Weekly Winners: May 23-29

I am loving getting back into my photos, now that I have had some encouragement and also since I've written my own rules for my 365 project.

Some of these shots were taken with my Canon Powershot SX10 IS and some were taken with my Kodak Easyshare M753. See if you can guess which is which.

"Moonrise"

This one I cheated a bit, it's actually from the 22nd, but I took it after I had already put a lid on last week's Weekly Winners.

"Brothers"

This picture captures Charlie Brown and Linus' relationship EXACTLY. Charlie Brown thinks Linus is a pest; Linus looks up to Charlie Brown (literally and figuratively). I actually caught this one almost by accident. That's how most of my best shots happen.



"Castaway"
This lonely discarded soda can lay on the beach, just crying out to be recycled. (I don't think I picked it up. I suck.)

"Water"
I like the two different waters here - Dasani, and the lake.

"Egg"

I edited this picture post-production with Picnik. Normally I would not take a picture of an egg, but this was an entry for a Flickr group to which I belong.

"Bath Time"
And, finally, another bath picture, because I never get tired of shooting these or looking at them. I LOVE doing the reflection in the mirror thing. I've done it before too. In this shot, Sally wanted to take a picture in the sink like her little sister. Of course, her little sister is half her size and bathes in the kitchen sink, and this is the bathroom sink, but she doesn't care.

"Castaway" and "Water" were taken with the Kodak. All the others were taken with the Canon. Did you guess right?

You can see the rest of my photos from this week on my Flickr Page. And check out the other Weekly Winners over at Sarcastic Mom.

Boy Are We Keeping Busy This Summer...

If you consider doing THIS as keeping busy.



IT'S ALIVE!!!!

Every. Damn. Year.

I have lived 38 long years. And the master of sunscreen, I am not.

I distinctly remember spraying sunscreen onto myself on Wednesday morning before I got in the water. I took the kids to a local lake since none of the public swimming pools are open yet and, in true Texas fashion, it's in the mid-90's every day this week and humid as all get-out. Anyway, I am guessing that I got about 1% of the sunscreen on myself and 99% of it on the picnic table behind me. The bottle should have a disclaimer, warning about user error. But, in their defense, I don't know any disclaimer that could have helped me.

Here's hoping that 2011 will be the year I finally graduate from sunscreen preschool!

You're Not Speaking My Language!!!

The year I turned 21, my junior year of college, I did a semester abroad in Ireland.

*sigh*

What I wouldn't give to go back. What I wouldn't do to feel that carefree again. It was so awesome. And to be honest, I knew it. I could feel my future closing in on me. I knew that I was staring my college graduation in the face and that any non-debt-incurring, non-child-tagalonging fun that I wanted to have, had to be had that semester.

The fun I had was (mostly) the innocent kind. I traveled more in those 5 months than in the rest of my whole lifetime. I saw most of Ireland, the countryside and the towns and the cities. I kick myself that I never went to England or Scotland. (I had some weird prejudice that they thought all Americans were stupid turds. So of course I thought THEY were stupid turds. I might as well have said "nannie nannie boo boo".)

Spring break that year rocked. While all of my friends took road trips to Florida and got stuck in the huge spring snowstorm of '93, I flew to Rome for a week, visiting the Vatican and the Colosseum and the Forum. Every morning we bought a banana and a liter of water from a local vendor for about a buck. I drank my first (and definitley the best) ever cappucino and tasted Gelato too. After Rome, we took a train across Italy and caught a boat over to Greece. We arrived at the Pink Palace in Corfu (touted as the backpackers version of Animal House) and were sorely disappointed. The silver lining? I did get to meet Boner from Growing Pains. No ladies, I did not get his autograph.

After Corfu, we boarded the Magic Bus and drove across Greece to Athens, and then hopped onto a ferry that took us to a small nearby island, Aegina. Ah.... so peaceful. So beautiful. So filled with history and mystery and.... yes there were typical touristy traps. But I didn't see a single t-shirt that said anything about "My sister went to Greece and all I got was this lousy t-shirt".

While we were in Italy, my friends and I saw the Italian men in all their splendor. Gorgeous they are. Gorgous, and relentless. My friend Tricia looked like a typical Irish girl, even though she was from Connecticut. She had fair skin and freckles, and long curly dark hair. Linda was part Vietnamese, so naturally she looked very Asian. But I? I was blonde. So of course, everyone in Ireland assumed I was from California. Becaue, you know, all blondes originate from California, I guess. But anyway, I guess in Italy the blonde hair must be some sort of homing beacon, because all the men would go zooming by on those damn Vespas and shout, "Bella! Bella!" Finally one evening, when my friends and I were plumb tuckered out and just ready to fall into our cruddy hostel beds, we were approached by a few Italian guys. Like I said, total eye candy, but we just weren't up for it that evening. As the main Vespa-driver approached me I pulled from my sleeve the last trick I had in my repertoire...
Him: Bella! Bella! Parla Italiano?
Me: ??? (faking my best confused look)
Him: Uh, Espanol?
Me: No, No.
Him: Ah... English? Speak English?
Me: (Shaking my head) Sprechen sie Deutch?
Him: Deutsch? Deutsch?
Me: Ja! Ja! Deutsch!
Him: no... and he slinks away all sad and mopey. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Rome is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Okay, maybe I would.

This post was written for MamaKat's Writer's Workshop!

1.) Describe a time when you had difficulty communicating with someone who speaks a different language than you.

Quick Question about Ethics

Okay, so, I have this big set of Pampered Chef pots & pans. They were like $500 retail but I got them for half that because I hosted a big party & earned them. Anyway, they have a lifetime warranty. They are also coated in Teflon. So, anyone who ever uses Teflon pans KNOWS that Teflon is not meant to stay on pans & pots for a lifetime. Because of this, I've ended up replacing all of the pots & pans in my set at least once.

When I say "replaced" what I mean is that I send it back to Pampered Chef and they send me a new one. This is completely on the up-and-up. Normal wear & tear. I hand wash them, I don't use steel wool, I use only plastic or bamboo utensils on them, etc.

But, this last time I sent back my 8" and 10" omelet pans for replacement. They had them almost 2 months, because my replacement request kept getting "stuck in the system". Whatever? Normally their customer service is pretty good but this time, not so much. At all. It ended up coming to blows. And by that, I mean, it ended up with me tweeting about their sucky customer service. If it works for Dooce, maybe it would work for me? Anyway, after numerous strongly-worded phone calls and stating adamantly that YES I would definitly mind being put on hold, connect me to someone NOW, I finally got my pans.

Except, I got an 8" pan and TWO 10" pans.

Should I call them to send it back? I'm sure I'd have to pay shipping for that.

I mean, maybe they sent it to me as a mistake. Maybe they sent it to me out of good faith. Whatever the case is, I'm not sure it's right to keep it. I mean, the value of that one pan is probably over $50.

What do you think I should do?

Project 365 FAIL

So, I've been doing the 365 photo project... you know, where you take a photo every day for 365 days. Maybe in an effort to create more drama in my painfully dull life, I have made the 365 project into a roller-coaster ride of emotions. I have felt like I am going through the 5 stages of grief:

1. Denial: I am going to learn so much! I am going to let out my inner artist! This will be fun!!! Maybe if I improve enough, I can make some money with my camera and get an even better one!!
2. Anger: Why the frack won't my camera focus on what I WANT it to focus on? And, why does my shutter speed slow down all the damn time? How am I supposed to get sharp shots? And DAMN THOSE WOMEN WHO CAN AFFORD THOUSAND-DOLLAR-CAMERAS BECAUSE I WANT ONE TOO!!!!
3. Bargaining: Okay, I know I'm not the greatest photographer, but maybe if I can get some people to tell me my photography is good then I can motivate myself to keep going. If I can just get some help from a professional, everything will be better, and I'll enjoy photography more.
4. Depression: I have run out of things to photograph. I cannot subject myself to one more photoshoot of my mailbox. I might as well face it that I don't have an artistic eye for interesting subject matter so what's the point? Even on my flickr photostream, I have hardly any views and even fewer comments. Proof positive that my photos are the OPPOSITE of what flickr considers "interesting". I give up.
5. Acceptance: I guess photography is fun, no matter what the photographs turn out like. I have the camera, I might as well use it. And if I miss a day or two here and there in the 365 project, who cares? It's not like I'm getting a gold medal or anything for completing it.

So, I guess from here on out, I'm going to just take it as it comes. Some days I might shoot more than one good photo and I'll actually put up TWO or THREE (gasp!) shots in one day. Some days I might take none, in order to avoid subjecting viewers to a picture of my dog or socks, shot out of pure mind-numbing desperation.

If you're in the mood, you can pop on over to my Flickr photostream and check out my 365 project, which I should really call my x project where x is the number of photographs I took and actually felt like posting in one year's time.

I'll Take Neurotic for $400, Alex

Answer: This woman constantly flip-flops between promising to be a better mom and ignoring her kids to look at pictures on Flickr. This woman also expects her kids to quit yelling at each other but often goes to bed with a sore throat from "talking" to them.

Question: Who Is Texan Mama?

Note to self: Try to model the behavior I want from others. Remember my priorities. And keep the computer logged off during the day, for heaven's sake.

Weekly Winners, May 16-22

This past week was a busy one for me, with my in-laws being in town. They are really great. I am so lucky to have them for in-laws. I couldn't ask for better ones.

Texan Papa playing with the kids at the park with rocket balloons. You blow them up and let them go, and they slowly shoot up, letting out a high-pitched squeal. SO fun.

The brick wall outside my front door. I swear, I'm running out of interesting ways to photograph my surroundings. I can only take so many pictures of... grass. rocks. ants. ivy. *sigh*

This is the long driveway that leads up to the house at Southfork Ranch, where the TV show "Dallas" was filmed. The house turned out to be so much smaller than shown on TV. There wasn't much of a tour, but we took it anyway. Now at least we can say we've seen it.

These next two pictures were taken after the rain on Monday. I loves me some rain for awesome photography shots.

Hose. Need more explanation?

Go visit Lotus (a.k.a. Sarcastic Mom) to see other Weekly Winners photographs!

Mutts

I've decided to coin a new phrase: "Mutts", which means "Male Sluts". I guess I could call them "Butts" for Boy Sluts, but I think the dog connotation is more fitting.

I was watching Dr. Phil today and the show was titled, "Too Young, Too Fast?" It was about girls who feel that teenage sex is okay. The first guest, Cassidy, couldn't really come up with a reason why she shouldn't be having sex. She's 14 and she's already had 14 sex partners. She has sex in wild places - the back alley behind her house, in her backyard in a tent, in a church, etc. Dr. Phil tried to broach the subject of self-respect, self-esteem, and immaturity. He asked her if she knew anything about how to raise a baby or the costs involved. He asked her about possible diseases she could contract. He even asked her about caring for herself and for another man and love.

Sadly, I recognize some of myself in her. Not that I was having sex at 14, but when I did finally start sowing my wild oats, I wanted to live life to its fullest. I loved the saying, You only get one life. But if you live life the right way, once is enough. For me, having sex in strange places and with guys I didn't love had nothing to do with sex. It had everything to do with power. *I* was the one who decided yes or no. I didn't look at it as them using me; I looked at it as me using them. I got to decide if and when I'd have sex. I got to be in control of my own reputation. I don't know if I was ever known as a slut or easy, but I didn't really care. I was in charge of me.

That is the feeling I get from watching this girl on TV. She is not connecting sex with anything morally right or wrong, but rather with just a physical feeling of pleasure. Dr. Phil did liken her behavior to a drug addict, needing a fix to feel good and having no regard for her personal safety.

I began to think about the talk shows, and how SO OFTEN the topic is about promiscuous teenage girls. Then suddenly I realized: I don't think I've ever seen a talk show with the topic of promiscuous teenage boys. Where are Dr. Phil's questions for the young men? Questions like, Why do you have unprotected sex? What does it say about your self-respect if you sleep with girls you're not in love with? What do you think other girls are saying about you behind your back?

Seriously, have you ever seen a talk show where the TEENAGE BOY is put on the defensive? Is it ever even SUGGESTED that HE might be the one being used and the GIRL is the one taking advantage of HIM?

Is it so out of the realm of possibility that girls are not weak, that they know themselves well enough to make decisions about who they will sleep with, and that possibly they only want the physical pleasure of sex, but none of the emotional attachment?

Now, let me pause here and say that I am NOT NOT NOT in favor if pre-marital sex. No way. Not under any circumstances. I think it's something to be saved for marriage. I say that as a person who gave her virginity away too soon and regretted it. I say that as a parent who is scared to death of the social pressures I see other children facing today. However...

I am just speaking to the seemingly one-sided argument about teenage sex. Like, if a girl says yes then she's go no self-respect and she's being used. But a teen boy who has sex is what? Resepctable? Or, at least, self-confident? And it's okay that he's the user? Or, is the question ever even asked??? I think no one ever talks about it.

But, last time I checked, teen girls weren't having sex by themselves. At least not yet. Well, I haven't seen a Dr. Phil show about it anyway. But now I probably will.

Stand Up and Be Recognized!

Hey Y'all.

I'm over at Deep South Moms Blog again today, with my usual ranting. Today it's about ...

AWARDS CEREMONIES FOR ELEMENTARY SCHOOL.

Guess how I feel about it?

Come check it out!

My Kids are Serious Mutha F****** (They Kick A**)

Lately I've been noticing a disturbing trend:


The increased use of bad language in media. For Example:
Inglorious Basterds
Kick Ass
(Just two movies that come to mind)


I just don't know what to type. I can't figure out a really good reason for words that have been deemed as "curse words" to be used as titles for movies. I'm sure if I searched, I could find TV Show titles, book titles, and song titles with colorful language in them too.


Why? WHY WHY WHY? I assure you: I am not a prude. I do, however, have a good set of values. But, even too-permissive parents think their values are good, so I won't use that argument. How about if I say this: I don't want my children to grow up any sooner than they need to. I also want them to appreciate that some activities are reserved for adults. The reward of becoming an adult is that you can do all kinds of cool stuff that you couldn't do as a kid, stuff like... drink, drive, and curse (hopefully not all at the same time).


So, when I take my kids to see "How To Train Your Dragon", while standing at the box office, they see another movie called "Kick Ass". At this point, they probably know that "ass" is a bad word. I'm sure they have witnessed us express disgust when we hear it on T.V. - which, of course, we often do. I'm sure they also know it's taboo because kids get a sense of these things in school when hanging around with other kids.

Why are we, as a society, suddenly so accepting of crude language? Is it our overwhelming desire to exercise our freedom of speech? If I've said it once, I've said it at least 4 times: just because we CAN do something, doesn't mean we SHOULD do it.

Do you think this is ever going to change for the better? Or do you think it's going to get worse? And what is the cause of it?

Weekly Winners: May 9-15

I'm no photographer, but I love taking pictures. I suck at figuring out what makes a photo artistic. I would really love to have a DSLR camera but I just can't justify the expense in my head or in my wallet. So, for now, I have my point-and-shoot.

Some photos turn out better than others. Some are pretty good, I'd have to admit.

But, I'm kinda getting tired of entering photo contests and losing, especially when I consider the competition I'm up against. Y'know, people with their own photography studio. Folks who make their living from taking pictures. Clearly, I shouldn't win, but still... feels very defeating.

So this week I've decided to participate in Weekly Winners, sponsored by Lotus (a.k.a. Sarcastic Mom). No competition, just here are my best photos from the past week. And I'm proud of them!

I love that we live on a cul-de-sac, and all the kids on the block gathered in our front yard to make water balloons and jump in the sprinkler. This feels so... America.

Little Miss Violet will be 6 months old on Saturday. WAAHHH. Where are the days going???

This moth, and 6 of his identical friends, were perched on the wall outside our front door this morning. I don't know the species but I think it's really pretty!

Go check out the other non-award-winning-but-still-really-great photos over at Weekly Winners.

Coming Clean

Okay, I'm going to go ahead and speak out about something I believe in, even though it may be an unpopular opinion or even taboo...

I like McDonalds.

There. I said it (or, I guess, I wrote it). It feels good to just let it out.

Yes, I know that McDonalds is a far cry from what would be considered as "healthy". I use "air quotes" because I think they are "funny". Anyway, I know McDonalds promotes obesity by coupling their yummy, albeit uhealthy, food with toys. I know that the playplace area is just a den of nastiness. I know all the reasons.

Still, I'm lovin it.

Every McDonalds I have ever been to has served me food with very good quality. The buns are fluffy, not flat. The meat or chicken in moist and tasty. The french fries sometimes vary in quality but the diet Coke, oohhhhh the diet Coke. It is nectar from the Gods. The food is all very yummy, and I've also noticed that the quality is very consistent.

McDonalds is not the best way to feed my family. I know that. I try to use the McDonalds plan as backup, rather than a regular meal. But I would never place the responsibility of good nutrition on a restaurant. I don't expect to go in and order hamburger and french fries, then complain because they have too many calories and are making me and my kids fat. People who do that make me really mad. In essence they are saying, "I'm not smart enough to make good choices for me and my family. It never occurred to me that I need to eat vegetables." And, no, ketchup is not a vegetable you moron. I don't need McDonalds to look out for me and my best interests. I am smart enough to make my own choices, or else suffer the consequences of my bad choices - which I can't blame on anyone else. McDonalds never shoved the food into my mouth.

I guess it's just the Republican coming out in me.

Please Stand By...

My body is experiencing technical difficulties....

Mastitis, fever, general yuckiness....

Dude, this is why a 38-year-old is smart to quit having kids at 35.

Will be checking back in later. In the mean time, you can read my post from Deep South Moms Blog from a few days ago all about No Child Left Behind.

Now, off to collapse into bed...

My Glass is Half-Empty

What is my effing problem?

I have been reading all these posts about "Mother's Day was so sweet. My kids gave me hand-made cards and said "I love you Mommy" and we just had a wonderful day."

Oh, barf.

My mother's day included me driving all 5 kids to church by myself, and locking the brakes on the van in the middle of the street so I could turn around and yell at them. At 9am. So, off to a good start, right?

After church, the kids complained about having to do the dishes. They fought with each other. They asked me to find my Gameboy, find my wooden sword, find my shoes. For dinner, I fixed Hamburger Helper and I didn't even sit down with my kids to eat.

I'd say today was pretty par for the course, as most Sundays go. Texan Papa has to work 12:30-11:00 on Sunday so he's gone the ENTIRE day. He actually took off today until 3:30 because I started crying at church, and when he asked why I told him that I was so sad about the rest of the day. I knew it would involve kids fighting and staring at the tv and making huge messes that I would trip over. It would mean toddler temper tantrums and me making the meals and 5 baths, 5 teeth brushing orders, and probably 15 times I'd have to say, "Stay in bed! Quit talking! Go to sleep already!!!!"

Those extra 3 hours he was home were good. But still, every single need any child had, they came to me. "Mom can I..." GO ASK YOUR FATHER.

I read the other "glass-is-half-full" moms blogs and I think, "I bet they have a sink full of dirty dishes too. I bet her kids fight too. I'm sure her floor needs vacuuming." But for some reason I can't just allow today to be good. Is anything enough? Yes, I got the hand-made card. Yes, I got the flower in potting soil with marker on the terra cotta pot. I got hugs. I got surprises.

Maybe it's a state of mind. But I can't help but think that this is somehow my own doing. If I made the kids pick up more often, they would be more in the practice of doing it and not resent it so much when I asked. If I paid closer attention to them, they wouldn't be begging me to play with them just for something to do... they'd be longing to get some alone time of their own.

This really isn't a pity party. I'm not saying, "ooh, poor me." I'm saying, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. But really, there's gotta be times when the other side of the fence looks at their own grass and says, "Yep, our grass IS pretty green and we love it here, by-golly."

barf.

I guess the thing that I struggle with is that other women seem to enjoy motherhood so much. In contrast, I just seem to be so exhausted and so angry all the time. The only time I'm the least bit fresh and happy is when my kids aren't around for a while, like just before they come home from school and the little ones are napping. I mean, what does that say about me? Am I to come to the conclusion that parenthood is just not suited for some people, and they'd be smart to simply avoid it.

Uh, too late.

I don't want to be angry. I don't want to be sad, or tired. But, when my kid starts yelling at me because I won't give him extra computer time, I'm not going to put on a smile and fart rainbows. I'm definitely not the time to calmly say, "Now, there there. How does that make you feel?" I want him to toe the line and grow up, and I'll tell him so - quite possibly in my not-so-inside voice.

So, please tell me, green-grass mommies, have you ever felt unhappy about your kids or your family? I don't mean that you had a fight with someone. I mean, have you ever felt like "I don't want to be in this family anymore."?

It's awful lonely here. I'm sure I'm not alone, but it still feels lonely. 'Cause, ya know, there isn't exactly a facebook fan page for "I hate spending time with my kids". It's not really something us moms want to publicize.

Mommies? any one???

Mommy, Mom, Hey, Mama, and ga-ga

Hey Y'all, I'm also featured over at Deep South Moms Blog today. I'm so honored to be a new addition to their writing team! Come on over and visit me there too!

*****************************************

This is how each of my children address me.

"Mommy" is from Peppermint Patty. She's just so sweet and innocent, even though she's just on the cusp of being a tween. I can see her sitting on the fence between loving Hannah Montana and also loving Littlest Pet Shop. She's got enough sense to know that acting too old for her age is no good, yet she wants to fit in with her friends. I don't know how much longer she'll call me "Mommy" but I'm cherishing every day of it.

"Mom" is from Charlie Brown. He is truly a kid of few words. Unless, of course, he's asking to use the computer or wants to discuss Yu-Gi-Oh. And, for the love of everything that is holy, please do not ask me what Yu-Gi-Oh is. For the last 5 years I have been picking up stray cards from under the couch cushions, fished cards out of pants pockets in the laundry, doled out allowance money to immediately be spent on new cards, and broken up fights over "THE MOST POWERFUL YU-GI-OH CARD IN MY DECK!!!!" I am longing for the day that Charlie Brown decides he's too old for that game. But, anyway, Chuck loves me in a gentle and kind way. He can be quiet when he wants to be. He is the only one of my children who, quite often, sees me working and comes up to me to ask, "Need any help, Mom?" He is sensitive and serious. When he gets excited I love to hear him talk because it's so rare for him to be anything but even-keeled. He hates to get his picture taken, so I keep trying, which only annoys him all the more.

"Hey" is from Linus. Every day after school, he's the first one through the door from the bus. "Hey Mom." "Hey Linus. How was school?" "Great!" Linus is like one big blur... in the door. slam. Out the door. slam. Buzzing by on his skates. crash. Chasing a soccer ball. thud. Yelling at me for some terrible injustice, like not giving him extra computer time that he wants. stomp stomp stomp. I have a hard time keeping up with that one. He's so sharp and he's interested in everything. And his athletic ability is amazing to me. When he was 4, we went to a local park on a snow day from school. Teenagers were there with a snowboard and asked him if he wanted to try it out. First time it was strapped onto his feet, he went down the hill and didn't fall once. First time. At the age of 4. He has more talent in his little pinky than I have in my whole body.

"Mama" is all Sally. "I be wif YOU, Mama." "Kiss Mama's cheek?" "Mama, you sit heew and wats Cwifford wif me." (Did you understand all that?) And, of course, on the rare night that she wakes up in the middle of her slumber, I will hear, "MAAAA-MMMAAAAA!!!!" My favorite one is when she's trying to stall going to bed, and after we tuck her in she will sometimes get up to tell us, "Mama, my feet stick out!" which means that she doesn't like her feet sticking out from the end of the blanket on her bed. She doesn't realize that it got that way from her own tossing and turning. I think that, deep down, she just needs her mama.

"Ga-ga" is Violet. She's not really even saying "ga-ga" yet but she does squeal on occasion. I really should type that Violet's name for me is "nom-nom-nom" since she's still a nursing machine. Last week she got a tooth and I told my husband, "Oh don't worry. I've nursed 5 babies now and I've never been bit by any of them. Nursing doesn't involve biting. It's more with the tongue and the jaw... you wouldn't understand..." Then she promptly bit me so hard that it drew blood and has left me with the most toe-curling pain, every time she eats, like I haven't experienced since she was 5 days old. Thankfully we are getting past that now but I admit that I'm a bit nipple-shy every time I put her to the breast.

Today was a weary day. I kept looking at the piles of laundry, and the gigantic files of pictures on my memory cards, and my completely barren stove (read: no meals being cooked by me), and the dishwasher full of clean dishes waiting to be emptied while dirty dishes in the sink await to be loaded into the dishwasher. I have time to attack, maybe, ONE of those tasks before another crisis needs my attention, then before you know it, it's bath time and story time and bed time and Law-and-Order-SVU time. By then I'm basically horizontal on the couch with mouth agape and drool on the throw pillow.

I kept thinking, it's official. I have reached my limit. No. More. Children. Really, it's not the child care that's hard. It's the people-care. I would have a hard time keeping up if my 7-person household were children or babies or adults or WHATEVER. It's toys times 7, laundry times 7, dishes times 7, socks times 7, books times 7. I am struggling lately with the tough choices that must sometimes be made in a family of 7: sometimes we have to take a back seat so that someone else, someone higher up in the queue or someone with a more urgent need, gets tended to. SO MANY TIMES I find something that would be really great for one of our kids, but I end up letting it pass because I can't figure out how to pay for it, or how to schedule it, or how to explain that one kid gets something that the others don't. I think, "If this child were my only, or one of just two, then I could give them more. More choices, more opportunities, more time."

By being one of 5 children, what am I giving them? A crazed, tired, grumpy mother? I hope I am giving them experiences. I hope I am giving them lessons on how to figure out what's really important in life. I hope I am guiding them to a strong faith. I have to believe (or else I would go crazy) that I am an okay mother. Some days are better than others. I always can improve and should constantly keep myself in check, but also I need to celebrate the times I have a motherhood success. Every day I'm doing the best I can with what I have at that moment. My kids know no differently. I'm the only mother they've ever had. I'm sure they will grow up and say what we all said before we had kids: "When I'm a parent I'm not going to do what my mom did."

Because, really, we all know how that story ends, don't we?

Miss Herrington

Dear Miss Herrington,

I have no idea who I pissed off in order to get you for a teacher THREE years in a row, and actually for TWO classes (English and French) Freshman year. But somehow, the stars aligned and you and I got to know each other whether we wanted to or not.

And, I'm so glad it worked out that way.

99% of my friends hated you. They all thought you were a miserable, lonely, old hag. They looked at you and saw a scowl on your face and a distaste for children in your eyes.

But I knew different.

Thank you for never putting up with my bullshit. Thank you for always staying consistent, no matter how much I flip-flopped with my behavior. I know I first tried to impress you, then I tried to ignore you, then I tried to piss you off, then I tried to befriend you. But you just stayed the course. You were polite but kept a safe distance. You indulged me when I shared personal secrets in my journal entries by not criticizing my immature choices.

Thank you for not letting me skate when I expected you would. You knew that letting me go unpunished for shameful behavior wasn't going to do me any good. I know it wasn't easy to keep up with me, considering I gave you a lot to work with, but you were always watching me. I never appreciated that watchful eye.

Thank you for being willing to be the most unpopular teacher. I know our high school was filled with the teachers who would regularly give students high-fives and get-out-of-detention-free passes. There were plenty of teachers who lowered expectations when the class didn't pull its weight on a test. There were even some who tried to be "one of us", like they were trying to get into the cool crowd at their own high school. But you didn't mind if we hated you. You knew it was not your job to be our friend. You understood that we had enough friends and it was your job to fill our heads with knowledge. And fill it, you did.

I'm so sorry I never stood up for you more often. Truthfully, I can't remember if these memories I have of you were present when I was in high school or if they are hindsight rearing its ugly head in the most painfully honest way. One thing I can tell you, with 100% certainty, is that you are the reason I became a teacher. Even way back in freshman year, I remember how much you loved your subject matter. I remember Dickens. I remember Romeo and Juliet. I remember Emily Dickinson. And I remember learning prayers in French. I remember seeing your photos of Paris. I remember your smile when we'd try - really hard - to get the accent just right.

Miss Herrington, I wish you were still at JFK, so I could come back and talk to you. I wish I could tell you all these things. I don't even know when you left. When I'd bump into fellow classmates, I would casually mention your name and ask if anyone knew anything. Always the same answer: Oh, I just hated her. I have no idea what happened to her. Who cares.

I cared.

I heard you passed away. I would have come to the funeral. I would have told your family what a difference you made in my life. You knew more about me than most of my friends did. You changed me and sent me in a direction that I always knew I wanted to go, but never felt motivated until I understood what a good teacher can mean to a hungry student.

You were that teacher, and I was that hungry student.

For all of my (too-short) 5 years teaching high school math, I thought of you. I took what was good about you and tried to make it a part of myself. I kept a passion for my subject and I shared it with my students. I tried to remain consistent. I was strict but fair. I was firm but gentle. Just like you.

But, I did try to smile a little more often. I hope that's okay.


This post was a part of MamaKat's Writer's Workshop.

I'm also contributing to Foursons Letters of Intent

This One Better Be Good

I am married to my polar opposite. Or, maybe, he's exactly like me but I refuse to admit it. Whatever. The point is, he likes what I don't and he hates what I love.

When it's my birthday or Mother's Day, I want to feel pampered. Cherished, even. I want to have my every need met and my every desire attended to. I want to feel like just for these two days out of the year, I am the most important person in the family. He could care less about those holidays. He thinks any holiday celebrated by Hallmark is a big ploy to manipulate consumers into wasting their hard-earned money on pomp and circumstance celebrating a manufactured holiday. Like, administrative assistant's day. Or, Sweetheart's day. I guess he does have a point on those two.

So, how was my birthday, you ask? Well, let me tell you:

January 21st started as any other day. I got the kids up and ready for school. Texan Papa got up and went to work, like usual. A very wonderful friend came over with her beautiful daughter and brought along some McDonald's goodies as a special breakfast treat. We visited and had our playdate, then she left just before lunch. Sally and Violet took their naps. I got dinner started and decided to make myself a birthday cake. I got the mail from the mailbox and found 2 cards for me, one from my mother-in-law and one from my sister with a gift card to Olive Garden! SQUEEEE!!!

At about 4:30, Texan Papa got home from work. I told him about the cake I'd baked, and he mentioned how it looked yummy. He greeted the kids, helped with homework, and sat on the couch. Then he fell asleep for a teensy weensy nap while I finished preparing dinner.

Yes, it's all 100% true. I can't make this shit up.

FINALLY at about 6pm, he is awoken from his nap by the baby. He sees the mail sitting on the coffee table and asks, "Uh, What is today's date?" Of course I answer, "It's the 21st."

him: "Oh.... NO....."

me: "Oh.... YES...."

No presents. No fanfare. No card. Not even a "Happy Birthday" until it was too late. Well, okay, technically my birthday wasn't over yet. But all I can say is this: I have some very serious leverage now that Mother's Day is rolling in. Hubby, get your charge card ready.

My Style... Or Lack Thereof

There are a ton of moms out there who have style. I guess it's not hard. It's not exactly rocket science. But, still, it's just not me.

I'm not a dork. I know how to dress myself and I obey a few basic rules for clothing (ESPECIALLY the one that says, "PRINTS ARE YOUR FRIEND. THEY DON'T SHOW FAT ROLLS QUITE AS MUCH") But really, I don't have a ton of style.

If someone asked me, "what's your style?" Umm.... Saturday-Morning casual? Is that a style? Or, how about, I'm one step fancier than what people typically wear to Wal-Mart at 11pm? And that ain't sayin' much.

I don't own any stillettos. Will it shock anyone if I admit that I don't even want to own them? I think they would hurt my bunion to tell you the truth.

I like wearing ponytails.

My tennis shoes are really comfy and I don't mind wearing them to places other than the gym.

I rarely wear make-up.

I do have a bunch of yoga pants and track pants and leggings.

But, by this definition, I clearly had the "Mom Style" when I was about 17. I have never been a make-up wearer. I've always had a love-hate relationship with waistbands. I think of lipgloss as a big obstacle to drinking my diet coke.

I so WISH I was one of those moms who have that simple elegance. I so WISH I was the woman who didn't look like a mom, but more like a professional. I so WISH I was the lady who was more of a... lady.

But, I guess somebody has to be the friend you can feel comfortable around, right? I'm the one you can tell that you got your shirt at a resale shop (because you know I'm probably wearing at least ONE thing from a resale shop at that very moment!) I'm the friend whose house you can stop by right after the gym, even if you look gross, because you know I won't care. I'm the friend who has toothpaste in her sink and dirty socks on her bathroom floor, so please just close your eyes when you use the guest bathroom. I'm the friend around whom you can feel free to let your hair down and let all your foibles and flaws hang out. Because mine are out there, whether I want them to be or not.

I'm not trying to criticize stylish moms. If anything, I would love to be more like them! But, really, when a stylish mom tells us "frumpsters" that we should just pay attention to our personal sense of style and "buy a few key pieces" to add to our wardrobe, I have to argue that I *AM* paying attention to my sense of style and I don't really have a "wardrobe" as much as I have a hodge-podge of pieces.

So, the next time I gather with a group of girlfriends, and I notice the really "Stylish moms", I'll just smile and know that I saved myself 15 minutes that morning.