They're Made to Absorb

I originally published this post on July 7, 2016.  Enjoy this walk down memory lane!  

 Daughter worked the register for a full shift on Saturday. I met her in the parking lot with one of those wonderful cold drinks from Starbucks when she finished. A Very Berry Hibiscus Refresher.  She's always so thirsty when she gets off work, I knew it would be appreciated. 

While I was waiting for her to finish, I had been shopping for various necessities, soap, toothpaste, deodorant, Kotex pads. 

On our way home, daughter was reluctant to drink anything for fear that she'd spill, and the bright red liquid on my tan car seats would make a huge mess. 

"Don't worry, we're stopped at a light", was my rather stupid response. 

She drank a quick sip, went to put the cup back in the cup holder when tragedy struck! The lid popped off and the bright red liquid went everywhere. Undeterred, she started grabbing receipts to sop up liquid while I looked for a safe place to pull over. 

I pulled into a parking lot, and daughter was out of her seat before I had the car completely stopped. She reached into the bag in the back, pulled out the package of Kotex, unwrapped a single pad, pulled the sticky strip off the back and attached it to the palm of her hand. 

That was a genius move!  All of the liquid was quickly absorbed into the pad. You can't even tell there was a spill of bright red on upholstery!

I tell you, from now on I'm carrying a few extra pads in the glove compartment for the next time I spill something. I know it's going to happen. They really are designed to absorb!  (Quick thinking young lady!)

Fortune Cookies Gone Awry

When oldest child was in Kindergarten, his wonderful teacher threw a Halloween Party.  Every child was sent home with a requested good for the party.

Halloween Day, the parents were invited to the school.  The kids dressed in costumes and marched around the fields for their Halloween Parade.  The parents then went inside and we helped set up a party while the teacher read stories to the kids.

One parent had brought in fortune cookies, and she quickly opened the box and set out one cookie beside each child's plate.

The kids were enchanted with the party, and having a great time.  Parents were talking in corners, getting to know each other while others ran around snapping pictures.

One of the kids opened his fortune cookie and took the paper over to the teacher for her to read out loud.  We watched her open the cookie, and then we watched, shocked, as all of the color drained out of her face.

"Quick, grab the cookies" she hissed at her aide, who had scurried over to see what was going on.

As the aide ran around grabbing cookies from the kids, the mother who had brought the cookies ran to get the box out of the trash, and the fortune that had been embedded in the cookie began to make it's rounds through the parents who gasped, turned red, and tried not to guffaw at the absurdity of the situation.

Turns out that the cookies the mother had grabbed were sexually explicit fortunes with details.  Wow, the details. 

I tell you, you just can't make this stuff up!

Sure, I'm Going to Exercise More...

Enjoy this Throw Back Thursday post!  I originally posted this on Dec. 30, 2015.

Exercising, making it a priority, and enjoying it has become a priority.  I've been working hard on getting exercise since I was dismissed from Physical Therapy- whether it be walking, going to a yoga class, or stopping by the Y and swimming a few laps.

Sadly, all of that Physical Therapy went to my head.  I feel like I'm capable of doing anything now.
 
Until earlier this week.

Baltimore has had exceptionally warm weather this month.  We've been treated to early summer temperatures that have made this the most enjoyable Christmas weather I've ever experienced.  You know, this weather has led me to make some very questionable decisions.

Case in Point:

I decided I was going to run.  Every once in a while, I get this urge to "run for my health".  I don't know where it comes from, nor why I feel the need to do this.  Maybe it's some weird form of torture I enjoy.  Maybe it's the glorious weather?  Who knows?

I strapped on my shoes, pulled my hair up in a ponytail and attempted to run.  I had mapped out a 1 mile route from my house.  I figured I might be able to do a slow jog through about half of it.

I seriously overestimated how much I could do.

The good news is:  I made it down to the end of my street.

The bad news is:  I live 3 houses from the end of the street.

By the time I got to the stop sign, I was huffing and chuffing for breath as if I had just run a marathon, not the reality of having slowly jogged 0.1 of a mile.  (You read that right, ONE TENTH of a mile.)

When I pulled up at the end of the street and started walking, one of my neighbors drove by, rolled down her window and cheerfully shouted "Great day for a run!  You look wiped!  How far did you run today, 5 miles?"

Sadly, I didn't have the breath to answer her, so I mustered some half hearted attempt at a smile, and gave her a thumbs up.

Yeah, I do this for my health.  Sure.  There's nothing healthier than running a tenth of a mile and wondering if I've managed to run enough to justify a Dairy Queen run.

Things Overheard

I know it's not polite to listen in on conversations of other people, but what the heck.  If I'm at the store or at work and someone says something loudly enough for me to hear, then I figure it's fair game.  If it's funny, then eventually it's going to be fodder for my Blog!


Listening

A teacher, with her group of students says "Friends, we need to talk about our word of the day.  Today's word is LISTENING."

"This is my personal hell." says a young child.  (My guess was age 10-11.)


Daddy's Birthday

A mom and her two young kids were looking for birthday presents for Daddy.

"Now remember, we want to get him things he really needs.  What's something you think Daddy really needs to have?"

Without missing a beat, the six year old replies: "Daddy needs muscles."

Callie the Cat

My Dad has been on my mind a lot lately.  He's been gone for over 10 years, but the kids are going through transitions that he would have loved to see.  Who wouldn't want to see their grandson working on a PhD?  It'll be the first PhD in the family.    Anyway, I was scrolling through old posts that mention my Dad when I saw this post and had to laugh!  The events mentioned took place back in 1986 or 1987.  I originally posted this story on this blog on 10/15/2014.  Enjoy!

Have you seen the GEICO commercial with the Tazmanian Devil, the energy drink, and the collectors plates?

The commercial reminds me of my Step Mother's cat, Callie.

In 1982, after my parents were divorced, Dad set up living in a Condo in Alexandria.  He had a two bedroom condo.  His bedroom had a huge walk-in closet.  The kitchen was just off of the living room.  There were two doors in the kitchen- one just off the living room, and you walked across the kitchen and came out in the dining room.

Just off of the living room was a tiny little room.. a cozy little study, where he kept his computer, and his television, and the comfy sofa.

 Dad had always hated cats with a passion.  We had a dog growing up, but he hated cats.  Wouldn't you know, his girlfriend (my future step-mother) had a cat.  Her cat was a calico cat, named Callie.
Callie had been my stepmother's one and only pet for years.  That cat hated the intrusion that my father brought into her life.  He was constantly around, and the cat hated him for it.  She would lie in wait for my Dad, and attack him, jumping on whatever body part she could leap onto, and sink in with all of her claws and not let go until my step mother pulled her off.

Still, Dad remained a good sport about the entire thing.

And then, my step mother went on a business trip and asked my Dad to take care of her cat.

Dad agreed, thinking that he would go over to her apartment a couple of times a day and feed the cat and change the litter box.

The night before she left, my step mother brought the cat, the litter box, and the food over to Dad's house, saying that the two of them would be able to use this as a "bonding experience" while she was gone.

The war began half an hour after she left the condo.

Remember how I said that the kitchen had a walk from the living room to the dining room?  It really wasn't a very big kitchen.  It was an L shape galley kitchen- refrigerator as you walked in the door from the dining room, and a small run of counter space to the stove, then the counter turned an L for the sink and dishwasher.  The refrigerator was maybe all of 10 steps from the door to the living room.

The cat decided to take up residence on top of the refrigerator.

When Dad walked in to get a cup of coffee, the cat was laying in wait for him on top of the fridge, and jumped on top of his head when he walked in the door.  Without my step mother there, he could not get the cat off of his head until he went into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stuck his head under the water.

A very pissed off cat jumped off of his head, and went skulking back up to the top of the fridge.

At this point, Dad decided that he could live for 7 days without going into his kitchen.  He could go get take out, and use disposable dishes.

The second day, Dad came home from work, and the cat was still in residence on top of the fridge.

Day 3, the cat had taken up residence on top of the computer in the office nook. Dad was thrilled to have access to his coffee maker, but was now afraid to go into the office area.  There was no way he was going to go onto the computer.  When he walked into the room to go sit down and watch television he realized that not only had the cat taken over control of the computer, the remote control for the television was next to the keyboard, within easy reach of a growling, hissing, spitting, very pissed off cat.

Day 4, the cat had taken over the bathroom.  Sitting on the back of the toilet by the door, the cat had chosen the ideal location to dominate and control the situation.  Nobody was getting into that bathroom without getting past that cat.  Dad admitted to me years later that he went down the street to use the bathroom, and left for work 2 hours early that morning so that he could use the shower in the gym at the office before he went into his actual office for the day.  He also admitted that he should have just locked the cat into the bathroom that day and left her there until her Mom came back home.

By day 5, Dad had gotten used to the intrusion and was counting down the days until he was done cat sitting.  He walked into the house and couldn't find the cat.  No cat in the kitchen.  No cat in the bathroom.  No cat waiting for him on the back of the toilet.  Where was the cat?  Not in the bedroom.  He slowly relaxed, and opened the door to the closet- and realized that the cat was in the closet - on the top shelf....

Now, on that top shelf, Dad kept his collectible plate collection.  I don't remember how many plates Dad had collected, but he had them all in boxes, and they were all stored on the top shelf of that closet.  Many of those plates were from the Bradford Exchange and the Franklin Mint - big names in plate collecting back in the 80's.  And on top of the boxes, there sat the cat.  A pissed off, cross eyed, angry cat, who was missing her person and angry at Dad.

As Dad opened the closet door, the cat leapt up, and took a huge swing with her paw and sent a box crashing down to the ground.  *Shatter* went the plate as the box flew across the closet and hit the other wall.  *shatter*, *shatter* went two more boxes in quick succession before Dad could even really figure out what was going on.

Aghast, he watched as the cat's paw hovered behind the next box and her tail twitched in anger and the whiskers quivered.  While Dad debated whether or not he could actually pull the cat off of the shelf without getting injured, the cat deliberately flung another box across the closet.

Swearing words not fit to be repeated, Dad slammed the closet door shut and went into the living room.  As he was calling the vet for advice, he could hear plates being shoved and flung off of the shelves at fairly regular intervals.  Many broke, some shattered, and a few survived.

The vet sent an assistant over to Dad's house with a cat trap.

As soon as the assistant walked into Dad's closet, she gasped in dismay at the mess in the closet.  Not only had the cat shattered multiple plates, she had also used every available cloth surface as a litter box.

With a triumphant meow, the cat quickly walked over to the Assistant and began rubbing up against her legs.  Murmuring "sweet kitty, how could the bad man lock you in the closet?"

She gave Dad an evil look and murmured something to him about "It's really not a good idea to leave a cat in the closet."

At Dad's request, she put the very compliant cat into her carrier and took her back to the office for a 48 hour stay in the kennels.

Dad spent weeks trying to undo the damage in the closet.  The plates were fairly easy to pack up, as most of them had been in boxes when the cat flung them.  That was just a matter of checking the boxes for damage, and throwing out the broken ones.  The more difficult part of the process was cleaning up the pee and poop.  He ended up having to throw out many items.  Even so, several months later, he would be rudely surprised when he would go to put on a pair of shoes, or pull some item from the back of the closet and find a special surprise from the cat inside.  Dad swore that the cat was using his closet as her own personal litter box while he was at work.

Surprisingly enough, that entire escapade seemed to be the end of the hostilities between Dad and Callie.  While Callie never really did like Dad after that, she never really went out of her way to attack him again.

However, she would go settle down on the remote for the television on a frequent basis.  And she retained control of the remote for the rest of the evening when she did.  

Luna's World

Hey there, this is Luna, writing from the confines of the Pillow of Shame.

I had a sore mouth recently.  It hurt a lot, but I'm a tough little cat, so I didn't make any fuss about it at all.

Until I went to the vet.  She found my sore teeth, and then she decided to make a big fuss.  "Luna needs to have those teeth pulled" she said.  "Abcess" she said.  "Clean her teeth" she said.

Hmph.

My idiot owners "Mom" and "That Girl" (I'm not using her name right now, I'm too angry at her.) They left me at the vets office a couple of days later to have my dental work done.

Do you know, they shave patches of my beautiful fur?
Or that they stuck needles into my delicate skin?
And that they prised my mouth open to pull my teeth?
They even used a scratchy thing to clean my gums.

Even worse, they told "Mom" and "That Girl" that I couldn't eat any kibble for 14 days.  Soft food is fine, but no kibble.

I don't like soft, wet food.  If I wanted soft, wet food, I'd kill one of those little mice that run around in the yard - and sometimes in our basement.

I have been on a hunger strike for 10 days now.  TEN DAYS!!!  DO YOU HEAR ME?????  I HAVEN'T EATEN IN TEN DAYS!!!!!!

Oh, they've given me food... turkey in gravy, chicken, salmon, liver, pumpkin bread...  You name it, they've put it down for me.

And I have repeatedly turned up my nose and tail at this nonsense.

I've slapped plates full of "food" across the room after they put it down.

I've come in and sat down with my back to the "food".

I have shaken my paws at this "food".

All to no avail.  They are not budging. They are standing firm.  They've even taken me back to the vet twice - TWICE I TELL YOU - to have her make sure that I am "doing okay".  I tried my hardest to look all weak and sickly, but when they stick a thermometer up your butt, it's hard not to be angry and indignant.

The vet even said that I had managed to gain weight.

Liar.

She doesn't know about my secret stash.  None of them do.  You see, I had been storing bits and pieces of food behind one of the back legs of the china cabinet.  I had even squirreled away a bag of treats and stored them back there.  When nobody is looking, I go and dig out a few pieces of kibble.  Last night, I pulled out one of the bags of treats that was hidden in a cabinet under the sink.

Don't worry.  I'm letting them know how upset I am.  I am waiting until I really, really have to pee.

The, I find something that belongs to them and let loose.

Very efficient was of winning the argument, hmmm?

Spoiler Alert

I was helping a young man find a movie about Samson and Delilah at work the other day.  It was a movie he had seen before, so finding the exact match was a little tricky.

Once we finally found the movie, he began telling me about the story...  Almost word for word, here as his words as I remember them:

Samson was this like, really strong guy.  Like stronger than the Rock.

He got all of his strength from his hair, so he never cut it.

And then he met this woman who was bad for him.  Her name was Delilah.  Samson loved her but she was like, seriously bad.  She tricked him and found out that he got all of his strength from his long hair.  So she cut it. 

But then, his hair grew back, and he was strong again.

And then, he was in this building and he went to push the building and

*SPOILER ALERT*

The building fell down!  Can you believe it?

(Yes, he really did shout spoiler alert!  I smile every time I think about it!)

The Fuzz Factor

I originally wrote this piece from Tiger's viewpoint after a memorable morning.  I was attempting to get the kids out of the house and off to school when this happened.  Even though it's been close to ten years since this happened, I can still remember the mouse scurrying along the kitchen baseboard, and Tiger watching us with great disappointment.  And I can still see Oldest Son sitting on the floor, having a very serious discussion with the cat about people food.   He never did teach us to hunt! 

I had a great day in the yard this morning. 

I love fall.  You see, the small grey mice are scurrying around, looking for new, warmer places to spend the winter.  I just love playing with the mice.  This morning, I had one for breakfast.  Mmmm....yummy mice.

I was out early this morning.  For some reason, my humans let me out early today.  After I had my breakfast, it hit me that my humans did not know how to hunt.

The oldest boy human should be able to hunt for himself now, and yet he spends his time looking for prey in the noisy white box in the kitchen.  What kind of parents are those two grown humans anyway?  They should be teaching their young humans to forage for themselves!!

Anyway, since I was up and about early this morning, I decided it was time to boy human #1 to hunt.  I thought I would do it just like my mother did for me.  I would cripple the mouse, and then bring it to him so that he could kill it off.  Fortunately, the mice are frantically scurrying around now, looking for food, so it was easy to find another mouse to offer to the oldest boy human.

I knew my humans were up, I could see them stalking the giant white box for food.  I caught my mouse and brought it over to the door.  Keeping the mouse safely tucked into my mouth, I began scratching at the kitchen door to be let in. 

Perfect!  Boy #1 opened the door for me!  I bounded in and dropped the mouse at his feet.

Ungrateful humans!  The mother jumped onto the kitchen chair.  Boy #2 began laughing so hard tears were coming out of his eyes.  Boy #1 looked like he didn't know what to do.  He picked up my mouse by the tail and tossed it back outside!  That was a great breakfast!  Freshly caught mouse, and he just tossed it aside like a used catnip mouse.  I scolded him with my whiskers back, and he sat down with me and tried to explain something about "mouse is not people food." 

I switched my tail at him and went back outside.  Fortunately, I was able to find my mouse quickly, and I sat down to enjoy my second breakfast.

How can I be expected to teach my humans how to hunt if they don't take me seriously?

Cutting the Cord

Years ago (we're talking 1980's here) my Dad had an answering machine in his condo.  He would frequently get into arguments with his girlfriend, and then he would not answer his phone and would let the machine pick up instead.  (Let's call his girlfriend Lois.)

There was one argument in particular when he had refused to answer the phone for the better part of a week. 

Pissed beyond words that she had not been able to get ahold of him, she finally drove over to his condo on a Sunday afternoon.

She knocked on his door and yelled "I'm not going to stop knocking until you answer the door!"

When he finally answered the door, she pushed past him, went over to the answering machine, pulled scissors out of her back pocket, and cut all of the cords that attached the answering machine to the wall.

Without saying a word, she pushed past him, went back out to her car, drove back to her apartment, and then called him from there.

Ridiculous, I know.  But it still makes me smile when I remember the story!

Tales from the Classroom

I originally posted this in December of 2013.  Enjoy this trip down memory lane!

Years ago, when I was a full time teacher, I had a situation going on in my classroom.  (It was third grade.)

There was a young woman in my class named, shall we say, Jamie.

Another young man, named, shall we say, Jeff, had a mad crush on Jamie.



I was working at the table with a reading group when I noticed Jeff intently scribbling away on a piece of paper.   This level of passion regarding his work was unusual for him, so I watched the proceedings with curiosity.

Jeff put his pencil down, folded it up into a paper football shape, and wafted it across the classroom in Jamie's direction.

Unfortunately, the football missed Jamie entirely and bonked Michael in the head.  Michael (a very tough kid), scooped up the football, opened the note, and read it.

In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet, waving the note around, shouting at the top of his lungs:  "I am not that kind of a guy!  Who sent this?  Who is this from?  I'll meet you out behind the cafeteria at lunch time!  Who did this?"

I looked over at Jeff, who at this point, had sunk so low in his chair you could only see the top of his head. 

I grabbed the note from Michael, and sent him down the hall for a drink of water.

Reading the note I see the words:  "I love you.  You are so beautiful! I will always love you!  You are the only person for me!"

When I took the kids down to lunch, I let the rest of the class go into the cafeteria, and I pulled Jeff aside.

"I wouldn't mention this if I were you."  I told him.  "I wouldn't sit near either him or Jaime at lunch today.  We'll keep the author of that little note a secret just between us."

He nodded his head. 

Ah.... young love. 

To this day, the memory of Michael, standing there, waving that paper around and screaming for vengeance, and the look of sheer horror on Jeff's face takes me back 20 years and makes me smile...

A is for Manzana

One day while subbing for a Kindergarten Aide, we were in the middle of reading groups.  The teacher had a small group, I had a small group, there was a group on the floor listening to stories on tape, and one group with a mother who was going over letters and objects, and then saying the beginning sound.  She was pulling items out of a bag, saying the name of the item, and then they would all say the name of the object together. 

The mother who was working with that group was a native speaker of Spanish, and her lilting voice had me enchanted as I half listened to her group going through their bag of goodies:

C is for Car /c/
H is for Hat /h/
D is for Dog /d/


A is for Manzana ..... at this point, you heard the teacher yelling across the classroom: "WAIT!  Stop!"

The parent sat still for a minute and then started laughing as she realized her mistake, and then started speaking to the kids:  "Manzana is how you say Apple in Spanish."  Manzana - begins with an "M" /m/,  Apple begins with an "A", /a/.

I saw that parent in the grocery store yesterday.  Guess what she was buying?

Instantly Slims You

I originally ran this post years ago on an old blog, and then re-posted it once before on this blog.  I bought a new pair of jeans over the weekend that had a "slimming panel" in the front, and it brought this post to mind!  I dug the original post out and decided to repost it again, because so much of it is still true!  Enjoy!

With the arrival of hot weather here on the East Coast this week, I pulled out my old, comfy shorts.  After a good, hard look at said shorts, I decided that I needed to buy a couple of new pairs that aren't so ragged and paint covered.

I went to the local department store and found shorts of the required length.  Now, these are not just any shorts!  The bright green label on the front of the shorts scream "INSTANTLY SLIMS YOU".  I figure I can use all the help I can get.  I attempt to work out on a regular basis (You know, like once a week.  I don't want to be excessive about that exercise thing.)  So, I figure I can use all the help I can get.  I pick up a pair and look more closely at the labels.  "Tummy Control"  and "Slims Your Figure" are listed on this tag.  Sounds like a winning combination to me.  The shorts are on sale, so I buy two pairs. 

I brought the shorts home and went back to my room to try them on.  I was followed by the two cats, who are always intrigued by the large plastic bags that they can jump onto and roll around in.  As the cats waited patiently for their new toy, I explained to them that these shorts were going to solve all of my problems.  They would suck my tummy in for me, and take a couple of inches off my profile, and I'd look even better than I already do.

I pulled on the first pair of shorts, buttoned them up and turned around to see the cats staring at me.  I swear, that if those cats could laugh, they would have been rolling around on the floor, holding their stomachs and pounding the ground with their paws.  As it was, I swear I could see Luna, the female, shaking her head in pity.

The shorts did feel a little odd.  I could tell my stomach was sucked in, but there was definitely more going on.  I slowly walked over to the full-length mirror, dreading what I was going to see.

You've heard the phrase "muffin top"?  Muffin top doesn't even begin to cover what I saw.  Have you ever gotten a really loaded ice cream cone?  You know how it's all stiff on the cone part, and then where the ice cream part starts, there's a ton of ice cream just pushing out all over the top of the cone in every which direction?  That was me.  Ice Cream Top.

Yes, the shorts are slimming.  They take an amazing two inches off of my stomach.  The question I should have asked myself at the time is; "What happens to all of that fat that's no longer on my stomach"?  It's being pushed up above the waist line on my pants, that's what's happening.  I look like I have a 2 keg beer belly pouring over my belt.  The pants are stretch pants, but I honestly feel like I'm stretching them to the very last inch of their stretchiness.  If I stretch them out any more, they are going to explode off of me.  Try explaining that while handing out food at the middle school picnic.

The funny thing is, I bought a regular, non-slimming pair of capris from this same manufacturer in this same size last month.  They still fit me just fine. 

Nursing my bruised ego, I pulled the shorts off and took a closer look at the interior construction.  There is a control panel across the front of these shorts.  It looks as if I can take the control panel out with some patience and a good seam ripper.  Hopefully, once the control panel is removed, then all of my flab and fat can distribute itself where it normally sits around my tummy.   It's a little easier to hide that tummy when it's evenly distributed. 

While I'd really, really like to whittle a couple more inches off my tummy, I think I'd be better doing it the old fashioned way with diet and exercise. Or maybe a pair of Spanx.  Yeah, maybe Spanx AND my slimming shorts...

Weird Day at the Gym

I originally wrote this several years ago, and posted it to my now defunct "Mom's View" blog.  I re-posted it on this about two years ago.  I decided to go ahead and repost it today, because the timing on this just seems right today.

I went to the gym this morning.  I was on the treadmill when my nemesis came in and hopped onto the treadmill next to me.  Armed to the teeth with her bluetooth headset and i-Pod  headphones, she got onto the treadmill and began running.

As she runs, she sings snatches of the songs I assume that she's listening to on her i-Pod.  Never an entire phrase, just a couple of words like "What I'm looking".....  silence for a while and then we hear "Hey there Delilah".....  this goes on for a while, until all of a sudden she'll scream out "You go girlfriend!  Who-Hoo!  I've done a mile!  Look at me go!  Next one to go!" ...... and then silence for a while until her phone rings and she begins screaming into it "Hey, how's it going?  OMG!  I just ran 2 miles can you f'ing believe it?  I am so awesome!  So, about those contracts..."  And on and on it goes.

It's always an experience when she shows up.  You can see all of the heads begin to droop when she shows up, and people will shift treadmills or stop early and lift weights once she settles in for her workout.  No one quite knows what to do about it... and the trainers are at a loss.  They can't throw her out for singing snatches of songs badly and then getting them stuck in our heads for the rest of the day, so we all get to suffer together.

As I was leaving, I experienced perhaps the oddest thing I've ever experienced.

Do you remember the scene in "When Harry Met Sally" when Meg Ryan was faking an orgasm at the table in the diner? 

I don't know if this woman was faking it or not, but I swear to you, she was moaning and screaming while running on her treadmill, just like Meg Ryan did in that scene.

I tell you, it brought all activity in that gym to a screeching halt. 

My workouts never end like that.  I must be doing something wrong.

They're made to absorb...

Daughter worked the register for a full shift on Saturday. I met her in the parking lot with one of those wonderful cold drinks from Starbucks when she finished. A Very Berry Hibiscus Refresher.  She's always so thirsty when she gets off work, I knew it would be appreciated. 

While I was waiting for her to finish, I had been shopping for various necessities, soap, toothpaste, deodorant, Kotex pads. 

On our way home, daughter was reluctant to drink anything for fear that she'd spill, and the bright red liquid on my tan car seats would make a huge mess. 

"Don't worry, we're stopped at a light", was my rather stupid response. 

She drank a quick sip, went to put the cup back in the cup holder when tragedy struck! The lid popped off and the bright red liquid went everywhere. Undeterred, she started grabbing receipts to sop up liquid while I looked for a safe place to pull over. 

I pulled into a parking lot, and daughter was out of her seat before I had the car completely stopped. She reached into the bag in the back, pulled out the package of Kotex, unwrapped a single pad, pulled the sticky strip off the back and attached it to the palm of her hand. 

That was a genius move!  All of the liquid was quickly absorbed into the pad. You can't even tell there was a spill of bright red on upholstery!

I tell you, from now on I'm carrying a few extra pads in the glove compartment for the next time I spill something. I know it's going to happen. They really are designed to absorb!  (Quick thinking young lady!)

It's a Sub Job. What Can Go Wrong?

I originally published this in 2013.  As I recall, this particular incident happened towards the end of the school year, but I didn't get around to writing it down until the summer of 2013.  Enjoy the look back!

When I sub, I normally only sub in grades K-3.  I'm certified to teach K-3, and when I was teaching, I taught K-3.  It's the group that I am most comfortable with, and am the best at teaching.  However, as the year comes to a close, I stop being so picky and take just about any job I can find.  I think it's that motivation that says "You won't be getting a paycheck in June, July, and August" that makes me be less picky.

One day in late May, I took a job entitled "Supplementary".  These jobs are the grab bag of the substitute world.  You don't know what you're getting into until you walk in the door of the building that morning.  Surprise!!

This particular day, I was assigned to 2nd grade in the morning and 5th grade in the afternoon.  The 2nd grade class was a hoot, and I spent a wonderful time with a great class of kids, and had an awesome set of lesson plans to follow.  I enjoyed myself no end.

The afternoon with 5th grade was particularly memorable.  The teacher had left us with a DVD to watch, and had trained one child how to turn it on and get it to go.  The movie was in her laptop, and it was to be projected from her laptop onto the white board in front of the room.  Her final words to me before she left were "YOU don't touch anything.  Only SHE does."  (Pointing to a child in the class.)  Okie Dokie!

We finished up the lesson she had left, and then SHE attempted to start the movie. Nothing happened.  The girl tried, again, and nothing happened.  The kids became very, very helpful.  (Overly helpful, even.)  Yet still, nothing happened.  I called down to the main office, and they sent an Assistant Principal down to "show us" how to make it work.  He ended up calling the media specialist, who then ended up calling the technology guy from the county who was in the building working on the network. 

So, while all of the great minds were working on getting the DVD to run, what were the kids doing?  We started playing "Simon Says".  Twenty minutes later, the crew of four adults looked at me and said "It's not working."  (Insert evil teacher/mom glare here.)  I asked, "So, what do I do?" 

"Oh," said the Assistant Principal, "You follow the plans she left you."  I handed them the plans that said: "Watch the movie.  The kids know how to turn it on.  YOU don't touch the laptop.  Only the trained student may start the DVD.   Dismissal begins at 3:15."  He gave me a blank stare, and you could see the same panic I was feeling beginning to build behind his eyes.

Thankfully, at that minute, the teacher next door stuck her head around the corner and said "Hey, do you want to join us?  I'm just about to start the movie.  The kids are welcome to come over and sit on the floor!"

At least I didn't touch the laptop!!

Palm Sunday

Four years ago, I was teaching 7th Grade Sunday School with a very good friend.  We enjoyed teaching together no end, and we really loved what we were doing.  This particular year, the Education Director told us as we arrived that the kids would be reenacting Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  The younger kids would line the hallway with palm branches, and lay cloaks on the floor.  Our class was to put a kid on a donkey and roll him down the hall.  The donkey turned out to be a wooden cut out of a donkey, held onto a stack of building blocks piled on top of a Radio Flyer wagon. Everything was held together with Bungee Cords.

Looking at the precarious pile of stuff,  my friend and I looked at each other and muttered "What could go wrong?"

The appointed time arrived.  We had a volunteer to ride on the donkey cart - and the rest of the class volunteered to pull/push him down the hallway.  Let's call the volunteer on the cart "Andy".

Andy perched on top of the blocks high atop the wagon,  and the kids began pulling and pushing him down the hallway.  The little kids enthusiastically waved their palm branches.

And then, the wagon hit the first bump as it went over the first of the cloaks laid on the ground.  The blocks began to shift and Andy stopped smiling.

Every time they hit a bump, the blocks shifted a little bit more, the little kids cheered a little bit louder, Andy held on a little tighter, and his friends moved a little bit faster.

By the time they reached the end of the hall, the little kids were screaming in delight, and Andy was holding on for dear life. 

As the kids stopped, the sound of our laughter resonated through the hallways, and Andy rolled off of the donkey cart, onto the floor and shouted "Land!  Sweet Land!" as he hugged the ground.

Tales from the Classroom

Enjoy this repost from April 12, 2014.  I swear, this is a true story.  Enjoy!

Like every 6th grader in our county, my daughter went to Outdoor School in the fall.  Outdoor School is run at our county nature center.  The kids spend a week in residence there, learning about nature, our environment, the ecosystem, and what is so unique about the area in which we live.

The kids both love and hate outdoor school.  I've never been sure how the teachers feel about it.  On the one hand, they don't have to plan lessons for an entire week, and someone else is in charge.  On the other hand, they are sleeping in the teacher's quarters for the entire week, on uncomfortable mattresses, sharing bunk rooms with the teachers that they work with.  (Separated my men and women, of course.)

There was one particular teacher in our middle school who will forever be stuck in my mind.  Do you remember Mrs. Frizzle of the Magic School Bus books?  This teacher looked like a 50 something Mrs. Frizzle.  Stout figure, Lucy Ricardo's red hair, that frizzed out all over her head.  She always wore crazy outfits, and her shoes... OMG, her shoes.... Always stilettos, and never the same shoe twice.  They were something to see.  For convenience's sake, I'm just going to call her Ms. Frizz from here on out.

My daughter went to Outdoor School in the fall.  It was perfect weather.  Jeans and a sweatshirt.  The kids didn't have to worry about snow, and they didn't have to worry about frostbite.  They could take the nature hikes and get wet without worry.

So, Ms. Frizz was chaperoning a group as they began a hike down a nature path.  Ms. Frizz was wearing her stilettos, jeans, and was mincing her way down the path, behind the PE teacher.  A large tree was across the path, and the PE teacher called out a warning to the kids that the tree was down, and he stopped to make sure the kids stepped over it without a problem.

Ms. Frizz was in a world of her own.  She just kept walking, paying no attention to the world around her until *smack* she walked straight into the fallen tree and did a face plant, sprawled awkwardly over the tree trunk.

Laying face down in the dirt, the kids all rushed over to her and began asking, Ms. Frizz!  Are you okay?  Are you dead?

"Leave me here.  Go on without me.  Enjoy your day."  She said, still laying face down in the dirt.

Shaking his head and muttering things not quite fit to print, the PE teacher picked her up and got her on her feet. 

"Are you good to go?"  he asked.

"No" she said, "The ground is all muddy.  I can't go on. My heels keep sinking in the mud.  I'll just stay here until the ground dries."

My daughter said that at this point, the PE teacher's mouth hardened into a straight line.  He looked at the kids, and he looked back at the teacher.  At this point, they were over a mile from the camp if they went forward, and a mile away if they went back.  He is a good man, though.  He looked at the kids, and then, he scooped the Ms. Frizz up and carried her all the way back to the camp.

You know, Ms. Frizz is retired now.  At her retirement party, this story was mentioned over and over again.  She is never going to live this story down.

I am most impressed with the PE teacher.  He managed to carry a teacher - an adult, no less- over a mile back to the cabins without complaining.  The kids all learned a very important lesson that day - about taking care of each other - about being gallant, and caring for other people - about doing the right thing, without complaining that it's uncomfortable. 

Ms. Frizz also taught them something, too - sometimes you do a face plant in the middle of a situation, and you need other people to help pull you up and get you on your feet again.

On the days when the kids are having a rough day, and they see that Ms. Frizz is subbing in the high school, they all smile and remember the day she was laying in the dirt, muttering "Just leave me here, go on without me,"  they all smile thinking about that bright autumn day.

(Seriously, who wears stilletos on a nature hike through the woods?)

Love you Ms. Frizz!  You are an awesome teacher!

Changing the Name of the Blog

While we were eating dinner over the weekend, I announced to my family that I was thinking of snazzing up the name of my blog.  Maybe not changing the name of the blog itself, but possibly the tag line underneath of my blog.  It currently reads: Rambles about my attempts to herd cats, make a house into a home, craft, and find the joy in everyday things.

"I am thinking about changing it to read "Thoughts on the art of being a Domestic Goddess."

There was a simultaneous snort of derision from around the table.

"What?" I demanded.  "I am the real deal!  I can cook, clean, do laundry, and raised 3 marvelous children.  I grocery shop, plan meals, hold down a job - I am the ninth wonder of the world."

"Right," said daughter.  "Did you forget the time you set my cake on fire two hours before my 13th birthday party?  We were expecting guests in 2 hours, it was the middle of January, and you had every single window in the house open, with fans blowing in each one trying to get the smoke out before anyone actually showed up at the door.  I'll never forget the sight of the flaming cake that you tossed out of the back door and into the pile of snow in the back yard.  Wow, did that sizzle and pop."

"That was a one time thing." I protested.

"Don't forget that when we were first married, you were on a first name basis with the fire captains of all three shifts of the local fire department because we set the smoke detectors in the apartment building off so many times."

"That's been over 20 years..."

"And do you remember the time when you made a peanut butter sauce to go over rice noodles.  The dog wouldn't even eat those."

"The sugar cookies that the ducks wouldn't touch."

"The bread that never rose because you forgot to proof your yeast."

"That time you tried to make Baked Alaska and the ice cream melted inside of the oven and not only smoked up the house, it rolled out of the oven door and all over the floor."

"The time you fixed the toilet and ended up with the parts all over the living room floor - because you couldn't figure out how to re-seat the tank."

"Now wait a minute, I would have gotten that tank back on if I'd had another half hour before you woke up from your naps."

"Oh, and let's not forget WHY we're eating dinner out tonight.  You were making dinner, and you managed to set the onions in the pan on fire instead of just browning them.  I mean really, Mom..."

"This is what I mean.  This takes TRUE talent.  Anyone can saute onions, but to set them on fire?  While cooking them over low heat?  THAT is a feat that can't be duplicated by many people.  I am a true Domestic Goddess.  Other people only pretend that they want to be housewives who can do it all.  Not only have I done it all, but I have FAILED more often than most, and I openly admit it.  How many other people have failed at these simple tasks?  Not many, I tell you.  I am a LEGEND in my own house.  I am truly a divine inspiration to those around me."

And I swear, I heard one of the kids mutter "A divine inspiration of what NOT to do...."

I tell you, it's hard to pull off this kind of fabulosity on a daily basis.  But I struggle through and fabulous on.  It's what I do!  

Musings on the art of being a Domestic Goddess.... It has a certain pretentiousness about it, doesn't it?

Sure, I'm going to exercise more....

Exercising, making it a priority, and enjoying it has become a priority.  I've been working hard on getting exercise since I was dismissed from Physical Therapy- whether it be walking, going to a yoga class, or stopping by the Y and swimming a few laps.

Sadly, all of that Physical Therapy went to my head.  I feel like I'm capable of doing anything now.
 
Until earlier this week.

Baltimore has had exceptionally warm weather this month.  We've been treated to early summer temperatures that have made this the most enjoyable Christmas weather I've ever experienced.  You know, this weather has led me to make some very questionable decisions.

Case in Point:

I decided I was going to run.  Every once in a while, I get this urge to "run for my health".  I don't know where it comes from, nor why I feel the need to do this.  Maybe it's some weird form of torture I enjoy.  Maybe it's the glorious weather?  Who knows?

I strapped on my shoes, pulled my hair up in a ponytail and attempted to run.  I had mapped out a 1 mile route from my house.  I figured I might be able to do a slow jog through about half of it.

I seriously overestimated how much I could do.

The good news is:  I made it down to the end of my street.

The bad news is:  I live 3 houses from the end of the street.

By the time I got to the stop sign, I was huffing and chuffing for breath as if I had just run a marathon, not the reality of having slowly jogged 0.1 of a mile.  (You read that right, ONE TENTH of a mile.)

When I pulled up at the end of the street and started walking, one of my neighbors drove by, rolled down her window and cheerfully shouted "Great day for a run!  You look wiped!  How far did you run today, 5 miles?"

Sadly, I didn't have the breath to answer her, so I mustered some half hearted attempt at a smile, and gave her a thumbs up.

Yeah, I do this for my health.  Sure.  There's nothing healthier than running a tenth of a mile and wondering if I've managed to run enough to justify a Dairy Queen run.

Weird Day at the Gym

I originally wrote this several years ago, and posted it to my now defunct "Mom's View" blog.  I re-posted it on this about two years ago.  I decided to go ahead and repost it today, because the timing on this just seems right today.

I went to the gym this morning.  I was on the treadmill when my nemesis came in and hopped onto the treadmill next to me.  Armed to the teeth with her bluetooth headset and i-Pod  headphones, she got onto the treadmill and began running.

As she runs, she sings snatches of the songs I assume that she's listening to on her i-Pod.  Never an entire phrase, just a couple of words like "What I'm looking".....  silence for a while and then we hear "Hey there Delilah".....  this goes on for a while, until all of a sudden she'll scream out "You go girlfriend!  Who-Hoo!  I've done a mile!  Look at me go!  Next one to go!" ...... and then silence for a while until her phone rings and she begins screaming into it "Hey, how's it going?  OMG!  I just ran 2 miles can you f'ing believe it?  I am so awesome!  So, about those contracts..."  And on and on it goes.

It's always an experience when she shows up.  You can see all of the heads begin to droop when she shows up, and people will shift treadmills or stop early and lift weights once she settles in for her workout.  No one quite knows what to do about it... and the trainers are at a loss.  They can't throw her out for singing snatches of songs badly and then getting them stuck in our heads for the rest of the day, so we all get to suffer together.

As I was leaving, I experienced perhaps the oddest thing I've ever experienced.

Do you remember the scene in "When Harry Met Sally" when Meg Ryan was faking an orgasm at the table in the diner? 

I don't know if this woman was faking it or not, but I swear to you, she was moaning and screaming while running on her treadmill, just like Meg Ryan did in that scene.

I tell you, it brought all activity in that gym to a screeching halt. 

My workouts never end like that.  I must be doing something wrong.