Last week was crazy, so sorry for my absence. I must give you a few quote from last week that I am still laughing about.
Two boys are talking at the lunch table. One says to the other, "There's this guy. His name is Rock Obama. He's fighting this other guy. His name is Mitt. They are fighting about this thing called a debate. You know what this guy Mitt said? He's gonna take away PBS Kids!" The children are 5 and 6 years old.
Two more boys are talking in my presence at school. These boys are a little older, I think they are in 2nd grade this year. One boy says to the other, "My armpits are sweaty! They are so sweaty that I could cook a steak in my armpit. The other day my Dad said I could give it a try!"
Monday, October 22, 2012
Monday, October 15, 2012
Adoption
Literally five seconds after the woman who adopted our sugar gliders Chili and Pepper walked out the door both kids were bugging me about a new dog. Another dog. Another pet.
I gave a typical smart response and told them that they needed to let things settle, the sting of $600 walking out the front door mainly, before bringing up another animal.
Minutes passed and Hannah was on the SISCA site...then onto the Human Society site. She changed the background picture on the computer to a picture of a dog she had found...Chuckie the Cheweenie. Any dog she found Hannah would look at the picture and give the saccharine "awww." I was throwing up in my mouth.
Don't get me wrong! I love dogs. I love animals. I would have a house FULL of dogs if I weren't allergic, and I didn't mind pee everywhere. My clean phobia battles my animal loving obsession all the time.
I am slammed at work and school this week. Working late, finals, soccer games, you name it. Yesterday as I sat at the kitchen table working on a piece for my final I look up to see a bag of bones cat crawling around our deck. I had heard the kids mention it before, but never really paid attention.
I walked into the laundry room and scooped up some food (Chloe's cheap cat food) and leaving Chloe inside the house to attack the french door, went outside and placed a disposable container of food under the bench on the deck out of the rain. I sat back down at the kitchen table, and not five minutes later I looked up to see the cat chowing down. I watched her for awhile and after she finished and disappeared I walked outside to retrieve the dish.
The cat was mewing like crazy from under the deck. So I climbed under the deck to see. She, with a little prompting, came out and attacked me with her neck, trying to get me to pet her.
I am allergic. Not crazy allergic, but pretty darn close. So I pet her and talked to her while Chloe whipped herself into a frenzy in the house.
More snuggling. More food. Kids came home to find we had adopted an outdoor cat.
The kids made her a nice little bed and food dish in the safety of the bushes surrounding the deck. Last night we had a terrible rain storm and I woke a few times wondering if she were okay. Maybe she should come in the garage?
I guess I'm a cat owner.
I gave a typical smart response and told them that they needed to let things settle, the sting of $600 walking out the front door mainly, before bringing up another animal.
Minutes passed and Hannah was on the SISCA site...then onto the Human Society site. She changed the background picture on the computer to a picture of a dog she had found...Chuckie the Cheweenie. Any dog she found Hannah would look at the picture and give the saccharine "awww." I was throwing up in my mouth.
Don't get me wrong! I love dogs. I love animals. I would have a house FULL of dogs if I weren't allergic, and I didn't mind pee everywhere. My clean phobia battles my animal loving obsession all the time.
I am slammed at work and school this week. Working late, finals, soccer games, you name it. Yesterday as I sat at the kitchen table working on a piece for my final I look up to see a bag of bones cat crawling around our deck. I had heard the kids mention it before, but never really paid attention.
I walked into the laundry room and scooped up some food (Chloe's cheap cat food) and leaving Chloe inside the house to attack the french door, went outside and placed a disposable container of food under the bench on the deck out of the rain. I sat back down at the kitchen table, and not five minutes later I looked up to see the cat chowing down. I watched her for awhile and after she finished and disappeared I walked outside to retrieve the dish.
The cat was mewing like crazy from under the deck. So I climbed under the deck to see. She, with a little prompting, came out and attacked me with her neck, trying to get me to pet her.
I am allergic. Not crazy allergic, but pretty darn close. So I pet her and talked to her while Chloe whipped herself into a frenzy in the house.
More snuggling. More food. Kids came home to find we had adopted an outdoor cat.
The kids made her a nice little bed and food dish in the safety of the bushes surrounding the deck. Last night we had a terrible rain storm and I woke a few times wondering if she were okay. Maybe she should come in the garage?
I guess I'm a cat owner.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Define
Last night Hannah and I were sitting in the car at Bubba's soccer game. No, there was no alcohol involved, just Hannah and me in the car farting (Hannah) and laughing. We are people watching, as usual, and I point out a woman that I used to work with standing on the sidelines. Apparently this woman chatted David up the night before about the school levy, and coincidentally she told me as much earlier in the day when I bumped into her.
I was telling Hannah that this woman, Amy, had asked me who David was. David had been standing with Sam on the sidelines the day before and she recognized Sam and wondered. I told Amy that Sam was with his Dad.
Hannah turns to me and asks me, "So what is he?"
"What is who?" I ask back.
"What is Dad?" Hannah asks.
"Who is Dad?" I feign as I try and keep the Who's on first routine going. I knew exactly what Hannah was asking, I just wanted her to articulate.
"What is Dad now?" Hannah asks.
"You mean, of what relation is your father to me?" I finally ask giving in.
"Yea. How do I refer to him?" Hannah continues.
"You mean your father? You call him Dad." I deadpan.
"What do you call him?" She asks.
"David."
"Oh for Pete sake mom! How do you define your relationship with Dad?"
"Friend." I continue.
Hannah growls.
"Your father, my ex-huband, my first husband, or previous husband? I have no relationship but friends with him."
"You could also say person I used to have sex with."
"Eww. Hannah. That's gross, A. And 2, that's not appropriate."
Hannah picks up my phone and starts playing with it.
"I prefer friend or ex-husband, thank you," I say.
David texts me from across the field and I look at my phone. The text reads that it is from "Not so husband"
Apparently she has defined the relationship.
I was telling Hannah that this woman, Amy, had asked me who David was. David had been standing with Sam on the sidelines the day before and she recognized Sam and wondered. I told Amy that Sam was with his Dad.
Hannah turns to me and asks me, "So what is he?"
"What is who?" I ask back.
"What is Dad?" Hannah asks.
"Who is Dad?" I feign as I try and keep the Who's on first routine going. I knew exactly what Hannah was asking, I just wanted her to articulate.
"What is Dad now?" Hannah asks.
"You mean, of what relation is your father to me?" I finally ask giving in.
"Yea. How do I refer to him?" Hannah continues.
"You mean your father? You call him Dad." I deadpan.
"What do you call him?" She asks.
"David."
"Oh for Pete sake mom! How do you define your relationship with Dad?"
"Friend." I continue.
Hannah growls.
"Your father, my ex-huband, my first husband, or previous husband? I have no relationship but friends with him."
"You could also say person I used to have sex with."
"Eww. Hannah. That's gross, A. And 2, that's not appropriate."
Hannah picks up my phone and starts playing with it.
"I prefer friend or ex-husband, thank you," I say.
David texts me from across the field and I look at my phone. The text reads that it is from "Not so husband"
Apparently she has defined the relationship.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Sweet
My kids are hilarious. So freaking hilarious that I love sharing stories with you about their antics. Of coarse in my eyes, they are nobel prize winning comedians, if there were such a thing, but by your standards? They are moderately funny. Here are some of their antics from the last few days...
I L*O*V*E Diet Coke. (No I am not a paid sponsor...oh to dream). Yesterday we went to Chick-fil-A for lunch, since it was a holiday, and I acquired one of their styrofoam whale pails of Diet Coke for my drinking pleasure. We eat lunch, I finish my drink, and like all great restaurants, Chick-fil-A gives free refills, so the kids and I stop on the way out the door to top off. Into the car...stop at a store...back in the car...I absentmindedly pick up my drink and take a long pull while driving down the road. It is then that I realize that Bubba has taken advantage of me and swapped drink holder positions with me so when I grab the drink closest to me I take a giant swallow of Cherry Coke. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but when you are expecting Diet Coke, and have consumed nothing but Diet Coke for 43 years, and you get full sugar, cough syrup-like Cherry Coke...causes an eruption of carbonated beverage out ones' nose, spraying the inside of the car. Much to the delight of your offspring.
Today we were driving to the soccer field. Gasp. I know. It's not like I don't do this 4 or more days a week. Anyway, on the way to the soccer field Bubba rolls down the window and I ask him to close it up since it's a little cool outside. After arriving at the field and wedging myself between two parked vehicles I decide that I'm going to be social and sit on the sidelines with the common folk rather that sequester myself to the car with alcoholic beverages, like I've been known to do in the past. I open the trunk, fish out a chair, grab the blankets and coats I need and walk around to the passenger side of the car to see what Bubba is going to do. As I open the door I realize there is a GIANT loogie splattered along the passenger side of the car. Without realizing that there is an open window and a man sitting in the vehicle next to me I say, "What the crap Sam? There is a GIANT loogie on the outside of the car!" The man next to me erupts in laughter as I continue with, "You're gross. You know you are washing my car now, right?" Sam gets out to take a look and says, "I guess I shouldn't have drank that big glass of milk before we left..." much to the gentleman's delight.
Hannah's antics up next.
I L*O*V*E Diet Coke. (No I am not a paid sponsor...oh to dream). Yesterday we went to Chick-fil-A for lunch, since it was a holiday, and I acquired one of their styrofoam whale pails of Diet Coke for my drinking pleasure. We eat lunch, I finish my drink, and like all great restaurants, Chick-fil-A gives free refills, so the kids and I stop on the way out the door to top off. Into the car...stop at a store...back in the car...I absentmindedly pick up my drink and take a long pull while driving down the road. It is then that I realize that Bubba has taken advantage of me and swapped drink holder positions with me so when I grab the drink closest to me I take a giant swallow of Cherry Coke. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but when you are expecting Diet Coke, and have consumed nothing but Diet Coke for 43 years, and you get full sugar, cough syrup-like Cherry Coke...causes an eruption of carbonated beverage out ones' nose, spraying the inside of the car. Much to the delight of your offspring.
Today we were driving to the soccer field. Gasp. I know. It's not like I don't do this 4 or more days a week. Anyway, on the way to the soccer field Bubba rolls down the window and I ask him to close it up since it's a little cool outside. After arriving at the field and wedging myself between two parked vehicles I decide that I'm going to be social and sit on the sidelines with the common folk rather that sequester myself to the car with alcoholic beverages, like I've been known to do in the past. I open the trunk, fish out a chair, grab the blankets and coats I need and walk around to the passenger side of the car to see what Bubba is going to do. As I open the door I realize there is a GIANT loogie splattered along the passenger side of the car. Without realizing that there is an open window and a man sitting in the vehicle next to me I say, "What the crap Sam? There is a GIANT loogie on the outside of the car!" The man next to me erupts in laughter as I continue with, "You're gross. You know you are washing my car now, right?" Sam gets out to take a look and says, "I guess I shouldn't have drank that big glass of milk before we left..." much to the gentleman's delight.
Hannah's antics up next.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Gripe
Yesterday I walked into work and one of my Kindergarten students ran up to me and hugged me around the waist. While this is not an uncommon occurrence, as most days I am hugged by someone waist-high, I was a little shocked to see who was hugging me. This boy, a student, is one I struggle with most days.
Right after hugging me he tilted his head up toward mine and said without prompt, "Hey. My mama says that if you have a gripe about my lunch today that you should give her a call."
Right.
I look over to see my boss standing a few feet away from me and I look down to this still attached student and say, "That's silly. Why don't you come over here and tell Ms. D. what you just told me." I give the student a big grin. He jovially agrees and runs over to Ms. D. and repeats the offensive sentence to her dismay, as she had a discussion of appropriate lunch items only the day before with his Dad.
The previous day, this particular student had brought for his lunch a: bottle of chocolate milk (approx. 80 grams of sugar), a bag of colored mini marshmallows, and a jelly sandwich on white bread. Our school follows state standards, and each child must have 2 fruits and veggie servings, 1 bread or grain carb serving, 1 dairy serving, and 1 protein serving.
Later yesterday I walked the children into the lunchroom and this same student while unpacking his lunch decided to wear his brown paper sack as a hat. The entire lunchroom waited until he removed the bag to say the lunch prayer, and he got so mad at me that I made him remove his hat, that he refused to eat. He did not eat one morsel of food. That and he had healthier lunch components.
It was a long day.
Right after hugging me he tilted his head up toward mine and said without prompt, "Hey. My mama says that if you have a gripe about my lunch today that you should give her a call."
Right.
I look over to see my boss standing a few feet away from me and I look down to this still attached student and say, "That's silly. Why don't you come over here and tell Ms. D. what you just told me." I give the student a big grin. He jovially agrees and runs over to Ms. D. and repeats the offensive sentence to her dismay, as she had a discussion of appropriate lunch items only the day before with his Dad.
The previous day, this particular student had brought for his lunch a: bottle of chocolate milk (approx. 80 grams of sugar), a bag of colored mini marshmallows, and a jelly sandwich on white bread. Our school follows state standards, and each child must have 2 fruits and veggie servings, 1 bread or grain carb serving, 1 dairy serving, and 1 protein serving.
Later yesterday I walked the children into the lunchroom and this same student while unpacking his lunch decided to wear his brown paper sack as a hat. The entire lunchroom waited until he removed the bag to say the lunch prayer, and he got so mad at me that I made him remove his hat, that he refused to eat. He did not eat one morsel of food. That and he had healthier lunch components.
It was a long day.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
15 year old Politics
I drive my daughter and three other high school students to school during the school year. Two boys...two girls...all roughly 15 years old. Fifteen.
One of the boys is, to put it mildly, not my favorite 15 year old. He is smart mouthed, racist, foul mouthed, and very opinionated. He is a bully. He bad-mouths his girlfriend, the other girl in the car, and has even said to her that she "needs to go on Weight Watchers" in my presence. I have threatened to throw him out of the car and not give him a ride before, but previously only in jest because I think he is a tool.
On Tuesday, he started in on politics as I sat in the front seat trying to keep my cool. He comes from a three generation household, 24 hour a day Fox news watching family, and his father just retired from the military after a long career. You can probably guess what "his" political affiliation is, but that is not relevant to the story. Neither is mine. Who cares if I am voting to elect or re-elect? This boy-child begins bashing a certain candidate. When he stops to take a breath he says, "You know Mrs. Careless (to me) it's called freedom of speech. I have the right to speak freely"
Before I knew it I retorted, "You know, it's called freedom of choice kid. And I have the right to throw your ass out of my car."
Let's just say the car went silent. I continued, "And, last time I checked I am a registered voter in this state, and you don't have the right to vote for some 3 more years?"
The other boy in the back seat meekly inquired, "Did you want us to just get out here then?"
This is all about respect. This punk kid has the audacity to disrespect me in my own vehicle while I am doing a favor to his parents? I don't know what would have happened to me had I disrespected an adult as a teenager. I honestly doubt I would be here today.
Upon reflection I am reminded of one of my top 10 movies, The American President. What I should have said? I should have spouted a retort like President Andrew Shepherd...
"You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours. You want to claim this land as the land of the free?..."
One of the boys is, to put it mildly, not my favorite 15 year old. He is smart mouthed, racist, foul mouthed, and very opinionated. He is a bully. He bad-mouths his girlfriend, the other girl in the car, and has even said to her that she "needs to go on Weight Watchers" in my presence. I have threatened to throw him out of the car and not give him a ride before, but previously only in jest because I think he is a tool.
On Tuesday, he started in on politics as I sat in the front seat trying to keep my cool. He comes from a three generation household, 24 hour a day Fox news watching family, and his father just retired from the military after a long career. You can probably guess what "his" political affiliation is, but that is not relevant to the story. Neither is mine. Who cares if I am voting to elect or re-elect? This boy-child begins bashing a certain candidate. When he stops to take a breath he says, "You know Mrs. Careless (to me) it's called freedom of speech. I have the right to speak freely"
Before I knew it I retorted, "You know, it's called freedom of choice kid. And I have the right to throw your ass out of my car."
Let's just say the car went silent. I continued, "And, last time I checked I am a registered voter in this state, and you don't have the right to vote for some 3 more years?"
The other boy in the back seat meekly inquired, "Did you want us to just get out here then?"
This is all about respect. This punk kid has the audacity to disrespect me in my own vehicle while I am doing a favor to his parents? I don't know what would have happened to me had I disrespected an adult as a teenager. I honestly doubt I would be here today.
Upon reflection I am reminded of one of my top 10 movies, The American President. What I should have said? I should have spouted a retort like President Andrew Shepherd...
"You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours. You want to claim this land as the land of the free?..."
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Sweat-y
I was shopping in Meijer with the kids the other day and Bubba saw the display of sweat pants. He went crazy. Apparently he has had a dream to own a pair of sweatpants and matching sweatshirt for quite awhile now, and I never knew.
It was negotiated, and I agreed to purchase a sweatsuit for his lounging use only. He can NOT wear the assemble out of the house. He hemmed and hawed and settled on a dark grey pant and matching crew neck top to his delight.. Who knew?
Bubba was so excited, he took the bag containing the purchase into the back seat with him and had stripped and changed before I even made the first trip into the house with the bags of groceries when we arrived home.
A few days later I walked in the door from work to find Bubba in his sweatsuit (3rd day in a row) playing a video game. He saw me walk in the door and ran up to me excitedly talking. "Mom! Mom! These are the most comfortable things ever. I LOVE my new sweatsuit."
His enthusiasm was met with a "That's nice, Bubba."
Bubba then ran over and got the Sunday shopping inserts and turned to a page and exclaimed, "And guess what? I can wear these forever! Look! They make sweats in adult sizes too! Why don't all adults wear sweats ALL the time?"
Oi vey.
It was negotiated, and I agreed to purchase a sweatsuit for his lounging use only. He can NOT wear the assemble out of the house. He hemmed and hawed and settled on a dark grey pant and matching crew neck top to his delight.. Who knew?
Bubba was so excited, he took the bag containing the purchase into the back seat with him and had stripped and changed before I even made the first trip into the house with the bags of groceries when we arrived home.
A few days later I walked in the door from work to find Bubba in his sweatsuit (3rd day in a row) playing a video game. He saw me walk in the door and ran up to me excitedly talking. "Mom! Mom! These are the most comfortable things ever. I LOVE my new sweatsuit."
His enthusiasm was met with a "That's nice, Bubba."
Bubba then ran over and got the Sunday shopping inserts and turned to a page and exclaimed, "And guess what? I can wear these forever! Look! They make sweats in adult sizes too! Why don't all adults wear sweats ALL the time?"
Oi vey.
The New Me
Yes, it has been awhile. Tonight I was talking on the phone with Matt, my brother, about his blog. Matt proposed that I write something for his blog, as a guest blogger, and the thought excited me! But then I thought, what the heck? I have my own soapbox! So here I am. Sorry for my absence.
In a nut shell, here is what has happened in the last few months...
-my kids are still as crazy as ever and are the primary source for this blog.
-my dog got rid of her mohawk. Recently.
-we gave away our sugar gliders last weekend. Hundreds of dollars down the drain.
-I got divorced.
-5 seconds after the flying squirrels left my kids started in on a new dog.
-I still live in the same house as my ex-husband.
-Hannah didn't make the HS soccer team, so both kids are playing rec.
-I'm still in grad school and doing well, but also freaking out occasionally.
-I am considering dating.
-I grew my hair out and dyed it blonde.
-my ex-husband and I are friends.
-my evil and irritating tweenage "boss" left (was let go) and I took her position.
-I am starting over with a social life.
-I am venturing out of my shell and making friends.
-I recently rammed a bus into a basketball hoop at the local elementary school and ripped a hole in the top of the bus and my boss didn't fire me.
-I feel better than I have in years emotionally.
-I recently (4 days ago) gave up sugar, flour, and dairy.
-I am still very much a crazy person.
Any questions?
In a nut shell, here is what has happened in the last few months...
-my kids are still as crazy as ever and are the primary source for this blog.
-my dog got rid of her mohawk. Recently.
-we gave away our sugar gliders last weekend. Hundreds of dollars down the drain.
-I got divorced.
-5 seconds after the flying squirrels left my kids started in on a new dog.
-I still live in the same house as my ex-husband.
-Hannah didn't make the HS soccer team, so both kids are playing rec.
-I'm still in grad school and doing well, but also freaking out occasionally.
-I am considering dating.
-I grew my hair out and dyed it blonde.
-my ex-husband and I are friends.
-my evil and irritating tweenage "boss" left (was let go) and I took her position.
-I am starting over with a social life.
-I am venturing out of my shell and making friends.
-I recently rammed a bus into a basketball hoop at the local elementary school and ripped a hole in the top of the bus and my boss didn't fire me.
-I feel better than I have in years emotionally.
-I recently (4 days ago) gave up sugar, flour, and dairy.
-I am still very much a crazy person.
Any questions?
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Chores
This morning I went off to work and left a note on the kitchen counter for Hannah. The note read..."Dog needs a haircut."
When I walked into the house this was how I was greeted...
I love my daughter. Apparently if she doesn't get into college she'll have a booming career as a dog groomer of mohawks.
When I walked into the house this was how I was greeted...
I love my daughter. Apparently if she doesn't get into college she'll have a booming career as a dog groomer of mohawks.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Fast
Because I'm always a glutton for punishment, or wanting to improve myself, "we," as in the royal we, decided that our family was going to go on a cleansing fast of fruits and vegetables. Day one. Today. Nothing but fruit. Day two. Veggies.
Let me just interject here and say that my 11 year old and 14 year old were never told to stick to this cleanse, but encouraged to participate in order to add more fruits and vegetables to their non-stop stream of junk food since the end of the school year. I am not advocating that growing teens and pre-teens cleanse diet.
Day one. Nothing but fruit. The day starts well...yummy fruit...mmmm. Everyone has fruit to the hearts desire. Apples, mango, pineapple, pears, blueberries...really yummy. Until about noon. The kids start whining. I suggest they add some turkey to their cleanse because lean meats are healthy and they could use a little protein. They head to the fridge and eat a package of turkey lunchmeat.
Around one I get a text from David. Does beer count? We volley back and forth and I suggest that beverages, within reason, should be okay since I really need a diet coke about this time of the day. We agree that milkshakes, while they sound really good and could be acquired in many fruity flavors, would be unreasonable.
Two o'clock comes and Hannah is about to die from starvation and breaks down and eats a turkey wrap with her fruit. Bubba needs a turkey sandwich, and both are commended for adding so many fruit and veggies to their day. Woot! I beat them! I'm still in the competition, because everything is a competition to me.
Four o'clock comes around and my tongue is sore from all the pineapple I have eaten. David gets caught with a Choibani Yogurt, and tells the kids "it's just pineapple...in a thick broth."
So as of 5:00 p.m. on day one of the fast, I am declaring myself the winner. While the other three still think they are in the game, we all know that I won.
Let me just interject here and say that my 11 year old and 14 year old were never told to stick to this cleanse, but encouraged to participate in order to add more fruits and vegetables to their non-stop stream of junk food since the end of the school year. I am not advocating that growing teens and pre-teens cleanse diet.
Day one. Nothing but fruit. The day starts well...yummy fruit...mmmm. Everyone has fruit to the hearts desire. Apples, mango, pineapple, pears, blueberries...really yummy. Until about noon. The kids start whining. I suggest they add some turkey to their cleanse because lean meats are healthy and they could use a little protein. They head to the fridge and eat a package of turkey lunchmeat.
Around one I get a text from David. Does beer count? We volley back and forth and I suggest that beverages, within reason, should be okay since I really need a diet coke about this time of the day. We agree that milkshakes, while they sound really good and could be acquired in many fruity flavors, would be unreasonable.
Two o'clock comes and Hannah is about to die from starvation and breaks down and eats a turkey wrap with her fruit. Bubba needs a turkey sandwich, and both are commended for adding so many fruit and veggies to their day. Woot! I beat them! I'm still in the competition, because everything is a competition to me.
Four o'clock comes around and my tongue is sore from all the pineapple I have eaten. David gets caught with a Choibani Yogurt, and tells the kids "it's just pineapple...in a thick broth."
So as of 5:00 p.m. on day one of the fast, I am declaring myself the winner. While the other three still think they are in the game, we all know that I won.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
2 fer
Two in one day! Freaking fabulous. I just have to say that customer service/manners/let's all be a little flexible was NOT the theme for the day 'round these parts.
First scenario. I'm doing a bit of research (BTW...LOVING it!) for a paper due on the 25th. It's a quickie, and I'm acing the class thus far, so I *think* I should be able to pull this off. I decided that since I hadn't looked at school work in a day or so that I would haul myself and my kids down to the Greene County Library and see what they had in their Greene County room. You know, 'cuz my research paper is about local art history education.
I walk into the GC Library room and notice that not only do they have an entire row of library computers 20-ish) that are vacant, only ONE old man is in the room looking through microfilm besides the three library employees present. THREE. (These numbers are key).
I very pleasantly walk up to the librarian/research helper at the desk and ask for a bit of help. She looks up from her crossword irritated. Strike one. I ask my research question and she looks at me and says that they don't have anything on my subject. Hmm. What? You are an expert in your field and you have the library memorized so you know you DON'T HAVE ANYTHING. Strike two. Ms. pain in my butt says that my subject is in a different county and so their archive of papers wouldn't have anything about my subject. Let me clarify. Different county, a stones throw away from where I am standing.
So, let me get this straight. You have the library memorized. You know everything. I am an idiot. Ok...got it.
Ms. pain in the butt librarian, huffs and asks what the date of the event I am researching is. May 1974, I say in my pure maple syrup voice. So the librarian gets the microfilm for May 1974, puts it in the machine and walks away.
SOMEONE needs to work on their people skills.
What I would like to say is "There is this new invention...it's called a computer...can you check your archives for my subject?" Pretty please?
The third strike you ask? Employee number two comes over to me and informs me that my two children are quietly sitting in the research room using one of the twenty unused computers. Can I please get them to stop? Seriously? I look around for the line of people waiting and find no one. Oh yeah, that's right.
Scenario two.
I'm feeling spend'y so I take my kids to the 1.75 theater for a movie. We walk in and realize we have the entire theater to ourselves, sit down, and make ourselves comfortable. 5 minutes into the movie two women walk in, take two seats near the back and decide to noisily eat popcorn and drink cans of Red Bull. Okay...
Fifteen minutes later, the horror of all horrors arrives and sits RIGHT BEHIND ME. Remember? Empty theater, save two other people. The horror then decides to crack multiple cans of soda, then takes out her giant purse of cellophane wrapped mints and vacillate between unwrapping and popping mints and eating a crinkly bag of Fritos. You know the type. She is one of those movie goers that laughs really inappropriately, reads all the street signs out loud to herself, and basically could not go a minute without making obnoxiously loud noise. Matt (my brother), think Ice Age lady.
If you didn't know this about me, I am the one in the theater that moves twice before the movie starts because people are too talky. If we are going to see a movie for the first time together, I will tell you that I will NOT talk to you during the film, and chew with your mouth closed.
I've decided that I am not going to the theater again (I know, I am lying) and only watch videos at home. Sometimes I think I really do hate people.
First scenario. I'm doing a bit of research (BTW...LOVING it!) for a paper due on the 25th. It's a quickie, and I'm acing the class thus far, so I *think* I should be able to pull this off. I decided that since I hadn't looked at school work in a day or so that I would haul myself and my kids down to the Greene County Library and see what they had in their Greene County room. You know, 'cuz my research paper is about local art history education.
I walk into the GC Library room and notice that not only do they have an entire row of library computers 20-ish) that are vacant, only ONE old man is in the room looking through microfilm besides the three library employees present. THREE. (These numbers are key).
I very pleasantly walk up to the librarian/research helper at the desk and ask for a bit of help. She looks up from her crossword irritated. Strike one. I ask my research question and she looks at me and says that they don't have anything on my subject. Hmm. What? You are an expert in your field and you have the library memorized so you know you DON'T HAVE ANYTHING. Strike two. Ms. pain in my butt says that my subject is in a different county and so their archive of papers wouldn't have anything about my subject. Let me clarify. Different county, a stones throw away from where I am standing.
So, let me get this straight. You have the library memorized. You know everything. I am an idiot. Ok...got it.
Ms. pain in the butt librarian, huffs and asks what the date of the event I am researching is. May 1974, I say in my pure maple syrup voice. So the librarian gets the microfilm for May 1974, puts it in the machine and walks away.
SOMEONE needs to work on their people skills.
What I would like to say is "There is this new invention...it's called a computer...can you check your archives for my subject?" Pretty please?
The third strike you ask? Employee number two comes over to me and informs me that my two children are quietly sitting in the research room using one of the twenty unused computers. Can I please get them to stop? Seriously? I look around for the line of people waiting and find no one. Oh yeah, that's right.
Scenario two.
I'm feeling spend'y so I take my kids to the 1.75 theater for a movie. We walk in and realize we have the entire theater to ourselves, sit down, and make ourselves comfortable. 5 minutes into the movie two women walk in, take two seats near the back and decide to noisily eat popcorn and drink cans of Red Bull. Okay...
Fifteen minutes later, the horror of all horrors arrives and sits RIGHT BEHIND ME. Remember? Empty theater, save two other people. The horror then decides to crack multiple cans of soda, then takes out her giant purse of cellophane wrapped mints and vacillate between unwrapping and popping mints and eating a crinkly bag of Fritos. You know the type. She is one of those movie goers that laughs really inappropriately, reads all the street signs out loud to herself, and basically could not go a minute without making obnoxiously loud noise. Matt (my brother), think Ice Age lady.
If you didn't know this about me, I am the one in the theater that moves twice before the movie starts because people are too talky. If we are going to see a movie for the first time together, I will tell you that I will NOT talk to you during the film, and chew with your mouth closed.
I've decided that I am not going to the theater again (I know, I am lying) and only watch videos at home. Sometimes I think I really do hate people.
Diseases
I know. I know. It's been awhile, and I'm ignoring you. Sorry. Too many excuses to name, and you don't really care, do you?
A funny thing happened yesterday, on the way to the grocery store and I thought of you. So here we are.
Bubba is sitting in the front seat of the car, Hannah in the back, because ever since my sister came up with the non-fighting rule of "shotgun months," that war was averted. Instead of calling shotgun, you get an entire month of shotgun, and the other sibling has to sit in the backseat. This, works like a charm! It's amazing that it works so well, and like a pesky monthly visitor, you can always tell when it's the first of the month, because a new person is sitting next to you. Bubba and Hannah ALWAYS seem to know when it's the first, without being reminded.
So Bubba is in the front seat, and he takes off his flip flops and starts examining his feet. Nice, huh? Do all 12 year old boys do this? Take it from me, they are weird. So he's examining his feet and he announces that they are "bad again," meaning his rash is back. See? Boys are gross. Bubba, to be funny, thrusts one of his nasty feet in my driving space, for me to examine his rash. While I'm driving. I tell him to put his feet down (thinking it's unsafe) while Hannah finishes my sentence saying, "because no one wants your Syphilis."
Instant hysterics. Bubba really has Psoriasis, or maybe really bad athletes foot, we don't know because I keep forgetting to make a doctor appointment. Hannah, in her hilarity, continues with how he really needs to get some medicine for his FTD's, foot transmitted diseases, and get this skin condition under control.
It's going to be a long summer.
A funny thing happened yesterday, on the way to the grocery store and I thought of you. So here we are.
Bubba is sitting in the front seat of the car, Hannah in the back, because ever since my sister came up with the non-fighting rule of "shotgun months," that war was averted. Instead of calling shotgun, you get an entire month of shotgun, and the other sibling has to sit in the backseat. This, works like a charm! It's amazing that it works so well, and like a pesky monthly visitor, you can always tell when it's the first of the month, because a new person is sitting next to you. Bubba and Hannah ALWAYS seem to know when it's the first, without being reminded.
So Bubba is in the front seat, and he takes off his flip flops and starts examining his feet. Nice, huh? Do all 12 year old boys do this? Take it from me, they are weird. So he's examining his feet and he announces that they are "bad again," meaning his rash is back. See? Boys are gross. Bubba, to be funny, thrusts one of his nasty feet in my driving space, for me to examine his rash. While I'm driving. I tell him to put his feet down (thinking it's unsafe) while Hannah finishes my sentence saying, "because no one wants your Syphilis."
Instant hysterics. Bubba really has Psoriasis, or maybe really bad athletes foot, we don't know because I keep forgetting to make a doctor appointment. Hannah, in her hilarity, continues with how he really needs to get some medicine for his FTD's, foot transmitted diseases, and get this skin condition under control.
It's going to be a long summer.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
An Actual E-mail From Bubba's Teacher
Good morning,
I thought that I would share w/ you a humorous comment by Sam yesterday during science class. After reading the reproduction & human development sections in the book, I asked the kids if they had any unique “birth stories” that they would like to share w/ the class. Sam raised his hand (do you know where this is going? ) and replied, “When I was born, I was so fat I ripped my mom’s vagina.” I simply replied, “Yep, that happens.”
I can only imagine what my children say about me….
Sam has been such a pleasure to have in science. He has a FANTASTIC personality. He is a hard worker and he participates in class regularly, which I greatly appreciate! I will certainly miss him next year!!
Have a wonderful day,
Mrs. W
Here is my response....in between fits of giggles.
Mrs. W-
Wow.
We often talk about how fat Sam was as a baby, he was 9 lbs. 2 oz. at birth and 24 pounds by 4 months old...but honestly the subject of my vagina has never come up.
I am so glad you e-mailed, but also horrified at the thought that he said this. Out loud. In front of his peers. About me. I saw a few of his peers last night at their soccer game, and I don't think I received too many stares of horror.
I also have to say that asking that particular open ended question may have additional future embarrassing comments. If I ever teach human reproduction to middle schoolers, I'll make sure I remember that one.
I cannot stop laughing.
I'm glad you have enjoyed Sam's personality, I personally think he is hilarious, but he can be an acquired taste as all 11 year old boys are. Thank you so much for sharing this with me!
Careless
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Quotes of the week
Yesterday my sister Laura and I were talking on the phone when she asked me if I thought she should eat one of her chickens. I know, you are thinking she's weird. But let me explain.
Laura is a wonderful gardener and runs a farmers market in her town. Last year (or maybe it was longer) she and her adult son bought some chickens to raise to have fresh eggs and go to the traditional grocery store a little less and survive more from her garden and food locally available. My nephew took his chickens to his house and basically ignores them, and all have survived and they produces tons of eggs. Laura raised her chickens and ended up loosing two chicks, and now out of the two chicks she has left, one has quit laying eggs.
Back to the question, should she eat the one that doesn't lay?
So Laura is making conversation with her mother-in-law Anita, seriously the most wonderful mother-in-law in the world, when she brings up the chicken conundrum. Laura asks Anita her opinion about just killing the chicken that isn't laying eggs. Anita asks which one of Laura's chickens isn't laying when Laura realizes it is the one named after Anita's Mom. Oh. Did I tell you? Laura named all her chickens after great grandmothers, which is kind of cute because our great grandmother had chickens and we both remember her chickens fondly.
So Laura's comment to me, one of my favorite quotes of the week..."Yeah, in hindsight? I probably shouldn't have named my chicken after my mother-in-law's mom. That, wasn't my brightest idea."
My second favorite quote (out of my own mouth) this week was from this morning. Bubba had a 9 am soccer game and Hannah had to be driven to the high school at the same time to get her $15 physical for fall soccer in the field house. I woke Hannah up at 8:20 and asked her to get ready for the physical. By 9:00 am, after listening to the shower run for 10 minutes I stormed upstairs to pound on the door and yell, "It's not like you are going to prom! Put some clothes on and get your butt out here. It's a physical for soccer, in a field house, for crap's sake." Yes, it was my finest parenting moment.
Laura is a wonderful gardener and runs a farmers market in her town. Last year (or maybe it was longer) she and her adult son bought some chickens to raise to have fresh eggs and go to the traditional grocery store a little less and survive more from her garden and food locally available. My nephew took his chickens to his house and basically ignores them, and all have survived and they produces tons of eggs. Laura raised her chickens and ended up loosing two chicks, and now out of the two chicks she has left, one has quit laying eggs.
Back to the question, should she eat the one that doesn't lay?
So Laura is making conversation with her mother-in-law Anita, seriously the most wonderful mother-in-law in the world, when she brings up the chicken conundrum. Laura asks Anita her opinion about just killing the chicken that isn't laying eggs. Anita asks which one of Laura's chickens isn't laying when Laura realizes it is the one named after Anita's Mom. Oh. Did I tell you? Laura named all her chickens after great grandmothers, which is kind of cute because our great grandmother had chickens and we both remember her chickens fondly.
So Laura's comment to me, one of my favorite quotes of the week..."Yeah, in hindsight? I probably shouldn't have named my chicken after my mother-in-law's mom. That, wasn't my brightest idea."
My second favorite quote (out of my own mouth) this week was from this morning. Bubba had a 9 am soccer game and Hannah had to be driven to the high school at the same time to get her $15 physical for fall soccer in the field house. I woke Hannah up at 8:20 and asked her to get ready for the physical. By 9:00 am, after listening to the shower run for 10 minutes I stormed upstairs to pound on the door and yell, "It's not like you are going to prom! Put some clothes on and get your butt out here. It's a physical for soccer, in a field house, for crap's sake." Yes, it was my finest parenting moment.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Shopping at My Age
I was shopping by myself this weekend. A (gasp) clothing store. I know. Me? Shopping? It has been a while.
While I was a the store I noticed that they had some bras on sale, and given that I had been "limping" around in a strapless bra for a few days because some of my bras had fallen apart, some were in the wash, and I had a spanky athletic top from last year that had a Y strap in the back on. The sale bras were athletic bras that had a matching Y strap in the back, and since I am a teacher and had actually played freeze tag on Friday wearing a strapless bra during gym without scarring any Kindergarteners, I thought I should try the athletic bras on.
While in the dressing room I tried the bra on and put my spanky athletic top back on over it to see the effect. The straps matched...Plus! The bra showed a tiny bit, but it looked nice...Plus!
Then I lifted my arm. And horror of all horrors...the athletic bra was snug enough that it created a wading pool of extra skin, in a wing like appearance, under each armpit.
I actually had to tuck my 42.5 year old skin flaps into my bra! Ga...ross.
Yes, I bought the bras. And I have done 20 push ups each night in hopes that the skin wings will disappear soon.
While I was a the store I noticed that they had some bras on sale, and given that I had been "limping" around in a strapless bra for a few days because some of my bras had fallen apart, some were in the wash, and I had a spanky athletic top from last year that had a Y strap in the back on. The sale bras were athletic bras that had a matching Y strap in the back, and since I am a teacher and had actually played freeze tag on Friday wearing a strapless bra during gym without scarring any Kindergarteners, I thought I should try the athletic bras on.
While in the dressing room I tried the bra on and put my spanky athletic top back on over it to see the effect. The straps matched...Plus! The bra showed a tiny bit, but it looked nice...Plus!
Then I lifted my arm. And horror of all horrors...the athletic bra was snug enough that it created a wading pool of extra skin, in a wing like appearance, under each armpit.
I actually had to tuck my 42.5 year old skin flaps into my bra! Ga...ross.
Yes, I bought the bras. And I have done 20 push ups each night in hopes that the skin wings will disappear soon.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Old School
The other night after work I offered to walk around the neighborhood with Hannah while she took the dog out for her daily poop walk. I figured I would get a little exercise, and have a lovely chat with my daughter, which was, indeed what happened.
When we arrived home I went to throw Chloe's deposit in the trash, so I handed Hannah the key to the house. Hannah looked at my key ring and looked back up at me, how shall I say this...dumbly. She walked over to the back door and started fumbling with the keys and said, "Keys are so OLD SCHOOL, Mom."
What???
"Keys are so old school. They're like records...cassettes...you know...old school. It's not like I don't know how to use it, but why should I have to?"
Huh. Hannah NEVER uses keys. We have a keypad to get into the house. Her comment struck me as funny, then sad. And, it made me feel really old. Again.
When we arrived home I went to throw Chloe's deposit in the trash, so I handed Hannah the key to the house. Hannah looked at my key ring and looked back up at me, how shall I say this...dumbly. She walked over to the back door and started fumbling with the keys and said, "Keys are so OLD SCHOOL, Mom."
What???
"Keys are so old school. They're like records...cassettes...you know...old school. It's not like I don't know how to use it, but why should I have to?"
Huh. Hannah NEVER uses keys. We have a keypad to get into the house. Her comment struck me as funny, then sad. And, it made me feel really old. Again.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Awareness
Last week I was feeling under the gun to get my nephew's birthday card out to the mailbox. His birthday is the 15th, and it was my responsibility (on behalf of my sister and brother and law and me) to send the gift and I just wanted to make sure it was there on time. It is my nephew's first birthday since joining the Navy, and I wanted him to get some stuff in the mail. I also knew that he recently changed rooms, according to my brother, so I wanted to get the envelope out so it could be rerouted if needed.
Tuesday morning I get the card, fill it out, and enclose his gift. I address the envelope, stamp it, and walk it out to the mailbox. It's really not that hard. We've all done it. But I felt a sense of accomplishment, like yeah me! I crossed this off my list! Woot! Happy dance. I head off to work thinking my job is done, and nomination for World's Best Aunt is in the bag.
A few hours later I walk in the door after work and see a familiar envelope on the kitchen counter. Irritated, I call out to Bubba and ask him why the envelope is inside, rather than out in the mailbox. JUST as Bubba is answering that he thought it was incoming mail I pick up the envelope, meaning to take it back outside, only to notice that the envelope was ripped open. Bubba had opened it. I asked Bubba if it was his birthday. I asked him if he used the gift too.
My engine starts revving up and I am in full throttle lecture mode now. WHAT THE HECK!!?? Not only did you remove my envelope from the mailbox with the red flag up, but you freaking opened it? Do I need to send you back to elementary school? Does it have your name on it? How do you address an envelope? Why are you opening someone else's mail? It's called situational awareness child!
Yes, I admit it. I chewed him up and spit him out. I was pissed. Bubba is the smartest, sweetest, most handsome boy in the whole universe, and I love him unconditionally, but sometimes he does the stupidest shit ever.
Tuesday morning I get the card, fill it out, and enclose his gift. I address the envelope, stamp it, and walk it out to the mailbox. It's really not that hard. We've all done it. But I felt a sense of accomplishment, like yeah me! I crossed this off my list! Woot! Happy dance. I head off to work thinking my job is done, and nomination for World's Best Aunt is in the bag.
A few hours later I walk in the door after work and see a familiar envelope on the kitchen counter. Irritated, I call out to Bubba and ask him why the envelope is inside, rather than out in the mailbox. JUST as Bubba is answering that he thought it was incoming mail I pick up the envelope, meaning to take it back outside, only to notice that the envelope was ripped open. Bubba had opened it. I asked Bubba if it was his birthday. I asked him if he used the gift too.
My engine starts revving up and I am in full throttle lecture mode now. WHAT THE HECK!!?? Not only did you remove my envelope from the mailbox with the red flag up, but you freaking opened it? Do I need to send you back to elementary school? Does it have your name on it? How do you address an envelope? Why are you opening someone else's mail? It's called situational awareness child!
Yes, I admit it. I chewed him up and spit him out. I was pissed. Bubba is the smartest, sweetest, most handsome boy in the whole universe, and I love him unconditionally, but sometimes he does the stupidest shit ever.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Boyfriend
Hannah has a boyfriend. No, not the very cute and popular by parents, Bryce, that she dated and dumped last year, but a new one.
Tony.
Did that come out wrong? Did you hear the disgust or irritation in my voice?
Tony is fine. Tony is nice. I get along with Tony. He's at our house ALL THE FREAKING TIME, which is fine. Sort of. If you describe Tony to anyone the words "white man's 'fro" are inevitably included and EVERYONE recognizes who you are describing out of the thousands of kids at Hannah's high school. You know, Tony? White man's 'fro? He looks like a Q-tip? Tall, skinny...white man's 'fro? Ahhh...recognition. I actually don't mind Tony's hair, but it's strange that EVERYONE describes him by it. Once Hannah straightened it with a flat iron and it was really weird, but oh well.
Tony and Hannah kiss. THIS is why I am disgusted. Suddenly I feel like the Warden because I have to make sure that where ever they are in my house, they are not kissing. They sit together and watch movies and I have to be in the room because I start freaking out about how he's holding her hand or what's going to happen next. The two of them go up to her bedroom and I start pacing. Paranoid. Yup.
Hannah is in luv. Barf. Some dude has his mouth on my girl. Barf. The topics of safe sex and abstinence are mentioned weekly, if not more often.
My little girl is growing up. Sniff. Sniff.
Tony.
Did that come out wrong? Did you hear the disgust or irritation in my voice?
Tony is fine. Tony is nice. I get along with Tony. He's at our house ALL THE FREAKING TIME, which is fine. Sort of. If you describe Tony to anyone the words "white man's 'fro" are inevitably included and EVERYONE recognizes who you are describing out of the thousands of kids at Hannah's high school. You know, Tony? White man's 'fro? He looks like a Q-tip? Tall, skinny...white man's 'fro? Ahhh...recognition. I actually don't mind Tony's hair, but it's strange that EVERYONE describes him by it. Once Hannah straightened it with a flat iron and it was really weird, but oh well.
Tony and Hannah kiss. THIS is why I am disgusted. Suddenly I feel like the Warden because I have to make sure that where ever they are in my house, they are not kissing. They sit together and watch movies and I have to be in the room because I start freaking out about how he's holding her hand or what's going to happen next. The two of them go up to her bedroom and I start pacing. Paranoid. Yup.
Hannah is in luv. Barf. Some dude has his mouth on my girl. Barf. The topics of safe sex and abstinence are mentioned weekly, if not more often.
My little girl is growing up. Sniff. Sniff.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Old Age
My sister and I were talking about age and it's effects on the body yesterday. We agreed that we wanted to continue to take care of ourselves so we could be strong and active in our 70's.
Laura commented on our mother and how she marveled at Anita (mother-in-law and all around wonder-woman who is older than my Mom) and how she cooked for the entire family on Easter. This led to the discussion that I have never seen my mother or father exercise until maybe a year ago. Never. We never went on a family walk. My parents never aerobicized, never lifted weights, never jogged, never ANYTHING. Don't get me wrong, my father was the strongest man I knew until PD. But, my parents never took care of their muscles.
After this long, enlightening discussion we both felt good that we have walked and made exercise a priority. We aren't perfect, well maybe Laura is, but we are making efforts and trying to take care of ourselves. I patted myself on the back. Until...
I am in the deepest sleep I have ever been in at 1:00 a.m. I'm talking James Cameron in a submarine to the deepest part of the ocean, deep sleep, when my 11 year old SCARES THE %H@T OUT OF ME by waking me up with an earache.
I try comforting Bubba. I honestly cannot wake up. He is lying in bed next to me whimpering and writhing in pain over his ear and I don't even know how to wrap my mind around operating a flashlight to look inside his ear. God forbid I have to turn a light on.
For the next HOUR, yes darn you Ibuprofen for not working quicker, I stumble around my bedroom wetting hot washcloths, trying to focus on his ear canal all because my only goal is to make him stop crying and whimpering so I can go back to sleep.
At one point I remember handing him the children's Ibuprofen bottle and telling him to drink up because I can't remember how to measure, and who knows where the little plastic cup is at 2 in the morning. If it is any consolation, I do remember thinking that he is almost 12, and it was children's Ibuprofen, so he should be fine.
Now? It's 9 in the morning and I feel like I have been hit by a truck because I was up in the night for an hour. How did I ever do this when the kids were babies? Forty two, I honestly think I hate you.
Laura commented on our mother and how she marveled at Anita (mother-in-law and all around wonder-woman who is older than my Mom) and how she cooked for the entire family on Easter. This led to the discussion that I have never seen my mother or father exercise until maybe a year ago. Never. We never went on a family walk. My parents never aerobicized, never lifted weights, never jogged, never ANYTHING. Don't get me wrong, my father was the strongest man I knew until PD. But, my parents never took care of their muscles.
After this long, enlightening discussion we both felt good that we have walked and made exercise a priority. We aren't perfect, well maybe Laura is, but we are making efforts and trying to take care of ourselves. I patted myself on the back. Until...
I am in the deepest sleep I have ever been in at 1:00 a.m. I'm talking James Cameron in a submarine to the deepest part of the ocean, deep sleep, when my 11 year old SCARES THE %H@T OUT OF ME by waking me up with an earache.
I try comforting Bubba. I honestly cannot wake up. He is lying in bed next to me whimpering and writhing in pain over his ear and I don't even know how to wrap my mind around operating a flashlight to look inside his ear. God forbid I have to turn a light on.
For the next HOUR, yes darn you Ibuprofen for not working quicker, I stumble around my bedroom wetting hot washcloths, trying to focus on his ear canal all because my only goal is to make him stop crying and whimpering so I can go back to sleep.
At one point I remember handing him the children's Ibuprofen bottle and telling him to drink up because I can't remember how to measure, and who knows where the little plastic cup is at 2 in the morning. If it is any consolation, I do remember thinking that he is almost 12, and it was children's Ibuprofen, so he should be fine.
Now? It's 9 in the morning and I feel like I have been hit by a truck because I was up in the night for an hour. How did I ever do this when the kids were babies? Forty two, I honestly think I hate you.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Touched by Jesus
Hannah decided to join rec soccer this spring. No, it wasn't because she wanted to prepare for trying out for Fall soccer. No, it wasn't because she wanted some exercise. No, it wasn't because she wanted to make the 2 days a week at the field turn into 4 days a week for me. The reason? Her boyfriend (I'm barfing in my mouth, but we'll talk more on that later) is playing rec. No, they are not on the same team, silly. Hannah is too competitive for that. She wants to beat his team.
Last Tuesday night they had their first game.
Remember. My girl is 5'5" or so and weighs about 110? She is a ninth grader. A YOUNG ninth grader. She decided (with my permission) to play in a high school 9-12 coed rec league. So yes, there are men playing on the team. Full grown men.
Hannah runs out on the field, which this is good for her on so many levels...she doesn't know ANYONE on her team, she has a great NEW coach...all good things. Hannah runs out on the field and plays a fine game, she was a little timid, but her team slaughters the other team.
During the game I notice that one of the boys on the other team is HUGE, has long curly brown hair that has to be contained in a pony tail, and a full grizzly Adams beard. He truly looks like the Living Bible Caucasian Jesus from the 1980s.
At the end of the match the teams line up to smack hands and say the prerequisite "good game" and a member of the opposing team smacks Hannah's hand. Hannah runs over to me excitedly and exclaims, "I touched Jesus! He told me I did a good job! I touched Jesus!"
Apparently every freshman at school calls the man with the long hair and beard Jesus, and when they do? He flips them off.
Last Tuesday night they had their first game.
Remember. My girl is 5'5" or so and weighs about 110? She is a ninth grader. A YOUNG ninth grader. She decided (with my permission) to play in a high school 9-12 coed rec league. So yes, there are men playing on the team. Full grown men.
Hannah runs out on the field, which this is good for her on so many levels...she doesn't know ANYONE on her team, she has a great NEW coach...all good things. Hannah runs out on the field and plays a fine game, she was a little timid, but her team slaughters the other team.
During the game I notice that one of the boys on the other team is HUGE, has long curly brown hair that has to be contained in a pony tail, and a full grizzly Adams beard. He truly looks like the Living Bible Caucasian Jesus from the 1980s.
At the end of the match the teams line up to smack hands and say the prerequisite "good game" and a member of the opposing team smacks Hannah's hand. Hannah runs over to me excitedly and exclaims, "I touched Jesus! He told me I did a good job! I touched Jesus!"
Apparently every freshman at school calls the man with the long hair and beard Jesus, and when they do? He flips them off.
My Brain is Full
No, I haven't been consumed by crickets. I haven't been handcuffed and sent away because I freaked out and actually confronted one of the idiots I tend to prey on in these pages.
My life, like all the rest of yours, is complicated. This last year I have been on the roller coaster ride of being caught up in my own head and thoughts, sometimes depressed, and other times managing better than I ever dreamed.
On top of this crazy head of mine filled with...stuff, this blog has evolved into something more humorous? And sometimes I walk through life not noticing all the crazies around me because I am so consumed by thoughts. That and I am knee deep in research paper currently and trying not to drown.
Did I tell you all that I'm in grad school? I'm in the 5th week of a 7 week class and this Sunday my first ever grad school research paper is due. APA format...citations...references...all that. Yup, that soaks in and fills the rest of my thoughts.
But have no fear! Soccer season started last week and I was fondly thinking of the blog and all the myriad of characters on Bubba's team...and NOW!!! Hannah is playing rec too and BOY DO I HAVE STORIES TO TELL!!! After only a week! So have no fear. I am slowly rising out of the muck of my brain and will prevail!
My life, like all the rest of yours, is complicated. This last year I have been on the roller coaster ride of being caught up in my own head and thoughts, sometimes depressed, and other times managing better than I ever dreamed.
On top of this crazy head of mine filled with...stuff, this blog has evolved into something more humorous? And sometimes I walk through life not noticing all the crazies around me because I am so consumed by thoughts. That and I am knee deep in research paper currently and trying not to drown.
Did I tell you all that I'm in grad school? I'm in the 5th week of a 7 week class and this Sunday my first ever grad school research paper is due. APA format...citations...references...all that. Yup, that soaks in and fills the rest of my thoughts.
But have no fear! Soccer season started last week and I was fondly thinking of the blog and all the myriad of characters on Bubba's team...and NOW!!! Hannah is playing rec too and BOY DO I HAVE STORIES TO TELL!!! After only a week! So have no fear. I am slowly rising out of the muck of my brain and will prevail!
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Dear Ataulfo,
Dearest Ataulfo,
I am utterly addicted to you. You and your wicked sweetness. You taste like a hot summer day in the middle of March. You taste like tan skin and sand under my toes.
Even though you are only in my life a short short time, I hunger for you all year long. My sweet, sweet Ataulfo.
When I see your buttery yellow flesh I smile and overindulge. I carry you home hoarding you, protecting you, fighting for you.
Please...please don't go away again Ataulfo. I can't wait another year for your return.
Careless
I am utterly addicted to you. You and your wicked sweetness. You taste like a hot summer day in the middle of March. You taste like tan skin and sand under my toes.
Even though you are only in my life a short short time, I hunger for you all year long. My sweet, sweet Ataulfo.
When I see your buttery yellow flesh I smile and overindulge. I carry you home hoarding you, protecting you, fighting for you.
Please...please don't go away again Ataulfo. I can't wait another year for your return.
Careless
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Dear Depression,
Dear Depression,
Apparently I toyed with a tiny version of you early this week. That is, my friend Heather told me at dinner last night that I toyed with you, depression, based on my actions.
This week was Spring Break. I was off all week long. Evidently I start toying with depression when my mind is idle. Work...chaos...life...those things keep me sane.
So what behaviors of mine constitute a diagnosis of depression from Heather? Uh...YouTube. I was describing to Heather that I watched the video of Jonathan and Charlotte and that I cried, albeit only a few tears, because I was so happy for Jonathan. Since the story broke I've only watched the video 3 times! Geez.
This kind of depressing behavior segues into me surfing the news sites and finding the story/video of blind dog rescued and given sight that really made me cry and start surfing ASPCA site for dogs to adopt. WHICH led me to google the video of Christian the lion...you know the one reunited with the men who raised him. The lion video ALWAYS makes me cry.
This is the point of the conversation in which Heather stops me and asks me if I was feeling a little depressed this week. Apparently I watch heartwarming videos on YouTube and news sites when I need a little pick me up.
Thank goodness I am going back to work on Monday.
Careless
Apparently I toyed with a tiny version of you early this week. That is, my friend Heather told me at dinner last night that I toyed with you, depression, based on my actions.
This week was Spring Break. I was off all week long. Evidently I start toying with depression when my mind is idle. Work...chaos...life...those things keep me sane.
So what behaviors of mine constitute a diagnosis of depression from Heather? Uh...YouTube. I was describing to Heather that I watched the video of Jonathan and Charlotte and that I cried, albeit only a few tears, because I was so happy for Jonathan. Since the story broke I've only watched the video 3 times! Geez.
This kind of depressing behavior segues into me surfing the news sites and finding the story/video of blind dog rescued and given sight that really made me cry and start surfing ASPCA site for dogs to adopt. WHICH led me to google the video of Christian the lion...you know the one reunited with the men who raised him. The lion video ALWAYS makes me cry.
This is the point of the conversation in which Heather stops me and asks me if I was feeling a little depressed this week. Apparently I watch heartwarming videos on YouTube and news sites when I need a little pick me up.
Thank goodness I am going back to work on Monday.
Careless
Friday, March 30, 2012
Dear Grad School,
Dear Grad School,
Thank you so much for kicking my brain into gear. The first week's grades, 90/89/96, had me encouraged, worried and fearful all at the same time, but the second week? 98/95/100...yeah baby!
I have discovered a love hate with you and your TA, grad school. The first week the comments left on my submissions were not that great...I need to be more formal...use the APA format (Whoops!). This week, you ask me why I'm not giving specific examples from my own classroom? I'm wondering how to be formal and give amusing classroom anecdotes.
So now I am juggling weekly assignments AND the 25 page research paper, due in a few weeks. This is why I am missing. Sorry.
100% kisses,
Careless
Thank you so much for kicking my brain into gear. The first week's grades, 90/89/96, had me encouraged, worried and fearful all at the same time, but the second week? 98/95/100...yeah baby!
I have discovered a love hate with you and your TA, grad school. The first week the comments left on my submissions were not that great...I need to be more formal...use the APA format (Whoops!). This week, you ask me why I'm not giving specific examples from my own classroom? I'm wondering how to be formal and give amusing classroom anecdotes.
So now I am juggling weekly assignments AND the 25 page research paper, due in a few weeks. This is why I am missing. Sorry.
100% kisses,
Careless
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Dear Mind and Body,
Dear Mind and Body,
What the heck? You have served me for 42 years, and now you give up? Let's review.
Last Sunday on my way to church I realize that I have no phone, no purse and I have left the sweater to my ensemble on the counter in the kitchen. When I get to church and go to get out of the car I realize I indeed have my phone, but it was in my lap so it's now on the pavement. In pieces. Then, when it is time to shake hands with those around me, I have a 'moment' and shake hands with the man in front of me. Twice.
Today I got a bee in my bonnet and drug Hannah outside with me for a run after work. In the 86 degree heat. After a long winter. You can see where this is going. We died. My hips are burning in their sockets right now. It's 8:30 and I am barely awake.
Why? Why do you fail me?
Careless
What the heck? You have served me for 42 years, and now you give up? Let's review.
Last Sunday on my way to church I realize that I have no phone, no purse and I have left the sweater to my ensemble on the counter in the kitchen. When I get to church and go to get out of the car I realize I indeed have my phone, but it was in my lap so it's now on the pavement. In pieces. Then, when it is time to shake hands with those around me, I have a 'moment' and shake hands with the man in front of me. Twice.
Today I got a bee in my bonnet and drug Hannah outside with me for a run after work. In the 86 degree heat. After a long winter. You can see where this is going. We died. My hips are burning in their sockets right now. It's 8:30 and I am barely awake.
Why? Why do you fail me?
Careless
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Dear iChat,
Dear iChat,
Thank you for being the coolest, Jetson's thing ever. I know, people can video talk on their phones and all that now, but still, iChat, you are pretty cool.
First, you have saved me from a very large, looming, headache. My 73 year old father has a new Mac and your app has made it so that he can call me and I CAN TAKE CONTROL OF HIS COMPUTER! Now when he calls me, like last night, and says that he can't get any e-mail, code for "no one has sent me anything," I can jump on his computer and close the 105 windows he has open and make sure his e-mail is still set up correctly. Woot!
But, iChat, there is a set back. Is there any possible way that you can design your app to disable the screensaver when the video chat is on? After "fixing" Dad's computer last night we started video chatting and my Mother joined in. This is all well and good until my Dad's screen saver changes and my Mother's attention jumps from the conversation to the pretty poppies on the screen. Except, it's more like I *think* my mother is telling me that they have poppies in the yard....or poppies from the market...since poppies are suddenly part of the conversation, then I realize my Mother is distracted by the screen saver. This happened 10 times last night!
You see, when you are in your 70's, and self admittedly not very computer savvy, it doesn't occur to you that even though you are video chatting, the person you are chatting with is not seeing your screen, only the direction your camera is pointed. Oh, there was also the "what a pretty vest you are wearing" comment and my Mother proceeded to start taking said vest off and searching pockets and showing us all the features and tags to the point that my 14 year old asked her if she had any ones. (Not my proudest parental moment, by the way.) Hmmm. Okay, it's not so much a app issue as a Mother issue I guess.
My kids, on the other hand amused themselves by hanging their nose over the top of the camera, making fish shapes with their hands across the screen and showing off their mad photobooth skillz.
Thanks iChat, for all the entertainment!
Careless
Thank you for being the coolest, Jetson's thing ever. I know, people can video talk on their phones and all that now, but still, iChat, you are pretty cool.
First, you have saved me from a very large, looming, headache. My 73 year old father has a new Mac and your app has made it so that he can call me and I CAN TAKE CONTROL OF HIS COMPUTER! Now when he calls me, like last night, and says that he can't get any e-mail, code for "no one has sent me anything," I can jump on his computer and close the 105 windows he has open and make sure his e-mail is still set up correctly. Woot!
But, iChat, there is a set back. Is there any possible way that you can design your app to disable the screensaver when the video chat is on? After "fixing" Dad's computer last night we started video chatting and my Mother joined in. This is all well and good until my Dad's screen saver changes and my Mother's attention jumps from the conversation to the pretty poppies on the screen. Except, it's more like I *think* my mother is telling me that they have poppies in the yard....or poppies from the market...since poppies are suddenly part of the conversation, then I realize my Mother is distracted by the screen saver. This happened 10 times last night!
You see, when you are in your 70's, and self admittedly not very computer savvy, it doesn't occur to you that even though you are video chatting, the person you are chatting with is not seeing your screen, only the direction your camera is pointed. Oh, there was also the "what a pretty vest you are wearing" comment and my Mother proceeded to start taking said vest off and searching pockets and showing us all the features and tags to the point that my 14 year old asked her if she had any ones. (Not my proudest parental moment, by the way.) Hmmm. Okay, it's not so much a app issue as a Mother issue I guess.
My kids, on the other hand amused themselves by hanging their nose over the top of the camera, making fish shapes with their hands across the screen and showing off their mad photobooth skillz.
Thanks iChat, for all the entertainment!
Careless
Saturday, March 3, 2012
The Moment You Realize Your Son Is "That Child"
I walked over to retrieve Bubba from the neighbors house the other day. It was the first time Bubba had been to the twins house in months as Bubba tends to play withe the twins more in the warm months.
As I walked through their backyard I noticed a large blue X made from painters tape on their screen door. I didn't think anything of it and walked around to the front of the house and rang the doorbell.
While having pleasant conversation with the twins Dad I asked if he was painting. He frowned and said no, and asked why. I referred to the giant blue painters tape X on the screen door on the back porch.
The Dad chuckled and said that was "Bubba's X." Bubba's X, I ask? Yes, we had to put a giant blue X on the back door because if it's not there Bubba runs into it and knocks the screen door off it's tracks.
Silence. Oh.
The twins Dad continued...we've had that X up there for over a year or so, it always makes me smile.
As I walked through their backyard I noticed a large blue X made from painters tape on their screen door. I didn't think anything of it and walked around to the front of the house and rang the doorbell.
While having pleasant conversation with the twins Dad I asked if he was painting. He frowned and said no, and asked why. I referred to the giant blue painters tape X on the screen door on the back porch.
The Dad chuckled and said that was "Bubba's X." Bubba's X, I ask? Yes, we had to put a giant blue X on the back door because if it's not there Bubba runs into it and knocks the screen door off it's tracks.
Silence. Oh.
The twins Dad continued...we've had that X up there for over a year or so, it always makes me smile.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Dear Cynical World,
Dear Cynical World,
I guess I am a nerd. First, I thank you for drawing my attention to that fact earlier this week as my co-worker made fun of me for knowing the call sign, listening to, and enjoying NPR. Now, to add to my nerdiness, as of this week, I am a subscriber to NG. For all my co-workers, that is National Geographic magazine...you know, the one with the pretty pictures?
I got my first (second and third) National Geographic this week. Woot! And I am addicted. AND newly educated! How is this, you ask? I am reading things in NG that are very interesting and the pictures are real pretty too. The photographer in me wanted the magazine, and when I got an offer for a $10 subscription, I JUMPED at the chance.
Did you know that three people went to Africa and took DNA of village dogs and started analyzing the data? I know it sounds weird, but I like learning about stuff people around the world are doing, learning, dreaming up.
I can't wait to read more.
Careless
I guess I am a nerd. First, I thank you for drawing my attention to that fact earlier this week as my co-worker made fun of me for knowing the call sign, listening to, and enjoying NPR. Now, to add to my nerdiness, as of this week, I am a subscriber to NG. For all my co-workers, that is National Geographic magazine...you know, the one with the pretty pictures?
I got my first (second and third) National Geographic this week. Woot! And I am addicted. AND newly educated! How is this, you ask? I am reading things in NG that are very interesting and the pictures are real pretty too. The photographer in me wanted the magazine, and when I got an offer for a $10 subscription, I JUMPED at the chance.
Did you know that three people went to Africa and took DNA of village dogs and started analyzing the data? I know it sounds weird, but I like learning about stuff people around the world are doing, learning, dreaming up.
I can't wait to read more.
Careless
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Dear Marriage,
Dear Marriage,
Thank you for 15.8 years. Although we have not yet parted our ways, I thank you immensely for all the memories and HUGE chunk of my life that I have devoted to you. This last year of my life has been "very difficult" to say the least. But you know what? I am surviving. Only through the guidance of God, conversations with my sister (how she repeatedly talks me off the ledge) and support of my friends. And in these last few months it is as if I am opening my eyes for the first time in years and breaking through your fog.
I feel good! Woot! And we are friendly. For instance, I went out to lunch with my husband last weekend and we enjoyed ourselves. That feeling that I had lost a best friend has disappeared and I have a great relationship with my husband again. Weird, huh? A very different relationship from what I ever imagined, but a happy one.
And things are only getting better. Thank you.
Careless.
Thank you for 15.8 years. Although we have not yet parted our ways, I thank you immensely for all the memories and HUGE chunk of my life that I have devoted to you. This last year of my life has been "very difficult" to say the least. But you know what? I am surviving. Only through the guidance of God, conversations with my sister (how she repeatedly talks me off the ledge) and support of my friends. And in these last few months it is as if I am opening my eyes for the first time in years and breaking through your fog.
I feel good! Woot! And we are friendly. For instance, I went out to lunch with my husband last weekend and we enjoyed ourselves. That feeling that I had lost a best friend has disappeared and I have a great relationship with my husband again. Weird, huh? A very different relationship from what I ever imagined, but a happy one.
And things are only getting better. Thank you.
Careless.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Dear Fellow Employee,
Dear Fellow Employee,
Thank you so much for not knowing what NPR stands for. Really? Am I really THAT judgmental? National Public Radio, idiot.
Okay, let me go back. First, if it wasn't already hugely obvious, this workmate of mine is monumentally different from me. From outward appearance to upbringing, we are total opposites. So when you ask me how to control your children and suggest in jest, "classical music and news radio," then gasp in horror that I know the station number? AND question that I listen to NPR by choice? Really? AND you ask what NPR stands for?
It's settled. I am judgmental. I need to broaden my scope and realize that there are people out there that haven't been exposed to wonderful programming like NPR, but in turn those people need to stop judging my tastes.
There.
NPR ROCKS!
Careless
Thank you so much for not knowing what NPR stands for. Really? Am I really THAT judgmental? National Public Radio, idiot.
Okay, let me go back. First, if it wasn't already hugely obvious, this workmate of mine is monumentally different from me. From outward appearance to upbringing, we are total opposites. So when you ask me how to control your children and suggest in jest, "classical music and news radio," then gasp in horror that I know the station number? AND question that I listen to NPR by choice? Really? AND you ask what NPR stands for?
It's settled. I am judgmental. I need to broaden my scope and realize that there are people out there that haven't been exposed to wonderful programming like NPR, but in turn those people need to stop judging my tastes.
There.
NPR ROCKS!
Careless
Friday, February 17, 2012
Dear Legos,
Dear Legos,
I hate you. I hate the way you have lasted for years and years and just keep enticing (small) boys to get addicted to your devil product. You are evil.
Today I confiscated Legos from two boys for the fourth time in two days. It's not that I don't approve of your brain building synapse-firing qualities, it is that I hate that you turn normal boys into lying, hateful Kindergarteners.
I hate you. I hate the way you have lasted for years and years and just keep enticing (small) boys to get addicted to your devil product. You are evil.
Today I confiscated Legos from two boys for the fourth time in two days. It's not that I don't approve of your brain building synapse-firing qualities, it is that I hate that you turn normal boys into lying, hateful Kindergarteners.
Yesterday Boy #1 and Boy #2 brought Legos into the gym after school and I kindly, without a big deal asked them to put them in their bags. This is a bi-weekly occurrence with these two students. MINUTES later I caught them with Legos in the gym and escorted them out to their bag to put said Legos away. Boy #2 then had the gall!!!! to bad mouth me in front of Boy #1 about "my rules and how stupid they were."
When the Dad of boy #2 got there I told him that I was getting to the point that I would have to start frisking his kid before he could enter the gym and I had given him several warnings. I didn't see boy #1's parent before I left.
Then today, the boys were playing with Legos in the gym AGAIN!!! So I took them away. I told them I was done and I would be discussing this with their parents.
We go outside to play later in the afternoon and guess what? FREAKING LEGOS. Boy #1 has taken more out of his bag and is constructing a whole ship on the picnic table. I confiscate those and as I am turning to walk away boy #1 says to boy #2"I hate Mrs. Careless."
I went off. I told the boys that they had hurt my feelings that they had disobeyed and were very disrespectful to me. I told them that I was hurt that they had said such mean things to me. Why Lego's? Why do you produce such a product that turns little boys into haters?
A little while later I walked inside to use the bathroom and on my way back outside guess what? Boy #1 is sitting at his bag pulling out MORE Legos! He looks up and says "I thought you'd left for the day."
Seriously? It is a school-wide rule that there are no personal toys allowed in the gym or on the playground. It is not safe for the younger kids, pieces get lost, other kids pocket items and fights ensue. It is a school rule!
Lego's. I am done with you. Forever. Done.
Sincerely,
Careless
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