I really should learn to look in the mirror before leaving the house

As I was rushing out the door the other morning to take my son to preschool I got a call from my daughter’s school. Apparently she was having severe pain in her ear and needed to be picked up. I swung by to pick her up before my son’s carpool. While waiting to drop off my son I called the pediatrician and managed to score an appointment for just after carpool.

Huzzah for close proximity!
Anyway, I arrived at the doctor, went through the check-in process, and was escorted back to a room where we began to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
The baby was beginning to get restless. My oldest was in full-on anxiety mode thinking she was destined for a shot. And me? Well, I was the mother of the year that forgot snacks and any other possible form of entertainment.
But, I put on those PhD smarts and used my iPhone to pull up a Caillou video to entertain them.
Huzzah for a non dead phone battery!
The doctor arrived, checked out my kid, diagnosed an ear infection, sinus infection, and wheezing in the chest.
I’d like her to do a breathing treating before sending you to a completely different building to check in and wait for a chest x-ray.

Um, okay. Sure.
After about 30 more minutes we headed down to get the x-ray where we ended up waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
The gentleman behind the counter was kind enough to give the girls some stickers to play with since, again, I brought nothing. Charlotte, being the friendly two year old, took the backing off her Sponge Bob sticker, walked over to an old man sitting in a nearby chair, and smack that sucker square on his crotch!
In a fit of embarrassment I apologized, pulled her away, and did that mother whisper scold.
Honey, no no! You can’t do that. That’s not nice. Now, please for the love of all that is holy, just sit down for mommy, okay!? I’ll give you a pony and ice cream and candy as soon as we get home.

She pulled away from me, looked me square in the face, and farted louder than any child I’ve ever heard. Everyone began to stare at me. Of course they would.
But it was also at that moment that I realized I was sitting in the waiting room in my pajamas.
That led me to realize that I was also wearing no bra.
And the lack of bra reminded me that there was also a lack of deodorant.
The smell could have been my child’s waiting room farts. Or it could have been the body odor spewing from her mother. I had been in such a hurry to get out the door that I completely forgot to do anything other than wipe away the smeared mascara from under my eyes. And, considering I’m 31, prone to hot flashes, and sweat like a freaking man to begin with, I’m sure I was quite a sight.
OF TERROR!
I’d like to say that we finished up the x-ray quickly and I managed to get home to put myself together. But, the x-ray took so long that I had just enough time to pick up my kid’s prescription before heading back to carpool to get my son.
So, no. I spent the entire morning running around in my jammies with my boobies flopping around and the smell of road kill emitting from my armpits.
When I did finally return home I realized I was out of deodorant and would have to get by with a rub or two of Hubby’s Old Spice.
Then I spent the rest of the day in my jammies with my boobies flopping around and the smell of Pacific Surge emitting from my armpits.
Man, I’m classy.

See what happens when you get to class early on a Wednesday

Dear Brian,
Thanks for the visual. I must burn my eyes now.
Love,
Neena
Dear Readers,
If I’m going down with unshakable images of ‘mangina’ then I’m taking all of you down with me!
Love,
Neena

In German it would be called ‘Ehebruch’

JFK was famous for it.

Prince Charles was never shy about it.

The Bridges of Madison County almost made you okay with it.

Angelina Jolie, always vocal about how she’d never engage in it due to the hurt it caused her mother, is in the new right now declaring it’s bologna.

John Edwards denied and then accepted a child from it. American Beauty made it seem common. Fatal Attraction made it scary, yet sexy. And, First Knight made it almost romantic. I’ve seen it happen with friends. I’ve seen it happen in my own extended family.

I’m talking about adultery.

This book, though categorized as a fictional account of the deep affair between the fashionista and the musician, is just another story of adultery to add to the list. What bothers me about the whole thing is that I’m not bothered.

I’m not bothered by adultery. I’m not shocked. I’m not appalled. It’s one of those things that exists, that just is.

And, I’m bothered by the fact that I’m not bothered.

I almost feel like I’ve been so conditioned by movies and books and watching those around me that it just seems inevitable. People cheat. People cheat every single day. Marriages, as much as I wish they were, are not always roses and sunshine. When something like an affair happens I feel like I should be shocked, dismayed. But usually the news is followed by a shrug of the shoulders. Meh. It happens.

I’ve always been a romantic. I’ve always enjoyed a good love story. I’ve never hidden the fact that I much prefer a happy ending to life and all its episodes. I never thought that as a romantic I’d so casually dismiss the fact that affairs exist and happen to even the most unlikely of people.

Perhaps my lack of surprise at the sheer amount of adultery that exists in the world happened just about the time I realized that remembering to turn the fan on while you take a crap is truly a romantic gesture when you’re married.

I’m just saying.


This post was written as part of the Silicon Valley Moms Blog January Book Club featuring Coco Chanel and Igor Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh. I received a complimentary copy of the book as part of the SVM book club.


My Kid

Today I took my son to a birthday party for a boy in his class. I brought my youngest with me not only because I didn’t want to book a babysitter, but also because the party took place at one of those indoor inflatable places and I figured I’d just pay for her to play.

The mom hosting the party ended up preparing for the possibility of a few siblings and welcomed my daughter and a couple other younger siblings right in to the party! I was impressed, appreciative, and plan on crafting a nice little note to send her way.
Most of the moms spent the party sitting in a circle gossiping about the neighborhood they live in. They were busy dissecting the heinous amount of decorations one neighbor uses for Halloween, the copious amounts of sex the other neighbor’s daughter is having in the car with her boyfriend, and who was videotaping who’s bedroom window. I suddenly became slightly grateful that my neighborhood is so unfriendly.
But, as they went on and on about their gossip I got up and walked around. I got up and decided to just watch my kids play. Not hover – just observe. And what I saw was nothing short of amazing.
I watched my youngest, who’s not much past her second birthday, play in a world of strangers with no inhibitions. She danced and laughed and scurried her way around the room enjoying her own imaginative world far more than those created by the kids around her. She climbed and fell and climbed and fell and climbed and fell again.
She didn’t try to keep up with the big kids, but marched to her own beat, her own drummer – hell, her own band. She played with purpose, ease, and simple joy. She was the essence of youth.
She was simply a child.
At one point she caught me watching. She smiled, waved, and ran along to finish her game.
Damn, I love that kid!

dirty, dirty business

It’s been a busy week. My steroids are gone. And, from the sound on the other end of the couch, I’ve got a massive crappy diaper in my near future.

At this point I have nothing really profound or important to say about the world or the folks in it.
Except for one…
To the Horrible Person that Stole My Debit Number this Week and Used it to Charge Nearly $400 Worth of Stuff at a Local Target,

You may have good taste in stores, but what you did was just plain wrong and mean. Stealing is dirty, dirty business and I think you’re nothing but hooey! I had to write a check at the grocery store this morning for the first time in years and the whole process was uncomfortable and required me to pull out my license, answer odd questions about my face in the picture, and sign an extra thing on the keypad – only to be handed back my check at the end. What happened to just putting the checks in the drawer!? I wouldn’t have had to do that if you hadn’t stolen my number, caused me to cancel my card, and forced me to sit and wait 7-10 days for my new one to arrive.

Sincerely,
That Weird Lady That Suddenly Looks at Every Single Person Suspiciously Wondering If They Are The Ones That Do Such Dirty, Dirty Business!

I feel much better now.
Good-bye

My thinking: being a drug addict? not all bad!

So I went to the doctor last week to get something to help with my horrible chest congestion and generally icky-ness. She sent me away with a nifty antibiotic and some sort of anti-inflammatory steroid. I was worried about taking the steroid because i was afraid it would make me tired.

I’m a mother. I’m tired enough as is. I don’t need any enhancements in that department.
She assured me that it wouldn’t make me tired and, in fact, swore that I would start to have some energy.
Now, I know I tend to be a bit dramatic, but can I just say…
I want to marry this woman.
I want to live with her forever, steal her prescription pad, and give myself steroids every single day forever and ever and ever.
I’m not one that really understands medicine, I don’t know the ins and outs of science, and I’m not sure how I feel about better living through chemistry.
All I know is that since last Thursday I have had more energy than I know what to do with. I have not had this much energy since before I had kids – over 5 years ago! I’ve had more ‘get up and go.’ I haven’t felt like napping, I’m more productive, and I’m even sleeping better at night!
All from a little pill?
It’s also kind of scary to realize I’ve been living so long without energy and didn’t even realize it could be any different.
I’m not a drug addict, but I could play one on this blog.
Oh, energy. How I’ve missed you. And, how I’ll miss you when you and your empty steroid pack go…

I love a bargain!

I’d like to tell you that I found some killer deal on a great pair of jeans.

Or finally found the most adorable boots that a girl could ever want.
Or, even the most amazing deal on car insurance.
But, I didn’t.
What I did find was that Waldenbooks is closing down all of their mall locations and, in turn, are selling everything for up to 80% off. Books, baby! I’m talking books!
I’m talking six new releases at a price that was so unbelievable that I can’t share it with you for fear you’ll run out and buy up everything I plan to get on my next trip – cause I’m making more than one!
Six books! At a freaking awesome price!
Are you feeling the joy!?
I am!
It’s enough to make a gal feel all warm and gooey inside.
Oh. Have I said too much!?

To: Mommy

I haven’t been feeling well the last few days. I’ve been fighting some sort of creepy crud that makes me sound more like Louis Armstrong and less like anything resembling a lady. In the midst of that I’ve been busy attending my new classes, hosting meet-and-greet Girl Scout meetings, and studying for my statistics quiz *which by the way I only missed two questions – so suck on that, doubters!*
Anyway, my daughter must have sensed that I wasn’t doing well. When I got home from class tonight I found this:

When I asked her about it she said: It’s you and me, mommy, and I’m giving you a flower. I used red and magenta and blue and peach and another magenta and pen. And, I wrote ‘Amelia to Mommy‘ at the top. Do you like it?


Of course I love it, but if I could finish sobbing like a freaking basket case from the sweetness of this picture I’d be able to actually tell her.
Until then it just goes something like this:
WAHHHH I-I-I-Love *Sniff* Yes, Oh, it’s WAHHHHHHH *wiping snot* I think it ‘s just…WAHHHHHH!


Working on Commission

I originally published this on Deep South Moms, but I wanted to publish this here just to encourage others to leave feedback.

I have lived in Georgia for ten years. Before I began staying home with my children I was a teacher within the Georgia public school system. I worked with the kids during the day and spent most evenings and vacations planning, grading, and preparing lessons that would meet the expectations of the school, the county, and the state. For the few years I was teaching I was spending even more time pursing a higher degree, not only for the pay raise I knew it would bring, but also so I could say with confidence that I was good at my job. I worked hard. I worked very hard.

I recently read that our state’s governor is hoping to bring about legislation that would require teachers to be paid based on student performance and not on their education and experience.

Then I attempted to keep myself from gagging.

The idea behind this legislation is that better performance deserves better pay. The teachers with students that perform well on standardized tests would be considered better at their jobs and thus receive better pay.

For me this isn’t a discussion about teacher pay or the lack thereof. For me this is a discussion about essentially putting teachers on commission. Their pay would be based on the performance of the students they teach – just like the car salesman’s pay is based on how many cars he sells. What bothers me about the entire situation is that there are too many factors that are outside a teacher’s control.

Many folks out there already agree that schools have become less about learning and more about passing yet another test. Teachers are already spending so much of their time preparing students to take one standardized test or another. But, when does the accountability of the teacher stop and the accountability of the student begin?

A teacher can prepare the lessons, do his or her best to translate those lesson to every students and every possible learning style. They can assign homework, practice questions, hold reviews, and create as many study resources as possible, but at some point the student has to make the effort. They have to study. They have to pay attention. They have to take ownership of their own learning. And, sadly, many students don’t do any of that. Now, because of their lack of care or appreciation of learning and school the teachers will be penalized – by cutting or limiting their pay, their livelihood.

I’m sure there is some logic here that vows to help weed out those teachers that aren’t doing their jobs – limit the pay of those that don’t have a student’s best interest in mind. But, I see this being yet another ‘solution’ that will only cause more problems in the long run.

playing hooky

It’s Monday. School is back to it’s regularly scheduled programming and the schedule that tends to run our lives is in full force.

Normally this is what I crave. Order. Routine. Schedules. Calendars that are color coded and organized in categories and subcategories.
But, not today.
Today I woke up feeling like I’m on the verge of a major cold/congestion/flu something or other. The baby, who’s been snotting for days, is clingy and determined to make my shoulder a permanent resting spot for her head. I’m pretty sure my son is only breathing out a quarter of one nostril and my oldest had a major breakdown when she tried to brush her hair this morning.
All this separate isn’t that big a deal. But, together it calls for a day of playing hooky.
I’d love nothing more than to skip preschool, put on my yoga pants, cuddle on the couch with my babies, and bribe Hubby in to bringing home my favorite soup from Atlanta Bread Company. I’d love to drink tea, take a nap, hide in my fuzzy robe, and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
Unfortunately, responsibility calls.
There’s carpool, stuff to prepare for tomorrow’s Girl Scout Meeting, Statistics to review…again, a quiz cheat sheet to make, and numerous housekeeping chores that need tending to.
Unfortunately, playing hooky isn’t an option. I suppose I could let some stuff slide today and do a modified version of playing hooky.
But, I’m an all or nothing kind of gal.