Adventures in Substitute Teaching: My own kid in class.

Imagine my delight as I discover my own delightful teenager listed on the roll sheet of my current substitute teaching assignment! It's going to be a fun day!!

Precious teacher has left a reminder:

Please remind the class that the comparison/contrast essay is due on Monday.

After further investigation, I find out that the essay was assigned two weeks ago. My teenager is currently shrinking in his seat at the speed of light. Will he disappear before the end of class? That's the question.

Sidebar with my own teenager:

Jag: Mom, I've started it. I SWEAR!




Me: That's Mrs. Substitute Sassy to you teenager. You have a busy weekend ahead of you.

(Giant eye stare, other boys chuckle.)

Me: Shall I visit with all your moms?

The rest of the class in Unison: No Mam.

Me: Great! So, we understand what's happening during this time?

In Unison: Yes.

As it turns out, having your own teenager in class has it's definite advantages. Key among them: due dates.

Thankful-Ch. 2

There are SO many people in my life for whom I am thankful--that's right, 'people,' not things.  Naturally, I am endlessly thankful for my parents, my husband, my children, and every one in my extended family.  Also, I'm exceedingly thankful for my friends and my church family.  However, a recent turn of tragic events has given me cause to reflect on a group of people who have come and gone in my life, but have forever had an impact on my personal character, my work ethic, and my belief in the power of knowledge:  the over 1000 students whom I've taught over a period of 14 years.

(Because privacy laws regarding posting students' pictures/info online prevents me, I won't post photos, but I'll bet you can visualize someone in your life who's been inspirational to you in ways these kids have been to me.)

To my classes of:

1993-1994:  Thank you for letting me cut my student-teacher teeth on you.  You're the ones who gave me permission, and the freedom, to laugh as much as possible.  It's because of you that my job would never become "work."

1994-1995:  Thank you for your patience...you are the reason my OCD didn't get the best of me OR any of my subsequent students!  Run with those "teachable moments" and don't worry about what the lesson plan book says.

1995-1997:  It was a privilege and a joy to teach every one of you 3rd & 4th graders!  You taught me the importance of really knowing each of my student's names--after all, there were over 700 of you! "Remember that a person's name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language." Dale Carnegie


1997-2000:  Thank you all for trusting me with needs to which you didn't always want to admit.  You taught me to address my own needs and seek those who would willingly and firmly support me.


2000-2001:  Change.  Each of you helped me through very major changes in my job and my family life (my son was born two months prior to this school year).  Because of your steady and diligent natures, I successfully weathered one of my most feared issues in life--change.


2001-2004:  We experienced the tragedy of 9-11-01.  We had fun together!  We "made our own way" of learning.  For a little while, it was all about us...and you reminded me how cool it is to live inside my own knowledge but want to learn even more!  


2004-2006:  You are the people who drove home my understanding that kids are people.  While that may seem an asinine understanding, the depth of respect that reciprocates from this creates a student/teacher relationship that is immeasurable.  You made it possible for me to see the adults that you could be, that I wanted to help you be, and the talents you possessed to make it all possible.  Thank you.


2006-2008:  You are my final hour.  In all of our conversations about "what you want to be when you grow up," at some point, you convinced me that I could reach for and attain my newest educational and career desires!  Boy, you're good!  You fanned a flame of ambition that I didn't realize was already lit and you told me that I have what it takes to achieve.  In doing so, you restored my self-confidence.  Thanks for seeing in me and showing me what I had forgotten of myself.  Who knew you were so schooled in psychology!?! Thank you.


Since, as your teacher, it was MY job to inspire you, I hope that I provided you with a fraction of support and encouragement that you gave me.  I won't ever be able to repay you for your generosity, but I will honor each of you daily by living in such a manner that reflects each lesson I learned from you.  I will, as they say, "pay it forward."


I love each of you and thank God for the lessons and time we shared.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Knight (because to you I am not PrissE, but will always be Mrs. Knight)

Thankful.

I love this picture.

Look at those two women! They could be any two anonymous women bustling down the big city sidewalk of any great place, on their way to grand adventures in New York, Chicago..... anywhere.

So, you won't be surprised to find out that they're in Amarillo, Texas. That's my Grandmother on the right and my Aunt on the left. My Aunt Oleta worked at a department store downtown in Amarillo for a lot of years. I figure that's where they're going to or coming from when the newspaper snapped this photo.

I love their hats and coats, their tiny clutch purses, the nylons they're wearing. I love the fact that my grandmother is wearing her 'driving gloves'. She always wore them. I can remember sitting in the backseat of her old blue car, (sans seat belts) and watching her drive through the streets of Amarillo in her driving gloves. She would point out landmarks, talk to me, and always, always held the screw on the top of the car when we passed under railroad bridges. My grandmother also showed me the girdles and other 'old time' undergarments they wore, and knowing about all that, I can't believe the smiles on their faces.

I'm thankful for the women in my life.

My grandmother told me a story one time about a lesson she had learned. Many years earlier, she had been approached by a lady at church. That lady had 'informed' my grandmother that the hem on my grandmother's skirts was too short.

Can you imagine the nerve of that church lady? I can't. I was insulted for my grandmother, who just laughed when she told me the rest of the story. She told me that she never got mad at that church lady. She went home that afternoon and lowered the hem of every skirt in her closet one inch.

Why, I asked? Why would you indulge a person like that? A busy body, know-it-all, that had no business telling other ladies what to do. Why would you do that and give her the satisfaction?

My grandmother told me that she knew her hem wasn't too short. She added that she didn't care about the hem of any skirt. If it was one inch higher or one inch lower, it didn't matter to her. My grandmother didn't want to be the one that got in the way of that lady learning about Jesus. If that busy body church lady was so concerned with my grandmother's skirt hem, then that lady might miss the chance to learn about God.

My grandmother was funny. She said, 'I'm not getting in the middle of that!' (Eyebrow raised, smirk on her face.)

Today (and everyday), I'm thankful for the women in my life.

Now, it's time for an open forum.... post your replies, let's hear what you're thankful for, and I don't want to hear anything about turkey.

Weenie World--WienerSnicker--Whatever!

Dear Marketing Department @ Wienerschnitzel:

Have I got a marketing campaign for you!  All you need are about 5 or 6 children around the ages of 3-10 years old--and we've got some perfect candidates for 2 of your children--a hot dog, a chair, a mic, and a camera!

Scene:  A white and empty room with a chair in the middle.  Seat a child on the chair with a hot dog in his/her hand, and ask him/her to say "Wienerschnitzel."  Keep that camera rolling and catch their EVERY attempt at pronunciation!  Your Slogan:  "Wienerschnitzel.  Hard to say.  Easy to eat."

(This was a discussion between my children about where to eat for lunch one afternoon recently)


Little:  Weenie World...oh. Wait.  Ummmmm...


Big:  It's not 'Weenie World.'  It's Weenie-Shitzel.

Little:  OH!  I got it!  It's WienerSnicker!




...........and this went on for at least 20 minutes.......without ANY success!

Save the Date!

Meet my future Daughter-in-Law, Little.





She is smart, beautiful and knows what she wants and how to articulate it.

SCENE: (any beautiful summer day at the pool)

Mav: Hey Jag, Little is telling everyone you're her boyfriend again.

Jag: What? I thought she broke up with me.

Mav: (laughing) I guess not.

Later.....

Jag: Hey Little, I thought you broke up with me, so Fox could be your boyfriend.

Fox: I'm not her boyfriend.

Little: (raises eyebrow, eats sour punch candy and shrugs her shoulders)

Mav: I'm not her boyfriend.

Jag: Little, I'm NOT your boyfriend.

Little: You are if I say you are.




** end SCENE **

I think that about sums it up.

PrissE and I are planning an ocean side wedding.... probably early summer, 2030.

Save the date.

Blob-adee-Blob

I propose that the use of yadda, yadda, yadda be stopped. (forgive me, Seinfeld)

Hence-forth and forever more, we shall say blob-adee-blob.

Amen.

Here's the thing.....

Everyone listen up. I have a dyslexic child, who is now a teenager.

That's the fact.

Here's the reality of that fact:

Things like math facts and spelling words are new to Jag every time he sees them. Try explaining to the teacher why he mis-spells his own name. Time has no meaning to him;therefore, due dates are really just random numbers. We have no idea how to organize most things, remember most things or prioritize most things. Guess what? It's always been like this. Guess what else? We continue to thrive.

Here's another fact:

Public school doesn't respect us. That's just how it is. Most teachers are awesome! They do everything they can possibly do to help Jag get through the school day. Terrific teachers are under paid and under appreciated. Most teachers are terrific. Some of them, are not..... they can take a flying leap! Teaching isn't for everyone, learn a new life skill.

I've received a slight bit of grief over the past two posts about Jag. Just a tiny bit, and I want you guys to know this is our life. Good, bad, ugly and mis-spelled. This is our reality. I love it. We have to be able to laugh about it. These are the facts of our daily life, it brings me joy.

So, here's the thing....

Jag is a brilliant teenage boy. He doesn't do anything the way I think it should be done, but we get it done anyway. You might be surprised at the things you can learn to do differently. Guess what? It's OK to be different. Really.

He has tons of family and extended family and friends that love him. I mean... really LOVE that boy!! And, we laugh.... A LOT! Jag is the first one to laugh. He laughs even when I am crying, because he's an awesome boy.




End of story.

Dilemma.

Question:
What do you do when your very own, brilliant teenager embarrasses you in PUBLIC by screaming at you no fewer than 5(five) times? A whole bleacher stand full of people must think I'm the dumbest mom in the universe. Or, maybe they just think I have the most disrespectful teenager of the day. Either way, it's unpleasant for me.

Answer:




That's my teenager pictured above in the blue underwear.

Lesson learned:
Don't scream at a blogger mom.

Dyslexics UNTIE! (or is it 'Unite?')

Here are some texting "converSashens" between my sweet friend, who has Dyslexia--or, as he refers to it, "I HAVE A DISEASE, YA KNOW!!!"--and some of us who really love him.  (P.S.  I have total permission from his mother to post this info...but not from him!  Teehee!)

Jag--Did erik fix the idop yet?


PrissE--the what?


Jag--the ipod, DUH!


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Jag--I sa u


PrissE--I sa u tooooo.  U pla gud!  (may be I shouldn't poke fun......NAH!!)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bossman--I need for you to come help in the shop


Jag--Ime in medal of converSashen  (this was probably a near fatal mistake and thus ensued a most unpleasant "converSashen" between Bossman (the dad) & Jag (the son).......)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jag--I nead 2 work november 10 in cunseshon stand


Sassy--huh?  (her texts and responses are always short and sweet!)

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sassy--Where r u?


Jag--Woking!  (this would be "of the perambulating nature, not the cooking nature)

Sassy--Well 'wok' faster!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We do 'luv u' Jag!  

Everything you never wanted to know.

Sometimes I wonder.... have I always been like this?

Let's start with the easy questions.

Sassy, have you always enjoyed ice cream?



Why, YES! I certainly have!! Also? My little children love ice cream!



I scream, You scream, we ALL scream for ice cream!!!

Sassy, have you always talked on the phone a lot?



Why, YES! I always have.... sometimes while drinking heavily. Obviously, I'm a gifted drinker. Keep your comments to yourself.



I can also talk on the phone while eating delicious chocolate cake!



Ah... cake, cake, glorious cake!

Sassy, have you always enjoyed the changing of the seasons?



Why, YES! I always have!! The fall pumpkins are nice, but I have always enjoyed a sassy little spring bonnet.



If I had to pick ONE season that has always been my absolute favorite, it would have to be SUMMER! (That's me in the bikini.)



Oh, beloved summer... why does thou forsake me every year? You leave just when I need you most, and certainly, you take your time showing up again. Oh, how I love thee.

Sassy, have you always enjoyed a good laugh? a broad smile? and a good hearty chuckle?



YES! I certainly have! I think it runs in the family....

READ the LABEL!

The following is a Public Service Announcement brought to you by the "Safety Division" here at TftC:  

People, LISTEN and be reminded about the importance--for your own safety and the safety of the general viewing public--of reading the labels BEFORE you make any purchase!

While these clothes are clearly marked on their CONSPICUOUS tags, they should have been labeled--perhaps in gold stitching with Swarovsky rhinestones in about a 125 point font across the front of each garment--that they are, in fact, maternity clothing!!!  May be then, I would not have mistakenly purchased them in my never-ending quest to find a black shirt!  All I needed was a black shirt, y'all!!

In fact, I think I have the perfect label for these two tops:
"CAUTION:  The wearing of this product will not enable you to "feed" starving children simply by the release of the strap for access to the mammary gland--ESPECIALLY if you are not lactating, won't be lactating, or can't lactate due to the fact that you have NO reproductive organs as a result of previous removal of said organs!!!"

"PUBLIC NOTICE AS REQUIRED BY FASHION LAW:  "Any use of this product by a non-reproducing being, in any manner whatsoever, will increase the amount of disorder in the universe.  The general public will stop all activity at the initial sight of you so as to laugh hysterically and point in overwhelming hilarity while subsequently screaming through tears of laughter, "HEY STUPID!!!  THE FRONT OF YOU SHIRT IS 6....INCHES....LONGER....THAN THE....BACK!!  IT'S A....MATERNITY....SHIRT!!!  YOU'RE NOT....EVEN....PREGNANT!!  YOU DIDN'T EVEN....KNOW....IT WAS....MATERNITY!!  YOU....DIDN'T....READ....LABEL....OR....EVEN....KNOW....YOU....WERE....IN....THE.... MATERNITY....DEPARTMENT....AT....TARGET!!!  AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

You Didn't Notice

I love a good day a the beauty shop! It's one of my favorite things to do. Sure, some people might think once a week is a bit too much, but there's something to be said for maintenance. Truth is spoken in this place. No one leaves the Beauty Shop with toilet paper on their shoe or lipstick on their teeth. In this place, the truth is spoken.

Unless you've needlessly injected collagen into your lips. I can't help you with this irresponsible choice. Also? I'm probably going to make fun of you. Seriously? Bozo looks more mainstream. Invest your money more wisely please.

Today, I'm enjoying an updated color process and a dramatic change to the cut. Gotta keep things fresh and new, exciting and current.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent scurrying around town. Every sales person is in awe. 'I love your hair!' It was said so many times, I lost count. 'Thank you,' I replied, 'it's new today.'

I'm on cloud nine. Beaming with self confidence, I pick up the mooches from school and start the after-school process.

No one says anything. Well, they're just boys. How could they possibly notice everything? The Bossman gets home.... thousands of other meaningless tasks are accomplished. Still nothing. No compliments, no one asks what I did with my day.... nothing.

Right before bedtime, I shriek, 'LOOK AT MY HEAD!' Everyone pauses, looks at my head and in unison asks, 'Did you get a haircut today?'

Slightly.

Yes. A haircut and new color and a new style. People on the street have been mesmerized all day! Yet, my own family? Nothing.

The mooches laugh and begin a chorus of compliments that would have been welcomed after school, but now it's too little, too late. And? It's given in sarcasm, our family's native tongue. OK, OK.... I get it, everyone, go to bed.

The bossman is relentless with his compliments. He's really sweet. He tries. At the end of the day, I'm still the only girl in a house full of boys.




The end result is pleasant. Ever since that one shrieking incident, I return home from the weekly beauty shop visit to a serenade of compliments. It's a very pleasant afternoon.

I love pleasant afternoons.

"Old People Are Dumb!" (thus thinketh young people...)

*I haven't talked to Sassy in like, 6 hours!  I have got to call that gurl!*
dial, ring, ring, ring...


Mav:  Hello?

PrissE:  Hey, Mav!  Whatcha doing?


Mav:  Nothing.






PrissE:  Did your doorbell just ring?  Do you need to answer it?  


Mav:  Yeah, the doorbell rang.  It's probably our friend, the Prince of Paleness.  He always just rings the doorbell twice.

PrissE:  Oh, so the Postman Always Rings Twice, huh?  (you know...from the 1946 movie starring Lana turner...).

Mav:  No.  It's the Prince of Paleness.  *duh!  PrissE's getting old, I guess...suffering a little dementia.  Poor old thing.*



PrissE:  Okay...So, are you home by yourself?

Mav:  No.  the Prince of Paleness is here.  *Jeez!  AND she's hard of hearing!  May be even one brick shy of a load...*

PrissE:  Ummmm...is your mom there?


Mav:  Yeah.  She just hollered, "Someone get the phone!"





PrissE:  Oh.  Okay.  Just tell her I called and to holler at me when she gets a chance.  Bye, now.


Mav:  Okay.  Bye.  *Deaf for sure!  And, it won't be long now and she'll be tucking her dress into her pantyhose in public and walking around with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoe...that sure will be funny!*

Beauty Shop, Episode 1: Hair Color

The life of a hairdresser is rarely simple. She's a self-employed goddess that holds herself to a standard of beauty few of us can achieve. Yet, every morning, she's perfectly teased, sprayed and glued into place. She must juggle the clients, the inventory, the trash, the kids, the husband (or lack of husband), the tasks are endless, and all that's before lunch!

I love my Beauty Shop. It's a nice place. It's a fun place. Let's face it... it's the place that makes me 'presentable' to the general public. You don't want to know the nightmare of gray hiding underneath this color. I can't share the facial hair horrors, the chipped fingernail disasters, or the train wreck that would exist without the Beauty Shop. It isn't pretty, and you'll never see it in public. I have a signed affidavit from my hairdresser. We are bonded for life.

Now, I must share with you a true story. Hold your applause till the end.

Many people love to be blond. Luckily, you don't have to be born blond to sport the do. It's a relatively easy bleaching process. There's a timer involved, some product, some bleach, a little heat.... before you know it, you're blond!

One day, a girl in the shop started working on a client. She needed to make her client the 'perfect platinum blond.' Seemed like a reasonable task, the only problem was three bills were scheduled to hit the bank, and the deposit hadn't been made from the night before. The hairdresser's solution? Simple enough... put the product on, set the client under the dryer, then, run to the bank. HELLO? Leave a client under the dryer with product on their head that could possibly burn it off at the root and leave them bald. There's a fine line between bald and blond. Luckily, in this case, no one was bald. So, the only reasonable result? Beautiful Blond!! Thanks to a couple of the other girls, the client left happy. See? It's a group effort.

A couple of hair dyes ago, I ventured to the wild side for some vibrant streaks of red and blond. Easy enough. My hairdresser did everything just as I wanted. In no time at all, I had some crazy red hair. There was one stipulation, and it went a little something like this here....

At this time, out of respect to the one who holds the power of 'the dye', I must directly quote her: "Sassy, if you get chlorine in this hair color, I will personally hang you from the tallest pole. You will never be red again, and I'll let whatever strange color of orange your hair turns, stay there. You are, under NO circumstances to enter a pool or hot tub of any kind. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Now, a little bit of a warning would have been nice. Never let it be said that beautiful is easy. Girls, beautiful is a sacrifice and a process, and if you're not careful, your 'process' can end up hanging from the top of a pole as a sacrifice. No worries, I held to my strict instructions, and nary a hair on my head saw chlorine for the rest of that summer. I believe the results were worth it.



Crazy red isn't for everyone, but I loved it for those weeks.

This is ME, Making Your Life Better.....

Everyone!! Please lend me your ear! I recently had the pleasure to peruse a delightful Avon book. Between the covers, I found this:



It's description goes a little something like this:

Blooming Pout Lip Gloss
239-905

Personalize your pout.
price: $6.00

Adjusts to your skin’s chemistry to enhance your natural lip color. Goes on clear…blossoms into your very own rosy glossy color. Visibly plumps lips, too! Capsicum Complex makes lips look fuller. Moisturizing oils add a juicy shine. Adapts to all skin tones. .5 fl. oz.

I was immediately intrigued by this. I don't know why, but the idea that Avon could make a product that would diagnose the perfect lip color for me just peaked my curiosity. I had to know.... Avon? What's my perfect color? and, How can one product work with my chemistry and adapt to my skin tone? and, most importantly, How or WHY would I want to personalize my pout?

It was like my own personal challenge to Avon. I was willing to sacrifice the $6 to prove Avon wrong. I was already writing the scolding email in my head, "Avon, you are wrong. You do not know what my perfect lip color is. This product does not work with my skin tone. Whoever thought it was a good idea to personalize a pout anyway? Furthermore; the juiciness of my lips really is none of your business!"

It's all a cosmetic puzzle to me, easily solved with a quick order.

Let's pause for a moment, I need to tell you... all of the blog universe must hear me now.... I do not sell Avon, nor am I being paid to give this endorsement. I am a regular girl. A normal, lip gloss wearing girl, who has searched for most of my adult life for a lip gloss that's just right.

Too much gloss? No thank you. I'll not be dancing on the pole tonight. Too sticky? Nah... I don't really like my hair in my mouth, thanks anyway. Too red? Hello? Clown face. Too brown? Too orange? Too glittery? I can go on and on. Please, don't get me started with the brands that have lids that won't stay on. If you have ever cleaned sticky lip gloss from the inside of your bag, you know my pain. The problems with lip gloss can be endless! Hello manufacturers? I need a perfect lip gloss. Who can help a Mother out?

Hello solution!! My perfect pout has arrived!!

As it turns out, Avon did it. Avon has created my perfect lip gloss! I would like to tell you that this juicy lip gloss is divine! It's not too sticky, not too red or pink. Avon has diagnosed my perfect shade of lip gloss and is working with my skin tone to give me the perfect lip gloss. I highly recommend this product to everyone! If the gloss plumps, I haven't noticed... but, I am a big lipped gal, so plumping isn't an issue.

If you too, wish for mini vacations to paradise lost.... and, would like to experience them daily with one whisk of the lip gloss, then this product is for you! Find an Avon lady! They are everywhere! If you are still lost, and feeling like your life is incomplete without this gloss, I can point you in the direction of my Avon Lady. She's Divine!

You're Welcome!

"Little" Snippets...

Just a glimpse into the world of my sweet Little's head and the conversations we have:

• Little's perspective on using mouth-wash:  "Mom!  Big's and me’s mouthwash is made with alclahol!  And we drinked it!!!  Are we gonna be drunk in our sleep?!?"  (I should have prefaced this with the information that we now have 4 package stores within 3 miles of our house!  And, our son is a fantastic reader who is quite inquisitive about the things he reads, such as store names!  He's read these stores' names countless times and asked many questions in front of his "innocent" sister!)

• One morning, as Little was getting out of the car to go into Pre-K, she rather grouchily and firmly states, "I’m just not really good at this school thing!!"  (That day, Little came home having committed 5 classroom rule infractions!  May be she was on to something....)

• This is a conversation between Little and me one afternoon after school:

Little:  "Mommy.  Right you said that if we argue with you we would get a spanking?"

Me:  "Yes."  

Little:  "Okay.  I'll be right back!"  

Me:  "Where are you going!?"  

Little:  "To get the paddle!  I need to argue with you about something!"

• This is a conversation between Big, Little and me one morning while fixing hair for school.  Little was sitting on my bathroom counter and Big was standing beside me while I was combing Little's hair:

Big:  "buuuurp!" 

Me:  "Big, please don't burp and be gross at school today."

Little:  "Big!  What do you do in Fart Class?"

Big and I look at Little in surprise and quizzically say, "WHAT?  What are you talking about?!"

Little, extremely aggravated with us:  "IN FART CLASS!  WHAT DO YOU DO?"

Me:  "Do you mean ART class?"  (just a few days before this, she saw the word 'Art' on the wall in the hallway next to the art classroom and asked what kids do in art class)

Little, almost in tears she was so aggravated:  "NO!!  LAST YEAR, AT OUR OLD SCHOOL, WHEN BIG USED TO SIT ON THE BENCH AFTER SCHOOL AND EAT A SNACK, THEN GO TO FART CLASS!!!  WHAT DID HE DO?"

Me:  "Are you talking about 'Wednesday School?'"

Little:  "NO!!!!!  FART CLASS!!!"

Me:  "Do you mean 'After School TUTORING'???"  (i should tell you, my children call the healthy and normal act of flatulence 'tutoring'!) 

Just like flipping a switch, Little's attitude completely changed and it was as if she was the happiest person in the world!

Little:  "Yes!  (smile, smile, head nod)"

Me, thinking to myself but super-powerfully refraining from voicing this thought:  "BI-POLAR MUCH???!!!"

Ooops.......

On this beautiful day, back in 1972,
A little brother was born,
Can you guess, too who?

To Sassy, that's who. And, do you know what?
I'm not a poet, and I know it.




Happy Birthday little brother. If I would have remembered to mail your birthday card, I wouldn't have embarrassed you in the blog-o-sphere like this, but where's the fun in that?

Drama Diva: "Let's Cheat!"

Oh what a beautiful fall day! Oh what a lovely pumpkin! I've got a beautiful feeling! Every thing's going my.......

** RING **

Oh NO! I hate being interrupted when I'm in the middle of a beautiful stanza!

** RING **

Hello? Oh, Hello Kitty Carry-All, what's up? UM, No, you cannot borrow my software and load it to your computer. Sorry, that's illegal. Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. You must have really missed seeing that football game. Oh yes, I can't believe how busy you are..... yes, it must be so horrible not having enough time! You know, all that information was clearly printed in the introductory brochure.... YES, it says all over the place what the correct procedure is, I'm sorry you missed it. Next time, maybe read it first. Well, you still have time! I have a wonderful idea for you.... why don't you try to pay extra to have it expedited to you! OK, I'm so glad I could help! Bye!

Now, where's my pitch pipe? I need to get back to my song.....

"All I needed was a Black Shirt, y'all!"--A Photo Essay

All I needed was a black shirt, okay, y'all?!  Did you know that most self-respecting clothing stores don't open until 10:00AM?  I suppose that's because most self-respecting, self-proclaimed Trophy Wives don't get their spackle and paint on and their hair Aquanetted appropriately until around 9:45AM...

So, today, I was no typical Trophy Wife!  As I was up, spackled, painted, shellacked, and dressed, by 7:00AM, and as soon as I slowed down to 30 and kicked the kids outta the car in the carpool line from hell, I was off to shop!  That perfect black blouse wouldn't buy itself and make its way to my closet without a little help from me, after all!

But, like I said, no self-respecting clothing store is open before 10:00AM.  This, my friends, would lead to, what some of my close friends and family (attorney) have labeled, "PrissE's near-terroristic actions that could merit a visit to the Homeland Security Offices."  To me, I was simply involved in my first photo-journalistic-Mathew Brady (he was a famous photojournalist during the Civil War, y'all) endeavor.  Below are the fruits of my labor (hope I don't become alcoholic and die penniless after this shopping spree is over--you know, like Mathew Brady did after the Civil War)...complete with my signature observations.

I was just a "young-un" when Lee introduced it's revolutionary "Press-On-Nail," totally making the Hollywood-glamour-salon experience available to every housewife and career woman in the world--thank you, Lee.  Then came the stampede of Asian-owned nail salons where they can "do nail fo you...no, not zebra...I do tiga stripe fo you.  You wait 20 minute...I do nail fo you"--again, thank you, Asian salons that I frequent every 2 weeks without fail.  But, seriously, y'all!  How necessary is this, I ask you???

Gurl!  When you find someone with a cute hair cut, and they are real-life people, you gotta getta pic!  Isn't that why cell phones have cameras?

Okay, y'all.  Let the nostalgia rain down!  Y'all remember learning to read with that down-home, Ozzy & Harriet-goody-two-shoes-type pair of siblings.  Well, now we can pass on to our children the tradition of learning to read primer-style with our favorite brother-sister pair (no, not Donny & Marie, y'all!), DICK & JANE!  Also, I think, like I, you'll be glad to see that the publishing company has updated the stories from this timeless, dynamic duo by promoting multi-cultural literature...I'm just not so sure that Dick's & Jane's mom really had a good grip on what her two sweet spawn were really "experiencing!"

Well, well, well...lookie here!  All you could ever want to know, that you don't really have to know, right next to ALL you need to know--and on ONE shelf, even!

Always and forever the avid reader and encourager of the literate, I just thought I'd pay a little homage to one of my new BFF's!  Sassy, Jen Lancaster, PrissE & Celia--BFF's!  It's just like looking in a mirror, y'all!  P.S. If you live in Texas, or anywhere in the South (and, yes, I do know that TX is not "technically" considered a "Southern" state--but a Southwestern state--but, y'all, I taught history.  We are located on the South edge of the United States, okay?!), any book by Celia Rivenbark should be sitting right beside your Holy Bible--moment of silence to honor Jesus...Amen--and should be the second thing you read every morning as a part of your daily devotional...I'm just sayin'!

Aren't they cute?  Taco Tuesdays at Rosa's still means something!  And I'm here to tell y'all, I was there before this couple sat down, and I was there when they left...and they did NOT have to share "the teeth!"  I hope Mr. Analytical and I are just as blessed when we are their age!

You know, at some point in this post, I have to get on my soap box.  And, for this one, you're gonna have to squint, crane your neck toward the computer screen, all while wearing your glasses and saying, "I don't know.  I just don't see...oh, wait.  Yep!  There it is!  That sorry redneck!"  Please notice that this is a shortbed-short wheel-base pick-up, AND THE DRIVER COULDN'T EVEN GET IT TO FIT IN IT'S OWN PARKING SPOT!!  It's straddling the line!!!  You might wonder why this was such a sinful act to me.  Well, just down this very row, to your right (sorry, y'all.  I was so bumfuzzled that I forgot to take a pic), is a 4-door, 1/2 ton, long wheel-base pick-up that is not only parked almost solidly twixt the two yellow lines, but it's sandwiched in between my cute little ladybug and another compact car!  I promise, I was so mad that, if I hadn't lost about 25 lbs. over the course of the last three months and subsequently become a demure and petite little thing, my endorphins were raging so hard I could've picked up that "honey I shrunk my truck" excuse for a vehicle with my bare hands and put it in it's own spot, y'all!  IF YOU CAN'T PARK IT, DON'T DRIVE IT!

What in the #$%% does this mean, anyway?  I'm an expectant mother...when my kids are away from me at any given time of day, I always expect them back!  But just try telling that to the people in the parking lot who stare at ya when you're getting out or in your car, y'all...Don't look at me with your judgment!  You're just jealous because I got the spot first!

I'm thinking of writing a Coffee Table book titled, "Money on the Run" (A.K.A. How many ATMs can I photograph before someone alerts Homeland Security and I'm apprehended and put in prison with a giant, mean, and totally broke fallen-finance mogul or terrorist who thinks I might actually be "casing the joints" for future financial "acquisitions?"  I'm just wondering...cause I got three really great pics of this ATM while a city employee was parked and standing beside his city vehicle, no lie, less than 30 feet from me!)

  

Coolest Mom EVER!

Top 10 Reasons I'm the coolest mom EVER!

1. Musicians on my child's IPod include, but are not limited to: Dire Straits, Huey Lewis, Nickelback, Captain and Tenille, Maroon 5, Justin Timerlake, Jason Aldean, Little Big Town and Black Eyed Peas.

2. My 13 year old son just told me, 'Mom, you should seriously consider getting a YoVille.' and, I know what that means.

3. We swim at least 5 times a week in the summer.

4. We use SPF every time.

5. I can use the word 'Dude' correctly in a sentence.

6. I purchased spray on hair color for my children, and applied it appropriately several times.

7. We are always safe.

8. When we aren't safe, I always explain why.

9. We eat 'breakfast' for supper at least once a week.

10. The little mooches still want me to attend their events. So..... I do.



These are the 'rules' as I have neatly arranged them in my head. This is the truth I choose to believe.

Sadly, I had a break from the voices in my head that keep me all cool and hip, a few weekends ago at marching band contest, where I lapsed into Bizarro Mom for a short monologue to the bubs.

Scene: Saturday Afternoon Marching Band Contest
Location: The football stadium where I marched 90% of my games, in the 'olden' days. So, in all fairness, you could see this moment coming from a mile away.

Enter, Jag marching down the ramp with the High School Band.



Me: OH! Wow! Boys, did you see that? There they are! Marching down the ramp! When I was in high school, this is the stadium where we played all our games, and we marched down that ramp before every game,and there was like, 200 of us or more! And I was always near the front with the color guard, and we would look straight ahead at attention the whole time, and we would march down that big ramp and into the stadium and into the stands, at attention the whole time, and we would sit there in lines, and everyone was so impressed by us, because we were the coolest high school band in town, and everyone wanted to be like us, and no one else would march down the ramp because they were afraid that we would say they were coping us, and LOOK! There's Jag!



Now, you need to know that Jag's band did a fantastic job! I'm so proud of all of them! Seriously? How stinkin' cute is that beret? My kid is wearing a beret! Heart soars!

I'm also thankful to the Bubs, because they just smiled at me after my brief walk down memory lane. They actually wanted to know more, so I explained some more stuff about what Uncle T did with the percussion, and how awesome Aunt Megan was on that trumpet. There might have been some talk about video tapes that still exist, proving the oxymoron, that we were the 'coolest band' in town.

I think they actually thought it was cool! But, they're just 10, and they think bugs are cool, so let's keep it in perspective. Can you hear the voices? They're getting louder.