Please Don't Give the Teacher

It's that time of year when out of obligation appreciation we feel the need to bestow fabulous gifts upon our children's teachers. Having taught pre-k for 12 years I have a few suggestions.

What NOT to give:

-Another cheesy little apple/ I Heart Teaching/#1 Teacher mug
 (unless you know for a fact that she/he is an avid coffee drinker obsessed with apple mugs) Hard as it may be for some people to believe, there are those people who think coffee is the most disgusting, vile beverage in existence are not coffee drinkers. Anyone who has taught twenty minutes probably has cabinets full of ugly mugs. Filling it with fancy chocolate or adorable gel pens doesn't disguise the fact that it is still a useless, dust collecting, coffee mug.

-Stuffed animals
 (unless you know for a fact that she collects something completely awesome & unique -SOCK MONKEYS for example). These will just collect dust and get tossed in the Goodwill bag. 

these are weirdly amusing though right?

-Home baked goods
(unless she/he raves on and on about your homemade banana nut bread and starts dropping hints at Open House that she desperately seeks calorie laden treats for the holidays) If you do bring in homemade treats for the teacher I beg you not to insist she try a bite in front of your child. I am confident that me gagging and retching on a piece of your specialty coconut, banana streusel pineapple upside down, sticky nut pumpkin roll will scar your precious son (and me) for life. It is just too risky...food allergies, food preferences and while you may find it adorable that your long haired Himilayan cat Precious "helps" you bake, I find it repulsive. 

-Religious/political books/gifts
This is not appropriate if your child attends a public school. While you may not agree, there is the whole separation of church and state thing. This type of gift is both presumptuous and can be offensive. Also please PLEASE JUST SAY NO to Chicken Soup for the Soul books.

-Christmas ornament with your kids picture on it
Who wants to have their worst nightmare (because it it always THOSE kids who give this gift) haunt them the entire winter break? The teacher probably has her own kids or grandkids whose photo ornaments she is required to hang in order to maintain family harmony. 

How do you feel about teacher gifts?

 

First Job

I was counting the days until I turned fifteen and a half years old and could get a "real" job with paychecks and taxes and work schedules. I started babysitting a few months shy of my twelfth birthday and had built a solid following but I wanted a consistent paycheck to fulfill my fantasy of opening my first checking account. 

Truth be told, I was motivated by the cute check designs (Hello Anne Geddes!!) more than the concept of managing my finances. I couldn't drive yet and my schedule was already jam packed with school, activities and candystriping at the hospital so my employment options were limited. I had an in at the local Parks and Recreation Department as Mom had been a sports official for several years. 

After completing an application, interviewing and attending an orientation, I was ready to tackle my job. It helped that I looked super cute in the kelly green t-shirts that were our uniform. I loved the fact that I would run into cute boys while working too. That winter of 1985, I spent my Saturdays at the scorekeeper's table in a high school gymnasium or National Guard Armory. I wasn't old enough to run the game clock or keep score but my job was critical just the same. 

Some coaches loved me and some despised my mere existence. They challenged me and shunned me. As timekeeper, my job was to keep track of how many minutes each player spent on the basketball court. It was the program philosophy that each player spent an equal amount of time in the game. I sucked at math and yet it was my job to calculate minutes played and notify coaches if they weren't doing their job.

source

I created a mental Shit list of coaches who thought they were above the rules. Men who were living out their unfulfilled sports fantasies through their sons. Men who screamed and paced along the sidelines, throwing clipboards and expletives.

Luckily, for each asshole coach there was a kind and gentle one whose goal was to teach the value of teamwork and skills. These coaches who politely approached me during time-outs to see who they needed to put in the game. 

It was my first job and a very stressful one for a shy, non- confrontational fifteen year old but it has always been one of my favorites. For the next twelve years, if I was living in town during basketball season I could be found sitting behind a scoreboard.

What was your first job?

  

Slacker Saturday

Have a coke and a smile!

Fractured Friday Forty-Eight

I am both shocked and a bit confused that this is my forty-eight installment of Fractured Friday. Given my recent screw-ups with time zones and other time related issues it is quite possible I just made that number up. For all I know this is the fourth installment or the fourteenth. 


I Wish I Were Big is full of beautiful words and photos celebrating an amazing woman and the strength of family. If I lived in the same time zone you can bet I'd be begging Tamara to take our family photos.


If you don't know Erica then you have a big gaping hole in your life. She is the amazing brain behind Yeah Write, a most awe-inspiring supportive, talented writer's community. Nothing I could say about her post would do it justice. You MUST read to the place where I belong.

This Girl pours her heart and soul out every day and any one of us can relate to this honest look at being Just a Mommy. You will love her transparency as much as I do!


If you have ever consulted Dr. Google you will appreciate the hilarious Stacie and her play by play and eventual diagnosis. If you have ever felt Old and Decrepit read this highly amusing piece.

Profilin'

We've reached the point of #NaBloPoMo where I am fried. I am losing out on a technicality and because I just cannot get my shit together. Earlier in the week I had to write two posts in twenty four hours since I am incapable of remembering what time zone I actually reside in. The next night I again had time issues and posted thirteen minutes too late and "missed" a day. It isn't much but it is all I got today.

Twitter Profiles I'd love to see:

@theysuck Ashamed mom of 3, hater of cupcakes, married to no talent, despicable schmuck, fun hater, joy sucker, miserable wretch.

@whyme Mom of ugly twin daughters, slacker wife to dipshit husand, blogging about lame ass shit no one cares about.

@imposter Unimaginative writer, living the nightmare, despiser of felines, booger picking, link pimping loser.

@judgeywhore Judgemental beotch, pusher of crappy home parties, bitter, hostile, political nutjob, trying to make your life as miserable as mine.

@cirlceofbitches online community dedicated to making your life more complicated & miserable, know it all snobs.

@captionlamo Bullshitter, bragger, poster of links, will never follow you or anyone for that matter!

What profiles would you love to see?

Random

While not short on inspiration I am short on time. To be quite honest, I don't even really know what day of #NaBloPoMo we are on anymore. It just runs together. Consider this a brain dump post as I've given myself ten minutes until I call it a night.I sit here half watching Modern Family and scarfing down the last few Triscuits in the box. My day consisted of work,volunteering in StinkBug's first grade class, mom's club potluck lunch, piano lessons X2, drive thru dinner a la Wendy's, a trip to Urgent Care to find out my ten year old most likely has migraines, policing homework, dispensing meds, sampling some Canadian Chocolate Big Yankee brought home from work and this ramble writing. Living the life aren't I? I have also lost track of what day of the week it is & am disappointed to realize that it's Wednesday, not Thursday as I had initially thought. 

What random thoughts are going through your head right now?

Two Minutes

I sometimes often always get confused about what time zone I am in. I blame it on the fact that I've lived in four different ones over the years. 

I always remember what time it is where the waving wheat can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right behind the rain. Oklahoma is where my people are and Central time zone is cemented in my brain. I know it is an hour later there though I must consult Google to determine if I am living on Pacific or Mountain time.

Despite living in Mountain territory my laptop is set to Pacific Time which is part of the long convoluted story of why I had to write two posts today. I was anxious to submit to Yeah Write Challenge Grid and didn't bother to notice what time or zone I was in.

If I had, I might have waited two additional minutes to publish Burnt so it would qualify for NaBloPoMo Day 18 19. So my impatience and lack of attention to detail means you get a bunch of excuses for Day 19.

  

How many time zones have you lived in?

Burnt

When you are a not yet twenty one year old going to college in Missouri you have two REAL choices during Spring Break. Go north for skiing, or south for beaches. 

It was March of 1991 and through much, detailed very little haphazard planning a group of us girls decided to head to Padre Island-land of beaches and booze. Somehow we rented a condo with a small kitchen-which in reality was a hotel room with a stove burner. This was pre-Orbitz days and I have no recollection of how we even found the place. I purchased my first bikini and packed every mini skirt I ever owned.

One of my closest high schools friends, who was attending a small liberal arts college in Ohio, wanted a co-pilot to navigate across the Great Plains. I made arrangements to meet up with the girls in the Red Chevy Beretta en route to Texas in a few days. Liz made a pit stop in Missouri where we sat around various dorm rooms getting utterly sloshed and discussing the great mysteries of life.

We arrived in our Oklahoma home town the following day slightly hung-over but desperate to display our awesomeness for having "gone away" to school. We were confidently superior to the ninety percent of our classmates who had stayed in state for college. 

After scooting a boot at the extremely popular country bar, where Coors Light flowed like the Rio Grande, we found ourselves at an after-party. Dean's double-wide trailer had been the site of many keggers the previous summer and we were drunk and cocky. Surrounded by in-staters, we longed to flaunt our fantasticness. 

We thought smoking some cigs was the best way to do this. And what better way to light a smoke than dangling it from my lips and leaning my drunk ass into a burner on the gas stove? 

Suddenly the smell of burnt hair filled the tiny seventies style yellow kitchen. We were in a bit of a panic and I was looking frantically for the source of the smell when one of the Wrangler wearing, skoal chewing cowboys pointed at me and drawled, "Yer hair is on fire."

And that my friends, is how my superiority went up in flames.

 

I Never

Back in the day my friends and I had a favorite drinking game, I Never. The premise is simple. Someone says "I never got speeding ticket/mugged on (kissed a random guy)/whatever...and if you have you drink. Told you it was easy. It was an entertaining, fast way to consume some cold ones. 

Inspired by that game, I give you some things I have NEVER done:

- I've never read Hunger Games/Fifty Shades of Grey/Harry Potter.

- I have never gotten a tattoo.

-I have never liked milk or ice tea.

-I've never eaten caviar.

-I've never been able to snap.

-I have never enjoyed video games.

-I've never seen a single episode of Breaking Bad.

-I've never pierced anything other than my ears.

-I've never taken piano lessons nor had any desire to do so.

-I've never flown to another country.

-I've never gone to the movies alone.

-I've never learned to knit.

-I've never served on a jury.

-I've never held a gun.

What have you never done?

First Memory

My very first memory is death. 

Papa was in a bed like mine-except it was much bigger.

I remember loud voices at the door.

Many years later, I learned that my mom and her sisters had a disagreement about whether we should see him. 

My mom thought we should. We must have been saying goodbye. That part I don't remember. 

He must have been in a hospital bed with side rails to keep him safe. It seemed like a crib to me.

When I read his obituary I discover he died at home. He was sixty four. I was twenty-three months old. 

That is my only memory of Papa-my mom's dad. There is a black and white photo of him holding me at my baptism, standing next to my Gran. I wonder if that was before he got sick. 

His obituary said he had been in poor health for several years.

I don't really remember talking about him very much growing up. Maybe we did and I just don't remember it. I was afraid if I asked to many questions it would make people sad.

He was a dairy farmer and owned a trucking business.

He was born, lived and died in New York.

He was a justice of the peace. This I learn from his obituary.

I often wonder how much this first memory has impacted my life.

It feels as if my entire life has been so full of death.

What is your very first memory?

Ten Things Thankful #5

I am thankful for these:

1. Parenthood I don't think I've ever watched an entire episode without shedding a few tears but I love how it makes me think & feel.


2. Tylenol PM 


3. Thankful for the plane tickets purchased to visit my family for Christmas.

4. The chance to make a difference in my work.

5. Excellent customer service from Chase Bank.

6. Blogging

7. Dark chocolate 

8. Long, hot showers

9. Phone calls from friends when I need it most.

10. Body pillows

Linking up with Lizzi

No More

My mom turned seventy-three on Monday. I didn't get to celebrate with her due to the one thousand three hundred and forty-nine miles between us. Today she told me that she is eligible for hospice.

There will be no more birthdays.

In the days to come I hope I can find the words but for now I am just trying to hold on tight and hold it together. 

Dear Street Parking Neighbor

Yes YOU!

I have tried to take the high road, allowing you time to acclimate to your new home (even though it has been FIVE FREAKING MONTHS) before I said something about you parking in the street EVERY. DAMN. DAY. 

Did you notice that large square shaped structure at the end of your driveway? It's called a garage. Shall we say it together? A little slower...attached G-a-r-a-g-e! In our neighborhood we park our vehicles inside of our garages. 

See that hugemongous slab of cement leading up to the structure for storing cars, trucks, crotch rockets and other modes of transportation? That my friend, is called a driveway. It is another parking option available to you and your crapload of vehicles .

Remember when you were house hunting and had your MUST HAVE list? I hate break it to you, but you obviously needed more than a two car garage for your big ass boat (really in the landlocked state of Kansas you gotta have a boat?) gigantifuckingnormous shiny black truck on steroids, stickered up Honda (though at least if you are going to pretend it is a race car and put number stickers on the side you picked one of my fave numbers of all time-43!), newly acquired work truck with ladders and tools and lots o' crap.

Perhaps you forgot that you now live in one of THOSE neighborhoods...the kind that has a Home Owners Association. The kind of neighborhood that has rules. The purpose of said rules is to maintain the look and feel of our area...and keep property values high.

These rules include NO STREET PARKING! 

Have you noticed that you are THE ONLY ONE in our subdivision using the street as a parking lot? It is annoying and trashy.

And what I REALLY don't understand is why you don't at least pull in the driveway since it is empty most of the day. I am trying to sell my house and you are really pissing me off. 

Let this be your warning...you DO NOT want me as your pissed off neighbor. Hell hath no fury like a pi$$ed off, unemployed lady trying to sell her damn house! I have alerted the HOA and if the issue isn't resolved immediately I will be taking matters into my own hands.

Anywho, just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!

Robbie
. 
P.S. Please do not ask to borrow an egg. We are lacto-vegetarians. ARE TOO!

**This was originally published November 17, 2011 when my blog was just a baby. I am sharing again as part of NaBloPoMo.

   

Pretending Normal

Life has a way of bringing you to a screeching halt.

When I could stop sobbing long enough, I sent a text to Big Yankee.

"So my boob squishing showed some abnormal densities & I have to go back for additional stuff. a little freaked out."

What an understatement.

Sent an email to my people. My girls who have seen me through it all. I feel like I've been selfish and needy. Last week I told them about mom. This week my life might be forever altered.

I have to volunteer in StinkBug's kindergarten class in twenty minutes. Kids don't let tears and red eyes go unnoticed.

Brutal honesty at it's most innocent.

We're suppose to buy soccer cleats after school. Piano lessons, soccer practice and a science fair project that should have been started last week.

And I have to pretend like everything is normal.

**I originally wrote this in February but never hit publish. To read the rest of the story: Callback, Something More, Relieved & Soon.

  

Did It

-eaten shark

-presented at a state early childhood conference

-married a guy I met in a bar

-kissed a stranger

-picked someone out of a police line up

-sold two houses & bought two houses

-lived in seven states

-helped a stranger

-attended two different colleges, three different times

-had plastic surgery 

-testified in court

-changed a flat tire

-traveled to 40 states

-blogged 12 days in a row

-burned off my eyelashes

-driven myself to the emergency room twice (not due to the eyelashes!)

-made mistakes

-stayed out all night

-been in an earthquake & a tornado

What have you done?

Day Eleven

In honor of the eleventh day of #NaBloPoMo and the fact that I am writing this post at the eleventh hour, I give you eleven things about today.

1. Kids didn't have school & Big Yankee had the day off.

2. But I still had to work.

3. They spent the day fly fishing.

4. I had to spend a portion of my day listening to annoying stories told by annoying people.

5. I also had an entire SIXTY MINUTES alone at my house.

6. I spent half of that time on the phone with a friend.

7. I got excited that I finished my list & then realized I miscounted.

8. It's my mom's 73rd birthday and I didn't get to talk to her tonight. Luckily my kids were all able to talk to her.

9. I had a big ol plate of nachos for dinner because that's how I roll when I don't get to eat until ten o'clock.

10. Watching StinkBug at basketball evaluations was off the hook adorable.

11. I am drinking a beer as I type this.


What do you want to share with me about your day?

 

Crying For Days

On Monday, I fought back tears during a conference call discussing a family that I am working with. The pressure I feel is insurmountable. I am afraid I will miss something. I am afraid I cannot do enough for them. I am afraid what will happen IF. 

IF they get frustrated.

IF they lose control.

IF their children get taken again.

IF they start using again.

IF

IF 

IF

How can two letters hold such intense power?

On Tuesday, tears streamed down my face while reading an email about Mom's recent setbacks. Tears mixed with animosity and bitterness toward certain people who are not responding how I think they should.

On Wednesday, tears of disconnection. Wondering if we will ever find our way back?

On Thursday, tears of frustration and exhaustion and heartache.


On Friday, crying at the post office. Holding the door open for an older woman whose arms were piled high with baskets of overflowing envelopes. Her beaming smile and outward gratefulness caught me by surprise. 

On Saturday, salty tears mixed in with the shower spray. Rinsing shampoo and mentally composing the email to those who disappoint me time and time again. Angry tears that I allow it to matter so much.