Taking a “During School” Vacation? Start Here

It’s been a minute since I wrote anything on here. I guess I have just had less things to complain about. Lol. Kidding. Just much less time to draft my daily annoyances.  Seriously, during Covid I would have needed a thumb transplant if I chronicled all of life’s transgressions and we had the news and Facebook for that soooo….

Anyyyyway, I just saw a thread online where a parent was taking her kid out of school for an extended vacation (14 days) and wanted Sweet Cherub’s teachers to provide work ahead of time.  One of my teacher friends was put in a similar situation just this week.  Except her situation included the kid being gone for over a month and the parent saying that they wanted the work ahead of time so the kid didn’t have to be distracted by it while they were on vacation…for a month….during the school year. This comment probably gets stacked somewhere near “my taxes pay your salary” and “it must be nice to get summers off” and anything that insinuates babysitting and childcare.  

To be honest, this happens to us multiple times a year. You are not the first parent (this week) to ask, and we will likely respond while realizing that it’s situations like this which are why we need a new nightguard from clenching our teeth shut so  much but our dental insurance suc…..Nevermind.  

Dear Little Cherub’s parents with the packed SPF, 

Before you read this dissertation about one of the many reasons I’m questioning my career choices, go pack your child’s chromebook and charger. Have them check Google Classroom instead of TikTok before bed or when you are sick of taking them to places that cost ridiculous amounts of money so they can Snap and BeReal with their friends while not paying attention to the experiences you’re providing them.  Ask me how I know this will be your reality…

So, in response to your inquiry, I know the topic I’ll be teaching 14 days from now, but materials are customized DAILY in response to the needs of the class. I can’t tell you how my kids are going to respond in a lesson and do not plan materials that far in advance. Also, getting “the work” eludes to the fact that my work is all material (worksheet) based. How am I replicating discussion or the 1:1 time your child and I share developing their understanding? This all changes as fast as the classroom dynamic does! You’re welcome.  

This next part might seem contradictory or surprise you: I am one of the few who will tell you I’m happy for your family that you have the resources to be able to do this amazing trip. I will be so excited to hear about your child’s experiences and I’m thrilled they are gaining perspective and background knowledge about new things/places/people/cultures. But, do not throw shade if I don’t have my materials ready 21 days in advance for your extended vacation. Be thankful that my classroom isn’t a worksheet factory and that I rarely teach the same thing twice. Be understanding that my paycheck is based on my responsiveness to my classroom need in combination with my knowledge of the standards. Also, for my pretty handwriting, my quick wit, and the patience that I have stored like money in a mattress during the Great Depression.  Ahhh, if only I could find some long lost relative’s mattress money…. If that was the case, I’d buy a (one way) plane ticket and go with you—

Warm Regards, somehow, from my cold overworked heart, also my coffee is cold and I have to pee,

Mrs. HowManyMoreYearsUntil55 

Corona Shopping Problems

During this pandemic with Coronavirus, people have had some real problems. I am, thankfully, not one of those people with real problems, but I've felt a bit unsettled as our lives have been turned upside down in semi-isolation. To soothe that, well, I've done a bit of shoppy-shop.  Just a tiny bit. Ok, that's a damn lie. I've shopped so much in the last eight weeks, I don't even know what's coming, who's it for, and when I ordered it.  I don't want to perjure myself, but I've purchased an epic load of stuff that I didn't really need, BUT I JUST HAD TO HAVE.  I think I spent over 10 mindless hours, one day, looking up THE PERFECT outdoor pillow cushions.  I admit, it's dumb--but also numbing because when I was shopping, I wasn't itching. I do kind of blame Marshall's and TJ Maxx for this for being closed up.  That's usually where the things that needed me would find me.  Now, I just happen to stumble across nonsense online, and have to have it.

However,

this post isn't really about the crap I've bought.  I'd much rather let my husband discover most of our new treasures on his own without reading about them first (ohhhh heyyyyy new rugs for the porch, wooden spoons, A FOOD PROCESSOR, those heels were really only $5, and I swear that dress has been in my closet for awhile.  Yes, I know I rarely wear dresses. Yes, I know it's sleeveless and I always wear sleeves..... Look, there's a new "that guy makes knifes in real fire with real metal" show on...dontcha want to watch it? *slides out of room, stealthily*)

This is about what I *cannot* find in my *materialistic* shopping endeavors:

--I cannot find a pair of leggings or pants that is not high waisted. 
For the love of all that is holy, CAN WE STEP AWAY FROM MOM JEANS-MOM LEGGINGS-PANTS-TO-BOOBS? That is a look I cannot get behind. Yes, the extra height of the pants does a great job of holding in momloaf.  Yes. You can get compression that smoooshes your belly fat up to hold your tots or smooooosh your potatopooch around to make your flat-ass look full.  Yes. Both of those things are great. I guess....

however...

One rogue stitch can have you looking like your lady pieces are part of a camel's foot on a Wednesday.  Also, I'm sorry to say, if you push any of your muffinloaf up, you're getting backfat and you might not even have backfat.  Jeeeeeeeeez, you're just teaching your back by saying "hey back, meet upper hips. You two should spoon. Forever." And in my opinion, that's just insane. There is no need for premature backfatting. That shiz comes on it's own timeline and you don't want it there early.

--I cannot find a cute sweatshirt that is a normal length and size. Who's idea was it to crop sweatshirts and make them 52 times too big in the shoulders?? I know--the same person that thinks that YOU SHOULD wear pants that have waists that compete with your bra band. Some day, like today, we are going to say things like "when I was a kid, sweatshirts were something that we wore when we wanted to cover our midriff with something warm and cozy." and "Sweatshirts used to be a great garment to wear with regular rise jeans on a casual day, yet we didn't look homeless, fat, and homeless. Did I mention homeless?!" Yes. those were the days.

--I cannot find a swimsuit for my 10 year old daughter that will have enough fabric across her butt to keep her from needing to excavate unwanted fabric from nether crevice!  #1--She's 10. #2 Crack digging isn't a good look on anyone. Also, again, the high waisted cheeky cuts are killing me here--- Let's cover the stomach with AS MUCH FABRIC AS POSSIBLE, but let the junk in the trunk roam free---shoot,  these suits just leave the trunk OPEN and let all the groceries fly out.  I'm so confused. Also, Karens, this post isn't a bit about body positivity. She can wear whatever the hell she wants to wear that is comfortable for her.  But I can't imagine a 10 year old saying "oooh. I'd really love this suit if only more of it was in my asscanyon"

and lastly...
--I cannot find Anise Seed Extract, Clorox Wipes, more than single ply toilet paper, and rubbing alcohol.
Can't an isolated Italian make pizzelles, sanitize her door knobs, clean herself up without toilet paper shreds, and dry out her poison ivy? Ugh. The supply chain on that extract better right itself soon.... This pizzelle iron is getting dusty!

Tarzan and Jane are Not Available for Landscape Hire

My husband spent the last two days cutting down like eleventy-seven dozen trees in our yard. Don't get all Arbor Day, Save the Earth about it.  It's only because they have some weird invasive species chewing on them more rapidly than my kids devour the snacks in the pantry on grocery day. I guess it's a common problem people are dealing with up here.

So, we decided to be proactive, and cut the trees down before they were completely dead because these hungry little effers move on to a different tree when they get sick of the one they're munching on. You know, kind of like when your kids move on to the next box of cereal even though the current box is still 7/8 of the way full, leaving it to go stale and get tipped over in the lazy Susan only for little Cocoa Krispies to spread throughout the cabinet like confetti in NYC on New Years' Eve... (also, poor Susan. Why was she perceived as so lazy? Hmm. More on that another time). Anyway, it's recommended you cut these partially chompered down trees and burn the wood as soon as possible (chill. not before the burn ban is lifted....we know!) when you realize it. 

So, we (let's be serious...my husband is the chainsaw wielding tree murderer. not me.  I watch and huff and pace and get a little sweary. There is no "we" about this) have been dropping trees and hauling wood and brush in the cold, rain, and snow (yes snow. WTF, Mother Nature. It's April), up to our knees in mud in some of the wettest areas or our mud wrestling pit, I mean yard (our yard is up and coming...). I watched my husband work solo for a bit before putting on actual jeans for the first time in months (um. quarter of a year) thanks to these Social Isolation measures #corona, and I walked out there with my son's hunting boots on, mostly for moral support.  But then something magical happened-- 

I realized I was still strong AF and that I could be a lot more helpful than I anticipated. #girlpower 

In fact, I got super sassy because I realized he had chunked the wood into fantastically manageable 5 foot sections that I could deadlift onto the tractor bucket, which made for relatively quick cleanup. It sucked. But together we got through this, Hallmark-movie style. Awwwwwwwwwwww. 

Note: The growing/green season hasn't begun here. (yeah. Looking at you, Punxsutawney Phil.  Solid job on this year's Groundhogs Day. #dumbbadger #stupidsquirrel) This is an important piece of information...

Andddddd after I finished that intense outdoor workout, I came in, stripped down to my undies in the laundry room (again, save your judgement, I was muddy!) and ran back to the bedroom holding my boobs so I could get a sports bra and workout clothes on to ride an awesome Peloton class. 

And it really was an epic class. #thanksDenisMorton 

Last night before bed, I was, well, a little uncomfortable and had a very hard time getting settled. This morning I crushed another Peloton workout and I was ok, but still felt off. And then after my shower when I got dressed, my bra just felt horribly wrong. Like the metal of the underwire was cutting into me and making me itch. 

I took my bra off but kept itching, and itching, insatiably. Ugh this wire! Who made bras with wire? Did I change detergents? What the hell is crawling under my skin? Finally, after hours of discomfort, I went to the bathroom to realized that I literally had fingerprint-welted-hives all over my boobs. 

Poison. Ivy. In. The. Middle. Of. Winter. ON MY BOOBS. 

And then it dawns on me. I rushed from the laundry room to the bedroom carrying my boobs with me (I mean. there were no other volunteers! Who else was going to carry them?!) Then, I adjusted those lady tots right into the perfect position in that sports bra and finally proceeded to sweat my ass off, opening up allllll-the-pores, allowing the devil nectar of the poison ivy leaf to destroys my melon canal. #cantaloupesthesedays #imhereforthegloriousvisuals

And as I draft this, I'm currently marinating in a sea of puréed gluten free oatmeal in my bathtub (we FANCY 'ROUND HERE WITH OUR GF INSTANT QUAKER), wondering how many times in my life I'm going to forget that poison ivy doesn't go dormant in the winter. And those vines I was twirling and pulling free from those logs? Yeah. Those weren't jungle vines to swing off. My name might be Jane, but from now on my Tarzan can scoop them right up with his Kubota because I'm not going anywhere near anything that even LOOKS like a vine. Sorry Brooooseph, but the remaining brush cleanup is a solo job for you from this point forward. 

So, who's got poison ivy remedies for me? Until this clears, me and my irritated lady lumps are going to find some sandpaper or a cactus for me to hug. Repeatedly. While moving up and down. 🌵

You’re the Parent of a Hockey Player When...

* Your entryway smells like an absolutely horrific combination of mildew, Febreeze, feet (err, skates), and mint "flavored" alcohol disinfectant, yet you're sure the only thing that's been disinfected are your nose hairs from breathing in bleach fumes from trying to remedy what is now (until April) referred to as the "entryway situation"...

* You say things like "get your blocker away from the crockpot" and "have you waxed your stick lately?" and it is part of a completely normal and acceptable conversation.

* Sleeping in on a weekend morning means you can sleep until 7am (!), instead of leaving the house BY 7am. #booforweekendalarms

* You suffer extreme embarrassment when your seven year old tells your cousin and his fiancée he can't be in their wedding 9 months from now because he *might* have a hockey practice or a game. 

* You eat macaroni and cheese and hot dogs for two months leading up to the ice fees due date...(and vow, again, that next year you will budget better...)

* Your youngest child is often referred to as a "rink rat" and you are completely okay with it.

* You know how to construct a "balanced" meal in a pinch from the rink's snack bar (#cheesesauceisALMOSTdairy)

* You know more about what is going on in the lives of the other hockey parents than you do in the lives of your own family members.

* You've purchased three or more pairs of gloves this year because you keep forgetting one of your 42 pairs at home.

* Even though it sounds like you've put a small mammal in the washing machine, you're aware that it's just a cup (the protector of the "beans and franks"...not the Red Solo kind)

* You base your level of enjoyment on how well the heat works in the rink you're traveling to or whether or not you can grab a brew or two there, and NOT whether or not your kid's team is going to win or even be competitive.... (oh. perhaps that's just us and not the majority of hockey parents. OOPS.  I guess I mean #goflyers, not #samadamsplease)

* You're proud to be one of the insane parents that supports this ridiculously expensive sport because your kid (or kids) glow on the days they get to breathe in that crisp air, gliding from line to line, developing skills but also friendships that they'll cherish forever. #hallmarkmoviereadyscript 

You Are Getting Sleepy! Yes, You ARE! Because I Said SO!

All I want to do is stay up 1 hour later than my kids. ONE HOUR.

It's like #lameness sets in, immediately following their slumber, and I cannot keep my eyes open.

Even if it's 5:45pm...

What, you've never turned the clocks ahead and pretended that it was later so you could sneak a couple of hours (half a day) of peace in? Yeah, me either...

Sweet dreams, kiddies! I'll be following you to bed as soon as Brian Williams and the National news is over....pay no attention to that sun.  It's a figment of your imagination.  (Side note: I must get room darkening shades). Can I interest you in some chamomile tea? Perhaps some warm milk? How about 40 laps around the yard and then a calming bath while I serenade you with classical music and slather your sleepy bodies with lavender lotion?

Zzzzzzz! Those are definitely my "zzzzz's" and not theirs. They are wide awake.  #fail.

On the Next Dr. Phil, The Infrequently Intrigued: The Story of theMicromanaged Childhood

Teaching eleven year olds how to use combination lockers is like teaching a dog to shake with his right paw...but the dog is missing his right paw...

For the love of Sweet Baby Jesus (SBJ for short), please teach your children how to operate a combination lock before they come to middle school. Also, please monitor their ability to use a clock that has hands. 

Each year, I watch *adorable* sixth graders come into school unable to open a locker, organize their junk in their lockers, tell time, tie their shoes, write their assignments down without being reminded, bring their materials from class to class....etc... They are teachable, but have lost interest in becoming independent. I've noticed that they require more coaxing and more explanation as to why they MUST learn things, instead of just being naturally curious and motivated to do so.  

What have we done?

Well, IMHO, we've enabled. We've helicoptered. We've circled around them since they were itty bitty bambinos, preventing them from falling and eliminating every POTENTIAL danger, encapsulating them to PROVIDE the best life possible. And we've stunted the HELL out of their curiosity, requiring all of their life lessons to be meaningful and perfect, Pinterest-worthy, then Status update-worthy. They get older and then expect knowledge on a platter, plated like it's from a five-star effing restaurant. They don't know how to dig into something that intrigues them, because they are difficult to impress and therefore are infrequently intrigued! Oh, but it's "our fault, not theirs." 

You know what else we've done? We've done a lot of "meh. They'll learn that when they're ready..." and "oh, well, s/he doesn't understand that, because it's not her/his strength." Um, hello. Those are called excuses. Yep! And they start when we have toddlers that freak out in the grocery store, stripping random food products off the shelves and throwing them at innocent bystanders ("He's overtired. It's naptime!") and in middle school ("She can't memorize her multiplication facts, because she's just like me and WE struggle at math.") We make a shit-ton of excuses for our kids because we feel that their performance is directly tied to our success as parents. It's not. Granted, good parents have great probability of having awesome kids. But guess what, shitty parents have good kids too (fingers crossed for my two)!  It's our job to provide our kids with the ideas and principles of ownership and responsibility. We need to stop making excuses, and we need to stop accepting them to pad our impressions of ourselves as parents.  

I want my kids to be curious, and to find a passion that intrigues them. I want them to make mistakes, and learn from them. They can get hurt (please SBJ don't let it involve their teeth, though. Broken and mangled teeth freak me out. There, I said it. Can't happen to my two, now, can it?), but I hope if they get hurt they correct their error in judgement. A rice-cake life that is bland, but safe, is NOT what I want for my kids. They better be curious, they better WANT to conquer a combination lock because it's a rite of passage to being in junior high, and for Big Ben's sake, they better know how to read a damn analog clock by age 11. Or else....

I Need To Write

I need to write, like people (that shall remain nameless) need to drink. It's an outlet. It's a source of therapy, even when I'm not venting. When I craft these blog posts, or write emails (I was going to say letters, but who even does that anymore? How much are stamps these days?), I spell check, edit, and rewrite sentences with the attention that a new mother gives her first born. (Notice I didn't say second born. And God help all of you third-born children and beyond. You were probably raised by wolves or some other caring mammal that lived near your house, because your parents were probably *all done* with that thing called "parenting" by the you came around---#apologies #truthhurts).

Anyway, writing comes easy to me. When I am feeling angry, I want to write. When I am feeling happy, I want to write. Frustrated? Get me my laptop--I need to write. Interestingly enough, I don't have a journal. Journaling has always made me feel ridiculous. I mean, who am I, Anne Frank? What do I possibly have to write about that I'd want to read about in the future? Journaling: NOT FOR ME.  However, when I have something to say that I know is going to make someone laugh or smile, I'd rather write a witty Facebook status than call the 25 people that I know will get a kick out of it....and for you social media haters, that does NOT mean that I don't know how to communicate traditionally or that I am ADDICTED to social media, but it means that I recognize the therapeutic effect that Facebook has on us, and that I am happy to contribute to numbing someone's down time by writing something that might bring a laugh or two to a friend that needs it. We've all been down the road of Facebook scrolling without even reading the statuses that are in front of us...and if you haven't, I'm sorry that I just outed myself for possibly not reading your posts.....

Today, I need to write. I need to write because I really don't want to pick up my house. I'd rather be sitting right here, right now, crafting this post than spend this moment putting my dinner dishes in the dishwasher, putting away two loads of laundry, or even getting my kids ready for bedtime. Writing this, RIGHT NOW, is an intimate moment where I am digging in my own mind for just the right words about how I am feeling. So, just so we're clear: I'm feeling, hmm, lazy. I'm also feeling unmotivated. I do not feel like putting laundry away, while mentally preparing next week's grocery list (because multi-tasking and getting a little bit of everything done without focusing on one thing at a time--therefore, not completing anything is how I roll, anyone else with me?). So, while writing this, I am not answering the annoying adorable questions that my two little ones constantly ask me over and over again ("Can we have breakfast for dinner tomorrow?" "Did you find my purple dress up shoe?" "Can I buy this app for the iPad?" "Why does the dog poop there all the time?"). My focus, currently, is on my thoughts, and my feelings, because one cannot write while thinking of other things. You can try, but you'd end up with something like this:

What is life really about? Is it about damn, do we have italian dressing? Crap. Stay focused. Where was I? 

What is life really about? Is it about, finding ourselvWHY THE HELL IS THE WATER IN THE BATHROOM ON? *Girl child* SHUT THE WATER OFF IN THE BATHROOM. WHY MUST THAT BATHROOM ALWAYS LOOK LIKE A WATER MAIN BROKE IN THERE? please. tell. me. that. you. did. NOT. put. soap. in. your. dry. hair. UGH! STRIP DOWN. I GUESS IT'S BATH TIME.  

Yeah. That's pretty much what happens if you try to write while multi-tasking and not being committed to fifteen minutes of uninterrupted thought-processing.

Tonight, I needed to write. But, I think I'm ready to put the laundry away now, so I should probably go do that. Do we have italian dressing? No. We do not.... We also need bleach. That bathroom is gross....STAY FOCUSED. LAUNDRYLAUNDRYLAUNDRY.

If You Are That Mom, Please Stop.

If you are the mom that makes everything crafty that shows up on the kidspiration board on Pinterest, please stop. You are making your kid rely on you to entertain them and you are making the rest of us feel guilty about checking Facebook with our kids plopped in front of the TV. 

If you are the mom that makes bento-box lunches every.single.day for your kids, your husband, and your hamster and those lunches are healthy, colorful, and turn your kid’s lunch into an effin’ art project, please stop. Your kid is probably craving stale, frozen-in-the-middle chicken nuggets that have been MICROWAVED (*gasp!*). Besides, your kid probably steals the Cheetos out of the lunch of the kid sitting next to him/her, while your 45 minute Bento-box-Mona-Lisa gets chucked out with fifth grade retainers.

If you are the mom that says “Oh, excuse the mess” after cleaning the house for HOURS like Oprah was on her way over, please stop, and come over to my house and then continue.


If you are the mom that has a toddler yet leaves your table set all the time, please stop. Your kid needs a place to color, and quite honestly, that just tells me that you use paper plates all the time. (#youknowitstrue)

If you are the mom at the playground, judging the other moms at the playground (or the mom at the computer judging the moms that make bento-box lunches) please stop. We all feel inferior from time to time. That’s not the opportunity to pounce on another’s weakness. It’s the time to reflect and appreciate all that we have that is good in our lives and to be thankful.


Hey, “that mom,” thanks for trying so hard, but promise me you’ll only do those things above if you really want to, ok? Doing them because you think you should is not a good enough reason...and your kids will sense that. I suck at crafts, I pack lunches that have way too much sugar, my house is messy, and I tend to be a tichy-bit judgemental, however, I LOVE tucking my kids into bed, and eating dinner together as a family. I’m not perfect, but I admit that and I hope I pass on my tolerance of imperfection to my children. I do what I want with and for my kids, and not what I think I *should* be doing.


My motto: Eff Perfection. Now, let me check who’s pretending to be awesome on Facebook...

Rainbows and Lollipops

 My kids went to bed at a reasonable hour last night, and I woke up with my clothes ironed, my lunch packed, and a cup of coffee in hand...the result of this good fortune? A great start to my day which allowed me to see the rainbows and lollipops in my life....

Let's shine some of this happy light on my career: I love teaching. I really do. There is NOTHING like knowing that you hold some type of knowledge and are directly responsible for transferring it to someone that needs to understand it. And when you know you've NAILED a lesson, there is an energy that you and the kids have that is completely indescribable! True story!

I have one student in particular that LIGHTS UP MY LIFE every day. He tries SO hard and doesn't always understand things, which makes when he does "get it" SUPER special. If we were playing hide and go seek, I'd find him first just so he could help me find the others because THAT'S how much I enjoy his company. Actually, if he ever comes up missing, I may have taken him home with me. I won't write him off on my taxes, so it'll be totally legit. I promise. This one student reminds me that I need to be thankful for everything I have, because even though he comes from a supportive home, his family has extreme financial limitations. Yet, he comes in every day with a smile, and a positive attitude--which is more than most adults (umm, *raise hand* GUILTY) will give you these days. 

This specific student reinforces that it's not how much money we have, what we look like, or how smart we are--it's about how much effort we give things and how positive our attitude is. I hope that I've taught him a boatload this year, but I'm thankful for this eleven year old and the life lesson he's taught me. 

Holy effin' estrogen. Where is all this warm and fuzziness coming from? What the hell is that about?! Did someone slip some Oprah in my coffee? 

The Non-Negotiable Bedtime Rant

Hey kids. My name is Mom. We've met before, mostly when you need your butt wiped, you'd like something to drink or eat, or when you would like me to carry you in the house so you don't have to walk in the snow. (*yes. hop up here. allow me to carry my bag, my coffee cup, your backpack, and 40-60lb YOU into the house without slipping and killing us both (or knocking myself out and peeing my pants in the process. Gosh, that'd be embarrassing.) *)

Anyway, when I tell you to go to bed and I've read you a story, changed you into your pajamas, watched you brush your teeth and given you your last glass of water, I EXPECT YOU TO GO TO BED. I love you SO much that I feel pretty strongly that sleep has a direct connection with your brain getting bigger and me NOT tying you up with string to the dining room chair . 

So, please go into your room and shut your beautiful eyes. They're heavenly to watch flutter while you are sleeping, which is impossible for me to do while you're yapping about how you don't like the underwear you are wearing and asking me to dress up your doll in the same clothes you took off of her twopointfiveEFFINGseconds ago. Did I mention how much I love you? Oh yeah. 72 times when I hugged you and said "I love you this much," stretching my arms to an approximate length of 5 foot 6 inches (if my bio teacher was correct about the proportion of arm span to height). 

Because you take so Mo-fo-ing long to get in your bed and fall asleep, I find myself bumping up bedtime in 15 minute intervals. Tomorrow, we will surely start getting ready for bed immediately following snack time when you get off the bus. "What about dinner?" you ask? Funny, you don't really seem interested in eating the dinner I make for you, and mostly complain about it, run in the other room to check what is on TV without being excused from the table, strategically plan your bowel movements for that time, or "accidentally" spill your drink on your plate to avoid eating what your father and I are having. So, I guess I didn't think you'd notice if you ate a handful of goldfish and got settled in for the night.

Bedtime is NON-negotiable in this house. You must go to bed when I want you to. Stop negotiating "5 minutes longer" and "can I just <insert RANDOM activity that does not involve sleeping and probably makes me think that you are in need of hyperactivity medication>", The answer is, "no you cannot.  I love you. Goodnight." 

Again. "No, you cannot. I love you. Goodnight." 

Again. "Stop hoo-booing. Tomorrow is a new day. I love you. Goodnight." Someday they won't do this anymore and I'll miss it. But for the time being, where is my corkscrew? It's going to be a lonnnnnng night.  

Teaching Is an Emotional Rollercoaster

I really do enjoy my job, but it is common for me to have a rough day where I question my purpose, my abilities, and quite honestly whether or not the emotional roller coaster of teaching is worth the pay.

Let's just say that the lesson delivery is the easy part of my job; the worry and concern I take home with me about what some of my students are going through, the future of education and what MY COLLEAGUES have to deal with (I'm talking about you, APPR, and common core) are the things that really makes my job difficult.

And for those of you that are reading this and saying "but you get more vacation time than any other profession," I say "yep. And I have a master's degree, ten years of experience, make (barely) 50k, can't pee at work unless someone tells me it's ok, AND am responsible for undoing the damage society (ahem, parents) have done to our children. We are actors, social workers, counselors, parents, and now statisticians.  We earn THAT time off, however, during summer months most of us are going into school, and developing plans, learning new content, or (sitting at our pools) PINNING (God bless Pinterest) ways to make ourselves better at our jobs," so it is really "time off"?

Whew, that vent was a little over due... now, yesterday was one of the days that I really envied the people that have jobs that they are able to walk away from at the end of the day, without worry and regard. As I mentioned in a previous post, I am having foot surgery today, which will keep me out of work until after the new year. I tried everything to NOT have the surgery, including calling my insurance company and trying to get them NOT to cover it. I am scared out of my wits about this, and honestly, the insurance company phone call was not my proudest moment. However, my last day of work prior to this surgery was so crazy that I have drafted a list of the things I would rather have done than worked yesterday:

1.) had foot surgery- yes, a day early...preventing me from walking, driving, working and caring for myself and my family a whole day earlier.

2.) gone to walmart with my dad...that man can make friends with ANYONE (and although we tease him relentlessly about this, it's the part of his personality that we love and admire the most!)

3.) stood in line at the DMV.

4.) had a pap smear.

5.) delivered a baby, without an epidural.

6.) had jury duty.

7.) rolled in poison ivy

8.) called the insurance company to listen to all of their menu options.

9.) shopped for a bathing suit.

I really was shooting for ten, but I JUST CAN'T GET PAST that I would have rather shopped for a bathing suit. I mean, when a girl says that she would have rather stood in front of a mirror in something spandex, trying to cover as much and as little of her body at the same time, you should pour her a TALL glass of something that isn't milk--because her day must have been pretty bad. For Realz.

I couldn't finish this without saying that I do appreciate the opportunity that teaching allows me. It allows me to filter all of the c-r-a-p that is negatively affecting education today, and put my kid-friendly spin on it. I may need reminders on bad days, but the opportunity that my job has allowed me and the impact that perhaps isn't always visible is WHY I teach.  I teach because I am committed to making the best out of the kids I work with, to focus on what is important in the LIVES of the kids, and to filter the stuff that isn't. Now, off to surgery, so I can walk normally while doing all of that. (Side note: I will surely enjoy peeing whenever I want for the next six weeks).  

Freaking about Foot Surgery

So, I'm having foot surgery this week and won't be able to walk (normally) or drive for six whole weeks.  Understandably, I'm a little bitter about it too. One of my closest friends snapped this picture over the weekend while she was in line for her fountain Diet Coke fix at McDonalds. I love me a cheeseburger, but if this is me in a couple weeks, someone needs to promise me an intervention:

These are the reasons I'm just a "tichy-bit" nervous:
*I've never had surgery.

*I've never had anesthesia (and that word had to be typed 5 times before my attempt at it was even recognized by spell check)

*I actually did ATTEMPT to have an epidural during the birth of both of my children, however, it failed both times. That was mighty unfortunate for me and all the other people in my hallway...

*I won't have my wisdom teeth out, even though it has been recommended since I was nineteen because I'm scared of having surgery.

*I'm a self admitted Control Freak and the idea of not being able to do WHAT I want to do WHEN I want to do it freaking me out. I mean, sometimes a girl just needs to wander Target...and not in one of those ridiculous electric wheelchairs!

*Daytime TV sucks.

*How am I going to pretend to exercise? I mean, I won't be able to set the alarm and tell myself that I'm going to get up at 5 and run (wog-walk/jog) a couple of miles. Awww, damn. Imma be fat(ter) when this is all over.

Crap. Someone needs to get me one of those wheelchairs.  I'm going to be depressed and will absolutely need a cheeseburger...

What Day Is It? It's Hunt Day!

Spouses of deer hunters, this is for you:

The Top 5 Reasons I HATE Deer Season:

1.) My dog barks uncontrollably every time he hears a shot. And obviously the people that hunt around my house have really crappy aim and must shoot 2,305 times before they "down" their target. Stevie Wonder probably hunts back there....

2.) When I walk through Walmart and see the people with camouflage jackets (you know, the ones with the hunting licenses on the back), I am instantly reminded that these people have carried or intend to carry firearms. *shutter* (sidenote: I prefer the customers with the words written across the badonkadonk of their sweatpants more because I usually don't have to squint to read the writing. Walmart is known for big toooooshes with big letters across them.)

3.) Husbands/Boyfriends/ and Fathers (hopefully these titles are not all used for the same guy) start to act as if it is their primal responsibility to rid the world of nuisance deer.  Here's the deal, hunter-person, thanks for saving my car, but please don't make me listen to your haughty story about why it's so important that you hunt every damn free moment that you have. Does the acronym STFU mean anything to you?

4.) Husbands/Boyfriends/ and Fathers FORGET that they are husbands/boyfriends/ and fathers, and stop doing whatever makes them husbandly/boyfriendly/and fatherly. Henceforth, Wives/Girlfriends/and Mothers get angry, which then gives Husbands/Boyfriends/ and Fathers the opportunity to comment on "bitchiness" of Wives/Girlfriends/and Mothers. See, this is where it gets a little ugly, because Wives/Girlfriends/and Mothers are thinking "Ugh. in ONE DAY, Husband/Boyfriend/Father just spent more time doing something that he loved than I have in ONE DECADE." Therefore, Husband/Boyfriend/Father, refer back to the last sentence in reason #3 and use that acronym again.

5.) Meat in my freezer becomes unidentifiable and Husbands/Boyfriends/ and Fathers encourage each meal to include some type of meat that they acquired. Here's the deal Husband/Boyfriend/Father, if you want to get the meat so bad, go to the effing meat market or grocery store. WE'LL LET YOU and it won't take as long as you pretending to be the best shot in the county.

and now some thoughts beyond this list:

* I am not "just jealous" of you sitting in a tree, freezing parts of your body off that I don't have. Please wipe that out of your head. I think it is nice that you are bonding with nature, but I also think that you are a moron if you choose to spend a day cold, covered in deer urine, away from your responsibilities, and then you come home and complain about it. Again, the acronym in #3, please.

* I eat venison. It's a lean meat that is cheap/free and I enjoy the fact that our freezer fills for the winter. However, I could care less if that venison comes from a "MONSTER 12 point buck", or from a large doe, so you waiting around for the "buck of your life" is lame. I mean, good for you if you shoot a large buck but you are bat-shit crazy if you think you are hanging that in my living room, so what's the point (ha. see what I did there?!)?  Also, for those ladies that let husbands/boyfriends/fathers decorate your main living areas with taxidermy, I hope the hunter in your life appreciates you as much as you deserve to be appreciated!)

* Lastly, Husband/Boyfriend/and Fathers, I need to just say one more thing: I bet that lady hunters still do their wife/girlfriend/and motherly duties. And if they didn't, I bet you'd bitch about it. If wives/girlfriends/and mothers just randomly chose to spend days and weeks doing something that they loved and without making husband/boyfriends/fathers (and children) a top priority, I'm betting that they'd have some serious 'splainin' to do. So there.

AHHHHHH! I need earplugs.  Either for me, or for the dog. Damn you, hunter that wouldn't even qualify to work in the cafeteria at sniper school! Buck you.

Control Freak

Ready for this hook? I can be a bit of a controlling wench. There. I said it. And unfortunately for my friends and family, that's one of my better qualities. Let's all say a mini-prayer for my children and the future therapy they're more than likely destined to receive.

It has taken me 31 years to recognize that as much as I feel that I should be able to control things, including my rugrats children, I cannot. Letting go of the reins of that horse I DON'T ride (they kick and cowboy boots just don't fit my calves) is probably one of those life feats that I must conquer before I am whisked off this planet. Someone call my life coach and tell her she's fired.

And now, a little dissertation on the power of choice. I can choose to do certain things. I decide whether or not I do the laundry, and that choice relates the approval rating I give my bedroom when the hamper is empty or exploding and cascading into the middle of the room--leaving a less than fresh scent. Unfortunately, my laundry has RECENTLY spawned and multiplied, resulting in an approval rating of negative 2.5. I really need to invest in more underwear....it's getting too chilly to go without. KIDDING.

I need to understand that I cannot control others, their actions, past (poor) decisions I've made, the weather, or the current state of my career. Luckily, I OWN my perspective on these things, however, and I'm trying to choose that perspective wisely. Everyone has battles and a hill to climb, but the path up that hill looks different for everyone. Health, finances, companionship, careers, and raising children can present obstacles for us to work through, but without these struggles and others like it, life would be boring! And, really, let's be serious, EVERYONE can either be placed in the category of Complainer or Problem Solver. Without challenges, we wouldn't have or need either!

Me, well, I'm choosing (or at least trying) to live for the moment and appreciate the opportunity that I have to do so. With that, I am going to work on being okay with "going with flow" even if it sends me over Niagara Falls in a clean swimsuit that ISN'T in that cascading pile of laundry!

SPOILER ALERT: I'm a complainer (I mean, this site's name is EFFDIS). And you choose to read my rants.  Good choice.

A Craptastic Monday-like Tuesday

I try not to be the person that bitches about everything (LIES...see I Am Not A Negative Nancy), but it is days like today that help me completely understand why some people choose to numb the realities of life with alcohol.  Let's review:

• Coffee belongs in cup and in my belly, not on my lap.
• Small people that I work with (i.e. bust my a$$ for) should not address me with that tone of voice (or that tone of look)
• Health Insurance company's error SHOULD NOT cost me $131.00 to fix, when I should have $0.00 out of pocket for said expenses.
• No, female toddler of mine, I am not mad that you waited until TheLastPossibleMoment to realize that you had to pee and you had button jeans on, resulting in pee all over bathroom floor (and adjacent wall?! Seriously, do VAGINAS pee VERTICALLY these days?  If so, I'm turning mine in for a new and improved model, because I've clearly been missing out on something...)
• Swiffer Wet Jet, did you really have to run out of fluid, RIGHT NOW?
• Propane distribution company, I'm super sorry that your computer system is from 1980, but you guys need to figure out how to convey my balance on an invoice that does not require a doctorate in accounting. And, Nancy in billing, I'm smarter than I sound. I promise.
• If one pays for INTERNET, regardless of where one lives, it should freekin' work. A red solo cup, aluminum foil and a string could get a better signal than the piece of CRAP I pay for monthly.  

On that note, I'm going to bed. But, I may drink a (case of) beer with a straw beforehand.  

Socializing at Walmart

What is it about Walmart that makes every person I know cringe at the thought of having to venture there?

Is it the less than stellar produce? The roll back (then up) prices? Is it the shopping carts that you are pretty sure you'll need a tetanus shot after using? Perhaps it's the customer that you're bound to run into going the opposite way in EVERY. DAMN. AISLE..

For me, it's running into at least fifteen people that I have to talk to, which is kind of funny because those fifteen people are equally annoyed that they have to talk to me. It should be a rule that if you run into someone in Walmart, the standard procedure is that you stay the eff away from them. A smile and a nod, or even a "hey there!" is ENOUGH so that everyone in that Godforsaken place can just get the crap they need and get the hell out of there.

And sweet Jesus, someone show my dad this post. That man knows everyone, and if he doesn't know someone, he is introducing himself to them. Walmart is not the Catalina Wine Mixer, Dad (whoa...I didn't think I'd ever need to reference the movie Stepbrothers). It's the place produce goes to die...

Father of the Year

So, I saw a FOTY today. That acronym stands for Father of the Year. He was bringing his two daughters on Saturday morning errands. Coffee, dance class, and Target.  He was really good with his girls, too. Except that part where he was telling EVERYONE that he had the girls by himself for the weekend while his wife was away.

Awww, snap.  I forgot my cone-shaped hat, and the candle for his Pity Party cake.

I wanted to be like "awww, look at the dad with his kids doing all these Saturday morning errands," but then I was like "waiiiit.  Do I feel the same way when I run into his wife EVERY OTHER DAMN SATURDAY? And, is he saying "aww, look at that lady (who should really consider a baseball cap when her hair looks like that) traipsing her little lovelies around this morning" about me? Nope. Although, in his defense, I should have worn a cap.

Sorry dude. I am not making eye contact with you while you are on your quest for guests at your pity party.   So, FOTY, get a table for one for your party. Actually, get a table for 3, your daughters look hungry.

Loving Life, Hating Dishes

There are things I like to do...I know that "sharing the love of life" isn't really my thing, but truly, I am a reflective person that likes to give thanks to the big guy "upstairs" for the things I have.  I am thankful that I have a husband that loves me, and two beautiful healthy children.  I am like 352 payments away from owning a gorgeous house, which is my little slice of Heaven.  I have a job, which I love 15 minutes of the day.  Life is good around here and appreciating it can be a little difficult when all I do is bitch about the stuff that I don't like.  Life is SO good that you can find something wonderful about everything you do, even the mundane.

However, I really effing hate doing the dishes.

If I wasn't so concerned about the environment, we'd eat off paper plates and use plastic spoons and forks for every meal.  Even Thanksgiving.  But I CARE about the environment.  So much so that I only burn tires and use Styrofoam every other day.  I also try hard not to leave the water on when I brush my teeth, after my 30 minute showers.   I've switched the 26 lights in my house to those light bulbs that are supposed to be better too and I don't leave them on when we are sleeping.  The timer comes on at 4:30am and shuts them down at 1:30am.  I hate a dark house.

But anyways, doing dishes is my least favorite household chore.  I need a maid.  Rosie Jetson, come do my dishes.  Please?!