Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Hearst Hell

I woke up with this idea. I would clean my kitchen. I don’t just mean wiping the counters down and sweeping the floor. I was going to move everything off the counters and bleach them, empty the cupboards and rearrange them, sweep the floors and scrub them. The ridiculous part is that I figured I could get most of it done before I picked Sam up from Kindergarten*.

But no. I didn’t figure in things like scrubbing down the oven, cleaning out the cupboards I was rearranging, wiping down the dining room set, and cleaning out under the sink. It took until I was expecting middle schoolers to show up.

Have I adequately set the stage? I made myself a snack and some Crystal Light, set my laptop on the dining room table, and opened a Word Document. I was going to write about something else entirely when Sierra burst in, talking a mile a minute. I had no idea what she was saying and I had nothing to help me with context—until she shoved a magazine sale fundraiser flyer in my face.

This is what she was saying:
“How many will you buy? I only need 18 subscriptions to get a limo ride! They say we have to keep our eyes on the prize. I really want that limo ride!”

Because, as you know, there’s nothing cooler than limos and people who ride them. Good grief. With the move to public school I’ve pimped my kid out to the Hearst Company.

And this is the daughter who scoffs at most everything. She rolls her eyes at her boy-crazy friends, she wears what she wants without reference to fashion or convention, and she most definitely questions authority. But my gosh, the girl loves to sell and the girl loves magazines. This is the perfect storm.

We have magazines coming out our ears around here. Each year we get a number of points and a list of magazines to choose in exchange for our paltry airline miles. Each year the number of magazines we’d actually allow entry into our home shrinks and we opt for multiple years instead. I think we’ll be receiving Time, Newsweek, The Week, and The Atlantic Monthly till I DIE. I also get magazine subscriptions from my mom because magazines ordered for Dad’s office often come with a free one as well.

My dad’s office is the only place of business I’ve ever encountered that keeps ONLY current publications. If you show up for a filling on September 1st, you won’t be finding any August National Geographics lying around. All of August’s magazines can be found spread out neatly on my parent’s coffee table. Mom is no big magazine reader and I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t touch any of them aside from the Geographics; I wonder why they’re kept out like that. I know I always loved looking through them. Better Homes and Gardens, Redbook, Sunset, Good Housekeeping, Woman’s Day, some declaring wonder diets and all displaying mouth-watering desserts.

So anyway, I guess we parents will heave a collective sigh, roll our eyes, and lower the boom. No, we do not need ANY magazines. Well, except maybe Gourmet. I’d like that one.

P.S. School Code: WC3968. Sierra will totally hook you up;).

*Which by the way, is one of those things about being At Home that I hate. Inevitably I’m right in the middle of some project when I have to make sure Josh has pants on and I don’t look like I was just cleaning toilets. Usually we only as far as finding pants for Josh.
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