Around my office, I’m known as a bit of a geek. I like to study and learn – especially when it relates to technology. And I am fascinated by things that beep and buzz. Recently, a coworker, laughing at my nerdy ways, commented “I’ll bet you are the kind of person who reads the operator’s manual that comes with your computer…just for fun.” I blushed and didn’t say anything. The truth is I WOULD read the operator’s manual….except that I don’t know where I put it. Whether its directions, instructions or manuals, I inevitably misplace them the minute I open the box for the latest device I acquired. It’s like there is a black hole in my house that sucks up manuals immediately upon my bringing anything into my home. As a result, I am left to muddle about trying to figure things out on the fly. I justify my carelessness by the fact that I learn a lot through the process of trial and error. But this might also explain why my VCR still blinks a constant “12:00” even though I’ve owned it for over ten years.
The day I welcomed my first child, Eric, home from the hospital was the day I realized the importance of a coherent guidebook. Within minutes of crossing the threshold with our precious bundle, I found myself desperately searching for the instructions that would tell me what to do next. “It must be around here somewhere”, I told Ken as I rummage around the diaper bag and among the mountain of gifts and flowers sent by joyful friends and relations. Ken investigated the space behind the dryer and searched under the couch. I checked in the junk drawer where I found a receipt for a bag of M&M’s and a warranty card for a toaster we had owned four years ago when we lived in a different state. When all else failed, I called the doctor who assured me that “no, he had not neglected to remove any critical elements from my uterus on the day of delivery.” (I’m taking his word on this.....)
To be sure, we received a lot of advice on child rearing. Some was practical, like when my Mom showed me the right way to use a burp cloth after Eric puked on me for the first time. As a result of her assistance, several favorite blouses would be saved. Some was thoughtful, like when my sister reminded me to get lots of rest so that I would have enough energy to be the best Mom possible. Guilt be gone, I am taking a nap! Some was crazy, like when a friend suggested that if I allowed my baby to sleep in his swing he would NEVER sleep anywhere else. Never? Really? Like when he’s in college I’ll have to pack this thing up and ship it off to his fraternity house? Unfortunately, none of the counsel I received properly educated me on how to transform this small package of drool and diapers into a grown-up - without causing any permanent psychological harm.
My normal reaction on realizing I’ve lost the helpful handbook is to start pressing buttons and see what happens. So I touched Eric’s nose. He slowly blinked opened his teeny eyes and looked at me. Hmmm. Nothing happening there. I felt his tiny fingers. He curled them around my finger in a soft grip. I smiled. I brushed his toes. He wiggled them at me. I gently pressed his tummy and he smiled. These buttons, it appeared, didn’t DO anything! Forget it, I’ll just have to wing it.
And for the next three years, wing it I did. I made it up as I went along. He’s hot. Aaaagh! What do I do? Calm down. Call the doctor. He’s hot again. What do I do. Remember last time he was hot? The doctor said try some baby Tylenol. Right. Baby medicine. Got it. Now he’s cold! Come one, you know this one, try a blanket. But it’s not working. Wrap him up tight and cuddle with him until he falls asleep. Whew. That worked.
A few years later, we learned that Emily was on her way. “Great!”, I thought. This time I will be sure not to lose the operator’s manual. I even mentioned it to the doctor when he entered the delivery room. “Uh, excuse me. Can you make sure that the nurse does not discard the instruction booklet this time?”, I said in my most cheerful voice. The doctor looked at me with concern and advised the nurse to reduce the dosage on my pain medicine. Emily, it turns out, did not come with a hand book either! And when Beth arrived two years later, hers was missing as well!
This was getting ridiculous! Now I was mad. So I did what I always do in these situations. I wrote a sternly worded letter to the Corporate Offices to complain. It went like this:
My fingers trembled as I eagerly turned to the first page of the book. A single word was printed on the top line in ten point type. It said "Love." All of the other pages were blank. A blue ball point pen had been included for my convenience.
The day I welcomed my first child, Eric, home from the hospital was the day I realized the importance of a coherent guidebook. Within minutes of crossing the threshold with our precious bundle, I found myself desperately searching for the instructions that would tell me what to do next. “It must be around here somewhere”, I told Ken as I rummage around the diaper bag and among the mountain of gifts and flowers sent by joyful friends and relations. Ken investigated the space behind the dryer and searched under the couch. I checked in the junk drawer where I found a receipt for a bag of M&M’s and a warranty card for a toaster we had owned four years ago when we lived in a different state. When all else failed, I called the doctor who assured me that “no, he had not neglected to remove any critical elements from my uterus on the day of delivery.” (I’m taking his word on this.....)
To be sure, we received a lot of advice on child rearing. Some was practical, like when my Mom showed me the right way to use a burp cloth after Eric puked on me for the first time. As a result of her assistance, several favorite blouses would be saved. Some was thoughtful, like when my sister reminded me to get lots of rest so that I would have enough energy to be the best Mom possible. Guilt be gone, I am taking a nap! Some was crazy, like when a friend suggested that if I allowed my baby to sleep in his swing he would NEVER sleep anywhere else. Never? Really? Like when he’s in college I’ll have to pack this thing up and ship it off to his fraternity house? Unfortunately, none of the counsel I received properly educated me on how to transform this small package of drool and diapers into a grown-up - without causing any permanent psychological harm.
My normal reaction on realizing I’ve lost the helpful handbook is to start pressing buttons and see what happens. So I touched Eric’s nose. He slowly blinked opened his teeny eyes and looked at me. Hmmm. Nothing happening there. I felt his tiny fingers. He curled them around my finger in a soft grip. I smiled. I brushed his toes. He wiggled them at me. I gently pressed his tummy and he smiled. These buttons, it appeared, didn’t DO anything! Forget it, I’ll just have to wing it.
And for the next three years, wing it I did. I made it up as I went along. He’s hot. Aaaagh! What do I do? Calm down. Call the doctor. He’s hot again. What do I do. Remember last time he was hot? The doctor said try some baby Tylenol. Right. Baby medicine. Got it. Now he’s cold! Come one, you know this one, try a blanket. But it’s not working. Wrap him up tight and cuddle with him until he falls asleep. Whew. That worked.
A few years later, we learned that Emily was on her way. “Great!”, I thought. This time I will be sure not to lose the operator’s manual. I even mentioned it to the doctor when he entered the delivery room. “Uh, excuse me. Can you make sure that the nurse does not discard the instruction booklet this time?”, I said in my most cheerful voice. The doctor looked at me with concern and advised the nurse to reduce the dosage on my pain medicine. Emily, it turns out, did not come with a hand book either! And when Beth arrived two years later, hers was missing as well!
This was getting ridiculous! Now I was mad. So I did what I always do in these situations. I wrote a sternly worded letter to the Corporate Offices to complain. It went like this:
Dear God:Two years passed with no word until one bright night in October when I was out for a stroll and noticed a shooting star that appeared to fly directly over my house. I rushed home where I discovered a small package sitting on the front steps. It was wrapped in plain brown paper with a tidy red bow on top. My name was printed neatly on the outside. There was no return address. I tore open the covering and was delighted to discover a small book. Embossed in gold lettering on the cover was my name and the title - “The Care and Handling of Emily, Eric and Beth.” Anxiously I opened the cover and found a message scrawled on the inside. It said:
Thank you for the recent delivery of Beth and for fulfilling our prior orders for Emily and Eric. We have found the models to be according to the pre-established specifications and believe that they each contain the correct parts. While we are pleased with our acquisition, I must alert you to a situation in your packaging department. It appears your quality control group has neglected to include a set of operating instructions with all three models. Could you please send me copy at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely yours,
Me.
Dear You:
We have checked our records and agree that we neglected to include an operator’s manual with your prior orders. Please accept our humble apology along with your requested materials. Also, please be aware that for the models you ordered instructions are limited and it is up to the user to fill in the gaps on their own.
Kindest regards,
God.
My fingers trembled as I eagerly turned to the first page of the book. A single word was printed on the top line in ten point type. It said "Love." All of the other pages were blank. A blue ball point pen had been included for my convenience.
No comments:
Post a Comment