Kira in the Car

"What if people with dimples grew little arms out of their dimples that would wipe their mouths for them?  That would be cool."

Something gross and something embarrassing

First the something gross:  My sister called me and left me a message that said, "Millie ate something DISGUSTING; guess what it was..." and she left me hanging thinking of all the gross things a one-year-old could potentially eat.  Poop came to mind.  Gross.  So I called her back and she made me guess for a while; poop? no.  A bug?  Yes.  Sure, that's pretty gross, but still, so what?  When Kira was one she ate a jar of ladybugs that Sam collected.  I didn't believe it when Sam told me that, but sure enough, the little weirdo had a little orange shell on her lip and her breath had that squished-lady-bug smell.  So I wasn't that grossed out about a baby eating a bug until she gave me the details.

Millie ate an engorged wood tick.  A wood tick like this:

Beth said that she saw something blackish dripping down Millie's chin and couldn't figure out what it was because she said, "I knew it wasn't dirt.  I don't have any plants."  So, now that she had eliminated dirt, Beth wiped off Millie's chin and thought about what it could be when Millie spit out the flattened, deflated carcass.  Beth thought it was a grayish corn kernal and then it dawned on her that Oh My God, that was a disgusting wood tick that must have been attached to the dog, filled itself with dog blood and then her baby ate it.  

We wondered how one could call the doctor and ask if dog blood passed through a tick is bad for babies without seeming like a horrible parent.  There is no way.  But we figured since she spit (most of) the blood out and then also spit out the carcass, she's probably going to be okay.  Nevertheless, I'm never touching her again.  Gross baby.

I'm not going to go into great detail about the embarrassing thing because it is about me and this is my blog so I don't have to put myself through the wringer like I would if this was someone I knew.  Let me just tell you that in a fit of hypochondria I convinced myself I was dying so I went to the doctor and after a thorough, thorough exam she gave me my diagnosis:  "You have your period."  Yeah, that's right, I'm 41 years old, have had my period for about 30 years and I panicked and went to the doctor only to have her politely tell me that I'm perfectly fine, I'm just menstruating.  I was like, "Oh.... heh heh.... better safe than sorry!... lol."  and she said, while decidedly not lol-ing, "Do you need a pad?" and then she gave me pamphlet titled, "Congratulations! You're A Woman Now" and sent me on my way.  Just kidding.  She didn't give me the pamphlet.  I would feel better if she had.  But hey, I'm not dying!  That's something!

More Flood

Remember yesterday when I told you we had a flood and you were all like, "Yeah, okay, whatever.  It was raining here too.  Just because it rains doesn't mean you had a flood.  Geez, you are always exaggerating."

Well I wasn't exaggerating!  I don't exaggerate!  Am I spelling that right?!  I don't know!  Here's more pictures from the damage yesterday (Thanks to my friend Dana's Facebook page):

Somebody's backyard

Haines Road

Vermillion Road

Grandma's Restaurant at Central Entrance

Swinging bridge at Jay Cooke State Park

See, it's worse than you thought.

Where's the Flood?

Holy Cow, has it been raining like crazy here in Duluth!  It started the night before last and yesterday as I was all cozy, comfy on the couch, watching the lightning and torrential rain I thought to myself, "This is nice.  I wonder how long I could do this until I get sick of it?"  The answer is one day.  We live on a big hill miles above the Duluth hills so we weren't in any danger of getting flooded out, but the rain was coming down so hard that it started seeping into our basement because the water can't flow down the hill fast enough.  We got six inches by last night (that's what she said). I got up early this morning because I was planning to go to a meeting downtown but my meeting was canceled because streets are flooded all over the place.  I got on Facebook and some people were posting pictures:

I'm not sure all these pictures are about the flood.  I got a little carried away stealing pictures.  The Duluth Zoo got flooded and apparently some of the farm animals in the petting zoo drowned or escaped, and I also heard some snakes have escaped, and according to one of the pictures I posted, apparently a seal has escaped too.  That would be weird.  To go out and look at how flooded your ditches are and see a seal.  The sun is starting to come out now so I am going to GO OUTSIDE!

Would you rather...

Have a bucket full of snapping turtle eggs that are alive and thriving on a shelf in the house so the raccoons don't get them, and they will hatch at some unknown point sometime in August or September and crawl into your bed and bite your toes off before you even know they have hatched...

Or

Have a bucket full of snapping turtle eggs that are dead and getting moldy and disgusting and you can't even check them until July 12 to see if they are "veiny" (which indicates live eggs) and alive, or moldy and gross?

Sam in the Car

We were driving along yesterday and Kira spotted some Canada geese with their ugly babies and she said, "Oh! Stop so I can get one!" and Sam, having had a volatile history with Canada geese, and in fact, having a checkered history of being victimized by almost all large-ish birds said,

"Yeah, stop so I can go punch one of those babies right in the bill.  Call it pre-venge."  

Maria Bamford

For Book Club tonight, the ladies and I went to see comedian Maria Bamford do a show at St. Scholastica.  It was great.  She is the one who does the Target ads at Christmas time.

She's really strong.

I have been a fan of hers since my aunt sent me a home-made cassette tape out of the blue and told me to listen to it.  It was one of Maria's albums and I loved it so much that I wrote her (Maria) an email and told her that I thought she was so funny that from now on I would buy her albums myself and not rely on my relatives for bootlegs.  She wrote back and said she was glad I liked it.  Nice!  So I have bought her albums since then and I have kept up with what she has been doing.  She had a web show for a while that I loved.  I'm not a huge fan of stand up comedians but for some reason I really love Maria.  She does a bit about "Christy the Christian Teen" that just about kills me, and she also does impressions of her family members that are hilarious.  One of my favorite bits she does is about leaving her mom voicemail messages from the baby Jesus.

Tonight Maria did some material about mental illness that I thought was great.  She said people still don't think of mental illness as a "real" ailment because you never hear someone say they should treat their nearsightedness or cancer with an "attitude adjustment."  I loved that.

After the show we hung around and got to chat with Maria for a few minutes because my friend Dana went to high school with her.  Dana took a picture of the two of us.

But by far the most bizarre thing that happened all night was that I was sitting in the front row of the second section and a lady in an enormous motorized barcalounger came rolling up and everyone in the row had to scooch their chairs down so she could back into her spot right next to me.  The lady was on oxygen so she had a big tank and she also had bags and bags of stuff hanging all over within arms reach.  She took out a big bottle of water and a cup and had a little drink at one point. But that's not the bizarre part.  She also had a  wiener dog on her lap who was wearing a silver necklace and a pink, gingham, halter dress. I couldn't stop looking at that stupid dog.  And the dog couldn't stop looking at me.  It was unnerving.  Other people were looking at the dog too and I think the lady was getting self conscious about it because she put a pink vest on it that said, "My name is Rosie and I'm a service animal.  Please don't pet me."  I couldn't really pinpoint what service Rosie was providing, unless having a dog indefatigably lick your nasal cannulas is a service.  If it is, Rosie was doing a great job.

Kira's Summer Project

Kira came running into the house this evening and said, "GET THE CAR! I KNOW WHERE SOME TURTLE EGGS ARE!" and she made me drive down to the river and dig up a snapping turtle nest with her on the roadside.  This has been her dream for years.  Every year we watch big snappers come out of the river and dig up the shoulder of the road and lay eggs.  Then, by the next day the raccoons have gotten every single nest.

When she was about nine, she found some eggs and put them in her pocket and ran home to bury them.  Surprise surprise, they never hatched after the half a mile jog in her hot, dirty pocket.  I think Kira must have gotten this nest on the same day that it was laid.

We took about half a dozen eggs and then re-covered the rest. Right now they are in a bucket full of road sand, on the top of her bookshelf.  If they hatch, it will be in three months.  Then I'll have a house full of snapping turtles.  My dream.

Snuggly!

Shady Lady

Other than the yard sale I wrote about in the last post, we spent the weekend at the lake because it was so HOT.  The cabin is Kira's absolute favorite place in the entire world.  When we were driving up to the Falls on Friday, we got a few miles from home and I said to Kira, "Do you have your swimsuit?" and she didn't so we turned around and went back so she could get it.  Saturday evening we went out to the cabin and Kira said, "I forgot my suit at Grandma's.  Oh well," and then jumped in the water with all her clothes on because nothing is going to keep her out of the water.

Sam, Mitch and his brother, Mat worked on the silly little boat Mat got a few years ago that they call "The Shady Lady."

I mostly enjoyed watching Mitch work on the boat while lying on his stomach on the dock.  Look at his feet:

He would have been a fantastic ballerina.

Yard Sale

School got out last week and we already had a busy summer weekend.  We went up to Intl Falls to help my parents and sister with their big garage sale.  I put some stuff in too.

Mostly old purses and all the chicken decorations everyone and their brother gave me several years ago when I got three live chickens.  Seriously, nobody gave a second thought about what to get me for my birthday that year, if it had a chicken on it, the general consensus was that I wanted it.  I got a chicken platter, a chicken rug, chicken plates, chicken candy dishes, a metal and wood decorative chicken, a chicken key holder, a big glass chicken full of olive oil and vegetables, a chicken basket, a chicken bank, a chicken tape dispenser, a gigantic cement chicken that weighs more than a 100 pounds etc etc etc.  I brought some of the better looking chickens to sell, thinking nobody would want a bunch of chicken stuff and it would end up in the dump.  The very first lady at the sale, who arrived an hour and 15 minutes before it officially opened, bought ALL the chicken stuff and would have brought more if I had only brought it all.  DARNIT!  I should have brought it all.

I finally acquired the giant fish platter that my sisters and I have been coveting since my mom got it about fifteen years ago.  I thought I was going to have to wait until they were dead and then fight my sisters for it, but my mom decided she doesn't want it anymore so it was going to go in the sale.  First my sister Beth was going to snag it and give it to my sister Amy for her birthday (tacky), but too bad for Beth, she was at work, so I put it in my car. HA HA! Now I have the big fish platter, my sisters do not have it, and my parents are still alive.  Win win win.

I tried to sell Amy's dog again, but nobody wanted her.

Priorities and Anniversaries

Yesterday I was driving around, running errands and I heard on the radio that Venus was in front of the sun and could be seen and looked like a little black freckle.  Naturally I immediately looked up for the sun to see if I could see Venus.  As I was craning my neck around, while driving in traffic, to look directly into the sun, I heard the radio broadcaster say, "DO NOT look directly at the sun."  And I said to myself, "Oh yeah, no duh."  Then I thought, "Hey, I'm wearing sunglasses.  I could look at the sun for just a second!"  And I looked up again to see where the sun was and at just that moment I heard the broadcaster say, "It is never safe to look at the sun, even with sunglasses."  And I thought, "Crap! I want to see Venus, but I also don't want to be blind, or get into a car crash!"  So I decided to take their word for it that Venus was in front of the sun for the last time in about a hundred years and I missed seeing it myself because I value my non-burned retinas.  Priorities, man.

In other news, my parents are having their wedding anniversary today!  Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad, from your favorite and smartest (see above) daughter!

First World Problems

It's been a stressful few weeks around our house.  The end of school always causes a little stress because I, for one, don't deal very well with transition.


Sam is stressed because if he doesn't perform well on his finals, he might not make the honor roll and if he doesn't make the honor roll he can't get his license, which has been the dream of his entire life.

Kira thinks she's going to get a B or possibly even a C in math (gasp) and she's horrified at the thought of it.  

Half my garden died within a week of my planting it.  I should have taken a picture of it.  It was so sad.  I think the plants either froze or got drown by the recent monsoons.

Mitch had a truly awful day recently and he was telling me all about it and then he ended it with, "... and to top it all off, a dragon fly landed on me, right on my lips. I couldn't slap it, I couldn't blow it away, I couldn't do anything until it flew away," which made me laugh thinking of Mitch walking around for half of his shitty day with a dragon fly on his mouth.  Turns out it was only on there for a few seconds.

Now I have to run because the hummingbird feeder is empty and the bossy little birds feel entitled to their free sugar so much that they keep bumping into the window as if to say, "Hey lady!  Get off your ass and fill the good feeder!  We don't like the other three that are almost exactly the same!"

Saggy Pants

"Excuse me, Sir?  Your butt is hanging out.
Thought you'd want to know."

In the last few years of subbing I've seen more and more of the latest in "I'm-a-badass-gangsta" fashion of wearing pants not just low, but totally below the butt.  These boys wear their pants BELOW. THEIR. BUTTS.  And they think it makes them look really tough.  They basically have to wear a belt cinched tightly across their upper thighs to prevent the pants from falling all the way off (cuz, boy would that be embarrassing!) so their clothing choice is actually hindering their movement, much like high heels (but that's another post), and their back pockets, conveniently located at arm's reach when the pants are worn properly, are waaaaaaay down behind the wearer's knees.  It looks so stupid.  Not only is it hindering their movement, but their butts are hanging out.  It's like they're trying to say, "Hi, my name is BiTchH8R (Josh) and I have no dignity."

I've seen the teachers in the high schools beg them to pull up their pants and the kids argue and tell them to stop nagging them.  This is how they want to look blah blah blah.  And the teachers plead with them by saying, "Please pull your pants up.  That looks so stupid." and then the kids inevitably get all huffy and say, "You think I'm stupid!?"  The question is never answered but the answer is always YES.

Well, today I found the solution.  I was subbing at an elementary school and had my class out on the playground.  The kindergartners were out too with the "Trailblazers," teenage delinquents from the local residential school.  I love watching the Trailblazers try to deal with the kindergartners because five year olds are not intimidated by ANYONE so the tough-guy act is totally wasted.  It turns out that after you cut through the posturing, the Trailblazers aren't that tough after all.  One of them was playing tag with a bunch of the kindergartners (or he was just running for his life, I don't know) and his big shirt came up and his butt was hanging out. When the little girl at the front of the pack saw that she stopped, pointed and screeched, "I SEE LONDON! I SEE FRANCE!" and that boy yanked his pants up so fast she didn't even get to finish.  After a while I looked around and all of the Trailblazers had their pants pulled up.  Hmmmm...

So my idea is to hire a kindergartner to come with me to every job I do next year.  They are very intimidating.  They aren't afraid of anything and nobody messes with them.  And wouldn't they have a fantastic time at the high schools pointing out how many times they see London and France?  Pants would be pulled up all over town.  

I've quit refined sugar, caffeine and anti-depressants! (5...4...3...2......)

After months of being on different anti-depressants and experiencing none of the beneficial anti-depressant effects, and having seemingly every single side effect, I decided to stop taking them for a while.  I've been off for a few weeks now and I feel okay.  Just normal; not great, not terrible.  Normal with none of the side effects of drugs, which is better than what I was experiencing on the drugs.  I was most recently on Wellbutrin but it made me angry and anxious and weepy.  You know what else makes me angry and anxious and weepy?  Depression.  I don't need a drug to exacerbate issues I can get naturally and for free.  So I stopped.  I haven't experienced any terrible withdrawal effects like I did with Effexor, but today it occurred to me that there must be some so I looked it up.  Here's the list:

aggression, anxiety, balance issues , blurred vision , brain zaps, concentration impairment, constipation, crying spells, depersonalization, diarrhea, dizziness. electric shock sensations, fatigue, flatulence, flu-like symptoms, hallucinations, hostility, highly emotional, indigestion, irritability, impaired speech, insomnia, jumpy nerves, lack of coordination, lethargy, migraine headaches / increased headaches, nausea, nervousness, over-reacting to situations, paranoia, repetitive thoughts or songs, sensory; sleep disturbances, severe internal restlessness (akathasia), stomach cramps, tremors, tinnitus (ear ringing or buzzing), tingling sensations, troubling thoughts, visual hallucinations / illusions, vivid dreams, speech visual changes, worsened depression.

I highlighted some things I have concerns about. 

*Depersonalization:  That sounds scary.  Does that mean I can change from being a person to being something else?  A robot?  A tiger?  I have not had that (yet).  But would I even know if I had?  Maybe I'm a tiger right now.

*Flatulence:  I find flatulence to be a side effect of almost everything.

*Hallucinations:  Maybe this mid-life crisis is a hallucination?

*Highly emotional indigestion:  Is there any other kind?  ....
oh wait, I didn't see the comma.  It's actually "highly emotional, (comma) indigestion. Never mind. This withdrawal-symptom list needs a proof-reader.  Highly emotional....... what?  They are leaving me hanging.  That makes me anxious.

*Over-reacting to situations:  Does this mean that bawling through the entire last episode of the John Adams miniseries because of all the deaths, but especially when he said he thought a flower was the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, was a tad over-the-top?  Maybe.  Maybe a person prone to depression shouldn't watch sad movies.

I'm trying lately to eat healthy, exercise and I'm also trying my hand at being drug-free (prescription drugs, anyway) and I don't know how long I can stand it.  I've been told by my friend Pete who is a psychologist to try out therapy and see if it helps but I can't bring myself to go see a stranger and unload and get their opinions of how I could better live a life that I've been living for the better part of 40 years mostly pretty well, when they just met me an hour beforehand.  Doesn't seem very efficient. 

So instead I've been looking at books about cognitive behavior therapy for treating depression because that seems more efficient.  They are (probably) written by someone at the top of their field, who has thought about what they are going to tell you long enough to write it, proof it, edit it and submit it to a publisher, and hopefully they have gotten their ideas peer-reviewed.  Seems much better than a one on one therapy session if you ask me.  So I researched the best books on the topic. 

If you ever want a good laugh, read the reviews depressed people write for self-help books.  Just look at any self-help book for depression and read the one and two star reviews.  Hilarious.  I LOVE depressed people.  They (we?) are sooooooo skeptical about everything and utterly reject the idea that depression is something that you can behave your way out of, but feel so miserable that they will try any stupid thing that comes along.  (Oh, and "depressed" people "like" to use a lot of snarky "quotation marks," which "cracks me up.")  Here are some quotes from some of the reviews:

"I am guilty of "distorted" thinking. Oh, dear! Surely I should want to correct my "distortions"!"

"This is a BIG book full of unnecessary material that someone who is severely depressed is going to have a HARD time even holding up."

"Because the book got so many good reviews, I thought it must have been written by God himself. It wasn't."

"Does it pass the suicide test?"

"Literally, half of the book is saying 'My CBT is helpful!'. Well, I got this message from the first 50 pages, no need to repeat it on every 2nd page."

And on and on and on... There was another review that was kind of long but the gist was about a story in the book told by the author about the day his baby was born.  The baby came out looking kind of blue and the author said that he had all kinds of "stinkin' thinkin'" (snarky depression quotes) going through his head.  He worried that his new baby wasn't getting enough oxygen, he worried that he would be strapped with caring for a mentally retarded child because of these first few oxygen deprived moments, but then he stopped himself and employed his cognitive behavior techniques:  1)He can't predict the future and 2)he must have faith that other people know what they are doing.  The reviewer said exactly what I was thinking:  YOUR BABY IS BLUE.  GET HIM SOME AIR, FOR FUCK' SAKE.  Isn't that just common sense and totally non-depressed and normal?  It just seems like a pragmatic reaction to me.  Eyeore is (was? is he dead?) a pragmatist.

Depression/Pragmatist test:  If you saw this picture and thought,
"Watch out Eyeore, that bird is going to crap on you, right in your mouth" you are probably
a pragmatist.  And that bird probably did crap on him. 

Have any of you, my readers, been to therapy?  If so, how was it? 

Would You Rather

I've really dropped the ball on the Would You Rather question lately, haven't I?  Well, that just sucks.  Okay, I'll remedy the problem right now with this post.  First of all, let's revisit our last question about the taxedermied vermin, and let's remember, it wasn't a Would You Rather question, I changed things up and got crazy and asked a What Would Be Worse question, remember?  Twice as many of you thought receiving the taxedermied, eyeless, upper body of a guinea pig attached to a hair comb would be worse than hollowed out prairie dogs that you could wrap around bottles of refreshment so it looks as though your champagne was being thrown up by a ground hog or squirrel.  I have to say I agree.  My results might be skewed because of the way the question was asked and you might have answered which you would rather have instead of which would be worse.  I think the right answer is that both are disgusting, but the eyeless half-guinea pig flailing its arms around from a pile of your hair is WORSE. 

Worse

Anyway, on to the new question.  I am sitting in a ninth grade health classroom right now and that is what has inspired me to ask you this:

Would You Rather...

Magically go back to being 15 and in 9th grade all over again

or

Have one of your limbs amputated

Now, it might seem like an obvious answer at first, but think about it for five seconds:  Ninth grade = zits, out of control hormones, brain dormancy, high school, parents, etc. etc......  VS. Missing one measly leg or arm = cool prosthesis (and possible bionics); amputees have reputations for being sexual dynamos; take that prosthesis off and blamo, you just lost 20 pounds; AND you could arm wrestle in a more advantageous weight class and totally kick ass. 

A few things...

I don't really have much to blog about lately.  Nothing to fill a whole post but I do have a couple funny stories:

I subbed for 8th grade band on Friday and because I don't know their music and what they've been up to, I asked one of the students to direct in my place.  This kid was so funny.  They had recently gotten music for the high school song and they were trying to learn it.  It was horrible.  They were all trying SO HARD to play it but no matter how hard they tried, it just sounded like they were tuning up.  Chris, the student-director stopped them and very dryly said, "I think it's important that we play more of the notes right."  Oh how I laughed.

The other little tidbit I have for you is that Maisy, my wonderful dog who communicates to my by whining only because she can't form words with her dog lips and doesn't have a voice box, whined the entire first verse of Camptown Races, leaving me with the "Do da, do da," part.  Wow.  Best duet ever.  

Farrier

Last night Mitch and I were lying in bed, listening to the thunder and talking about this and that, and I mentioned that I wish there was a foot lotion that really put its money where its mouth is and included some kind of acid in its ingredients to stop the disgusting build-up of callouses on my heels.  Mitch feigned being grossed-out and suggested a farrier.  I couldn't recall right away what a farrier is, but then it slowly dawned on me. He could see it dawning on me and clenched up tight in preparation for my wrath, and probably questioned the wisdom of suggesting his wife is horse-like while in the vulnerable position of being flat on his back with hardly any protective clothing on.

When I finally figured out what he was insinuating, I said, "WWWWHAT?!"  and he quickly petted my nose and whispered, "Easy girl.  You might be nervous at first, but he's a pro, he could calm you down."  I thrashed and tried not to laugh and he said, "Is the thunder making you jumpy, girl? ...shhhhhhh" and continued to pet my muzzle, - I mean nose, and said, "Mmmmm ... velvety."   I tried to attack him with everything I had but he is stronger than me and held me down and put a very flat hand up to my mouth as if he was feeding me carrots, and then petted my nose and continued to whisper, "Shhhhhh..... shhhhhhhhh...."

I hate to admit it, but it was quite calming.  I will ride this out, I guess, but if he introduces a bridle or a riding crop, I'm gonna bolt, and no amount of sugar cubes will lure me back, MITCH.

UPDATE:  When Mitch read this post he said, "Do you really think if you were a horse, you would look like the horse you put on this post?  Because you wouldn't."

WTF, Mitch...

Kira in the Car

Sam:  Yearbooks come out this week.  They look pretty cool but I feel sorry for the seniors.

Me:  Why???

Sam:  They have their baby pictures in there!  And quotes!  Embarrassing.

Kira:  Yeah right, what do the quotes say; "Wa Wa"?

Sam:  Not quotes from when they were babies!

Me:  (dying from laughter) I can't believe you thought they were baby quotes!  Wouldn't they All be "wa wa?"  What would be the point?

Kira: (indignant) No, they wouldn't all have to be "wa wa."  Some could be "Goo goo ga ga."

Kira's Art

I've posted about how ... unique(?) Kira's art is on this blog before.  It's either hilariously half-assed like this:

This piece is entitled "Three Blind Mice."  When asked why she said,  "You know, because
they don't have eyes."  When asked why there are only two of them she said, "Because you get the idea."

And this:

A balloon and some wings ripped off one of Sam's toys.

And this:

When asked why this shell only has one googly eye she said,
"It's young."

On the other hand, if she puts any effort into her art, it is utterly terrifying.  Like this:

This is the nutcracker she made in 2nd grade.  It even scares her.

And this:

Salt dough sculpture of Bill Clinton.  There was apparently not enough dough
to make eyelids.

This brings me to her latest, and I think, most terrifying art project.  In fairness, the assignment was to make an "ugly jug," but seriously, she went a little over the top.  As she would say, she "over-achieved."

I don't know what it is, exactly, that makes this so incredibly terrifying.  Is it the jagged shards of tile she used for teeth?

Or is it the long, crooked, broken nose that is reminiscent of Timer from the PTSD-inducing Time for Timer cartoon breaks in the 1970s?

Timer

Or is it her signature lack of eyelids?

I don't know if it is any one of those things alone, but all together it scares me.  She knows this too because when I told her to put her stuff away, she put this Ugly Jug right next to my pillow on my bed.  When I asked WHY she would do that, she said, "Because it's for you."

What is the statute of limitations on keeping your children's precious artwork?  When can I "accidentally" break this without seeming like a horrible mother?

Kindergarten

Months ago I agreed to sub for three days in kindergarten this week because I like to screw over my future self.  It's over now and it wasn't so bad.  Of course, nothing could be as bad as what I had envisioned.  The kids are adorable, but part of what makes it so hard for me is that the girls are about a year and a half ahead of the boys maturity-wise.  So kindergarten girls are like second grade boys.  Second grade is fun.  Kindergarten sucks.

Kindergarten boys are difficult for me.  If something CAN be thrown, it's thrown, if someone bugs a kindergarten boy, that poor someone gets pushed down, slapped or pinched.  If someone has a toy that boy wants, the toy will be ripped out of their hands. If that kindergarten boy gets confronted for throwing something that shouldn't be thrown, or hitting someone who bugged him, or taking something someone else was playing with, he cries.  If that boy has something to say and I am talking, he will scream whatever it is that pops into his head whenever it happens to pop into his head.  That, in a nutshell, is what makes kindergarten such a nightmare.

And the parents. One mom dropped off her boy every day and then lingered. Endlessly lingered. The first day I was there she complained that some of the other boys were bothering him at lunch and could I make sure they don't do it anymore? Turns out her sweet little angel was the biggest trouble maker in the class. The boys were messing with his lunch because he was first messing with their lunches, as a sort of game. I kept my eye on this kid all week and he was ALWAYS doing something he wasn't supposed to do. If the kids were gathered on the rug, he was by the cubbies, digging in people's stuff. At playtime, he was in the bathroom squirting liquid soap all over the place, etc. etc. etc. What a BRAT.

The weather was gorgeous yesterday so I took them outside for a while.  They were having a great time.  One of the little girls came up to me laughing and told me that she and a few other kids were playing the BEST game!  The boys were chasing the girls and putting them in jail.

Me:  Oh, you're criminals?

Girl: YES!

Me:  What crimes are you doing to get put into jail?

Girl:  Because we're so PRETTY!!!!

Me:  The boys are capturing you and putting you in jail for being pretty???

Girl: Yes! And we catch them and put them in jail too!

Me:  Because they are so pretty?

Girl:  No silly!  Because they are rich!

Me: Wow ............. That is Fucked Up.

Just kidding, I didn't say that's fucked up but I was thinking it.  A while later she came up to me and her hands were cuffed behind her back with a hair tie.  She thought that was brilliant.  Somewhere Betty Friedan was spinning in her grave.

There were, of course, some good things that happened during the week.  Working with five-year-olds always boosts my ego.  At playtime I went to the coloring station and drew pictures.  I am TERRIBLE at drawing, always have been.  They thought I was excellent, on par with the great masters.  They lined up for me to draw a picture for them.  If adults had their taste in art, I would be a rich and famous artist.  Also, they think I am gorgeous.  I was told how beautiful I am dozens of times.  I was hugged hundreds of times.  I was told I was the best sub they ever had every day.

And they are funny.  They made a "special person" poster about one of their classmates (apparently they do that for every kid) and I was to go around and get a quote about her from all the other kids.  Most said, "She's pretty" or "She's nice" but there were a few that were oddly specific like, "She draws good daisies on the Smartboard."  I asked one little boy, a rage-aholic, what he had to say about her, thinking he would refuse to say anything because he didn't string three words together all week unless he was having a tantrum.  Without skipping a beat he said, "She loves me."  I laughed and another kid said, "She really does," and I laughed some more.  Crazy kids.

One day I was getting impatient with the mama's-little-angel brat mentioned above when he was racing around tables when everyone else was sitting on the carpet waiting for a story.  I said, "Please go to the carpet.  I already told you that five times.  I shouldn't have to tell you to do things more than once," and a bunch of kids piped up and said, "Hey! My mom says that to me all the time!" and "Yeah, my dad says that to me every day!"

Sam's Motive for Sororicide

Kira:  I got an award at school.  I think we should go out for ice cream.

Me:  An award! Good for you!  For what?

Kira: Academic over-achievement

Sam:  WHAT?!

Kira:  Academic Over-achievement.

Sam:  Kira, I HIGHLY doubt that they are giving out an award for OVER achieving in academics.

Me:  I think ice cream is a GREAT idea!

Kira:  What does "academic" mean?

Sam:  Seriously!?!  Oh my GOD!

Kira:  I'm serious.  What does it mean?

Me:  School work

Kira: I over-achieved on my school work???

Sam: Uuuuuuuuggggghhhhh!!!!

Me:  I think the award is probably for "academic achievement."  Schools don't really consider doing well on schoolwork "Over" achieving.  It would be like being "too pretty" or "too rich."  You can't really be too much of a good thing.

Kira:  I haven't taken a shower since Sunday.

Sam:  Is there another kid with her name at her school?  I think the award went to the wrong person.

Kira:  Jealous much?  Maybe you should start over-achieving a little more.

Sam:  IT'S NOT OVER ACHIEVING!

Kira:  Not for you.

Nicknames I've given to my body parts based on Kady calling her crotch, "Old Friend"

Kady wrote a hilarious story about how she was telling her crotch to toughen up because she isn't going to break down and buy fully padded bike shorts for a bike race she is going to be in and she told it (her crotch) to, "Toughen up, Old Friend," and I thought that was funny because 1) she nicknamed her crotch, and 2) she considers her crotch an old friend, and 3) a legless man on an arm-powered bike overheard the "Toughen up, Old Friend" part and now he thinks she was talking to him and probably thinks she's a totally insensitive leg-snob.  That made me think of what I might nickname some of my body parts after having lived with them for forty-odd years.  Here's the list:

Left hand - "Lefty"

Right hand - "Writey" (get it?)

Eyes - "Stevie" (Wonder) and "Ray" (Charles)

Nose - "Smell Smith"

Mouth - "disgusting bacteria hole"

Teeth - "Chalky buddies"

Boobs - The "Litchfield Two"

Nipples - The "Denver Three"

Legs - "Logs"

Bladder - "Impatient Bitch"

Crotch - "Old Faithful"

Uterus - "Bleedy"

Cervix - "The-organ-that-better-watch-its-back-because-if-I-have-to-endure-one-more-abnormal-pap-it's-total-hysterectomy/incinerator-time."

Fat Cells - "The Irrepressible Billion"

Head Hair - "The Totally Repressible Five"

Unwanted Body Hair - "The Incredible Forest of Stumpy Insect Legs"

Left foot - "Fred" (Flinstone)

Right foot - "Barney" (Rubble)

Hey, Future Me; UP YOURS

When I got on the scale this morning and saw that not only have I not lost any weight in the previous 16 days that I've been on a MILITANT diet regimen, but I GAINED half a pound, I realized that my mother was right when she told me (after I gained the freshman 15) (and after I had my kids in my late 20s/early 30s) "Lose that weight now, because if you wait until you get older, you will regret it!"  Back then if I even thought about going on a diet, I'd lose five pounds.  It was easy.  It was simple accounting back then: less calories = lost weight.  I thought my mother didn't know what she was talking about because 1) she was my mother, and 2) calories in/calories out, Mom.  Easy.

Holy shit, my mom was right.  Losing weight in your forties is damn near impossible.  So I was crabby about eating so many vegetables with no payback, and crabby because months and months ago I stupidly agreed to take three days of kindergarten this week, and it occurred to me:  I have always consistently screwed over Future Me.  I agreed to sub for this kindergarten class way back in December or January.  The teacher caught me in the hall and asked me and I thought about it.  May: WAY in the future, practically spring.  Sure, I'll do it.  If she would have said, "Can you sub for me three days next week I probably would have made up an excuse because I don't like to screw over Present Me or Short-Term-Future Me, but I have no qualms at all about giving the shaft to Future Me.  Fuck her, she can take it.  

If I wasn't so inconsiderate to Future Me I probably wouldn't have this extra 30 pounds on me either.  I see a donut and think, "I shouldn't eat that.  It's not good for me and it's packed with sugar and calories," but I also think, "Who cares!  I love chocolate frosting!  Diabetes?  A fat ass?  Who CARES?!?  It's not going to happen today!  Give me that donut!  Up yours, Future me!"

What does this all say about me?  It says that I would totally fail that stupid marshmallow/impulse test that some eggheads at Stanford gave to little kids.  (But, for the record, I could resist a marshmallow for 20 minutes.  Chocolate, no.  Marshmallows, yes.)

So what does THAT say about me?  It says I'm dim, that's what it says.  Well, that might be overstating (hey, what do you expect?), but the study showed that people who can't delay gratification have poorer academic success are less successful in adult life (oh hello, substitute teacher.)  

You know what I didn't need to learn about myself on a day I gained half a pound and had to endure a kindergarten job?  That I'm not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.  Being the sharpest tool is all I've got, and over the years I've learned my parents aren't anywhere near as dumb as I thought they were, and even my husband isn't a total idiot.

I have to start being nicer to future me.  I'm the only thing the chunky old moron has! 

Happy Mother's Day! Poems!

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there!  I got some homemade cards from my kids with poems in them. I love kid poems.  This is Kira's:

Roses are Red

Violets are Blue

I really love you

And the rest of the family does too.

And here is Sam's:

Roses are Red

Violets are unicorn,

This poem makes no sense

Refrigerator

I sent my mom a lamo store-bought card.  I should probably write her a poem myself but I don't like writing poems even though I wrote her one for Mother's Day a few years ago.  Oh well, I'll try out a limerick this year:

There once was a woman named Nancy

Who liked to dress up really fancy (no she didn't)

She went to a ball

and felt really tall

And then realized she forgot to wear pants(y).

Happy Mother's Day!

 

 

Redemption for last Friday

What a fantastic day. I am subbing in one of the high school's for a music teacher. I tentatively took the job because I have shell shock from verging out of my comfort zone last week and getting totally screwed over by the Catholics, but I thought that nothing could be worse than that so I went ahead and took the music job.

I was tentative for a few reasons:

1) When I was in band in high school, whenever we had a sub we had a study hall, which was great when I was in high school, but probably not so great for the poor subs that had to babysit 60 kids in a study hall where nobody was studying.

2) Also, when I was in high school, in one of the aforementioned band study halls, my friends and I decided to play a hilarious joke on the sub. One of my friends was born without a right hand, (she played trumpet), and we thought it would be funny to have her stuff her stump in her mouth and tell the sub that we were having a contest to see who could stuff their fist the furthest into their mouths and she won, but now she couldn't get her fist out of her mouth! She's choking on her own fist! Oh my god! What are you going to do? The sub went into emergency mode and did everything she was supposed to do and when we saw that we laughed and laughed. Good times.

3) I can hardly read music anymore, much less a conductor copy of music I'm not familiar with, so I am hardly qualified to teach a music class; and why should they miss out on a day of practice because of my shortcomings?

I am so glad I took this job. For one thing, the kids are FANTASTIC. I really love kids sometimes. When they are focused and have a skill they want to show off, they are at their best. For another thing, the teacher must be pretty good too because things are going so smoothly. First hour was concert orchestra practice. Most of the kids are gone on a field trip, so there were only 12 kids, but they came in, got their instruments out and then a girl and a boy led the practice. They did great even though they were missing about 40 of their classmates.

The last class that was in here was symphony orchestra. They were so good. One of the senior boys took over the rehearsal, set an electric metronome, and they played through the list of the pieces the teacher wanted them to play through. They stopped at trouble spots, talked out the problems and tried again until they got it right. It was so great! I sat in the back and tried to keep from clapping like a doofus during every rest.

Now it is lunch time and a bunch of kids are eating in the room and visiting with each other, and a few others are playing piano and timpani together and it sounds wonderful. Again, I'm finding it hard to keep my cool and not run out there to clap every time they finish a song. This totally makes up for last Friday. I would have done today's job for free.

Yesterday was great too.  I taught a half day for an adult English as a Second Language class.  It was like a party.  We were talking about food. I'd hold up a picture of a food and say it and then they would all repeat it loudly in their crazy accents and then they would tell me about how whatever food it was is way better in their country (watermelons in Iraq are way sweeter, butter in Russia makes our butter taste like plastic, strawberries in Minnesota taste like you are chewing aspirin compared to the ones in Brazil).  And then I heard a lot about how fat Americans are (but not as fat as Egyptians!) and how we have no taste for good food.  We laughed and talked and had the best time.  Towards the end they were feeling comfortable enough with me that they started making fun of MY accent!  Hey!  I don't have an accent!

Would you rather

Last week's question was, "Would you rather have your picture on a store's thief board forever, or run naked through that store just one time?"

You people really love to be naked.  90% of you chose to be naked instead of featured on the thief board, I suppose because you assume that a picture on a thief board is something that lasts forever as opposed to the few seconds it would take you to streak through the store in your birthday suit; but I think you are forgetting that this is the age of cell phones and if you ran through a store naked, I know I would take a picture; nay, a video, because I would want to capture all the inevitable "Woo HOOO!s" you would be yelling because who runs naked without some arm pumping and some woo hooing?  Nobody, that's who. It's the unwritten rule of amateur streaking.  I bet the pros can get in there and get it done quietly, but not an amateur. I am not really one to talk though because I also chose the naked option. Woo HOO!!!!

This week's question is a result of a google search to see if a human body can be taxidermied.  I was looking for that because I was avoiding writing my book because I'm stuck, and also because my sister sent me a depressing email telling me that if anything happens to her in Afghanistan I get to make her medical decisions.* So here's the question:

What would be worse:  If you met the love of your life, he/she seemed perfect in every way until one romantic evening he/she broke out some bottles to celebrate your first "I love you" and those bottles had these clever bottle covers:

Nothing says "I love you" like Bottle Dogs™ ! 

Taxedermied prairie dog bottle covers.  

OR

If he gave you/she wore THIS after you were sure he/she was the love of your life:

pretty!

Remember, I'm shaking things up and the questions isn't "Would You Rather," but "What would be worse."  Answer in the poll at the top of the sidebar.  No naked option this week!  Sorry!




*(As far as I can tell, the human body can be taxidermied but there is still some question as to how legal it is.)