Texts From Dad

     My Dad passed away Friday. He fell down a full flight of stairs about a week before his death. During the fall, he broke several ribs and, fractured his neck. He has had declining health for some time now, and the fall was pretty much more than his body could handle.
     It was a long and terrible week, as we watched him slowly fade away.


     It was hard to walk up the stairs he had fallen down, to look through all his pictures, so that we could put them together for the memorial service, planned for Saturday.


     Something that more than one of my siblings mentioned, and that I think we will all miss, are the texts from Dad.
      Dad was 85 years old. He did not actually start having kids until I came along when he was in his mid forties. Dad worked the swing shift until he retired from his Federal job as a Meteorologist in 1994. I did not appreciate how hard it must have been to have 8 kids and work swing shift - a week of days, a week of evenings and a week of nights - until I grew up and had only half that amount of kids, and attempted to work multiple jobs at crazy hours over the years. He was an older Dad, but, he managed to keep up with his pack of crazy kids.
     Dad would bring a book, and sit patiently under a tree while we would play for hours every summer at the town pool. He was probably thankful for the break, actually. He sat through my brothers' baseball games, played catch with them for hours, and, though quiet, always seemed to be wherever we all were when something of note was happening. Something that I don't think I realized as much, until we were going through pictures over the weekend. Piles of pictures from every memorable event in our lives. He was pretty laid back, and his refrain over the years of growing up was always "Play nice. Just play nice." Mostly he just wanted to read. He read everything. When learning how to drive, Dad would calmly get into the passenger seat of the car, book in hand,  I would start up the car, drive as long as I liked, and Dad would just sit there and read. (By the way, I passed my road test the first time I took it.)
     His great passions were airplanes and all things weather. His years in the Air Force were often fondly spoken of. He loved to go to Air Shows with my brothers.

     What we all sort of smiled over though, was Dad's texts. He had a very basic cell phone that flipped open. It was one of those phones that needed to have the keys pushed multiple times, in order to spell anything.
     We decided he needed a tablet, so he could follow us all on Facebook, so, for his 85th birthday this year, one of my brothers gifted him with one. He tried. He really did, but, he just couldn't figure it out no matter how hard he tried, how to use it. He preferred to stick with his cell phone. Some gems from over the last two years:


"What did the digital clock say to the grandfather clock? Look grandpa, no hands! - Dad"


"President Roosevelt's daughter Alice said her goal in life was to empty what was full, fill what was empty and scratch what itches. -Dad"


"Guy looking for a parking spot at the mall says 'God, get me a parking spot and I will go to church every Sunday.' then see's a spot and says 'Never mind, God, I found one.' - Dad"


"From Groucho Marks 'Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly and applying the wrong remedies.' -Dad"


"What did yes say to no? Answer: Maybe - Dad"


"John Ruskin said 'Sunshine is delicious rain is refreshing, wind races up, snow is exhilarating. There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather' - Dad"


"How to put together a talented group: You find clever people, you provide them with resources, you protect them from nonsense then you get the hell out of the way. - Dad"


"Just read that one of the losers in the 1966 Primary said 'The people have spoken. The Bastards.'         isn't that great? - Dad"


"Dashiff Hammett said 'The problem with putting two and two together is that sometimes you get four and sometimes you get twenty two.' - Dad"


"Today's Moon is called a Strawberry Moon because it's occurring on the Summer Solstice. The last time was 1967, the next time is 2062. -Dad"


"Here are the words to 'Taps' 'Day is done. Gone the sun from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.' - Dad"



     Well, Dad. I don't suppose I could have put it any better than that. Fly High, Airman.






     

Squirrel!

     Last Day of School!


     I have never been so happy. We were pretty ready to be finished.


     It did end with a break up. The little girl who requested that Joe be her Valentine, and then announced they were dating, apparently broke up with him. This was discovered by Lexi, who leaned out her classroom window and asked the Jezebel in question if she knew where Joe was. The girl informed Lexi that she did not know, because she had broken up with him. Lexi searched out her little brother, and attacked him with a hug, telling him how sorry she was. Joe shoved her off and asked why the heck she was sorry, and Lexi burst out "Because Soandso broke up with you!!" at which Joe replied "She did?"


     "She didn't tell you?!"


     "No. This is the first I have heard about it."


     By the time the story trickled down to me, it was to inform me that Joe had decided the best way to deal with it, was to have a bonfire, and start it with all mementos related to the girl in question. Who, by the way, has decided that she is now back to dating the boy that she dumped to announce she was dating Joe.
     Joe happily burned all love letters written by this girl, while I breathed in relief that she was not going to be coming around and hanging on my (entirely too young) kid anymore.


     Joe was hanging around last night while I made dinner. The end of the story went as such: Yesterday  He and this girl ended up sitting next to each other for something or other. She mentioned that she was now back to her previous flame. Joe calmly informed her that all her love letters made lovely fire starter, and he enjoyed watching them burn. She became mad, and Joe told her to never even think about dating him again, because he would never take her back.
     I told Joe that I was kind of happy, because, honestly he is too young for these things, and next time around, we are just going to tell girls that his Mama said "NO." until he is much older, thankyouverymuch.


     Joe responded with "By the way, what am I taking to school for my special snack tomorrow?"


     "WHAT?? WHAT "Special Snack"?!" And, thus began an entirely different tangent.


     I went to get my hair done by my sister last night. It was getting pretty bad, and needed her help. I walked into her salon, and she said "What? No kids with you?"


     "Joe is figuring out his new telescope, Lexi and Kaila were doing something or other, and I don't know if George lives with us anymore, truthfully."

     "Oh. Run off with the wolves, did he?"


     "That is a possibility. I rarely see him anymore. The neighbors down the street have a pool. He spends most of his time at their house now. I think that may have adopted him at this point."


     "Does he eat at your house?"


     "I don't even know. Sometimes, he and his friend come through the house, raid the fruit bowl, and leave again. The fruit bowl is still pretty full, though, so, he could have eaten the wolf pack he ran off with, for all I know. Sometimes I think I see him, and I think he has blonde hair now. And, I see superhero underwear in the laundry, so, he presumably comes home at least for clean underwear sometimes."


     We sat down and had a family meeting of sorts last night. George was given a two hour limit to his off-site social activities, He responded with "I would probably stay home more if we got a pool, Mom."
The kids were informed that there was absolutely no reason for them to spend the summer as they did last year - lying around the house in various stages of pajamas and watching TV until shortly before the parental return from work. They were told that there were expectations, and that there were chores and responsibilities. They were all pretty stuck on the possibility of a pool though.


     "It would be great exercise."


     "We would be outside more."


     "Pool parties!"


     "It would be so perfect!"


     "We wouldn't have to drive all the way to Machias to use the town pool!"


     "We NEED a pool!"


Bearded Man said "NO. I am not putting up a pool. I am not getting the ground under it ready. I am not dealing with the installation. That isn't even counting the chemicals, PH balance testing, vacuuming, cleaning. NO."


     "Well. Here's an option. You can all fight it over, and hash it out amongst yourselves. WHAT IF, We use next year's vacation money, to put in a pool, and have it installed. That would mean NO vacation to Black Lake, or wherever we decide to go" (I have been pushing for Maine for years now.) "IF you kids are willing to trade off, and Bearded Man is okay with someone else installing it, then, I would be willing. Discuss this at your leisure, and let me know."


     "KID MEETING IN THE FAMILY ROOM!!!!" they all shouted, and ran off with Bearded Man hustling right behind them. He was sent back when they pointed out that, though he is regarded as one of the kids sometimes, this was not one of them, so please leave the meeting. A pool was voted down 3-1, and, after the probable cost of braces for Kaila, and possibly Joe next year, we will probably book the same vacation again.


     The Million Step Challenge continues. This week, I surpassed the halfway point. Also this week, my sister in law, Deanna, invited me into a "Workweek Hustle" challenge for the week. I will never ever again agree to two simultaneous challenges at the same time. At this point, I am walking at every possible moment, including and right up until bed time. Turbo seems to love the late evening walks, but, I am kind of tired.
     Thrown into the Million Step Challenge was a NEW twist - there are 27 large squirrel sculptures around Olean, where I work. They are scattered all over the place, and each one has a different theme. We have until June 30, to get a selfie with each squirrel. I figure I will have a life again sometime toward the end of July. So far: I have accomplished ONE selfie. and it isn't even the squirrel right outside the front door of the clinic where I work.
    
    Oh, while I am at it - Christmas has been saved this year.


    We have this yearly tradition. Every year, on "get the Christmas Tree Day" we go to a local Pizza Hut, where, some Boy Scouts (Not our troop) sell Christmas Trees. We eat Pizza for lunch, and then we stroll outside at a nice reasonable distance with minimal inconvenience, and select a tree. The Boy Scouts then wrap it up into a tidy bundle and secure it to the top of my vehicle. It's probably the kids' favorite Christmas tradition.
    
     (Before we think Moriah is a princess here, you need to know about previous attempts at the frozen tundra of hiking  through and picking  out then cutting down trees. The last time we tried this, I was less than a month away from having George, I had bartended a big/loud/very late Christmas party the night before, I was in nursing school, I was exhausted, and I had to hike all over the place. We froze, kids cried, Kaila had a friend with her, who lost her "favorite scarf EVER!" someplace, so we had to RE-hike the whole thing.
     Another year, I somehow ended up bouncing along, FREEZING in the back of Bearded Man's pick up truck, 7 months pregnant with Lexi, while we drove to the lot. I still cannot recall his reasoning for myself being in the back of the truck.
     We have NEVER had a good experience in "Cut your own" tree lots, and I avoid them at all cost. While trying not to feel all guilty as my friends post happy perfect family pictures of themselves at all the local tree lots, with trees their husbands all just cut down. None of them are ever frozen, pregnant, angry or hostile.)


     Anyhow, back on track here, last Christmas, the Boy Scouts announced that they probably wouldn't be selling trees at Pizza Hut anymore. Or, anywhere, for that matter.
     We were all horrified by this news, and probably Christmas would be ruined forever now, because it just wouldn't be the same anywhere else. This is tradition!!!!! Every time we drove past Pizza Hut, we mourned a little more.
     Well. There was a Christmas Miracle. I spoke to the Mother of one of those Scouts, whose husband is a scout something or other (helper? Leader? Saver of Christmas??? I don't really know.) and he announced that the Scouts will, in fact, be selling trees at Pizza Hut this year.
     So, Christmas is saved! Glad Tidings and stuff.


     I think that is it. I need to run down town and find a color map of all the Olean Squirrel Sculpture locations, so I can run around town taking selfies.






    


    
    

PS: Another Hurried Blog, to go with Yesterday's Hurried Blog

     After yesterday's hurried Blog (Well. In all fairness, they all are. Thus the dreadful mistakes I always find and then cringe at.) I remembered all the things I had meant to mention. So, today; another (hurried) Blog.


     Last and this  week were termed "Hell Week" mostly because we are nearing the end of the school year and baseball season. Pretty much, we have something going on all the time right now. Kids are going in every single direction. It's insanity.


     Anyhow I took two days off last week, to accommodate a field trip to Niagara Falls, a Kindergarten Graduation, a Sixth Grade Moving up Celebration (For those not familier with our schools in Franklinville, Pre-K thru 6th grade is in one school, and 7-12 is in the big school across the road. Lexi is heading into the big school in September.) and a mishmash of other things.


      In the middle of the recent craziness, there was a trip to the local ER with Kaila. Kaila has been complaining of bone and joint pain for some time now. The pediatrician really has not done much about it. While at school recently, she was walking along, and suddenly had mega bone pain in her lower legs. She slowed down, and the kid next to her turned around to comment about it, and ended up yelling "HOLY SHIT, KAILA! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE??!!!!" because, Kaila's nose suddenly erupted and blood was pouring out both nostrils. A trip to the nurse's office found that the blood would just not stop. So, off to the ER we went. Where, they managed to stop the bleeding, and sent her home again.
     In addition to the bone pain, Kaila has found that the palms of her hands will suddenly become unbearably hot. When we walk together, and are up in the local cemetery, she will stop and put her hands on the granite, to try to cool them off.
     Some research suggested (what I have been saying all along!!!) that, there are some rheumatoid issues here.
     Other research indicated that she is probably a witch, and needs to learn to harness the powers of her burning hands for healing purposes.
     Because of this, I have advised her to please stop touching the grave stones with her burning hands. Possibly, she should just stay out of the cemetery altogether, actually.  Also, every time I have a headache, I have been instructing her to please touch my head with her burning hands. It hasn't worked yet, but, I think she just needs to work on it.
     Meanwhile, on the off chance that she is not a witch, I should probably find another doctor for her.


      Lexi's 6th Grade Moving Up Celebration has come and gone. The afternoon of the Celebration, one of Lexi's friends wandered over.


     "Hi, Mrs. Dick." she said miserably.


     "Well hello! What's up?"

     "I am escaping my mother."


     "Oh no! What's going on?"


     "She wants me to wear a polo shirt tonight. It's always polo shirts! All the time! I hate polo shirts, and I don't want to wear one to the dance after the moving up thing!"


At this, Lexi was beside herself.


     "WHAT????  This is unacceptable! And not okay! You are a twelve year old! How does your mother ever expect you to become an independent woman, if she is still trying to dress you when you are TWELVE?! You are an intelligent person, who is capable of deciding what to wear to your own dance! If you don't want to wear a polo shirt, then, you should NOT. you need to tell her you will wear a shirt that YOU pick out! I cannot believe this!!!!!"


     "Lexi." I cut in to the tirade, "What do you plan to wear tonight?"


     "I don't know yet. I will think of something."


     Twenty minutes before it was time to go, Lexi began to work on her outfit. She took an old dress and cut off the bodice, added buttons to the back, making it into a full skirt, threw on a coordinating t-shirt, whipped up a matching bow for her hair, and was ready to go.
     No one will ever have the same outfit as Lexi. She looked amazing.


     Joe has managed to survive a crazy baseball season/scout season/school winding down, and, the class field trip to Niagara Falls. Along with a recent scout camp out for a weekend (during which it rained the entire time, and they spent most of the time trying to keep the campfire going) and several sleepovers with a friend of his.
     Next week, after his Scout moving up, at which time  he will be a Boy Scout and no longer a Weeblo, Joe will have a break. School is nearly over, baseball is nearly over, and, except for a week at Boy Scout Camp in July, Scouts will be over until school begins again. I think he needs the break. He hasn't had the time or energy to correct anything, ask questions, or obsess over any particular subject. Except  telescopes. It is all he wants for his upcoming Birthday. He has certain requirements for his telescope, and has researched them exhaustively. I suppose this weekend, Joe, me, and Amazon will have to get together and order him a telescope. Also, he wants a lemon cake, shaped like the sun, with lemon cupcakes making sun rays for his birthday. Because, when you stop and think about it, The Boy Wonder is only going to be 11.


     George. George is still George is still George. This year, he hasn't spent as much time on his bike as most years. I mentioned it the other day and his response was "Well. I decided that I would do the bike every other year, so you don't have to keep being scared all the time. This year is my safe year." While that sounds sweet, this was coming from the kid who wandered home last night with a nasty scrape across his face (something about a tree and the way home from school. I don't even know.) He has scrapes and bruises all over his legs, from his many adventures, and his hair has already lightened to blonde for the summer.
     He graduated from Kindergarten last week. "Mom. I watched you. You are supposed to be happy for me. Why were you crying through the whole thing?"


     "Yeah, Mom" piped in Lexi "What the heck is up with Moms who cry over this stuff? I don't understand these things."

     "I don't either, Lex."


     Anyhow, I have no idea what I am going to write about, once all the craziness that is our lives currently, slows down.


     Till next time!
   
    

Racing a Grandma

     All these things have happened. But, since the "Million Step Challenge" is on my mind right this minute, that's where I am starting out.


     Last year, I began a "Step Challenge Club" at work. Participation was great, but, then it sort of fell off. I discontinued it, but, was asked in January to restart it again. It only took a few weeks, before participation started to drop again. One of my co workers then came up with the Million Step Challenge. To be completed between May 8 and September 8. First prize to be determined.


     I was all over that. I could totally do this. I calculated approximately how many weekly steps I would need, and decided to do this. I am always walking anyhow, so, why not?
     Turbo is THRILLED. We do at least 3.5 miles every day.


     I walk to baseball and T-Ball games.


     I walk home from baseball and T-Ball games.


     I walk on my lunch breaks.


     I walk every hill I can find.


     I walk with my 15 year old.


     I have several requests from friends/acquaintances/and even the mayor's wife, to get together and walk.


     I was out walking at 11:15 at night last Saturday, to try and get over 100,000 steps in for the week.


My competition? Linda. Linda is approximately 4 feet tall. She is 60+ years old. She is a lifelong smoker. She drives a full size pickup truck with an extended cab, that is decked out in camo. She hunts. She goes four wheeling. She loves to walk thru creek beds, take four wheelers thru mud pits, is dedicated to the local Beagle Club (where her husband is president), runs around after multiple Grand kids,  and is right up at the top with me. Without even trying.


     WITHOUT. EVEN. TRYING.


     I am killing myself, trying to get all these steps in, and Linda is just doing life as usual. At this point,  I want to beat Linda purely on principal, because, honest to goodness, I am not even forty. I cannot be beat by a 60 something year old grandmother. It's a matter of pride here. Anyhow. I suppose all I can do is try, right?


     Yesterday we attended a Going Away party for The Southern People. (They have requested that they remain unnamed in this post. I agreed completely. Besides. I don't think anyone residing in Franklinville will have any idea who "The Southern People" are. Since we have so many people from Mississippi kicking around our middle of nowhere-everyone-is-related-somehow-multiple-generation-town. Total anonymity here on this Blog.)
     Anyhow, this Southern family moved here temporarily a few years ago. Mr. Southern Person travels all over the place for his job, so, Mrs. Southern Person and all five of the Little Southern Persons travel with him. Unfortunately, Mr. Southern Person's job in this area has ended, so, it's back to Mississippi for them.
     In sticking with the whole "walking everywhere" theme of things, the kids and I carted folding chairs and a strawberry shortcake trifle over to the Southern People's home. Where we encountered a police vehicle sitting in their driveway.


     "Mom?" Lexi said, staring at the police SUV. "Ummm. The police are at the ( Southern People's) house..."


     "I see that."


     "Do you think we should still go? I mean...."


     "Absolutely! It's a small town. We are obligated to go now, because at this point we need to know WHY the police are there. It's our duty now."


     "What if we can't get into the party because of the police?"


     "Well then. We will pop these chairs open right on the sidewalk, and we will watch the police activity while we eat our strawberry shortcake trifle."


     "Okay."


     "Besides. This just means it will be an awesome party. You know things are going to be good, if the police are already there!"


It turns out the police presence was due to a bonfire happening in the back yard. The police officer decided to check it out, and announced it needed to be in a better contained receptacle. So, they complied and sent him on his way.  He did return later, to just make absolutely sure. He was graciously invited by Mrs. Southern Person to partake of the food and drink and stay awhile (She was getting aggravated with his suspicion, and, being Southern and everything, I am sure she added on a "Bless your heart" or two, which is how I have heard Southern People say "Because you are being a jerk -insert lots of inappropriate language here - and we have just about had it, so you may as well just pull up a chair, since you insist on parking in the driveway and crashing the party with conflicting stories as to your presence.")
     There were approximately five million children in attendance, lots of adults, and, the food was descended upon like locusts had arrived. It was a good time. We laughed a lot, and I will honestly miss them so much.


     Also of recent note: I got a massage. This is noteworthy, because, I never get massages. Even though I have often thought that, if I won a lottery jackpot, the first thing I would do is book a massage, and then hire a full time massage therapist for myself. I am not even kidding. It's a dream of mine.
     Recently on Groupon, I found a wonderful deal for a 90 minute massage, and booked it on the spot. Seriously. I earned this massage. I was so looking forward to it, that, I actually dreamt about it the night before. In my dream, all these obstacles happened, and I couldn't get the massage. I really needed that massage.
      Without incident, I arrived at the massage location. It was in a fairly affluent neighborhood, in a house turned multiple business offices. I left my phone in the van, because, seriously. I am constantly on phones for one reason or another. I just wanted two hours of no phone time.
     I walked up the driveway, as, the house sat back from the road somewhat, and entered the house. Where I realized that all the other businesses were closed for the weekend. It was just going to by myself and the massage therapist.
     The waiting room book selection consisted of titles along the lines of "Guitars for Dummies" "Finding the Inner Self" "The Odyssey".


     Just me and some guy I don't know. Massaging my naked body. No one knew exactly where this place was.
     I hadn't thought to leave the address.
     My phone was in the van.
     Every bit of training I have had since working as a VA nurse, for self defense began to scream at me. I spend every work day, making sure I am not putting myself in bad situations.
     This was pretty much the anti-VA training right here. I knew better. Great. I was probably going to die now. Well. Hopefully I would at least get the massage first.


     The therapist came out. A 30-something young man who had a low pony tail and was about as New Age as they come. I figured I was pretty safe, and agreed to be led back to the massage room.
     The massage began. Relaxing music. My neck being rubbed. All those tense muscles... this is soooo nice. Honest to goodness, I just want to float in dreamland and -


     "So. I see on your intake form that you are a nurse."


     "Mmmmhmmm."


     "Where are you a nurse at?"


     "The VA."


     "What do you do?"


     "Everything. Lately, a lot of behavioral health."


     "Oh. And, do you medicate people?"


     "I do not. The doctors do."


     "I do not agree with chemicals. They are a foreign substance in the body. Have you had your patients tested for sleep apnea? Sleep apnea causes so many issues."


     And. Here we go. That went on for awhile.


     "Are you religious?"


     "Mmmmhmmm. Whatever you are doing to the shoulder there is lovely."


     "I believe in God and Jesus, but, I do not believe in institutionalized religion."


     "Everyone has their own beliefs."


     On we went. How do you tell someone to just kinda shut up?


     "I had this mentor ask me once if I had ever experienced complete silence or stillness. I said yes I had, and he said I couldn't have, because your heart is making noise you can here, and your breath and body are never all the way still, nor is the world around you. It is a goal - to try to experience the peace of complete silence and stillness." He remarked dreamily.


     "It's called death. I would rather put that experience off as long as possible." I snapped back a little tartly.


     Anyhow, it was quite the experience, and, honestly, I want to go back. Whatever he did to my back and neck and shoulders is worth the chatter. I just wish I didn't have to argue about religion or my job while wanting to launch into a dream state. There has got to be other topics of conversation out there.


     Anyhow, that is a small portion of life around here in a nutshell.


   

I Got Your Back, Sis

     Super Mama strikes again. Follow along here.


     Monday, George woke up to day three of a nasty fever. It was legitimate, and he was absolutely not able to go to school.


     I was absolutely not able to take a day off of work. I had too many complicated patients to try and go through the  misery for all involved, to attempt to reschedule most of them in a timely manner. Also, there is no one else in my clinic who is able to do my job.


     Lexi woke up and announced that she did not feel well either. I squinted suspiciously at Lexi, but, in light of George's fever, and Joe's recent day full of vomit, I decided to believe her.


     "Lexi, you can stay home. Which would help me out, because, I can not. Where is your phone?"


     "I don't know."

     "Can you try to find it?"

      (Unenthusiastic pitiful wandering meaninglessly through the house ensues.)


     "I can't find it mom."


     "Lex. I cannot leave two sick kids home with no phone. Seriously. You NEED to find your phone."




     "I have a phone! I volunteer as tribute!" Offers Kaila magnanimously. "We really had nothing big going on in school today. I can afford to take a day off and help out."


     "I have no other option. Fine. BUT: You have to do chores. I mean, laundry, vacuum, sweep...."




     "Yeah yeah. Got it. Go to work!"


     Apparently, by noon, there was a magical miracle in our household, because, everyone was feeling tiptop and running around outside playing with the gleeful abandon of truants. Nice.


     Meanwhile, I was on the phone with the cable company, ordering a landline for the house.


     By the time I arrived home that afternoon after work, my front yard, porch, and kitchen, was full of every single kid on the street.
     My enterprising children had decided to hit up the after school crowd, and start a kool-aid stand. which became a girl down the street raiding her Mother's freezer for cookie dough, and baking cookies at my house, to add a bake sale to the stand.
     After an attempt to share the profits with everyone equally, one child, who had nothing to do with anything, stormed home after only making twenty cents off one sale.
     As they swarmed around my vehicle as I parked it, I had the strongest urge to put it back into "drive" and leave. It took a lot of mental fortitude, to open the door and get out.


     A quick look around my house confirmed that Kaila had spent the day watching Netflix, and not doing chores.


     Fast forward to Wednesday of this week. Both of my daughters were legitimately ill. No fevers, no vomiting, but, very pale. Very miserable. They both laid listlessly on the couch.


     "Nope. Nope Nope nope nope nope. You are both going to school. I am still so aggravated about Monday, that I have no sympathy. Get up and get ready." I announced mercilessly. Because, seriously. It has happened more than once during this school year, that my daughters have had grave illnesses that miraculously are cured before mid morning. I think Lexi's has a lot to do with the year long clash with her teacher. It's been a long rough school year. However: They needed to go to school. Where, they subsequently survived.


     It was not until I was driving home with Joe after his baseball game last night, that Joe mentioned that Lexi was in trouble with her teacher. Again. And had to call home. Again. This time because she forgot to bring her iPad to school. (I will be the happiest person alive, when this school year is over. Seriously.)

     "What? I didn't get a phone call today."


     "I know! Because she called Kaila, instead."


     "WHAT?"


     "Yeah. She called Kaila, and Kaila covered."


The story goes, that Lexi knew there was no way we could leave work and bring her iPad to school. So, with a last second spark of genius, and with her teacher towering over her, she dialed Kaila's number, instead.  Kaila was hanging out in Music Theory Class, and caught on to the problem in less than 2 seconds. Kaila then mimicked my voice, and explained that she had patients all afternoon, and was unable to leave work to bring an iPad to school. Lexi thanked her, told "mom" she loved her, and hung up. Kaila's entire class, including the teacher, elevated her to complete "hero" status, and told her that was the best thing they had ever seen.


     If I was a good mother, I would have grounded them indefinitely. I would have yelled. I would have punished them. I would have done something. But. I laughed. I laughed so hard that I couldn't breathe. I laughed until there were tears.


     Seriously. It's been a long school year. I did come home and tell the girls to not let it happen again. I suspect, however, that the only thing that isn't going to happen again, is mentioning it around Joe. Only three more weeks of school. Lexi has been on the Honor Roll for every single quarter so far. I don't think she will fail sixth grade in three weeks. I am hoping next year is a better year for her. I also suspect that Joe will probably not be assigned to the same teacher, which will be a blessed relief to not only the teacher, but, my entire family, as well. If this guy couldn't deal with Lexi, I imagine Joe would push him over the proverbial edge.


     And that, in a nutshell, has been how this week has progressed. I think Lexi's teacher is probably looking forward to the long Memorial Day weekend as much as we are.


    

"God Doesn't Like It When People Tattle"

     Last night was one of many many many end of year school productions at the high school auditorium.  It wasn't until we were seated and started to observe the children milling about us, that we realized it was also the yearly "Recorder Concert". Anyone with a Fourth Grader in Franklinville, and anyone with an Elementary School Aged child anywhere, will eventually, if they have not already, be subject to the recorder.
     The recorder was an instrument that was clearly invented by someone that doesn't really like people who have children, and thought this specific torture device up and patented it to every school every where. I picture people like the mean teacher in the "Maltilda" movie cackling in agreement, that this was the perfect item to send home from school (along with the 47,672 papers every single week) and encourage as much practicing as possible, in order to break the adult population. It's a conspiracy.


     Anyhow, after the recorder portion of the concert was the elementary portion of the concert. It had a surprise addition this year. Apparently, last week during music class, Lexi (my flute player) began spontaneously telling music pun/jokes. Her teacher liked it, and had it incorporated into the concert. Every so often, he would have Lexi stand up and tell another one. She was so excited to be asked to do it. She probably laughed harder than anyone in the crowd. But, that's Lexi in a nutshell. My happy go lucky kid has been nicknamed "Joy" in her class.


     At work, we started a "One Million Step Challenge". We have from May 8 until September 8, to race to see who can reach one million steps first. So, in the spirit of this, I decided to walk to the school for the concert. The boys decided to walk with me. On the way there, Joe began bring up an entire list of George's most recent transgressions.


     "Mom. Every day, when we walk home from school, George walks outside the lines of the crosswalk and taunts the crossing guard and says 'I'm jaywalking!!!'"


     "Really, Man? You're gonna bring that up NOW?" George complained, sliding his hand into mine, because he knows I am a sucker for most of his buttering up. "You need to stop, Joe. God doesn't like it when people tattle."


     "MOM! I think he is implying that God does not like me. Make him stop."


     "See what I mean? NOBODY likes a tattler, Joe."


     "MOM!"


     Anyhow, while the concert was successful, and every single parent there thought their children progenies, and everything seemed fine - apparently things were not.
     Because, at 4:45 this morning, I was lying in bed contemplating walking the dog before work, when I heard Joe get out of bed, run down the hallway, and vomit down the stairs. Repeatedly.


     "Joe! Dammit! GET TO THE BATHROOM!!! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS THROWING UP DOWN THE DAMN STAIRS??!!!!" Was my immediate reaction. (Don't judge. The name of this blog clearly indicates that I am aware of my awesomeness as a Mother.)


     "I am TRYING! Do you want me to try and just throw up out my bedroom window?"


     "NO! I do not want vomit down the side of the house!"


     "Do you want me to throw up on my bedroom rug?"

     "GET IN THE BATHROOM NOW!!!!"


     "You know, it is much better to get it all over the stairs, then to splatter it all over the entire hallway, and possibly get it on all the books on the shelves up here."


     Anyhow, Joe got a day off of school, and was tucked in with a bucket. Shortly after everything was cleaned up, Bearded Man went out the back door to let the dogs out. Our back room is a crazy messed up trigger of my OCD aggravation. It is open to the attic for some reason, and is pretty much used for storage. I have come up with dozens of ideas to fix the craziness of it, but, we haven't gotten around to it yet. Bearded Man was outside for only a few minutes, when he casually called me, and insisted I come see this. Out in the back room, a very upset pigeon stared down at us suspiciously from the attic. "Jasin. That is a pigeon. WHY is there a pigeon in the attic? It better not be scouting a new housing development for all the neighborhood pigeons."


     "Bring me a gun."


     "NO! You are not shooting birds in my house!!!!"


     "Fine. Then, there will be pigeons in the attic. Maybe the cat will clear things out."


     I would like to say that the day improved to some degree. But, then the phone calls/texts/emails from the school began.


     Apparently, Lexi forgot her homework again. So, her teacher made her call me and confess. I was so busy at work when the call came in, that I was almost aggravated. I watched my phone in resignation, as the inevitable email from her teacher came, to further incriminate my forgetful kid. Then the emails from my poor kid began, as she explained tearfully that she really had thought she had put her homework in her backpack.
     Then the texts began regarding George.
 
     "Did you get an email from George's teacher?"


     "Not yet. Why?"


     Apparently George and another boy were caught doing spitballs in the cafeteria.


     When George was interrogated about this at home after work, I didn't mention exactly what I had heard, so, George mentioned getting in trouble for roughhousing in the boy's bathroom, before he got around to  confessing about spitballs.
     I grounded him from going to his buddy's house down the street, but, they corrected that by having his buddy come to our house and hang out.


     The previous part of this post was written yesterday... That whole time thing rarely works for me. Anyhow, today, all my children seem healthy, and, there were no pigeons in the attic. Joe was dressed and ready for school while I was getting ready for work.


     "Mom. I think I need five dollars for school lunch tomorrow."


     "School lunches do not cost five dollars, Joe."


     "I know. But, I want a double lunch. AND, I can have TWO apples."


     "Joe. We have apples here."


     "I don't want ROTTEN apples, Mom."


     "They aren't rotten! MAYBE one of them is soft, but, they are all perfectly fine!"


     "*sigh* Mom. You do not store them properly. I cannot eat these apples."


     "What?!"


     "You store them in a bowl. On the counter. They need to be stored in the refrigerator, where the cold will stall the molecular movement, so that they will stay fresher longer. Also, they taste better cold."


     "I am not giving you five dollars Joe."


     Back to life as we know it around my house! Mostly I am waiting for the weather to stay warm at night so I can plant my gardens. Every single year, my flower beds start out with so many hopes and dreams. Mostly by the end of August, most of those hopes and dreams are shattered, as my flower beds get taken over by weeds that I am too busy to pull. It's still spring though, so, I have time to change my neglectful ways still. Here's hoping!


    

Reason 4,981 as to Why I Should Not be a Sunday School Teacher

     Yesterday, we concluded year two of Sunday School teaching. I am truly confused as to how I manage to retain my position. Actually, there is a very real possibility that there will be numerous parent complaints regarding the "End of Year Party", and I will be asked to hand in my curriculum, thank you very much.
     Or not. I don't think the parents want to complain too bitterly, because, we are terribly short Sunday School Teachers, and, if we lose another one, then, they may be put on the spot to replace me. And, no one wants to be a Sunday School teacher. Therefore, they ship their poor unsuspecting kids to class Sunday mornings, and probably go out to breakfast blessedly alone. (Like I dreamed about doing for fourteen years.)
     Anyhow. Yesterday, by popular vote of my class, I hauled in a Subway platter, chips, and cupcakes. Also, we have a TV/VCR in my class room, so, I thought I would bring in a movie to watch. Last week, while we went over review, I let them play with Legos to occupy them while we talked. Next thing I knew, they had built a cross and re-crucified Jesus. I figured maybe it wasn't a good idea to play with the Legos again. I asked Kaila to dig through our video cassette collection, and find something appropriate for Sunday School.


     "How about Lady and the Tramp, Mom?"


     "No. That is very inappropriate. They run off on illicit dates, there is unwed parenthood, there is a kissing scene. Lady IS a Tramp."


     "Oh emmm geee, Mom. Fine. How about Pinocchio?"


     "Ick."


     "We could do a Shirley Temple movie?"


     "I suppose one of those would work."


 In going through the movies, I stumbled across The Blues Brothers movie. Right across the front of it "They are on a mission for God" Well. That's just about perfect. Isn't there a nun? Aren't they trying to save an orphanage or something like that? It's been awhile since I saw it, so my recollection was rather fuzzy.


     On the way to church, as we bumped over the back roads swerving around the Amish and balancing plates of cupcakes, I happened to look a little closer at the movie.


     "Jasin. This movie is rated "R"..."


     "Oh! That! That's just because it was made in the late 70's early 80's! It's fine. People were way more strict back then. The movie is FINE. The girls watch it all the time on Netflix. It's a classic! In today's rating scales, it would probably only be a PG. Maybe PG-13 at the most!"


     "I don't know.... this IS Sunday school..."


     "Nah. It'll be fine."


     Into the classroom, I hesitantly mentioned the rated R movie that we had unthinkingly selected.


     "Well. YOU selected, Honey." pointed out Bearded Man, his halo glowing brilliantly.


     The kids all voted we try it out.


     Within minutes, I was cringing in horror, as the most non church appropriate language EVER echoed around my classroom.


     "Okay, we need to turn this off." I say


     "NO! It's not like we haven't heard it before!" They argue.


     "It's FINE, hon, there isn't THAT much language in this movie" Bearded Man pleads.


Being an older movie, the kids begin to question EVERYTHING.


     "Is that nun possessed? Is she dead and a ghost? Why is she beating them? Why do the doors close by themselves? Is that place haunted?"

     And so the longest Sunday school class in the history of Sunday school classes went. "Kids." I plead, "Maybe you should focus more on the amazing cupcakes we brought in, more than the movie, when you mention today's class over dinner tonight with your parents..." with the internal thought that this only makes me sound even WORSE. Aren't people who tell children to maybe gloss over certain things BAD people?
     And so. We closed out the Sunday School year by playing filthy language in church. While portraying a nun to be either possessed or dead and a ghost.


     Not sure quite how to even begin going about rectifying this with the Lord.




     On to another subject. I've had enough of the Sunday School humiliation for now.




     Well. Now that I think about it, that's about it. Well, no. I suppose I could mention the make  up episode.


     Friday evening, Bearded Man and I were up Buffalo way. We went to dinner at a place featured on "Diners Drive Ins and Dives" awhile back. The food was great, the waitress was wonderful, the neighborhood was fascinating, and, the drunk bar people entertaining. I would absolutely go back.


     After dinner, we headed to the Mall. I am not a mall person. I normally avoid them at any cost. However, during Lexi's birthday visit a few months ago, I found a shade of lipstick I can live with, and wanted to pick up another tube of it. So, we headed to the mall.
     Once inside the makeup store, a very nice young lady came over to assist. I told her I needed this lipstick, please, and we headed over to find it.
     During the course of things, she asks if I need anything else. I told her I didn't think so... I mentioned the "youth serum" that I had bought, because some other young lady had told me it would assist with the under eye circles and bags. I pointed out that I didn't feel I looked youthful, and, that the circles and bags were still there, and I look like I am halfway into the crypt.


     "Well, ummm. Maybe if you give it some time to work? I mean, it obviously hasn't worked yet, but, I am sure if you use it for a little while, you should see some improvement..." she said, staring sympathetically at my face.


     "I have been using it since February."


     "Oh. Well. I don't think it's working for you."


Ah well. I've got the lipstick going for me, so, there is that...


     And, that was the weekend in a nutshell. I discovered on "Clean the house Saturday" that, there is no better way to assure your children get nice fresh outdoor air, than to tell them they need to clean indoors...


     Happy Monday!