Scissor Safety Incident

Here's how I started my morning:

"Good morning boys and girls. Let's talk about your behavior. Halloween activities on Friday? A privilege, not a right. A privilege I can take away from you IF YOU DON'T JUST SHUT UP FOR ONE BLESSED MINUTE!!!!:"

Ok, so that's not exactly how I speak to my students. Damn straight that's what's screaming in my head though.

Seriously, I had to ask these kids to be quiet like 2304930849 times before 8:25 am. At about 8:23, I knew something had to be done. Besides rush to the flask that all teachers keep in their top drawer and start guzzling.

So, we had a little chat. Oh wait, lemme back up. I first had them get out the materials they were going to need for their next activity, then we had a little chat. Now, any good teacher can instantly spot my mistake in this. Yeah, it was the materials out BEFORE the chat part.

Damn straight no kid is going to listen to you tell them how you will take away all their Halloween fun when they have weapons in front of them.

And by weapons, I mean scissors. Not even good ones, just your average cheap school scissors.

So, I'm telling them how I need them to stop talking while I teaching, stay in their seats, keep their hands to themselves...all the normal teacher bull shit...when I look at one of my little girls and see she has her pencil between the blades of her scissors and is attempting to carve it. While I'm discussing behavior. Ironic, no?

Damn straight I called her out.

While I finish telling the class that scissors are not for carving pencils, I notice another little girl doing the same thing little girl number one was doing, except instead of a pencil, it was her finger. Even more ironic, no?

SERIOUSLY??????????

Damn straight I called her out, too.

The chat about behavior turned into a scissor safety lecture instead. To 3rd graders. Who have been in school for 4 years. And used scissors a lot.

I spent 4 years getting my undergraduate degree in Liberal Studies. One year getting my multiple subject credential. One year getting my reading certificate. 2 years getting my masters in literacy.

All that time in school learning how to be a good teacher and I get to spend my days telling kids not to chop off their own fingers? SERIOUSLY??????

Damn straight I had a drink when I got home tonight. Not from the desk-flask though. Gotta save that shit for faux-Halloween Friday. I'm gonna need it.

The Tinkerbell Incident

Today, I was informed by my son that he wants to be Tinkerbell for Halloween. Upon further conversation, I was also informed that I will be dressing up as Tinkerbell, Daddy will be dressing up as Tinkerbell, and the dog will be dressing up as Tinkerbell.

I couldn't bring myself to ask what the cat will be.

Boy is he gonna be disappointed on Halloween when I pull out his fireman costume.

Or, do I embrace it? Then, the only question is, do we go for cutesy Tinkerbells, or slutty Tinkerbells? Tough call...

The Incident Where I Still Have My Boobs

I could bitch about how I don't like having to hold the handle on the gas pump.

I could bitch about how I have 3 paper cuts on one hand, forgot about them, and used hand sanitizer. Which resulted in a fair amount of swearing.

I could bitch about how my child spilled orange juice all over the carpet.

I could bitch about how it started raining and I can't wear sandals tomorrow. And will probably be stuck indoors with 25 eight year olds all day.

I could bitch about a lot of things.

But the fact is, today, I got to keep my boobs. And a friend of a friend, Miss A, did not. So instead, I will bitch about cancer. Cancer, you suck. Breast cancer, you suck a lot. How dare you visit your innocent victims? Back the fuck off. She's gonna beat you. Fear her, cancer. She's gonna win.

The What's This Incident

My kid is in the 'what's this' stage. He wants to know what EVERYTHING is. Tough in the car when he points out the window and there's like six billion things I see and have no clue what he's asking about. But we make it work.



Recently, he discovered the box of tampons in the bathroom. And proceed to pull out EACH ONE and ask 'what's this'? Really, it was a tampon the first 17 times you asked me. Do you think it changes as you get to the bottom of the box? REALLY?



I'm just glad he didn't ask what it was for.



But I fear the day he's going through my purse in the crowded grocery store, finds a tampon, pulls it out, and picks that moment to remember exactly what it's called. That announcement will be super fun.

The How I Know Incidents

I confess I know I'm stressed when I have a minor freak out over the fact that 3 magazines came in the mail in one day and I feel I'll never have a chance to read them.


I confess I know I'm sick of the clutter in my house when I'm putting dishes away and stop to turn an entire drawer full of utensils upside down on the counter, and then just start throwing shit away.

I confess I know I'm craving chocolate when I resort to eating the chocolate covered pretzels in the hundred calorie pack to fulfill the craving. Damn things aren't even real chocolate.

I confess I know I didn't check my freezer before going to Whole Foods when after the trip, I have 8 packs of my favorite English muffins in it. Eight. Packs. I have issues.

I confess I know my priorities are screwed up when I spend more time picking out my Jazzercise clothes than my work clothes.

I confess I know I'm too polite when I actually listen to the guy at my door pushing religion for more than 3 seconds. I also know I'm an ass when I wish the diet coke I was holding was actually a beer just cuz it would have been funny.

I confess I know I cook too much when my fridge is completely full and I have 3 loaves of bread sitting on my stove. And a container of homemade pumpkin granola.

I confess I know I cook too many pumpkin recipes when I've made 6 different pumpkin-themed dishes in one week. In two weeks, I think my total is 10. You should know this information for when you check me in to pumpkin rehab.

I confess I know I'm craving real ice cream when my most happy dreams are about Dairy Queen Blizzards. Pumpkin ones (no surprise there).

I confess I know I should have cleaned out my t-shirt drawer long before this when I finally do and get rid of shirts that are 12 years old. And ridiculously stretched out and huge.

I confess I know I have an unhealthy obsession with Ebay when 70% of my emails are informing me of my latest Ebay activity. Seriously, I get more Ebay emails than junk email. That CAN'T be good.

I confess I know I have an unhealthy obsession with 80's music when I search for the term 'monster' in my itunes library, and all that comes up is Monster Ballads and Monsters of Rock.

I confess I know am tired when I fall asleep before 8pm on the couch. While my husband is vacuuming. And my child is poking me with a fish straw.

I confess I know I'm never going to get a full-night's sleep again when I set my alarm for before 7 am on both Saturday and Sunday mornings.

I confess I know I'm never going to get peaceful morning time again when I set my alarm early both Saturday and Sunday mornings to get shit done, and my 3 year old STILL wakes up before me. How the fuck does he ALWAYS know?

Your turn! Confess your best "I know".

The Incident Where I Got Tagged

I got tagged by E, the author of
http://whiningattheworld.blogspot.com/

Yeah, this tag is from forever ago. I'm beind on everything in my life. Even got an email from an ebay vendor wondering if I was going to pay her! Oops. Anyways....


I'm supposed to answer 8 questions, then tag 8 people to answer 8 more quesitons. I'm skipping the tagging 8 people part, though I did put my 8 questions at the bottom for you to answer in the comments if you're feeling crazy. And if not? That's too damn bad. Do it anyways.

1. How do you / will you know when you are all grown up? When I drive to work gripping my commuter mug as if my life depended on it, I feel very grown up. Then I glance down at my wrist and see that I'm wearing jelly bracelets and realize it'll never really happen.

2. As a child what did you want to be when your grew up and are you doing it?

Teacher, which I have been for 10 years. I was the oldest of 5 kids and have 4 little brothers. My childhood was pretty much teacher training.

3. You could have an entire day 24 hours to do whatever you wanted (no expense spared). So what would you do?

Is it soooo sad that my first inclination is to say cook so I won't have to do it the next week? Ok, let's assume that all my weekly cooking is already done. I would gather my 16 mommy friends who I only get to see once a year, sit on a tropical beach, eat gourmet cupcakes, and drink. A lot. Oh, and the cupcakes and drinks would be served to us by really hot, shirtless men. Named Gabe.

4. Someone invents a new cocktail and they want to name it after you. What are the main ingredients?

Alcohol.

Oh wait. You want me to be more specific?

Good alcohol.

5. How many blogs are you currently following or subscribed to?

A bunch, though I honestly don't have the time to read very many. And the whole blogging world? Kinda leaves me a little lost and overwhelmed at time. I feel bad. There's a lot of great writing out there. Siiiiiigggggh, yet another thing to add to the list of 3408349 things I feel guilty about.

6.Why did you start blogging and is the reason you started still relevant?

I was encouraged to by some of the mommy friends I referred to in #3 after the writing I did about a disasterous incident that occured in a parking lot got put in our local paper. Do I still have disasterous incidents in parking lots? Not today, but who knows what tomorrow will bring.

7. What is your favourite item of clothing?

Toss up between pajamas and work out clothes. Both are comfy. And I don't have to iron any of them.

8. If you had to give up blogging or chocolate what would you chose? Is it a hard choice?

No question, I'd give up blogging. Realistically, I'd probably cut off my left hand before giving up chocolate though. Yup, I'm that shallow.

So, here's the 8 for you to answer. Or not. Really, what am I going to do if you don't? Nothing. Cuz I'm nonconfrontational like that.

1. Biggest pet peeve?
2. Long day....massage or wine?
3. Tight month money-wise...what do you cut out?
4. Extra money one month--what do you splurge on?
5. Christmas: magical or stressful?
6. Do you care about sports, even a little?
7. What's your secret talent?
8. In 8 years you hope to be....

The Incidents of Fringe Parents

I teach 3rd grade. Therefore, I deal with a lot of parents. A. Lot. Most are just fine, some are FABULOUS, and a few are downright obnoxious. And then, there's the fringe element.

So, here's my fringe element parentals of the week.

1. The pot-head

Popped my head through the window of a student's car to inform his mother he had been stealing random shit from his seat partner. Was greeted by the intense smell of pot. Not like just-smoked-pot, but like just-bought-so-I-can-go-home-and-smoke-it-pot.

I'm not judging, but damn, I better get a kick-ass Christmas gift from that family.

2. The BFF

I get a lot of emails from this lady. A lot. And when she volunteers in the classroom, she hovers around her son. A lot. She really likes to be her kid's BFF. And apparently mine. Since she emailed me with her cell phone number and encouraged me to text her any time.

Ummm, can I get a hell to the no? I will not be exchanging cell phone numbers with this woman.

3. The mean mom

I like this mom. Her daughter's a very bright, 'let's push the limits' kind of girl and the mom totally backs me up. So, when my student pushed the limits big time this week and got tangled in a web of her own lies and deceptions, she was brought back to school by the mean mom one afternoon. The mean mom proceeded to lay into her daughter to the point that my student had crocodile tears dripping to the floor. Seriously, at that moment, I was SO thankful that mom wasn't MY mom.

4. The helicopter

This woman is nice. Very friendly, has very good intentions. She's one of my homework correctors and always brings in cute stickers to put on the kids' work (I won't mention how she needs an answer key to grade their spelling homework. 3rd grade spelling? Not hard. At all. Answer key? REALLY? Whatever, I go with it.). But, she hovers around her son like a small child hovers around his mom while she's trying to go to the bathroom (not that I'm speaking from experience or anything). Today, she just followed the line of 25 third graders into my classroom and watched her son unpack his backpack. We're on like th 47th day of school. He can handle it. Go get a coffee. Or bring me a coffee. Or go to Columbia and see how they grow coffee. But let your kid unpack his own backpack. And get out of my classroom.

5. The tell-it-like-it-iser

I love this woman. At her parent-teacher conference, she actually said about her child "yeah, he's totally gonna be my kid who shows up with a purple mohawk one day. What the hell, man?". Swearing in front of your kid's teacher (note how I said IN FRONT, not AT): kick-ass. I'm sold. You rock, lady.

The Creating Your Own Happiness Incident

I decided this past summer I was unhappy (Ok, I was flat-out depressed for months, but who's labeling?). I made some very conscious decisions to end a few toxic friendships, read some good books just for fun, give my son some extra attention, and throw myself into something I love (hence the Jazzercise obsession).

Truly, I'm incredibly thankful for the changes I made. The combination of them absolutely drew me out of the depths I was in and I'm a happier person now. I learned that we are in charge of creating our own happiness. We cannot depend on others to make us happy.

Which leads me to wonder why the FUCK people get so obsessed with their sports teams? I know several people who wanted to jump of ledges today after their favorite football team blew it. Again.

SERIOUSLY? Talk about something people have NO control over. YOU cannot make your team win. You have NO control over who tackles who, who doesn't throw the ball, who made a shitty call, or who wore their helmet backwards. You can wear rally caps, beards, socks, underwear, or nose rings all you want, but it will change nothing.

And the assholes who aren't doing what you want them to do will still make 23409823048 times more money than you!

If you wanna have fun watching a game, go for it. But if your team losing ruins your entire afternoon/day/week/lunar cycle, maybe you need to rethink your priorities.

Just sayin'.

The Incidents Where I Realized I'm Sick of Urine

Ok, really, no one embraces urine. No one is like 'oooo, yeah, I just looooove me some urine'. Unless you're into golden showers or something. And if that's the case, I'm just gonna be honest with you: I don't understand you. At. All. And think you're a little gross. Not that I'm judging.

Anyways, so saying I have negative emotions towards urine might sound just a little silly.

But really. I'm sick of urine today. Like, over it.


Reason #1: CVS brand pull-ups. Yeah, they can totally bite me. My kid likes them because they have robots on them. However, they leak. I've only used them for nap times (his, not mine. I don't get to nap. And if I do, I typically don't need a pull-up.) and they've leaked pretty much every time. Saving like $1.50 by going with the store brand has resulted in a lot of extra laundry. Probably not worth it.




Reason #2: Accidents. We've had major potty training regressing the past two weeks. I think it's because I've been off work, so the kid's been off his routine. He's not telling anyone when he has to go, then refuses to go when we tell him to. Which typically results in a temper tantrum. And what happens during temper tantrums? Loss of bladder control. What a fuckin' vicious cycle. Which leads to reason #3 for me being sick of urine.


Reason #3: Clean up. Excluding clothes, this week, I've had to clean up urine from the rug (same spot, 3 times. At least he's consistent. It's like he's marking his territory. It's working. I have no desire to step on that spot, let alone sit on it or roll around on it.), the car seat, the kitchen floor, the entry way floor, the sheets, and the pillow. How the hell one gets urine on a pillow is a fuzzy concept to me, but that doesn't change the fact that I had to clean it. Thank god for Nature's Miracle. We originally bought it for cleaning up after our pets, but a 3 year old is pretty similar to a pet, so it's got double duty.



Reason #4: Noise factor. Noise factor, you might ask? Yeah, well after all that cleaning up, I kinda earned my 2 hours of me-time today during nap, wouldn't you say? Silly me, I decided to pee during the first 20 minutes. The kid's bedroom is right next to the bathroom. And my peeing was so loud, it woke him up. I didn't flush (we're a 'if it's yellow let it mellow' household), so it had to have been my pee. As a result, I did not get my me-time and the pee-soaked car seat cover is still sitting on the car seat in the car. Gross.


To sum up, urine, you can totally suck it. Go find someone who enjoys golden showers and piss them off for a while.

The Boobage Incident

I saw some amazing boobs over the past weekend. Like, hawt boobs. Really, mine don't even compare.

I was feeling a little left out, envious even. Hawt boobs in corsets? Really, I'm uber jealous at those who pulled it off. Even more jealous of those who pulled it off while wearing stripper heels.

Then I came home to my 3 year old who clearly missed me after my 4 day absence. Missed me to the point that he's developed a new little habit. One that he only indulges in when in public places, naturally.

He feels me up.

Seriously. He hurls himself in my lap, says something cute and nonsensical, then grabs both boobs and just sorta hangs out there.

Ok, so yeah. They are soft. They are squishy. They are large enough that they are hard to miss. But really? The kid hasn't breast fed in a really fuckin' long time. What the sudden interest in my boobage is, I couldn't begin to guess.

I guess I can be thankful he's not lifting up or pulling down my shirt to get at them. Or calling them nickles. Which is what he calls his own nipples.

I think it's time to have a 'my dance space, your dance space' conversation with him. Of course, him being only 3, the Dirty Dancing reference will be completely wasted on him. But any day in which I can refer to that movie is a good day, so I'm gonna run with it.

The Incidents In Which I Realized My Complete Lameness

Ok, I know can completely own the term "Jazzerfreak" cuz that's how I am such a freakin' freak for Jazzercise. I didn't realize just how big a freak until this week though. You see, last week, I over did it. A lot. In 4 days, I took 9 classes and did 4 one-on-one trainings. My body? NOT happy with me. At. All. And I knew it.

Then I really screwed things up by sitting and driving for a collective 15 hours over 4 days for my girls' beach trip.

Come Monday, I went to the doctor and learned I, in fact, sprained my back. You hear 'back sprain' and you think 'wild sex', right? Oh no, not me. Because I am totally THAT lame, I can say I actually sprained my back driving.

My workouts came to an abrupt and complete halt. And I have actually cried several times over this. Because yes, I am THAT lame and love Jazzercise THAT much. And am THAT freaked out that my instructor tryout is in 6 weeks and feel like I'm pretty much going to have to start over. I am NOT handling this well.

So yeah, fast forward to mid-week. I go to print out some pictures for my grandmother (who I should have called about 23409308 times in the last 2 months, and never have. Again, due to total lameness.). I click one thing on printer settings, then spend an hour trying to figure out why my computer refused to talk to my printer. Or why my printer is refusing to listen to my computer. I'm so lame. Only I could get create communication issues between two inanimate objects. It's as if they are husband and wife or something.

So then, I've been so distracted by being upset that I forgot to go to a dentist appointment that I had remembered just hours earlier. I've never missed an appointment like that before. Laaaaaammmmmmmmmmmeeeee.

Then, I make soup. Red pepper slow-cooked soup. The last step is to puree it in a blender. Ok, the contents are basically red bell peppers, onions, and broth. That have already been slow cooked. Musy and liquidy, right? But apparently my blender got so used to only crushing ice for my drinky-drinks this summer, it rebelled. Only I could break my blender pureeing freakin' soup. REALLY? Lame.

It's now midnight. Because my shower schedule typically works around my workout schedule, I just realized I have yet to shower today. Again, I'm that lame. Who gets too confused by a change in their schedule to fuckin' shower? Only me.

So yup. Today was just one big realization that I am incredibly lame. Tomorrow, I plan on embracing my lameness. I will engaged in activities like breaking my hairbrush, drinking water out of a coffee cup, and wearing two slightly different shoes. Watch out world.

The Sex At The Right Moment Incident

A little less than 4 years ago, 17 women and their husbands had sex. Some purposefully planned it, some were drunk from holiday parties, some were just being nice. But, all 17 of these women's eggs were fertilized by their husbands' super swimmer spermy guys. And all 17 of these women conceived a child.

Each woman had a different background than the other. All were from different walks of life with stories that made them each unique. But, because they all happened to have sex at just the right moment, they were given the opportunity to use the common thread of pregnancy to become friends.

Ok, yeah, it was through the Internet, but still. Friends. Friends who know everything about each other. EVERYTHING.

They know who is still in love with their husband, and who is simply living with a roommate. They know who is on what meds, and what their natural hair colors are. They know who has struggled with their weights, depression, anxiety, meds, and alcohol abuse. They know who has started new jobs, started school, or started trainings. They know who spends their weekends cooking, who spends their weekends working, and who spends their weekends at soccer games and ballet recitals. They know who lacks bladder control, who hasn't had sex in 18 months, and who has had sex on the hood of their car. They know whose children are reading War and Peace, and whose children are barely talking. They know who gets regular pedicures and who hasn't showered in days.

See? EVERYTHING.

They have celebrated each other's birthdays, their babies' birthdays, and new pregnancies. They have mourned cancer, sickness, and death. They have offered potty training advice, day care advice, school advice, eating advice, cooking advice, shopping advice, outfit advice, hair advice, husband advice, sex advice.....the list is endless.

Their friendships have spanned thousands of miles, thousands of texts, and hundreds of phone calls and cards. Their friendships have spanned countless hours of typing on keyboards, viewing each others pictures, and imagining the voices behind the written words on a computer monitor.

Because of the common thread of having had sex with their husbands at just the right time, some of these women had the opportunity to unite this past weekend, hear the voices in person, and experience the exhilaration of inhaling common air. Because these women had sex at just the moment, 12 of them got to share meals, share drinks, share cupcakes, share cookies, share stories, share embraces, share laughter (LOTS of laughter) and share tears (and dearly miss the 5 would couldn't join). Shared experiences can be powerful. Experiences shared with the women who know everything about you? Precious.

I am so incredibly fortunate to be one of these women. Because of them, I'll never walk alone.

And am so incredibly tempted to share some of the complete debauchery that we were engaged in this weekend. However, it would be a violation of trust to do so.


Instead, I leave you with pictures of the aftermath. And no, I did not stage these.

Oh hells yeah, it was a fabulous weekend.