My bestie and I were on an errand from God on Sunday. 1.) Because she was getting a new phone after almost chucking hers out the window because it wouldn’t text and other highly necessary operations that are a must for the technically connected… and 2.) because the monster needed his school supplies and there would be no other time to do it in their busy schedule before Meet Your Teacher night later in the week.
She was feeling oddly bad for me because I would be standing around in a phone store looking longingly at the phones that I couldn’t afford because I’m painfully poor and am days away from having a really professional and good paying job which will actually put me back in the economy’s middle class ranking, so she suggested we divide and conquer to make things move a little faster and be more productive. I would drop her off at the phone store then run and get the school supplies. Sounds easy, right? I was excited because I don’t go with the girls, their grandmother is extremely generous in offering each year to buy their supplies for them, so I would get the experience without the stress of it being with my own children arguing over Hello Kitty folders and Frozen backpacks.
No, that’s not even what happened. When I walked into the store the school supplies were directly in front of me and the mass chaos that was ensuing was both shocking and eye-opening to me as a parent as well as a teacher.
And here is where I revolt from my fellow teachers and throw them all to the wolves. Because we are BAD people. I mean bad, as in were are definitely going to hell bad.
I walk up to the school lists and begin to read, thinking, not too bad, not horrible. But then I start searching for the items and realize, these are really specific items being requested on this list. (5) folders, but they must be red, blue, green, yellow, and purple. I get the plastic folders because I know my friend’s son and I think, “hey, he won’t be able to destroy these, at least not easily, right?” So I start looking for the appropriate colors and find all but a yellow.
I am defiant by nature, so when I can’t find a yellow in the plastic version I refuse to switch to the paper version. It’s just principle now. So I get orange instead. It’s in the yellow family, a secondary color created by its primary counter parts yellow and red. Orange will be the new yellow.
Next I had to find specific amounts of crayons, markers, and colored pencils. Lets be honest, none of the amounts he was supposed to have were correct, me being a teacher I’m thinking, “More is better, right?” 36 colored pencils instead of 24, 10 markers instead of 8, what could 2 additional colors hurt?
Then came the dry erase markers. I don’t disagree with the purchase of these, but when the girls are specified to bring “fine tip” and the boys “chisel tip” I draw the line. Last time I’m brought dry erasers chisel tip was the norm so I’m thinking easy peasy. Nope, apparently fine tip is all the rage these days. Stupid, chisel I can make a fat line or a thin line, best of both worlds, but apparently higher education is more specific in their instruction of new teachers these days. When I was in college we had to practice writing on CHALK BOARDS people. CHALK BOARDS. I have a strong aversion to chalk boards. Like I’m gonna puke if even one squeak comes from a piece of chalk and God FORBID someone scratch their nails on it. I’m gagging as we speak just thinking of it…
At this point I begin to notice I’m walking the aisle mumbling to myself, “Crayons, crayons, pointed tipped scissors, magic erasers. What the f*ck is a Magic Eraser? ” Over and over again. I think, “People are gonna start staring, so I’d better keep it together.” But then I realize all of these other parents are doing the same thing!
One guys walking down the aisle going, “Oh God, oh God…”, another is mumbling, “Stupid, stupid, stupid…”. I heard a mother say to her daughter, “You’d better make this fridge and microwave last you all four years.”
I ran into another mom looking for a specific brand of pencils. I directed her to the correct spot, then asked, “Do you know what a magic eraser is?”
“I’m actually a teacher and I have no idea what it is..” She looks at me with a mixture of hatred and pity and I scurry away.
The breaking point was the crayons. I was in need of a 24 pack, but could only get the 8 count jumbo size or the 128 mega pack and I figured I’d have one pretty pissed off third grader gunning for me if I brought either of these home. After angry Snapchats and rantings to my bestie, I stoop about as low as I could go on this “damned from the beginning” pilgrimage and nab a pack out of a pre-packed bag for patrons to purchase for underprivileged school students. A new low for sure.
As I made my way back to the phone store to pick her up, I was reviewing what purchases might not be actually kosher with the teacher figuring the orange folder might be a bit of a stretch, but surely it couldn’t make that much of a difference right? Wrong. I was promptly informed that last year the items that weren’t correct were sent home with a note stating they were not acceptable and new items must be purchased. In fact, she informed me that she fully expected to be back out re-buying all of these same supplies the week after school started because generally half of them weren’t correct.
I was outraged. I told her if the teacher made a peep she should let me know and I would be up at that school the next day having it out with her. She insisted it really wasn’t worth it and that buying all new supplies was in turn, much easier.
Today she posts this blog from People I Want to Punch in the Throat on my wall about school supplies and teachers. People I Want to Punch in the Throat found it came from Ginny over at Praying to Darwin and its PURE GENIUS.
For all you Mommies dealing with this shit right now, cheers!School Suppliesby XXXXXXXXXXXX on Monday, September 7, 20xx at 10:31am************************************************Dear Mrs. X:In just over a week, you will be my son’s Grade 1 teacher. He is ever so excited to be under your tutelage. Why, since the last day of kindergarten, entering your class was all he could talk about. He gleefully thrust a piece of paper into my hand on that June afternoon, and said, “Here’s a list of the stuff I need for school next September!”And I have to admit, I, too, was excited. I’m a school supplies geek from way back. And so, in early August, I set out to buy the items you’d listed. It was on my fourth store that the realization began to sink in.You’re a crafty bitch, aren’t you?This list was a thinly disguised test. Could I find the items, exactly as you’d prescribed? Because if not, my son would be That Kid, the one with the Problem Mother, Who Can’t Follow Directions.For example, the glue sticks you requested. In the 40 gram size. Three of the little buggers. (What kind of massive, sticky project you’ve got planned for the first day of school that would require the students to bring all this glue, I cannot imagine.) But the 40 gram size doesn’t come in a convenient 3-pack. The 30 gram size does. But clearly, those would be wildly inappropriate. So I got the individually priced 40’s, as per your instructions.Another bit of fun was your request for 2 packs of 8 Crayola crayons (basic colors). The 24 packs, with their 24 *different* colors, sat there, on sale. I could have purchased *three* of the 24 packs for the price I had to pay for the 8 packs. (Clearly, you’ll not be teaching the youngsters any sort of economics lessons this year.) Even the cashier looked at me, as if to say, “Pardon me, ma’am, but are you slow?” as I purchased these non-bargain crayons. But that’s what the list said. And I was committed to following the list.But the last item, well, now, you saved your malice up for that one, didn’t you? “8 mm ruled notebooks”, you asked for. Simple enough. Except the standard size is “seven” millimetres. One. Millimetre. Difference. Do you realize, Mrs. X., exactly how infinitesimal the difference between 7 mm ruling and 8 mm ruling is? Pretty small, I assure you. The thickness of a fingernail, approximately. But that millimetre, that small bit of nothingness, made me drive to four different stores, over the course of three sweaty August hours. And when I finally, finally found the last remaining 8 mm notebooks, I took no pleasure in my victory. I merely shifted my focus. To you, Mrs. X.You wanna dance, lady? Let’s dance.Because I am just batshit crazy enough to play your games. And, in turn, come up with some of my own.On show and share day, my son will be bringing the video of his birth. It will be labelled, “Ben’s First Puppy.” Enjoy.He will be given a list of words, and daily, he will ask you what they mean. Words such as “pedophile”, “anti-semite”, and “skank”. Good luck with those.At some point, you will attempt to teach him mathematics. And I’m quite sure that, like most of your ilk, you will require my son to “show his work”. And he will. Through interpretive dance.Because that is who you’ve chosen to tangle with, toots. A stay at home mom who is not entirely balanced, and has altogether too much time on her hands. But is, most certainly, A Mother Who Can Follow Directions.Sincerely,Ben’s Mom
Oh yeah, ladies, I’m with you all the way…
Some nights we like to get movie theater popcorn while watching movies at home. Yes, we’re crazy like that… This insued after I got the popcorn…
This one because I confused the song played in Shrek Ever After, Live and Let Die, for November Rain when discussing who sang it originally. (FYI – I know Guns and Roses sang November Rain originally and The Beatles Live and Let Die).
My best friend and I now refer to each other as hetero-life mates because, well, basically we are. There’s just no other way to describe one picking up the kids and taking them to get their hair cut, while the other stops to get dinner for everyone on the way home. Or one picking up the youngest at daycare and then going to your house to so the dishes, after which the other picks you all up and takes you out to dinner.
No apologies. It is what it is. And frankly it works, so no judgement needed.
This being said, my truly awesome life mate sent me the following texts as this stupid day of professing love went on.
And it was TRULY awesome.
Note: Many of you know I have multiple “boyfriends” (aka Thor, Ryan Goseling, Benedict Cumberbatch…) Fangirling may ensue…
This week The Bloggess bought yet another taxidermied animal, dressed it up, gave it a name, and a shining persona. She so politely gave her readership a copy of the photo to allow them to create their own “Jaunita” (click here to read her story) crazed photos, and so I took hold of the opportunity to create my own.
If you read my blog, you know about my side job as “The Family”s housekeeper. Here are a few pics just to keep the ball rolling…
And just to be fair, here is one for “The Family” (I imagine The Family’s patriarch saying this, and yes, in this apron as well…)
Just a little fun to break up the monotony of an average Wednesday night…
So I thought I might write about my first day of substitute teaching, but it was fairly uneventful and all went well. Lucky for me, it’s the girl’s weekend at their dad’s, so this means another fun weekend with my friend Trisha and her family.
I’m going to disclose some pretty embarrassing shit that went down this evening, so take heed when reading this. And don’t judge me…
Trisha and I planned on going to see Breaking Dawn Part 1 tonight so after dropping the girls off I headed over to her house, where much to her dismay her child dazzled me with his mad math skills. She told him it was called “humility” and he should learn it. This coming from the girl who constantly insists she’s right, even when she’s wrong (and yes, she would say she’s always right and so why shouldn’t she point out the obvious…). Anyhow, after dinner we were sitting watching TV with JR and the boys and the youngest starts shaking this little side table they have like a madman gone berserk. I started laughing, and then he started actually MOVING it across the floor. Meanwhile, Trisha is telling me not to laugh at him because it only encourages it, which makes me laugh harder, but with me trying to hide my face…
For those of you who know me, when I get going laughing it becomes a “Dom Deluise” type of laugh where I start wheezing air out my throat, followed by an intense, uncontrollable cough. What happened next is in no way pretty, but when you have had two children things start to go awry … and I peed my pants. This is like T – 20 minutes to movie time mind you. I’m all like, “I just peed my pants!” and Trisha is all like, “That is something I don’t want to know about, so stop telling me !” Now I didn’t tell her until after we were on our way home from the movie, but I actually got a “wet spot” on my jeans from that one… Yes, JR, I had a wet spot, and I sat on your couch… (Don’t worry, I’m sure I will be cleaning it tomorrow…)
So we go to see the movie, all well and good. As we are pulling out of the parking lot Trisha starts bitching at me because she couldn’t find something and proceeds to call me a TWAT.
“God, you twat!”
SERIOUSLY???? Who even says that anymore? Call me a p*ssy, the “c” word, whatever, but TWAT? Really, and she gives ME a hard time…
THEN… we start talking about my P.E. sub job today.
She asked me if I wore the obligatory wind breaker pants and I replied, “NO, I wore my khakis!” She asked if I wore my polo shirt tucked in to them and I responded, “No, I wore this…” I was wearing a long sleeve shirt with my St. Jude sweatshirt over the top.
Now, here I am thinking I did all great wearing nice khakis, but no, she gets all pissy* and starts yelling at me because I didn’t dress up for my first sub position!
“You wore a HOODIE to your first sub job???”
” IT WAS P.E.!!!!!! The other sub came in her spandex pants for crying out loud!”
She replied, “Oh, and she has a full-time job does she?”
I said, “No I’m pretty sure she’s retired…”
“And so she has a full-time job?”
Crap, I believe I can’t win with that girl… It’s like trying to win your parents love and respect, and no matter what you do you’re wrong.
“And what did you wear? Your tennis shoes?”
“Oh my God…”
“IT WAS FREAKING P.E.!!!!!!!”
“I don’t care, you should have dressed nicely!”
“What? So you’re telling me I should have gone dressed to the nines in my high heels? What if I wanted to join in and be an interactive teacher. You know, run with them and shit?”
She didn’t say it, but it was implied, “I rest my case”.
I guess I’ll know if she’s right if I never get called back to sub there…
So then that’s when we started talking about the “wet spot” and SHE started laughing uncontrollably. She insists that I have a SERIOUS problem because she has two children as well and NEVER has that problem… Well, you have other problems my friend, but I’m nice so I won’t air your dirty laundry here. But I know you know I know, so there.
We decided NOT to tell JR and let him read it here… Sorry! But no one knows of my “Dom Deluise” laugh better than JR… seriously… It’s like a past time of his to make fun of me about it… So, really, he should have expected it…
PS * (hmm, funny, spell check doesn’t recognize this word, put gives me “pussy” as one of the possible choices. Weird, yet interesting fact…)
PSS – Next time I sub in P.E. I’m wearing my wind breaker pants, a button down blouse, and high heals, with my pearls… How you like them apples?
So my friend Trisha and I had a text argument today. This weekend she kept telling me about this job fair at this local business that was today. On Saturday I filled out an application on-line and everything and told her I would go to the fair. Today about 4:15pm I get a text from her.
T: Did you go to the fair?
Me: Um, sure! 😀
T: U didn’t??
Me: Um, no…
T: Y not?
Me: I washed windows instead. I kind of forgot. 😦
Me: I know I’m hopeless. I “dislike” ur “oh”.
R u mad at me now?
T: Hopeless no,
Lol dude really?
Me: Infuriating? Lazy? Unmotivated? Forgetful? Misguided? I could go on and on…
It’s the go-to question. I’m working on it.
T: Sounds to me like ur in the midst of yet another pity party. Just sayin
Me: I’m not pity partying, if anything I’m laughing at myself! Hahahaha!
T: The fair lasts until 6 ya know…
Just heard it on the radio.
Me: Oh, I’m getting in my care right now…rotflo!!!!
T: Don’t lie! I could care less if u got a job. But maybe I was under the misguided impression that YOU cared.
Me: Oh don’t get mad Trisha! I do want a job, but I want to teach, so I’m going to get off my ass and start subbing. I am willing to put my app and resume in to check things out, but why dick around when I know what I really want to do? – I know, stop dicking around…
T: Hmm….I’m not mad. I’m just thinking you aren’t happy doing what ur doing now. So shit er get of the pot man.
Me: Well said, and advice well taken.
T: No. That’s just it.. it’s not well taken. CAUSE ARE YOU ON UR WAY TO THE JOB FAIR????
Me: Quit yelling at me… I will go to the job fair. I’m taking a shower right now.
T: Good. Then sign ur ass up to sub too. My mom keeps asking me if u have… n if she’s gonna guilt me…ur damn skippy I’m passing it along!
Me: Ok 😛 *but that’s not with a happy face*
T: It’s alright, I’ve concluded we shouldn’t talk right when I get off of work. Tho maybe if ur actually going, then it was worth it
Me: I’m going.
T: GOOD. I expect a full report.
Me: Oh, believe me, double spaced – helvica font!
I was laughing/cursing her through this entire conversation. I felt like Cameron on Farris Bueller’s Day Off. She’s just gonna keep texting me and texting me…
I HATE these situations where I have to go in and actually have to TALK to other people. If I know you, or if I know what I’m talking about, ok, but going into an interview type environment is NOT my idea of a fun time. I was so nervous I was sure I was going to have a stroke or heart attack. Teaching interviews, ok, anything else, I struggle with.
Anyway, when I got there I “checked-in” on Facebook because I wouldn’t put it past her to drive by or something to make sure I was there. Of course she commented on it, which I will get to in a minute, but back to our texting conversation.
Me: They were interviewing for cold-calling selling cells, TV services. The girl didn’t think it was my “area” but was forwarding my info elsewhere.
T: Well that’s a good start. I’m VERY glad you went. Now, go home and get ur shit together to sign up for subbing. What needs done there?
Me: A physical. I’m going tomorrow. (I had no prior intention of going tomorrow…)
T: What comes after the physical? And yes, I’ll check on you tomorrow too.
Me: Taking my physical and TB test results to the ROE. Then I go sign up.
T: Go where? Online or in person?
T: Do you have a list of schools you’re going to and in order? That’s what I would make. Satisfying little checks ever place you go.
Me: I’m making it tonight.
T: Can’t wait to see it!!
Me: I hope the amount of cackling coming on your end is as much as it is on mine…
T: Lol mmhmm… I just turned to JR n said Gawd I’m an evil bitch.
Me: But you’re my evil bitch ]:->
T: Lol, now that’s funny.
Our facebook conversation was just as amusing:
Remember the other day when I posted the “Unmotivated” picture? Here’s my new one:
I was so irritated by the time I got home at 6:30, but I think I was irritated with myself for being so unmotivated. I mean, she is only trying to help get me where I need to be, and I have to say I appreciate it, because if it were left up to me, I’m not really sure I’d ever get there!
So, I guess what I’m trying to say is…. Thanks Trisha. 😉
I’ve come to the point in my blog where I want to introduce my best friend, Trisha. (She already told me I can name her in my blog, so I am.) I love my best friend, but the funny thing about her is she doesn’t like to express emotion or feelings, not sappy one’s anyhow. So………………… I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you! (and this is all in a completely platonic way…)
I’m pretty sure we’ve never even hugged before. As a matter of fact, I remember an evening shortly after my husband had left me when I had the girls and I just couldn’t keep it together. We had been up at the park and I remember automatically driving straight to her house from there. When I walked in the door with the girls, tears streaming down my face, sniveling and snot nosed… she quickly directed my children and her’s to her son’s room. Her husband immediately assumed the job of comforter. He gave me a big bear hug and just held on to me for what seemed like five minutes. The craziest part was this seemed completely normal to all of us that he would be the one to hug me while she stood by directing children. It didn’t take her long to kick in and take control however, that’s Trisha. A take charge kind of girl…
Trisha is really a very complex person. She would say she isn’t, but there are many layers to her. I could compare her to an onion, like Donkey does in Shrek, but I would describe her more like a seven layer salad. I love seven layer salad, it’s so delicious… but I digress. Anyway, to know Trisha is to love her, or fear her… She is a loyal friend to the end (haha! I rhymed), but seriously…she is. She seems cold at first meeting, cold sounds harsh, but it is difficult to find a word that would describe her “top layer”. Maybe guarded, impersonal… Yet, if you stick with her and dig in deeper, you will see she has rational to her views and thought processes. You have to dig underneath all of the “toppings” to find what she is really about – lettuce, yep, she’s lettuce. No, not really, she’s so much more than just salad. This isn’t coming out right.
Let me start with how we met. Trisha and I met probably about eleven or twelve years ago. Our friendship began over a discussion pertaining to a “mutual friend”. Come to find out, neither one of us particularly appreciated this person to the extent they probably would have liked us to. Anyway, our friendship grew slowly, but over the course of the following year it grew enough that we decided we would move into an apartment together. This was big, especially for Trisha because she is such a creature of structure and routine. (I am also, realized shortly after we began living together.) The next year was the best year of my entire life. I look back at those days sometimes and think, “If only we could be back in our little apartment, sitting on the couch, watching French Kiss or My Best Friend’s Wedding, everything would be right again. My world would realign and fall back into the rotation that it should be instead of spinning wildly out of control.” Shortly after, however, we both met our husbands, who were friends of each other, and then, we did what many friends do at that point in their lives, we went our separate ways. Don’t get me wrong, we stayed close, but we moved on to have our own families, jobs, lives, etc.
Trisha and I have since been through all of our major “adult” life milestones together. We would drift apart at times, but we always drifted back together. We were maids of honor at each other’s weddings. We helped move each other into homes. (Well, my husband did my part mostly the first time as I was on bed rest…but I helped with the second one.) She was there for me while my husband and I had our first child. The same period of time when my husband was drifting away from me, blaming me for being a narcosis; my life falling around my feet in shards of glass. Things got better of course and then Trisha had her first child. I was honored enough to be present for the birth of both of her children. She was there for the birth of Ella. Although, with her second child I will forever have a different bond. He came just a week before my life fell apart for real. Being able to be a part of his life and spend well needed time with his family will always be my saving grace.
I love Trisha because she lives in reality. Not the everything-is-going-to-turn-out-horrible reality, (which is what I generally turn to the minute something goes wrong) , just a you’re-going-to-have-to-do-a-bit-of-work-to-get-where-you-want reality. I am the type of person who isn’t necessarily naive, but I always want to expect the best out of everything. The world is a good place filled with well-meaning people who all care about each other, hopeful type of person. However, in contrast, my flip side generally expects the worst. When things are spiraling out of control, or something absurd is happening right before our very eyes, all I have to do is look at Trisha and a secret message is sent between the two of us, “Are you fucking kidding me??? Yep, I’m pretty sure that just happened.” I have said before in The Divorce Instruction Book that I went crazy for a time during my divorce. Trisha is one of the reasons I was able to come back to reality. She put it all into perspective for me, gave her two cents, let me do what I want, and really, has never said, “I told you so”. That’s why I love her, because even when I’m being a lasagna girl she gets it… (If you don’t know what a lasagna girl is, you will have to watch Clerks to figure it out…)
Trisha had different personalities, and you know this if you’ve ever worked with her or been with her shortly after her work day. She can be incredibly serious, or incredibly hilarious, goofy, sarcastic, clueless, and even though she may not want you to know it, caring. You would never want to ride in the car with us together, because honestly you would think we hate each other. We bicker like little old ladies , then cackle and giggle because we think we are hilarious. Beside the fact that if we are in a heated Slug Bug contest you will just want to stay out-of-the-way. But Trisha is also extremely guarded. If you don’t know her, she is difficult to read and doesn’t get very personal about her own life. She is a master at keeping her personal life separate from everything else. I envy this about her.
Whatever you say about Trisha, she has been the best friend a person could ask for during the past year of my life and I’m thankful for her everyday. It couldn’t have been easy for her to have to deal with her own life much less my added baggage on top of it, but she never once acted as if she didn’t have time for me, or acted as if any of my “issues” were pointless or irrelevant. Trisha keeps me in the groove of things, she taught me the mantra, “Get up, take a shower, go to work” when I didn’t think I could ever get up and do anything ever again. She allowed me have pity parties for myself. She would say, “I give you today to throw yourself a pity party, then tomorrow you get up, take a shower, and go to work”. That was SO awesome. I had the right, for one day, to have a pity party. You have no idea how much I love to throw a pity party. ALOT…
Bottom line is, this probably hasn’t come out the way I wanted it to at all, but I am so happy to have a friend like her. She has been more like a sister to me than a friend this past year, because I’m pretty sure she said some things friends wouldn’t say to each other, but sister’s would. She’s been honest with me, but she has my back, and she’s helped recreate the person I am in the process of becoming again. So if you did in fact read this Trisha, thanks. You have my undying gratitude and love (whether you want it or not), and my first-born if you ever decide you’d like another child… no, really…. she’s all yours…!
So today I went to my best friend’s son’s first JFL football game. It was awesome. I do love a good football game, and I was amazed, after my brief encounter with my oldest daughter’s stint in soccer, how well the kids actually paid attention and did what was supposed to be done in an organized sport.
Anyway, we were sitting there watching the game and discussing which kids should play which positions. Now, mind you, neither one of us are fit and trim, nor do we have any background in football, but we both agreed the heavier kids should definitely be playing defense and NOT quarterback. I’m pretty sure in some countries that’s considered child abuse.
The poor child that was quarter back for the team was definitely a candidate for defense. The first hike he tried to run, but petered out about ten steps into it. The next hike he threw a nice pass, but the other kid dropped it. I could hear his inner monologue the entire time:
“Damn coaches making me be quarterback. God, I’m so out of breath. Why won’t they put me back on the sidelines? I ain’t running down that field again….hell, I’ll just pass it this time.”
What I don’t get is why the coaches couldn’t see what two, football illiterate, mothers could. Really, are you just cruel? I’m going to research which countries would require I call DCFS…