Inspiration comes in many forms

This week, I was inspired by three "happenings" in my life -- one was actually mine to own, the other two were external.

First, it was to paint. My house. By myself. Walls, doors, trim. I hired someone to finish a half-finished job for me, but as it turns out, the "professional" was only as good as his self-proclaimed label, and my skills as a painter far outweigh his. So I found myself being inspired to do it myself -- again -- and finish the job the way I want it to be done.

Second, it was to speak out against bad customer service. (Those who know me well will likely find it hard to believe I have a hard time speaking out about anything ... but that's beside the point.) I'm tired of crappy customer service, in whatever form it takes. One of the blogs I follow (Heather B. Armstrong, a.k.a dooce) had a crappy experience with a $1,300 Maytag washer. She spoke out on Twitter. The difference between her speaking out and me doing the same, though, is her 1 MILLION followers on Twitter. But she did it. And a firestorm erupted online. But she finally got the service she deserved, and it made me pledge to myself to stop trying to explain away crappy customer service at any level. Next time it happens, I say so (nicely) and move toward resolution. Period.

Third, it was to cook. Zoe and I saw Julie & Julia at the matinee today, and it was fabulous! I laughed out loud at so many points that it would have been embarassing if we handn't been two of only five people in the theater. The story is fun, funny and fantastic to witness. If you haven't seen it, GO! It'll make you want to use butter in everything you cook ... and I did tonight. Granted, it was fettucine alfredo from a prepared mix, but next time, I'm inspired to make it from scratch and use LOTS of the real deal in the sauce.

I hope you find inspiration this week in all the simple things that make our lives so rich!

First day of fifth grade

The first day of school went off without a hitch. We were up on time, out the door on time, meeting friends for breakfast on time. Woot! Woot!

Zoe even lost the first-day jitters at some point during her semi-sleepless night. Once she was around Makayla and Jordan, enjoying pancakes and bacon before the bell rang, all systems were go for a great day.

Her new teacher: Loves her, even though she had reservations.

Her new desk location (near the front of the class): More than tolerable, since she's positioned between people she thinks are awesome.

All the new fifth grade rules: Well, they'll take some getting used to. But with Safety Patrol responsibilities and goals set for school-year-long accomplishments she wants to strive for, it should work out just fine.

Fifth grade. Already. Where DOES the time go? :)

Finding a new Nemo, sort of.

I've delayed writing this post because, well, I was feeling pretty bad about the circumstances. Suffice it to say that when it comes to caring for animals, I lack in the "caring" department.

While Zoe was gone for a month, I was left in charge of all things animal-related. Including her fish. There were four. For 3.5 weeks, there were four.

Then, in a freak tank-cleaning accident, I managed to completely empty 10 gallons of fish water onto Zoe's bedroom floor, effectively turning four frail fish into bottom feeders. Yeah. I'm good like that. When I discovered the carnage, I was devastated -- mostly from imagining the big tear droplets and bloodshot eyes I was going to see after breaking the news to the little one who trusted me with fish care in her absence.

I cleaned up the water mess before work one day last week, but left the fish carcasses on the rocks until later that day when I thought I would feel like "stomaching" the disposal process. But alas, my plans didn't go exactly as planned. In fact, I had what I would call a "Lazarus moment" with two of the fish late that same day after I poured a gallon of water into the tank to get them to float for removal and, um, a flushing burial.

I kid you not when I say I nearly peed myself as first one fish (a sucker fish) and then another (a hearty Gurami ... spelling?) started flapping and splashing around the tank in two inches of water. At first I thought it was some sort of funky fish muscle reaction (do they have muscles?) to the water. Then, as I added more H2O, they swam! They SWAM!!!!

I refilled the tank and waited/watched for them to croak. I checked on them every two hours or so. They continued to make a comeback. I fed them. They still swam. One looked stunned (for obvious reasons) and sometimes took a break by resting its weary fins on a fake castle in the rocks. But for a couple of days, it appeared as if I'd have a whopper of a fish tale to tell Zoe about how two of our four fish survived my slaughtering ways.

Turns out I was wrong. Day 3 after resurrection: System failure began for both fish. 24 hours later, they were floating, just in time for me to scoop them out and dispose of their smelly selves before hopping on a plane to fetch Z. Great, I thought. So much for my hero status as a fish savior! I'd break the news when the time was right.

Fast forward 12 hours, and I'm sitting on an airport bench with Z. I tell her I've got some bad news to report. She knew it HAD to be something animal-related. "It's the fish," I said. "I'm really sorry to have to tell you that I made a HUGE mistake when cleaning the tank and they didn't make it." Of course, I had to share a few details. But then, Z surprised me.

I had tears in my eyes, and she was the one comforting me as she patted me on the arm and said, "Mom, it's not like you did it intentionally. It's really going to be OK. They were fish. They had a good life. I understand."

WHAT? Where's the 10-year-old drama I was anticipating? Where's the irrational blame I expected to be hurled in my direction? All in my head, apparently, because Z took it like a trooper. I calmed myself down and a few hours later, on the plane, she woke up from a nap and said: "So now that the fish are gone, does it mean I can get NEW fish to replace them?"

But of course.

So that's where we'll be this weekend, after a thorough tank cleaning last night. In search of a new Nemo of sorts ... with me secretly hoping that Z never leaves me in charge of their care again!

RIP Laura, Flipper, Rachel and Robin. It was good while it lasted.

There and back ... and back again!

It's been a whirlwind 24-hour period in the Sego household. And while "tales from the world of travel" aren't usually journal-worthy, this trip to and from San Francisco was a whopper and well worth the effort to put words on paper (er, the Interweb.)

3:30 p.m. Monday: I left Indianapolis International en route to San Francisco to pick up my one and only daughter after her month-long visit with her dad and family. I took the roundabout way of getting there because frankly, there isn't a good way to get there from here.

5:30 p.m. Monday: Land in Minneapolis-St. Paul for a brief layover before catching a late plane to SFO.

10 p.m. Monday: Land in San Francisco, make familial connections, cry a lot while hugging the girl who has grown a foot, then settle in for the trek back to the Midwest.

1:50 a.m. Tuesday: Crash out on plane from SFO to Atlanta (again, there's no good way to get back here from there) and try to sleep on a four-hour flight that was packed full of people. (I'll spare you the rant about the ticketing check-in process for Delta, a Northwest partner airline, that apparently doesn't know the difference between Minneapolis and Indianapolis when it comes to telling customers WHICH LINE TO STAND IN TO GET A BOARDING PASS. Ahem.)

6:30 a.m. Tuesday: Land at ATL and notice that, hey, they've done a lot with that airport recently, and it looks pretty darn good! A cup of Starbucks for me and a chocolate banana smoothie for Zoe, and we're feeling like home is right around the corner!

10:30 a.m. Tuesday: A medium-length layover later, we're loaded on yet another plane, this time bound for IND on a quick flight that is SUPPOSED to take one (1) hour and eight (8) minutes.

11:20 a.m. Tuesday: Ears popping and stuff falling off my lap tray, I wake to the sound of the pilot and airline attendants telling people to SIT DOWN and BUCKLE THEIR SEAT BELTS on this approach to Indy. What they really wanted to say was: "Would you people get OUT of the bathroom for the 44th time and STAY IN YOUR SEATS -- WE'RE TRYING TO LAND HERE!"

We make our approach. The clouds look crazy. Rain starts to slap the windows. Everyone on the plane is a little confused because there's been no sign of stupid weather on the trip til now. The wings start dipping from side to side. The lady in the seat next to me begins saying a rosary. Zoe's asleep on my shoulder, but she wakes up as we come down quickly (a little too quickly) and see the stripes on the runway rush up to greet us.

And then, just as we're about to touch down -- as in, it looked like you could reach out and almost touch the ground it was so close -- we suddenly feel the plane's nose push for the sky, and the pilot accelerated like nothing I've ever felt in a commercial jet. We then climbed high above and away from IND ... and my heart literally hurt as the pilot came on the PA system to tell us: "People, we've got a problem. We're being diverted to Dayton because Indianapolis just closed its strip and we don't have the fuel to circle and wait out this line of storms."

Little did we know these were storms extraordinaire. They pounded the Indy area at the exact same time we were about to land after a VERY LONG trip ... which extended this little jaunt into the late hours of the afternoon.

Don't get me wrong. Dayton is a lovely place. Sort of. The airport is, well, modest by anyone's standards. We spent 90 minutes there before boarding again and making our way back to IND, landing at a lovely 2:15 p.m. in somewhat overcast conditions.

And then we sat. And sat. And sat some more. In the plane, mind you, because every gate was full with airplanes that were either stranded, late or unable to take off yet as the storms finally blew their way through the Hoosier heartland.

It was 3 p.m. before we emerged to the massive crowd waiting inside the airport itself. It was a mess. Baggage claim wasn't any prettier. And the drive home? Well, let's just say there are some seriously STUPID PEOPLE on the rainy roads in Indy on Tuesday afternoons -- that's all I'm sayin'.

We walked in the house shortly after 4 p.m., exhausted and thankful that this day's journey was finally over ... and especially thankful to have been there (SFO) and back (to IND) and back again (via DAY).