to it. I
bought some Feliway, and that seems to have done the trick, but it still
worries me. I know it was (hopefully WAS) a territorial thing after I
brought my son home.

So, I decided that they need more "mom/cat play time." I'm going to attempt
to spend 15 minutes a night playing with them after we put the boy to bed.
This can be accomplished quite easily with a laser pointer or piece of
ribbon while I'm watching "Nova" or something like that.

Poor kitties. The food chain's a bitch, isn't it girls?

Hives suck. That's what I found out last week when I broke out in a
head-to-toe case of them.

I've never had hives before. In fact, I rarely have allergic reactions to
anything. I am only allergic to one thing that I know of - scallops - and I
avoid those like I avoid big stray dogs, canned spinach, and the color
yellow.

So when I broke out in an all-body case of the hives last week, I had no
clue what they were. I thought I had some weird, contagious skin disease.
Finally, after putting my son to bed and completely freaked out by the
spreading redness, I hightailed it over to Urgent Care where I was given a
shot of Benadryl, a prescription for Prednisone, and a sympathetic "good
luck" from the doctor. By Friday, disturbed by the repeated breakouts and
unable to even care properly for the boy because of drowsiness, my regular
doctor switched me from Benadryl to Zyrtec and Zantac, two different
classes of antihistamines that finally broke the continual flareups and
intense itching.

Today, Monday, I'm off the antihistamines and Prednisone, but am still
loopy and tired, plus my sinuses are swollen. I'm also terrified of having
another reaction as I have no idea what caused this one. I suspect it was
either a reaction to the virus I caught from my continually contagious
infant son or my immune system was depressed enough that I had a reaction
to something I normally wouldn't.

Since having my son, I can say I have been more sick in these past six
months than I have been probably in the past six years. I'm not kidding.
Every other week my son catches some weird virus which then gets passed to
me, then my husband. My sister told me my niece was constantly sick the
first year, then her immune system perked up.

I think I'll put the boy in a bubble until November. Then maybe my own
immune system will rebound.

That's what my son looks like in this picture...cool. He just looks so laid
back, like he's chiiiillllliiiinnn. It was taken a little over a month ago,
on a Sunday. We were getting ready to take a walk to the store, and since
it was a rare sunny day here in Wisconsin, we put his brand new shades on.

Since then the weather has gotten warmer, and he's rapidly growing. He's
now a little over six months old, and it's amazing to me how much he's
grown. He's still pretty big for his age so sometimes it's hard to remember
he's still a baby...that is until 2 a.m. when he's in his crib yelling for
a bottle.

He's getting closer to sitting up without support and is sporting two new
teeth. Two weeks ago he discovered that if you take a toy and bang it on
something else it makes a really neat sound. He loves sitting in his
Jumperoo and bouncing, and now that the weather is actually perking up, he
loves to sit outside with me and listen to all the sounds.

The feeding of solids is also progressing quite nicely. He loves carrots
and sweet potatoes but isn't too fond of green beans. (I don't blame him.)
Today I gave him pears for the first time which went over REALLY well; he
ate the whole damn container in one sitting. (By the way, I was thinking
the strained version of squash would make a really tasty soup.)

He has several conversations a day with the various objects in our house.
He especially likes to chat with the kitchen stove and has been known to
"yell" at the cats when they actually get close enough. He likes to watch
"Dora the Explorer" and "Sesame Street" and often talks Elmo and Grover
when they appear. He also had a conversation with his feet. That's right
boy; you tell those feet who's boss.

He's such a wonderful little boy. It's so hard to remember that last year I
was pregnant with him, and it's difficult to imagine my life without him.

I went to Boston Store (Carson Pirie Scott, Bergner's, and Bon Ton in other
states) to buy a spring trenchcoat. I've needed one for awhile, and as I
had a Bayshore (our local mall) gift card, I thought it would be put to
good use. So, I headed up to coats, found a well-made one with lining, and
it was on sale to boot.

But when I went to pay for the coat, I was told Boston Store doesn't accept
Bayshore gift cards.

"But you're part of Bayshore, right?" I asked. "Why can't I use my gift
card here?"

The cashier had no response to that, only repeated that it couldn't be used
at BS or Sears. Frustrated, I left. Later, I told my husband of the
incident, and he offered to buy me the coat as an early birthday present.
So, I did get the coat after all.

But the earlier incident still bugged me. And it didn't make any sense. So,
this morning I went to Bayshore's website and found the gift card section.
There was a list of stores that the gift cards couldn't be used at, but
Boston Store wasn't one of them. So, I called them.

"Oh sure," the customer service rep told me. "You can use a Bayshore gift
card here. It just needs to be rung up as a credit card."

I told the rep of the earlier incident with the cashier, gave a physical
description, and asked that management clarify the policy with her since
that cashier didn't seem to have a clue. All in all, it was a pleasant
phone call, and I was glad I got it sorted out.

I'm still a bit miffed, though. I didn't necessarily want a coat for my
birthday; I would've prefered to use my gift card. Ah well. Now, I have to
find another store and another use for the card.

But I do like the coat.

Every year it's the same thing: I struggle to find a gift for my mom. She's
difficult to buy for. She doesn't go anywhere, doesn't like to do stuff,
and, despite being retired, really has no interests outside of her dog and
now her grandchildren. So I find myself getting her the same thing year
after year (a plant on Mother's Day, a donation to the Humane Society at
Christmas) and while they're great gifts that she likes, I always wish I
could do something more.

Well, this year I could. She's been yammering for two years now about
getting an updated family portrait. The last one was taken in 2000; since
then, the remaining three of us (including me) got married and two of us
even have children. I agreed an updated family portrait was a must but
wasn't sure how to go about getting one. The biggest problem was my
youngest sister. Up until Christmas, her and her husband were living in
Europe, and even now that they're back in the States, they live in
Minneapolis, have no car, and aren't able to make the drive down whenever
they'd like.

But, I was bound and determined to get a family portrait so I made sure to
arrange it the one weekend so far this year that my sister and her husband
have been home. And I have to say it turned out pretty nice. Even the two
kids were well behaved. The best part is that even though she's wanted this
for years, my mom has no idea we actually went out and did it. She'll be
thriled, and believe me, it's hard to thrill my mother.

Misson one accomplished. Now we have to get an updated portrait for my dad
and stepmom. With eight siblings, seven spouses, three children (two just
infants), and four people living out of state, that will be an even bigger
feat.

I always wished I had been born in a big ethnic family. Growing up, I was
friends with a girl who was Italian. There were eight kids in her family.
All of them were loud and in-your-face, but you could tell there was real
sense of togetherness. Her grandmother would cook traditional Italian
dishes made with real ingredients and love. They knew they were Italian and
were proud of it. To me, it was idyllic.

Later, in college I was friends with a woman who was Greek. Her family ate
Greek food, went to Greek festivals, and did Greek things together. Once
she told me she could never marry her then boyfriend because he wasn't
Greek; her father would disown her. I was shocked. I had no restrictions on
marriage, and I knew my parents would be happy with whomever I chose so
long as **I** was happy. It gave me insight into a family dynamic that I
didn't have.

See, my family is about as ethinically diverse as a piece of white bread.
We're German, Swiss, Polish, and I think Lithuanian. We weren't loud or
in-your-face. Although we lovee each other, our household was rather quiet,
and I didn't grow up with that sense of identity that I always craved. We
didn't go to ethnic festivals and we didn't have that sense of history or
heritage that others had.

So it was really strange to me when my Greek friend mentioned a couple of
years ago that she alwways envied families like mine. "It just seems so
nice. You don't have to **be** anything. You can marry who you want. You
don't have to live up to your **heritage**. Plus, you don't have to live up
or continually disprove those stupid stereotypes people have of your
ethnicty. I hate being Greek sometimes."

It was a new perspective. I had always envied their togetherness, and she
had always envied our separateness. I had always envied the sense of
identity her heritage gave her, but she felt it was a hassle at times. I
can't say I came away with a newfoudn sense of my own identity, but her
words gave me a different view on what I had always wished I had.

I think no matter who you are, the grass always seems greener on the other
side.

Much of the standard advice given on letters of complaint is, "You
should've talked to the manager at the time." Many people agree this is so;
some do not.

I know there are some situations where talking to a manager isn't always a
viable option, but here's why I think in MOST situations it is.

First of all, a manager's job is, well, to manage. Part of managing means
resolving customer issues. I don't think it's too much to ask a manager to
do his/her job, and I wish more customers felt empowered enough to talk to
the manager, because...

Second, feedback is most effective when it's given on the spot. I know as
an employee I'd much prefer my supervisor tell me right away when I'm doing
something wrong so that I can correct it going forward. Two weeks from now
I may not even remember the situation.
The sooner a manager knows about a situation, the faster he/she can take
the necessary corrective steps.

It also should prevent the problem from recurring. For example, if the
issue is poor food quality, this could indicate a problem in the kitchen.
Maybe a cook wasn't trained properly. Perhaps equipment isn't working the
way it should. In a case like that, a good manager can take steps to
rectify the situation and prevent others from having to experience it.

But one of the most overlooked reasons is that corporations need feedback
on how their managers are performing in their locations. Whether the
manager resolves the problem to the customer's satisfaction or not, the
company needs to know how that manager did. Good managers need recognition
for their abilities; poor managers may need retraining or even removal.

I'm not suggesting that not speaking to the manager automatically negates a
complaint. Most feedback, resolved or not, is good for the company. But if
everyone bypases the manager in favor of the more anonymous e-mail or
hotline, then the corporation is missing out on a valuable piece of
feedback from the customer.

One of my favorite in-my-head sayings when I'm irritated with some stupid
thing that someone does is, "Thanks for proving Darwin wrong (insert
favorite expletive)."

Well, this past weekend, Darwin was once again proved wrong...by me.

I went to Chicago to visit one of my best friends. When I go to Chicago, I
always take the Amtrak train because it's quicker and more convenient. So,
my husband dropped me off at the Amtrak station, and I bought my round-trip
ticket only to find out instead of leaving at 10:50 a.m. like the Amtrak
schedule said, it was leaving at 11:30 a.m. (or so I thought...more on that
soon). So, I settled down with my iPod and a book and waited. Soon, a
Greyhound bus pulled up outside the station; then, over the loudspeaker I
heard a call for boarding.

"Hmmm...that's odd that we have board a Greyhound bus to get to the
train..." I thought to myself. (Wait for it....) Then, suddenly, the
realization that I was not taking the train, but the bus, illuminated my
mind like a brand new lightbulb in a floor lamp. I quickly looked to where
I had purchased the tickets. They had remodeled the Amtrak station since I
had last been there (October 2007) and, unbeknownst to me, the Greyhound
station had moved in as well. So, the area that I used to purchase tickets
was from was no longer Amtrak; it was now Greyhound.

At this point you must be thinking that maybe the Greyhound area wasn't
well marked. Oh, bless your heart, but that stupid grey dog was plastered
all over the front - I just didn't look up - not to mention all over my
ticket and the brochure the ticket came in. There is no reason why I didn't
see this except that I simply didn't look...or put the obvious clues in
context.

In my defense, I was exhausted. I had been up since 4 a.m. with a puking
infant, and I also was in a huge rush having not left much time to get to
the station. I just went to the place where I always purchased tickets and
didn't even notice the words GREYHOUND glaring at me from every direction.

After calling my friend to tell of my stupidity (and tell her to pick me up
at the bus station), I did manage to make it to Chicago. And we had a great
time laughing about the incident until Sunday when I caught my son's
stomach bug and had to throw up the entire way home...

by train.

This picture was taken on March 11, his four-month birthday. It's really
hard to get a picture of him smiling because as soon as he sees the camera
he gets a look on his face that's one part "Wow, what is THAT thing?" and
one part "Oh what the bloody hell are you people doing to me now?"

But he's been wonderful. He's a smiling, cooing, giggling, babbling nearly
five month old boy. He thinks everything is HI-larious. He especailly
thinks my rendition of "Freebird" is the funniest thing ever. My husband
and I have no idea where he gets his joyful personality from. The two of us
are such crabasses most of the time; the boy certainly doesn't take after
us!

Last week he learned how to squeal, and the week before he re-learned how
to roll over from his tummy to his back, making "tummy time" a thing of the
past. He's also three quarters of the way to rolling from his back to his
tummy, reminding me that in a few months he'll be mobile and that's when
the fun REALLY starts.

But where he really shines is in language development. The English major in
me does a little happy dance at this. He's a talkative little bugger. I
think it's because **I** talk to him all the time. I like talking to him.
He agrees with everything I say and thinks I'm the smartest chick on the
planet.

Every week he seems to pick up something new, and he's usually so fun
(except for this morning) that I want to spend all my free time with him. I
finally feel like I have this mom thing at least partially under control.

About damn time too. :)

Have you ever left less than 15% on a dinner bill? If so, why?

The recent letter written to Bravo has an OP admitting she left not even
10% but less than that. The OP mentions in one of her responses that the
service was poor, and I agree that leaving a small tip for poor service is
appropriate. BUT, I also think that if the service was that bad that she
couldn't even leave 10%, a manager should've been contacted on the spot,
not two hours later.

A friend of mine told me years ago that he tips 20%+ for really stellar
service (food was excellent, waitstaff went out of their way, etc) and 15%
for good service (food was good, server was polite, etc). If he leaves less
than 15%, he always makes sure to tell a manager why he's doing so. It's a
philosophy that I've tried to practice in my own dining.

But I admit that most things don't bother me, so I haven't had many
ocassions to leave less than 15%. I can only think of one time where I left
no tip. It was several years ago when a friend and I ate at Perkins Family
Restaurant. Now, I admit Perkins isn't really the epitome of fine dining,
but I still think a basic level of service can be expected. In this case,
our waitress was so rude to us (ignoring us, "forgetting" items we asked
for, giving us attitude when we had the audacity to question where our
ordered items were) that my friend and I wondered if she knews us and
thought we did something horrible. Did we inadvertently sleep with her
boyfriend? Run over her cat? When we spoke to the manager, he just
shrugged. Great, thanks, buddy. That pretty much told me Perkins was not
the place I'd be eating at again.

So, I'm wondering what qualifies as bad service for others and how bad
would the service have to be to leave less than 15% or no tip at all?