Candid Conversations with Customer Service

With three small children I rely on being able to multitask. So I knew it was going to be a rough week in The Crib when the dishwasher decided to self-immolate on Tuesday. Whether it did it as a form of protest to its life of indentured servitude or as an extreme political statement against the tyranny of the fridge I do not know. Suffice it to say the dishwasher is no longer fulfilling it’s singular purpose anymore. It’s not until they inconvenience you that you really begin to appreciate how convenient these modern conveniences are. Or how they help you accomplish more than one thing at a time.

So when Mr. Kenmore Elite started giving off the distinctive aroma of burning plastic when running a wash cycle I knew we had a problem. Cue Daddy to call in the reinforcements. In the meantime, I would have to deal with dishpan hands for a day or two until we get this resolved. I mean, how bad could it be?

Oh, It could be very very bad. The reinforcements arrived on Thursday to assess the situation. This revealed that, not only had the wiring inside the door burnt, but the control panel is also corroded and likely faulty. But hey, it’s only a 4-year-old machine so this should be covered under warranty, right? Right??? Wrong. Not only will it cost hundreds of dollars to repair, it’s going to take a week for the parts to arrive. Time to haul out our best “stern mommy” voice and call customer service.

Naturally, this leads me through the 5 Stages of Customer Service Grief.

Denial: What do you mean it’s no longer covered under warranty!?
Anger: I want to speak to your supervisor!!
Bargaining: Well, can you at least cover the cost of the parts?
Depression: I’m going to have to handwash my dishes for a week until the parts arrive. *sigh*
Acceptance: Sure, lets make an appointment to have the technician come to fix it next week.

So it was during my third call to Customer Service, right around the Bargaining phase that I had the following conversation. I get forwarded to the Parts Department. Dave comes on the phone.

Dave: Hi there, this is Dave. I see you’re having a problem with your dishwasher and it’s no longer under warranty…. What’s that whirring noise in the background?

Me: Uh….  it’s a… a…uh, motor. Not to worry.

Dave: Oh. Okay. Let me just put you on hold while I check on the availability of those parts. [pause on hold]. Okay the control board is available but the wiring harness needs to be shipped from here in Belleville…  That motor in the background sounds like one of those purring robotic cats (Huh!?!). What is that?

Me: It’s my breast pump, Dave.

Dave: Whoa! Oh! Okay! …I am turning beet red right now!

Me: Hehe…I’m sure you are, Dave.

Dave: Hahaha! Well, I am embarrassed.

Me: Don’t be. I have three little kids, Dave, so I always need to multitask.

But here’s the real beauty of my conversation. Now Dave really wants to help me. He gets where I’m coming from. We have rapport. He tells me how his wife had trouble breastfeeding. I tell him I had tremendous challenges nursing my oldest. He’s going to see if he can get the parts expedited. And he’ll ensure the repair man sees that the cost of the parts are being covered by the company. That one embarrassing little interchange got me farther to resolving my issue than any other snippy, snarky or snide comment I had previously had with the organization.

Oh – and, of course, as all good companies do, they record their customer service calls for quality assurance. I’m guessing this makes it to the gag reel for the Christmas party.

In the meantime, I’ll be getting in touch with my inner Mennonite and handwashing my dishes – while I pump, of course.

Anatomy of a Whoozit (Or Is That What I Think It Is??)

Like many moms, I received a ton of gifts from friends and relatives when my firstborn arrived. One of these, given to me by an old high-school friend, continues to be one of my favourites. It’s a plush toy that hangs on baby’s crib or stroller. I used it with my son and now my daughters play with it. I love this toy not because it’s educational or award-winning (which it is) or because I think it’s going to help my kids get into Harvard someday. I love this toy because it makes me snicker like a pre-teen boy every time I look at it.

It’s a Whoozit and its made by the fine folks at Manhattan Toy. What is a Whoozit exactly? Made with velour and other high-contrast fabric, it is a round stuffed face that has rattles, a squeeker and crinkle paper to supposedly jump-start your little ones senses. It’s got round yellow eyes, a big pink grin and an enormous red nose. It’s also got seven appendages sticking out around it to give little hands lots to grab onto.

Now it strikes me that these appendages have obvious anatomical equivalents. There are two appendages with yellow stars on the ends that appear to be attenae, two that end in red hearts that equate to arms, two with pink circles at the bottom that I see as legs and one that hangs between the legs with a green triangle at the tip. Yes, one. The only one that does not have a pair. That has a triangle at the end. Obviously, it is the Whoozit’s penis.

Now maybe you’re thinking I’ve got a dirty mind (guilty!) or that I’m being totally juvenile (got me again!) but have a look and tell me if you think I’m wrong.

So I’m left to wonder why, in all their wisdom, the fine folks at Manhattan Toy would choose to make the Whoozit so… anatomically correct. I certainly don’t think it’s for the benefit of my 6-month-olds. They’re still working on the distinction between their toes and their elbows. Even my two-year-old, who is at a stage where he’s quite entralled with his own representation of malehood, doesn’t see this connection. Or if he does he hasn’t made mention of it. Which he generally does. Quite loudly (Mommy doeeesssn’t have a penis! Daddy dooeees have a penis!!). So perhaps the Whoozit’s penis is simply there to make mommies laugh. Because not only does Mr. Whoozit have a penis but he’s quite well-endowed, too (it’s as long as his arm for heaven sake!). Barbie’s buddy Ken should be so lucky.

Do you have favourite toy belonging to your kids? Or one that just makes you laugh? 

Facebook Messages from My Toddler

Not long ago my 2-year-old updated my Facebook status (true story). As he does most days, he grabbed my Blackberry (I know, I know. I gotta get an iPhone.) and started jamming on the keys. Why does he do this? Is it because he sees his father or me constantly clicking away at some small-screened device daily? Nah, that can’t be it. Anyhow, I don’t password protect my device so if he gets a hold of it and starts clicking around well, he can sometimes get things to happen (so sorry if you thought that was a crank phone call last week). And on this particular day the digital gods aligned such that he clicked around and managed to post a status update to my Facebook account.

And what did he post for mommy? It went as follows:

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

And if it’s not enough that my toddler has just demonstrated to my entire social network my lax parenting skills, the truly galling thing is that his post got as many – if not more – comments than I normally get when I update my status. But it was one of these comments from a friend that made me realize that this was actually a coded message from my son to me.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
DearMommyYou’llspendthismuchbeforewe’redone

This One and That One

When I was pregnant I assumed that my twins were fraternal. I had a good reason for thinking this. My ultrasounds showed that my babies each had their own placenta. Armed with my undergraduate-level knowledge of human biology I assumed that this meant each of them had developed from their own fertilized egg, as is the case with fraternal twins.  With identical twins, each baby develops as a result of a single fertilized egg that splits into two embryos and, typically, you see a single placenta for two babies. So I was surprised when my Ob-Gyn told me, “They could still be identical twins. If the embryo splits early enough you’ll get identical twins that each have their own placenta.”

Apparently this occurs in as many as 30 percent of identical twin pregnancies. So not common, but not impossible. The only way to know for sure whether twins are fraternal or identical is to have them genetically tested. We haven’t had this done so I don’t know for certain whether my girls are identical. What I do know is this; they look a hell of a lot alike. So it was interesting when my husband Sean posted a picture of our 5-month-old girls online recently. A friend asked which of the girls was which and Sean revealed our methods for telling them apart.  They are:

1) The Painted Toenail. The day we brought the girls home from the hospital – before we removed their ID bracelts – we painted the left toenail of the first born bright red. This is useful for up close situations, provided they are not wearing socks, and

2) Outfits. We never, NEVER dress them in the same outfit. One is always dressed in pink; the other in purple or white. This makes it easier to tell them apart from across the room.

Our friend replied that she thought Mom’s and Dad’s were supposed to be able to tell their children apart by looks, not painted toenails. And, at first, I was insulted. Of course I can tell my children apart! I’m their mother. I carried them for over 37 weeks. I have gazed on them every day since the day they were born. But here’s the truth. Just when I think I’ve figured out who is who I realize I’m calling my child by the wrong name. The reality is that my husband and I frequently refer to the girls as “This One” and “That One”. Who are you holding? This One. Who is crying? That One.

So whether or not they’re actually identical the fact is, at this stage, they look EXACTLY the same and the bottom line is no we can’t tell them apart really any better than you. We just know a trick or two to make you think we can.

The Backyardigans: What is the Pink One?

Around our house one of the more popular shows of late is The Backyardigans. If you’ve never seen it, it’s a sweet cartoon from the folks at Nickelodeon targeted at 2 to 5-year-olds. A group of talking animal friends use their imaginations to create adventures in far away places right in their own backyard. They sing, the dance, they tell a little story. Some of the tunes are actually pretty catchy. On the scale of annoying kiddie shows it’s about a 6 out of 10 – not nearly as insipid as Barney but not as good as Dora the Explorer. It’s in around Theodore Tugboat territory.

At the beginning of the show we’re introduced to each of our little animal friends. The theme music comes up and each Backyardigan appears to tell us his – or her – name.

“Hi, I’m Pablo.” Blue penquin. Okay. Check.

“My name’s Tyrone.” He’s a moose. Sure.

“I’m Uniqua”. That’s a pink… uhhh…….

“I’m Tasha.” Yellow hippopotamus. Fine. Cruel making a little girl a hippo perhaps, but fine.

“And my name’s Austin.” Kind of a cross between a dog and a kangaroo?

Let’s back it up to the pink one – Uniqua. Granted she’s got an unusual moniker but what really baffles me is… what is it? I can’t figure it out. She’s got pink spots, no discernible nose and two curly protrusions coming out of her head that look like alien antennae. Is she one of those hairless cats? A pig with chicken pox? Alien frog baby, maybe? Here – take a look.

Now I realize that this is akin to those “What is Goofy?” debates (he’s a talking dog. Mickey talks, Donald talks. He’s a dog that talks. Move on.) But I really am at a loss on this one. I’ve actually Googled to try to find out what she could be. Because of the spots I’ve seen it suggested that Uniqua is a ladybug (she’s nowhere near being a leopard, so that’s out) and because of the antennae another suggestion has been an ant. But apparently she’s none of these. Uniqua is, well… a uniqua. She is meant to be totally unique. So, for some reason, while the other four characters on The Backyardigans are recognizable animals this one of the group is a unique, fictitious creature. Why the show’s creators would choose to do this I can only imagine.

Let’s make the characters look like little animal kids!
Okay! But let’s make one of them a little alien-like creature to totally screw up the adults watching!

Perhaps Nickelodeon thought Uniqua would be a nice inherent lesson in the program to teach young kids that we should embrace what makes each of us different or special. Yada yada yada. I’m skeptical that my 2-year-old will get that. All I know is that Pablo is his favourite. So, please, if anyone out there knows someone at Nickelodeon who can shed some light on this, send them my way.

Welcome to the Crib

Things in the crib have changed a lot over the past three years. Earlier in 2012, I gave birth to twin girls. At the time my son was 22 months old. So having three children in three years results in some lifestyle changes.

Firstly, I no longer get to drive a sporty car. I drive a minivan. With one child you can get away with your sporty car. With two you are likely going to be relegated to a semi-stylish SUV. However, with 3 children (and requirements for 3 car seats) you cross over that threshold and enter minivan-land.

Secondly, I had to renovate my main floor. Not extensively, but I moved my laundry room down to the basement. Why? Because I needed the space that was my laundry room as a mud room. I live I a land that has ice and snow 4 months of the yea. I can’t truck kids out the front door and across an icy driveway to load them into my minivan in the middle of winter.

Lastly, I hired someone to clean my house. I finally realized that I simply don’t have a block of 2 hours in my week to do this. Ever. So every two weeks someone comes to make my house sparkling clean from basement to bedrooms. This state of order lasts until approximately 8 minutes after the cleaners leave my house.

So my point is, when kids come into your life things will change. Embrace it – get help, move what needs to be moved, and get rid of the things that no longer work for you.