Momnesia

AUGUSTA, GA. - Of all the lessons I try to teach Emerson, I think the most powerful is how to give and to accept apologies and offer forgiveness.

Whether it is for a minor offense ("I'm sorry I dropped that glass.") or a major snafu ("I am sorry I forgot our anniversary."), I try really hard to model and to encourage what it takes to give and accept apologies and try to forgive.

On apologies

Apologies can be a beautiful thing. I'm not talking about the begrudging "SOR-RY!" that you might get from a playground bully when he or she is forced to apologize by a teacher. Or the snarky "Oh, sorry..." you might receive from that adult Regina George wanna-be who always manages to put other people's children down while exalting her own children. Or even the "sorry, sorry" that we mutter as reflex whenever we pass to closely someone on a crowded street.

Sincere apologies are really an amazing human response. With just a few words - that we developed over several millenia (no big deal, right?) and the appropriate non-verbal cues, we have the power to heal other people of actual wounds that we have inflicted. They may not be physical wounds, but they're no less real. Apologies can temper humiliation, lessen grudges, eliminate vengeance, and inspire forgiveness. They can assuage guilt, reduce shame, and improve self-esteem. They can repair a broken relationship, knit a marital rift, and mend a torn friendship.



With that much power, it's no wonder they don't come easily. And it's not surprising that it demands a lot from a person.

• First, an apology requires a person to have the self-awareness to realize that you have committed an offense against another person. That's a level of self-reflection that a lot of people do not possess.
• Second, an apology requires a person to take ownership of the wrong and accept the consequences of their behavior.
• Third, an apology is best served with some kind of restitution - some way to right the wrong that was perpetrated. 

That's a lot. So when someone apologizes, it's important to be gracious. Because every apology requires a certain display of humility. The person apologizing is prostrating themselves before you, to an extent.

But when the quality of your character matters to you, and you care about the people you have hurt, a sincere apology is usually worth it. And sincerity cannot be faked. But many people will try, and it's in your best interests to learn how to recognize a person who is insincere in his or her apology in some way. Perhaps he or she is seeking your approval, but not truly remorseful. Perhaps he or she is simply sorry for getting caught, and not for the behavior. Perhaps they face social pressure to mend the relationship. Perhaps they feel guilty, but are apologizing for themselves, and not for you.

The issue that we often run into is that accepting an apology is expected, once it is offered. Even a mere suggestion of contrition brings to bear a social code wherein the wounded party is required to immediately forgive the offending party.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Recently, I was using the microwave in a different office. I was not familiar with this machine, and when I pushed the start button ... and the RADIO came on. I spun around looking for the source of the noise, and a professor came out of his office, to see me looking around in the air for the magical surprise radio. Simultaneously, we realized it was coming from the microwave at the same time.

"That's weird," he said. And we both laughed.

AND THEN I SAW IT. The button marked "voice record."

"What the hell does this do?" I asked.

"It probably lets you record a message when so it speaks instead of beeping when your food is done," he said.

So we tried it, but it didn't work that way. We supposed that it is probably a relic of the pre-cell-phone days, when people would leave messages for each other instead of texting.

Knowing the next person to discover this button would be equally surprised, I recorded "DON'T TOUCH THIS BUTTON!"

We have new faculty starting soon. I am looking forward to this.

AUGUSTA, GA

Emerson: "MOM."

Me: "zzzzzzhuh? What?"

I glance at the clock. It's 3:48 a.m.

Emerson: "Mom. I was telling him that he doesn't need to be afraid of the multibear, but he wasn't listening."

Me: "Oh?"

Emerson:"Do you know what a multibear is?"

Me: "No."

Emerson:"It's a bear with multiple heads."

I open my eyes on the darkened room. That's a scary mental picture.

Me: "Okay, and what about a multibear?"

Emerson: "Well, I was just telling him that he doesn't need to be afraid of the multibear, like it's not going to come out of the distance, or anything."

Me: "Right. That makes sense."

Emerson: "And then, just as I was saying that, boom. Multibear. Right in the distance."

Me: "Oh, man. That's scary. What did you do?"

Emerson: "zzzzzzzzzzz...:

Me:

AUGUSTA, GA. - So, long story short, as a result of her thrilling ER visit a while back, Emerson had to follow up with a pediatric gastroenterologist, who recommended a colonoscopy.

"How do you feel about that, Doodle?" I asked.

"Oh, I feel totally comfortable with it," Emerson said. "You know what she said? She said, 'Before this, you're going to poop your brains out, and after it, you're going to fart your brains out!'"

I snort-laughed. "Okay, well, she's not wrong about it, from what I understand."

"Maybe I can fart the alphabet."

"I would actually be interested to see that, Em."

Maybe this is where she discovers her superpower!

AUGUSTA, GA - Recently, Emerson experienced one of her first big disappointments. It was something she wanted very badly, something she worked hard to attain, and after being given an opportunity, that opportunity was snatched away from her because of someone else's mistake. It might still be fixable, but we don't know, yet.

It was hard to hear the deep, resonant sobs she poured out into the pillows. My heart hurt for her, and all I could do was hold her and say how sorry I was that this happened.

After an hour of bawling, she sat up and asked for something to drink. Then she looked at me askance. "And maybe a tiny bit of ice cream?"

Ha. She didn't get the ice cream. But we stayed up a little late, snuggling and talking. She cried a little more, but slowly calmed down. Then, as she came back from the bathroom right before bed, she squared her shoulders and looked at me. "I can't be sad anymore, mama. I have an audition tomorrow. And that's another opportunity."

If I hadn't already been lying down, I would have fallen down. She's 10, and already has a better head on her shoulders than I do at none-of-your-business-years-old.

She went to that audition with a great attitude and gave it her best. When she came out, she felt happy and confident. Then she said, "If I don't get it, I'll feel sad. But there's always another opportunity."

If she doesn't get into the program she wanted, it won't be because she didn't give it her best. And that's all we can ask of her.

But what do we do if she tries her best and doesn't get in? Do we tell her to work harder? Do we accept that she may not be good enough? I don't want to think about it right now, so we'll cross that bridge if/when we come to it.

But with her positive attitude and determination, even if she doesn't get in, it will probably be much easier for her to deal with than it will be for her mama... and for whatever fool rejects her.

Him: "I think we should not see each other anymore."

Her: "Um, I know you're seeing someone else, and you're going to lie about it in perpetuity. So I agree it's for the best that we don't see each other anymore."

Him: "Except if someone you don't even know dies and I need sympathy."

Her: "But that only benefits you. I don't get anything out of that."

Him: "I wasn't looking to give you anything."

Her: "Oh. Yeah, that sounds about right."

AUGUSTA, GA.

Emerson: Why are they drinking tomato juice? 

Me: Some people like to drink tomato juice.

Emerson: Like vegetarian vampires?

Me: Yep. Exactly.

Augusta, GA. - Emerson just asked me what I wanted for Mother's Day. And she was genuinely confused by my answer.

"How about an expensive bottle of perfume?" "How about an expensive bunch of makeup?" "How about some expensive jewelry?"

First, I was somewhat concerned that the adjective preceding all of those possible gifts was "expensive." That's not something that impresses me... unless you're talking about my salary, amiright, ladies?!

Second, I don't want any of that stuff. I have never really wanted any of that stuff.

If you are looking for something to do for your mother for Mother's Day, I am telling you that the best thing you can do for your mom is to clean her freaking house and do her yard work. Just make her life a little bit easier.

Look, I like jewelry. I like perfume. Sometimes I like makeup - it just depends on the day. But what I like more than anything else is not having to do the dishes. It's not having to weed whack my yard. It's not having to cook dinner. It's not having to scrub the toilet.

What I like more than expensive jewelry and perfume and makeup is the ability to come home at the end of a long day at work and just enjoy my home and my family, and not have to think about all the things around me that need to be done so that I can take care of my home and my family. But, you know, not actually enjoy them.

So, folks, for Mother's Day, here's what your mom wants:

1. An empty dishwasher
2. An empty clothes washer
3. An empty clothes dryer
4. An empty laundry basket
5. A full refrigerator
6. Clean floors
7. Organized shelves
8. Mowed lawn
9. Weeded garden
10. Clean stove/oven
11. Dusted surfaces
12. Sparkling clean toilets
13. Fed and bathed cats
14. Clean litter boxes
15. Wiped-down baseboards
16. Scrubbed floors

And time. Time for herself, time with her family, time to breathe.

Although, if you don't feel like doing that stuff, she also wants a kayak.

AUGUSTA, GA. - My morning should have been pretty easy. 

1. Get Em off to school.
2. Drive to campus.
3. Park a mere 50 yards away from the building.
4. Take an elevator to the third floor.
5. Unlock my office door.

Simple, right? NOT FOR ME.

1. Get Em off to school. Done. 
2. Drive towards campus, see flashing red light, realize I need gas.
3. Detour to gas station.
4. Lose argument with debit card swiper.
5. Go inside to pay for gas.
6. Wait in line behind chatty older guy just grabbing a cup of coffee.
7. Laugh as I explain to humorless cashier that I lost an argument to debit card swiper.
8. Pay for gas.
9. Go back outside to pump gas.
10. Gas pump won't turn on.
11. Press help button.
12. No attendant responds.
13. Go back inside to ask attendant to turn on pump.
14. She insists that I haven't paid for gas.
15. But I did, two minutes ago. Here is the receipt.
16. She gets mad at me, because of REASONS. How did I produce this magical receipt of lies?!
17. Chatty older guy tries to engage me in conversation - DO YOU NOT HAVE SOMEWHERE TO BE, SIR?
18. Go outside. Wait two minutes while attendant passive-aggressively does not activate pump.
19. Pump gas. Leave. Mentally flip off cashier.
20. Fly down the road to campus. Hit no traffic lights. Sweetness!
21. Pull into parking space.
22. Run over yellow cone accidentally left in parking space.
23. Back out of parking space, dragging cone under my car.
24. Get out of car to dislodge cone.
25. Student in car pulls up behind me, with perfect view of my behind as I wrangle this fighty cone.
26. Student driver honks. 
27. I motion that there is trouble. DOES SHE NOT SEE THAT I AM ON THE GROUND IN A DRESS?
28. Car driver rolls eyes and pulls around me, honking again.
29. Car driver is on my growing list of people who must be destroyed.
30. Get back into car, pull backward until cone dislodges.
31. Cone now looks like the Sorting Hat from Harry Potter.
32. Pull car into nearby space.
33. Place cone at very back of parking space so no one else runs over it.
34. Student driver passes me, still circling the parking lot for a space. Student driver clearly not a business major capable of doing a cost-benefit analysis, since nearby lot is clearly mostly empty, and she has been circling this smaller, full lot for about 10 minutes.
35. Walk to building. Do not fall down or get hit by car. A miracle.
36. Elevator is waiting for me.
37. Get off elevator. Walk to office.
38. Where the hell is my office?! 
39. I'm on the wrong floor. 
40. Climb stairs to third floor. Walk to office.
41. Use car key fob to try to unlock office door.
42. Stand stupidly in hallway while faculty member passes me with a bemused expression as I make this attempt.
43. Realize my own stupidity.
44. Unlock office door.
45. Sit down at computer and breathe. 

Today is still going to be a good day. Because today I did not have to walk two miles to find fresh water. I do not have any funerals to attend. My daughter is healthy and doing well in school, even if she did almost make me cry with her grumpiness this morning. And I have my old friend, caffeine, to get me through the morning. We've been bros since college.

AUGUSTA, GA. - I've told this story hundreds of times, but I love it, so I'm going to share it again.

We took Emerson down to Disney World when she was maybe 2 years old. She was great the whole trip. No issues.

Except when it came to sleeping arrangements. She insisted on sleeping in the double bed with us. And, as we know, kids turn into their alternate ego - Sleep Ninja - the second they hit Slumbertown. So it was not a great arrangement for us parents.

We got her to sleep one night and then I very slowly Mission-Impossible-d her onto a luxurious pallet on the floor. I got maybe four hours of sleep. At 2:30 a.m., she shot into a sitting position, wide awake.

"Mama! I on da floor, what happen?!"

I laughed and laughed. "Emerson, honey, you were kicking me in the face in your sleep."

She sighed and began crawling back into the bed. "I sowwy, but dis not goeend wort for me."

Guess who slept on the floor the rest of the night.

Not her.

AUGUSTA, GA. - My daughter can do anything. Let's just get that out of the way right now. She can fly a spaceship, she can command a warship, she can negotiate peace treaties, she can stay at home with her children full-time, she can minister to the masses, or she can live in a yurt in Mongolia and raise yaks.

I mean, those aren't her ONLY options. Warships or Yaks. But the point is, I don't care what she chooses to do with her life, so long as they are her choices, she isn't hurting herself or anyone else, and she is pursuing her own happiness.

What I do care is that nobody gets in her way with their sexist bullcrap.

Em: "Mom, [person who shan't be named (hereafter "she")] says girls can't do buildings and stuff."

Me: "Do what?"

Em: "Like, construction and making the building plans and being the boss."


Me: "Yes, we can."

Em: "I know! I told her that yes, we can! We can do anything boys can do! But she just said no, we can't. It made me so mad."

Me: "Well, let's remember that she doesn't want to do any of those things."

Em: "Okay, but then maybe she should be more specific about that."

Me: (chuckling) "Maybe."

Or maybe she should go live in a yurt and raise yaks. On the moon.

I can gloss over a lot of things. But hurting my child? No. I will never understand why anyone would willingly choose to put roadblocks in front of a child - even psychological ones. Why create a small voice of doubt where one doesn't exist? Aren't there enough challenges in life?

AUGUSTA, GA - Emerson has been throwing me attitude and dragging her feet all morning. I finally get her in the car to go to school.

"Okay, Em, spill it. What's eating at you this morning?"

She casts her eyes downward. "I'm really nervous."

"About what? The choral competition today?"

"Yes! I've never done anything like this before! I'm scared I'm going to mess up. I'm scared the class is going to mess up. And Mr. Neches will be upset with us."

I laugh. "I totally understand. I would be nervous, too."

"How can YOU understand? You're the best at EVERYTHING."

"What? Em, I'm the best at precisely nothing. I'm the best at not one single thing. And that's okay. Because do you know what I'm really good at?"

"What?"

"I'm really good at trying."



She frowns in consternation out the windshield. "At trying...?"

"There's always someone better, Em. At everything. All you can do is be YOUR best. And then you feel satisfied."

She thought for a little while. We drove in silence as she mulled it over.

"OKAY," she declared. "I'm going to be the best at trying."

"That's awesome. You do you the best way you know how, Em."

"I'm going to sing my butt off."

"Okay. Just pick up your butt before you leave the stage, though, 'cause... Ew."

She giggled. "I'll try. ...Get it? Because I'm going to be the best at trying?"

Maybe she should try working on her jokes, next.

This was my face, pretty much the whole time I was trying to explain this situation to Emerson.

AUGUSTA, GA. - Emerson and I are going through the house and clearing out clutter to sell online. Books, clothes, shoes, toys, small appliances I never use, etc. We've made about $100 so far, with a $1,000 goal.

In the process, she decided to take some of her books to sell at her school. I wasn't convinced that it was a good idea, but she assured me it would be fine. I had reservations.

"MOM! I sold some books!" she said when I picked her up. "I made SEVEN dollars!"

"Wow, that's great, honey! How many books did you sell?"

"I sold three books. I thought that about $2 apiece was a fair price, but then the Diary of a Wimpy Kid book was more expensive, because it has a hard cover."

"Oh, okay. Well, that seems pretty fair."

"See? Look. It's a Sacajawea coin. It's worth $5."

Uh oh... I don't think this is how it works.

"What do you mean, Doodle?"

"It's a $1 coin, but it's really worth $5. A. has a book, and she said it was worth $5. So I told L. that was fine to give me just the coin, and I gave her one dollar back. And then I have two dollars here. So I made seven dollars!"

"Umm.... did you see the coin book?"

"No, she has it at home."

"Honey.. I don't think it works that way."

"Yeahhuh, A. has a book that tells you what things are worth!"

"Okay, let me just Google it."

"Okay."

Unfortunately, it was as a I suspected. Because the coin was a 2001P, and had been in circulation, it was only worth face value.

"The face value means the amount written on the coin. See, honey, it's worth $5 only if you can sell it to someone who also thinks it's worth $5. And there are stores that buy coins, but then they have to sell it and make a profit, so if you sell it to them, they can only give you about half what it's worth."

"What?! I got cheated!"

"Well, hold on. You're still holding one dollar, the face value of the coin. And it sounds like this was an honest mistake that L. made - and that you agreed to."

"Ugh... yeah, I did agree to it, but that was because we all thought it was worth $5. She owes me $4!"

"Hmm. I'm not saying you're wrong. I just don't know, Em. All three of you made honest mistakes, and L. is your friend. Maybe it's not worth the stress."

Emerson stared down at the coin in her hands and thought in silence for a few moments.

"I think I have to talk to her about it. I think what I have to say is, 'I'm not saying anybody is wrong,  but A.'s book made a mistake. This coin is only worth one dollar. Face value.' I think from now on I should only take things that I know what it's worth."

"Well... I think this lesson was definitely worth $4."

Okay, this isn't our photo, but it's almost exactly what Emerson's awesome tacos looked like.

AUGUSTA, GA - Emerson cooked dinner one Friday night. She made pork soft tacos, spiced black beans, and saffron rice. I only helped a little bit. It was delicious.

"Em, this is great!" I said, stuffing spinach into my second one.

"Thanks, Mom! I was afraid you were going to not like it and spit it out." She gave me a hug, clearly relieved.

"Why would you think that? You did a fantastic job."

"I really like it, too. I never cooked meat before, but it's just perfect. I think I have a brown thumb."

"A brown thumb?"

"A meat thumb. Like a green thumb, but for meat instead of plants."

Got it. Meat thumb. Wonder how that would taste in a taco.

This is a personal experience story that I like to call "You're Doing it Wrong." If you came here for a tight little bulleted list or pithy infographic, you've clearly never read my blog before. :-)

AUGUSTA, GA. - I'm sure the social media team at Whirlpool had good intentions. On a Saturday, when I tweeted my frustration at being unable to get to the thermal fuse off one of their dryers so that I could replace it, they actually tweeted back in a direct message, asking how they could help.

    Me: Wow, I was just whining but this is great! Replacing thermal fuse. Can't get drum out to get to it. No rear panel access. Belt off, drum stuck.

   Me: Seems connected at bottom of felt liner but can't see where or how. All web resources say same: it should lift right out. But it won't.

    Whirlpool: Please DM your name, address, ph# & the model & serial number so we can review this for you. Thank you.

    Me: Okay! It would be great if there was a technician who could tell me how to do it! I don't have the money to buy a new dryer right now, so I need to repair this one.

    Whirlpool: Thank you! We'll be in touch with you after looking into this further.

    Me: I really appreciate your responsiveness!

See the heating element? That's what I need to get to in order to replace the thermal fuse. Only I can't get the drum out.

On Wednesday, a team member actually called me to help!

    Whirlpool: We'd like to offer you a special code to buy a new dryer at a discount.

    Me: Um, well, that's very nice of you, thank you. I'll be happy to take a look at that, but it's really not in the budget right now. If someone could please just tell me how to get the drum the rest of the way off, that will probably do it for me.

    Whirlpool: We don't really have anyone who can do that. But I can send you a list of repair providers in your area.

    Me (long pause): Sure, fine. Thanks.

Really, Whirlpool?

First of all, I find it hard to believe that, in the whole multinational company that makes dryers, you don't have anyone who can say, "There's a bolt under the drum. You can't see it from the front. You have to stick your hand in there, totally blind, and feel around for it." Or whatever the problem is. I don't know, I haven't figured it out yet, and my dryer is still in frickin' pieces.

Second, I didn't ask you for help in purchasing a new dryer. I need to get ONE PART off, then I can repair your broken-down dryer MYSELF. Well... assuming I can get it all back together again. But you designed this dryer with no rear panel access. Thanks a heap.

Third, they actually caused more frustration than they addressed. As I shopped around, the discount ended up being probably $50 less than Lowe's, Home Depot, HH Gregg, and Best Buy - although Lowe's has a price match guarantee, and I didn't check to see if they'd honor this one. I appreciate that Whirlpool reached out. I appreciate that they offered a discount. But the follow-through of their outreach went from "We can help," to "J/K we're not going to help. Give us money."

That's terrible in several ways. First, it's tone deaf. Second, it ignores my actual request. Third, offering to help me find repair services in my area tells me that you think I'm an idiot who can't use Google or Yelp. Or even the Yellow Pages, for you throwbacks out there.

Finally, it reeks of sales management ambition. You just know that about five years ago some 25-year-old junior territory manager made a very nervous presentation to senior management called "Using the Social Media Sales Funnel to Eliminate Missed Opportunities." Buzzwords and phrases included "Millenials," "revenue impact," "meet them where they are" and "controlling the conversation." All the senior management cheered at this new, extra-super-crass way of moving a few dozen extra units every year, and the junior territory manager was given a raise and a promotion to Associate Sales Director for North America. Now the Boomers at the top introduce him as their "social media guru," and he actually puts that on his name badge at conferences. "Dave, Whirlpool, Social Media Guru." All the while, some NEW 25-year-old junior territory manager named Logan is watching for an opening for his OWN presentation titled, "Social Media 2.0: Closing the Sales Gap." Dave better hope one of those lingering Boomers retires in the next few months so that people start to shuffle upwards again. Hope you catch the wave, Dave.

Hmm... Maybe I overthink things. Maybe I had inflated expectations. Maybe my frustration with the repair process is clouding my ability to appreciate the $50 discount on the fictitious dryer - fictitious because, as I told them in our DM conversation, buying a new dryer isn't in the budget right now. It might as well be a $50 discount on a Lear Jet for all the difference it makes.

Eventually, I'll be able to budget for a new dryer. First I need to budget for new tires, the removal of a few suspicious moles, and some minor dental work.

But when I do go shopping for a new dryer... I think I'll go with Maytag.

AUGUSTA, GA. - I really enjoyed The Metro Spirit's article on online yard/garage sale forums. I'm a member of three of them, and I have found them very useful. Better than Craigslist (in that you rarely show up to buy a couch only to find that "couch" was that week's code word for prostitutes), online yard sale forums are usually Facebook groups where you can sell your stuff - or buy other people's stuff - and hardly ever get murdered. Yay!

Emerson and I are clearing out clutter. Clothes and shoes that haven't been worn in forever, books, DVDs, toys, etc. We've been very fortunate to find buyers who are interested, and we're hoping, over time, to turn this into a nice chunk of change to finance a visit to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter next year for her 11th birthday. You don't even know how badly we BOTH want to go.

But despite the fact that I love those stupid sites, and I have had mostly very good experiences with them, I have found some frustrations... mainly, women who engage in a kind of histrionic bait-and-switch that makes me want to tear off their acrylic nails and color in their highlights. Oh, yes, there is a profile, people, and I'm here to tell you it's upper-middle-class housewives who are the number one perpetrators of the following kinds of exchanges.

Poster: "SOLD!! Hi! I really super seriously need to buy everything you're selling immediately!"

Me (having posted four separate, distinct, and unrelated items that day for $25 each (total $100), with the caveat that I would meet buyers in specific areas): "Great! When would you like to meet?"

Poster: "I can meet every other Tuesday. How's tomorrow at 10 a.m.?"

Me: "Um, that won't work. I work full-time, 9-6."

Poster: "Oh, how sad. Well, can you bring them to my house in BFE around 6 p.m.?"

Me: "Um, no, I'll only just be leaving work at 6 p.m. And is there perhaps a more central location in which we can meet?"

Poster: "How about at 6:15 at the grocery store two blocks from my house out here in No Man's Land but still a 30-minute drive for you with traffic?"

Me: "No, that won't work for me. This might not work out. It's okay if you want to pass."

Poster: "No, I really want everything! I might be in Augusta tomorrow at 10 a.m. Will that work?"

Me: "Again, I work 9-6. But if you'll still be in town around noon, I can meet you on my lunch break."

Poster: "Thanks! And will you take $20 for everything?"

Me: "No."

Poster: "Then I'll have to pass."

Me: Bangs head against wall.




That's still better than the ones who show up and try to force their scam down your throat unexpectedly. I don't play that game.

Me: "Hi! Good to meet you!"

Poster: "Yeah, good to meet you, too! Well, everything looks good. Will you take $40 for everything?"

Me: "Um, no, we agreed to $100."

Poster (looking stricken): "But I only have $40. Will you take that?"

Me: "No."

Poster: "Will you take a check?"

Me: "No. But that's okay, I'll just move on to the next person who was interested."

Poster (grumpily): "No, wait, hang on. Let me check my glove box. Oh, look! Here's $60 right here!"

Me: "Imagine that!"

Hmph. I wish I had a magic ATM in my car.

If you want to use these sites, jump in but be smart. It's mostly good fun. I love buying secondhand for cost and conservation efforts, and I love keeping things local. But beware that there are people who prey upon naive site users. Here's my advice:

1. Document - Use Facebook messenger to always verify the purchase items and price. Then you have a written record in case they pitch a fit to the site admins when they don't get their way. The admins do not have time to get into drama, and they will just ban you and not think twice about it unless you have a compelling reason (and proof) for them not to. They are nice volunteers who just want to facilitate a useful service, and they do not have time for a full-on investigation.

2. Safety First - NEVER meet anywhere EXCEPT a well-lit, high-traffic, low-crime area. Some common locations are large retail parking lots (Target, Wal-mart, grocery stores), fast food restaurants, and places like Starbucks and Panera. Some police departments will let you use their parking lots and lobbies, and anywhere there's a sheriff's substation is a good idea.

3. Convenience is Key - Do not travel far from your home. It won't be worth it when the buyer either doesn't show up (not uncommon), or refuses the purchase for whatever reason.

4. Price Fairly - These sites are not fine furniture stores and antiques showrooms. People are looking for good deals, so price your stuff accordingly. Everyone thinks their leather sectional is worth $1,500. But is anyone willing to pay that? (Spoiler: No.)

5. Price Fairly, Part Deux - But don't come down on the price when a buyer is being irresponsible or trying to scam you. A well-mannered woman with a fresh manicure in a nice car can afford to buy your secondhand books for the less-than-one-dollar-apiece price you're asking. She's just being a horrible human being by both wasting your time and trying to pressure you into just taking what you can get in the moment.

6. Admins are Awesome - Report jerks like this to the admins EVERY TIME. They will ban them, and then they can crawl back to Freecycle like the mooches they are.

7. Document, Part Deux - When I remember, especially if the buyer seems even slightly sketchy, I run my phone's video camera or voice recorder while the transaction is going. If there are any conflicts, they are on record. That might be going a tad far, but I don't even care. Some people be crazy.

8. Admins are Mere Flawed Mortals - Freecycle has been useful in the past, but again, some people are nuts. I once offered three used bras that didn't fit me after Emerson was born, and the first to respond was a woman who wanted me to ship them to Aiken. No way. She pitched a fit, said I was discriminating against people from Aiken, and reported me to the site admin, who said it was my fault for not specifying the delivery area. Sigh... sometimes, even the admins be crazy.

Happy hunting!

AUGUSTA, GA. - Emerson is complimenting my boobs. It's weird. I tell her to cut it out, and she starts belly laughing.

"Jumping Jehoshaphat, Em. That was wildly uncomfortable."

She laughs harder, shrieking, "Jumping Jehoshaphat?! What the heck is that?!"

"You know what? I'm not even going to tell you. You can just Google it tomorrow at your fancy art school in your fancy computer lab while all we had was stupid Oregon Trail on 5-inch floppy discs."

"Oregon Trail? What's that?"

"A video game. Basically, every computer lab was a choice between either doing typing programs or murdering an innocent digital family as they traveled across the prairie to a new homestead."

"Which one did you choose?"

"Well, I never actually learned how to type properly, so... "

"That's hilarious! So, you didn't have the internet?"

"Nope."

"That's sad."

"Well, but we got to ride dinosaurs to school, so it all worked out."

My senior portrait. I was a badass.

"Mom..."

"What?"

"You didn't ride a dinosaur."

"Prove it."

"Mom! Dinosaurs are extinct!"

"Because they all died on the Oregon Trail. My bad."

"Mom..."

"I should have taken typing. Maybe they'd still be alive."

"MOM!"

"What?"

"... You know what? Nothing. I like your crazy stories. Tell me another one about the old days."

"They're not that old, Em."

"They are to me."

"Fair enough. Let me tell you about my friend who lost an eye to her crimping iron."

"What?! What's a crimping iron? How did she lose her eye?"

"It was back in the 80s. It's like a flat iron, but it made a crimping pattern in your hair. It's hot and you put it near your face, so... accidents happen. Anyway, we called her Crimp-Eye Kristen."

"Did she really lose an eye?"

"Oh, yes. And then she couldn't see the dinosaurs. So, sadly, she's not with us anymore."