The Red Planet

It's just a can of paint.

2010-07-13T00:59:00.000-07:00

It’s been 4 years. The can of paint is still sitting on the shelf, smeared and dented, no longer sticky but covered with my paint-laden finger prints from the first time I opened it. It’s a can of paint among dozens of others, sitting in the garage, all full or half-full, of various shades and finishes. Each representing an unfinished project, an abandoned remodel, a wall left untouched. But only this can of paint, this shade of lilac, this abandoned dream, can take my breath away and reduce me to tears. Or could.

It’s just a can of paint, but for so long it was so much more. It was the promise of a life according to plan. It was tea parties, pretty dresses, pig tails and nail polish. It was girl talk, life lessons in feminine wiles, and the passing on of heirlooms, few as they may be. It was the prospect of raising another like me, only better, less broken. It was wrong. I was wrong.

It has only ever been a can of paint. The dreams, the plans, the prospects were mine, and when they didn’t materialize, I tossed them all in that can and tapped the lid shut tight, just not tight enough. Every time I saw it on the shelf, the wound ripped open, my heart broke a little bit more. But that was me, not the can of paint. I didn’t get what I knew I wanted, what I thought I needed. I got something better, something more, but I couldn’t see it for the can of paint in the way.

He was not what I expected. He has become so much more. He is red and yellow, not lilac and white. He is dirt and pirates, a monkey in a cape instead of lace and nail polish, or pigtails on a princess. He is snotty kisses and raucous laughter rather than dainty pecks and tender giggles. He is so different, and yet so very much the same. He is me in miniature, only funnier and with more fire, more righteous indignation and determination to make the world what he sees it should be. He has my heart. He is my heart. And there is no can, color, or finish of paint that will change that.

It’s time I threw that can of paint away.

Tiger Woods Does NOT Owe Me An Apology.

2010-02-17T23:36:00.000-08:00

And I'm so fucking tired of hearing about his stupid press conference on Friday, and the speculations that he's going to apologize to America for his philandering while announcing his return to or retirement from golf. Who cares? Seriously. I'm not his wife. I'm not his mother. I'm not his employer, his friend, his child, his anything. Where he put his dick is none of my business or concern. Do I think he's a complete douche bag for cheating? Yeah. Sure. But I don't know his life, or his wife, or what led him to that place. And do I need to know all the gory details about who, how many times, where and how? Fuck. No. Nor do I want to.
I don't understand why the general public feels entitled to know the intimate details about a person's life because they happen to be a celebrity. He was unfaithful. It happens. There are millions of people walking the planet who've strayed down that same path, and I would no sooner walk up to them and demand to know where their dicks have been than I would Tiger Woods. And yet, every news channel, every magazine, every sports section of every paper is salivating at the opportunity to do just that. It's annoying. It's obnoxious. It's the furtherance of the sense of entitlement that has permeated every aspect of society, and it's sickening.
And I don't give a shit that some people look up to him and/or call him a role model. That's your decision, not his. He didn't ask to be your hero. He asked to play golf. You gave him that status in your life. He didn't seek it out. And if you taught your kids to idolize another man, to hold a faulted, imperfect mortal like themselves to and exalted, idealized, and impossible standard of perfection, that's on you too. Time to explain reality.
He's an athlete, not a god. He's a man who plays golf. Let the man play golf. Let his wife worry about where he's been. And for fuck's sake, quit talking about his douchey behaviour. I'm sure his wife is sick of hearing about it too.

TILTing on Top of The World

2010-01-14T22:41:00.000-08:00

There is a raging party in my sinuses right now, so this week's TILT is going to be short and sweet.

I love that new and exciting things are on the horizon for Ninja. I wish he was as confidant in himself and his abilities as I am.

I love the sound of my boys playing and chasing each other in the living room while I make dinner in the kitchen.

I love that Oscar is so excited by being able to do new, but simple, things.

I love that Victor makes a point to ask at least one good question every day at school so he can tell me all about his question and the answers he found when he gets home.

I love that this weekend Oscar will finally get his birthday party, roller skatin,g friends, cake and all.

I love that we are fortunate enough in this life, in these times, to be able to give him that party and these memories.

I love putting the boys to bed at night. I love that they fight over who gets to read with Ninja and who gets to cuddle with me. I'm not looking forward to the days ahead when they don't need or want that quiet time with us any more.

I love being back at work after a long vacation.

I love validation.

I love Vlad and Sergey and every other student who has landed in my classroom for how hard they work and all that they accomplish.

I love that I get to be a part of that work, and a witness to their successes.

I love they have so many successes to share and celebrate, and that they remember to come celebrate them with me.

I love that I get to do something every day that matters so much. I GET to do it. And I know how fortunate I am in that.

I love my mentor in my grad program. She's funny. She's smart. She's a smart ass like me. And she's a realist. I love her for her cool and collected demeanor, her sharp wit, and her absolute refusal to be anything less than direct and honest with me but in the nicest way possible. I love that she gets me and my inane/insane ramblings and pointless rebellions. She rocks and again I know how fortunate I am to have her.

I love that I have the opportunity to earn this masters degree to further my work with these kids.

I love that my favorite student got to choose her classes for next year, and she tried to sign up for my classes twice to fill her day. :) I had to change it to make room for classes she needs, but again, I love validation.

I love efficiency.

I love going to the gym, being sore, and feeling like I've done something for myself at the end of the day without ripping off the people who depend on me.

I love that I've finally allowed myself to be a priority in my own life on occasion without feeling guilty.

I love Biggest Loser for inspiring me to do so.

I love my people and the fun, wisdom, and stability they add to my life.

I love that Kim and her family are on the road to better.

I love that Teri is too.

I love that Millie had an awesome birthday, and that she got to go to Vegas.

I love seeing everyone's childhood pictures. Some look so different and some so much the same. I love that we are willing and able to share a piece of our younger selves with each other.

I love that I apparently have no concept of what the word short actually means judging by the length of this TILT. :)

What are you loving this week my lovelies? I hope it's lots.

Peace out, homies,

L

Tot-sized TILT

2010-01-07T00:48:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is Oscar's 3rd birthday, so today's TILT is all about Os!

3 years ago on this day, at this time, my contractions had just begun. I was excited and nervous, feeling like everything was different and yet the same as when I went through it with Victor. I had a million thoughts running through my head, but none of them prepared me for the wondrous little boy that greeted me at the end of my labor. I love that he has been a surprise a minute since the second he was born.

I love Oscar's energy. It's exhausting, sometimes frustrating, but absolutely amazing and entertaining to be around.

I love Oscar's perspective. He sees things in such a funny and creative way sometimes, and has begun to be very descriptive.

I love Oscar's language. He says the funniest things, even to the point of cracking himself and everyone around him up.

I love the way Oscar says his brother's name-Wictah-and always at the top of his lungs!

I love that Oscar loves his brother more than anyone else, more than his toys or movies, more than his friends.

I love that even though they are three years apart, Wictah and Os are the best of friends (most of the time).

I love Oscar's facial expressions. He is a clown. He is adorable. And he knows it. You can always tell when he's up to no good. His sly little grin and furrowed brows give him away every time. He has such an expressive face for such a little guy.

I love that Oscar is, unabashedly and unapologetically, his own person. His personality is strong and unique. I know, without a doubt or reservation, that I will never have to worry about him losing himself to someone else's ideas. That boy has known he was the boss since he took his first breath.

I love that where other kids his age are timid, shy, and afraid of the world, Oscar is bold, brave, and confident in his position on this rock.

I love, that in the quiet moments, when it's just Oscar and I, I can see the man he will become, and I am already proud of him.

I love, that even though he is a monster much of the time, Oscar is still my baby, my little boy, looking to cuddle in the middle of the night, when he's feeling tired, or just feeling like some quiet time.

I love that I am his safe place, his soft place to land, his comfort.

Mostly, I love my Oscar.

These guns should be illegal.

Dance of the Sugar Plum Oscar

All he wants for Christmas is his neck!

Happy birthday, my littlest love! Thank you for three of the most fun filled and exciting years I've ever known. You never cease to amaze or entertain. :)

All my love,
Mama

A word of caution

2010-01-01T09:28:00.000-08:00

To the ASSHATS in room 301:

Being a parent, I understand that children are often inconvenient. I totally get that they can delay or derail your plans, and it can be annoying. But you made them. So deal with it. And when I say deal with it, I don't mean wait until your 3 year old falls asleep and then sneak out of your hotel room, leaving her alone and unattended for who knows how long so you can go do whatever it is that is more important than caring for the child you created.

You are lucky. You are more than lucky. You are absofuckinglutely fortunate that it was me who found your daughter screaming in the hall, and not some predator. She was alone, nearly naked, half asleep, and scared out of her mind, wandering the halls looking for you, screaming for you, crying into every doorway she stumbled into begging for her mommy and daddy to come out and take her back to bed. Do you realize that the town your hotel was in is in the top three for percentages of sexual predators and Megan's Law listees in the state? Have you read the paper or watched the news recently? Do you understand how quickly your whole world, and hers, could have changed because you wanted breakfast and she wasn't up yet? Do you care?

I sat with her, in my pajamas, not fully awake myself, for ten minutes while another guest at the hotel went looking for you. The hotel staff combed the entire floor of the hotel and the dining areas, calling your names, asking for the parents of ****** to come to the desk or return to your room, and you were nowhere to be found. After 15 minutes, you wandered up, coffee from the coffee shop down the street in hand and paper under your arm as if nothing had happened and all was well with the world. Meanwhile, your daughter was sobbing hysterically into my shoulder, convinced you had abandoned her, and the hotel manager was contemplating calling CPS. When you reached for her, she leaned into me and away from you. I can't say that I blame her.

And when you laughed about the situation, I could have punched you in the mouth. Really. You're very lucky I wasn't fully awake.
If your coffee is more important than your daughter, you've no business being a parent.
Next time, I won't be there and your daughter may not be so fortunate.
Get your shit together.

Sincerely,

The Bitch down the hall

TILTing into the new year

2009-12-31T17:20:00.000-08:00

This year seemed to fly by and crawl along all at the same time. It's amazing how independent of reality one's perception of time can be. This is the last TILT of 2009, and so it seems fitting that it encompass all of the things I have loved and been loved by in this year of awkward advancement and self discovery.

As usual, I love my kids.
I love that Victor sees the world in his own matter of fact and analytical way. Everything is a puzzle for him to put together, a mystery to be solved, a clue to be read. I love that I can see his wheels spinning when he's picking something apart in his head. He sees things in such a direct and literal way, black and white with very little grey. He asks such great questions and believes there is an answer to every one, it's just a matter of finding it. It is a magical and amazing thing to see. I also love that Victor has discovered knock knock jokes.

I love that Oscar always has a song in his head and a laugh in his belly. He is ever the entertainer and the adventurer. But no matter what he's doing, he's humming a tune, singing a song, and dancing to the rhythm of the music in his head. Where his brother sees lines and grids of black and white, Oscar sees swirls and squiggles of color and texture. I love that he is already unapologetically his own person.

I love Ninja. I've come to realize over the curse of the last year that I take much of what he does for granted without meaning to. He loves me for who and what I am. And even when I try my hardest to push him away, he is steadfast and true, a constant in the chaos. I know for certain that my life would have taken a very different, and not better, path had I not met him when I did. Thank you seems so inadequate, and yet so necessary.

I love my job. I was out of the classroom last year and can honestly say that I have never felt as dissatisfied with my life as I did then. Returning to work confirmed for me that I am in the right place doing the right thing.

I love that I still have a job I love when so many of my friends have lost or will lose theirs. I feel extremely fortunate and so very, very grateful.

I love that I have the honor of doing something that makes a difference. As I was grading finals, I came across a note one of my students wrote me on the back of his test. He has been in my classes for 4 years. When he entered my class for the first time, he had only been in the country for a few days. He had a vocabulary of about ten words in English. He was shy and scared. For 2 years he did very little, and became one of those students you love but want to hurt because they just won't help themselves. He could not read. He would not write. Last year, he was in someone else's class, and he was in constant trouble and pretty rude to his teachers. But this year, things are different. And he wrote me a note telling me so. His note was a thank you note and an apology. He told me that he knew he had been difficult for everyone for the last three years and he was sorry for being rude, but he wanted to explain. He said that he could not read, he could not understand how the letters worked together or what they were supposed to sound like, and he was embarrassed. He said that this year, I taught him how to read and now everything makes sense. He said that for the first time since leaving his village, he feels like he can do something more than work in his uncle's store when he graduates. He said for the first time, he's thinking about graduating instead of dropping out. He said for the first time he actually wants to do his work and reads at home. Because he can. And he said thank you. He's not embarrassed any more.

I love constant and continued friendship.

I love that this year I was able to take my family to some of those constant friends. My worlds collided, and it made things so much more wonderful.

I love that I finally feel like an adult. I'm not a grown up, but I am an adult. I've never felt this confident, self assured, or independant as I have come to feel in this year.

I love that as a result of that confidence, I finally feel as if I deserve this life. I no longer feel as if I have to apologize for being me, for having what I have or doing what I do. I love knowing I'm worth loving.

I love that I have people who love me enough to tell me I'm an asshole when I need to hear it and expect me to do the same for them.

And I love that I have other people who call or text or email to remind me that my life is pretty amazing, and that I deserve for it to be so.

I love that I have found a place to be. Victor set me back on the path to finding a spiritual home, and Sara drew me a map. I love that in finding Beth Shalom, I found a community of people who take me for what I am and like it. The fact that I am ambivalent about the existence of God isn't an issue. I am not a pariah, an infidel, or an outsider. They want nothing from me and are always happy to see me. They are home.

I love Facebook for bringing new and different people into my life, making it all the more rich and varied.

I love the music I've discovered and the emotions it stirs.

I love that this list could go on and on. I am fortunate and grateful. I know how very different things could be.

I hope that this year ends on a high note for all of you. May the new year find you healthy, happy, and hopeful.

Thank you for being a part of my world. Be safe out there tonight so you can continue to be so.

Peace out, homies,

L

The Why Of It All

2009-12-28T17:02:00.000-08:00

I found Jillian Michaels on Facebook today. Someone else became a fan and I followed a link. This is what greeted me at the top of her page.

"He who has a Why to live for can bear almost any How"- Nietzsche. So true. Weight loss is hard. So how do you tolerate the "how" of it? The answer, "Why" is weight loss worth it. Example: are skinny jeans worth passing on donuts? Is avoiding heart disease worth 30 min of exercise? With the new year upon us, meditate on your "Why". Then begin educating yourself & acting on the "How".

Nothing could have been more appropriate than that quote on this day. I've been thinking a lot lately about why I do things, and more often than not, I find my motivation is exterior. I have become one of those people that rarely does anything for herself, and suffers for it. My kids, my husband, my friends never go without if I can help it. But I often do. I don't want for material things. I have more than enough food, a beautiful home, too many possessions. But I don't make time for myself. I don't take care of myself. I don't do for me what I do for others. And really, I think that the reason is that I've never felt like I deserved it. There are a million and one reasons that I could give for why I feel that way, but really, none of them matter.At this point, they have all become excuses. At some point, as an adult, you need to stop thinking about the negative lessons you learned as a child, let go of the impressions of yourself imposed upon you by others during your formative years, stop blaming your parents for your habits and predilections, and get the hell on with being a healthy and productive human being. And that's where I am. I've finally realized that, while it may be noble to live for my kids now, at some point, they will grow up and and move on into lives of their own, and I will be left with the repercussions of my current neglect. And I've only just realized that I deserve better.

I need to be the reason I get off the couch every day and go for a run. I need to be enough. My life, my well-being need to be what picks my ass up and pushes it out the door to the gym at 5am. I need to be my why. I am worth losing weight and getting healthy. I am worthy of it, too. It's just taken me until now to realize it.

A New Love

2009-12-26T12:58:00.000-08:00

I was recently introduced to the AMAZING music and comedy of Tim Minchin. He is hilarious, insightful, irreverent and just absolutely, astoundingly, articulate. I can't get enough of him or his stuff. His song "White Wine In The Sun" is the best anti-Christmas/ Christmas song. Ever. Really. His ideas and his voice, his crazy hair and eye make-up and his general presence in and perception of the world remind me so much of my brother, Ray, that I am seriously becoming obsessed (in a non-stalker and totally healthy fan-girl kind of way!)
If you've not listened or experienced him, please do. He is incredible!

Enough

2009-12-26T12:11:00.000-08:00

It's not that I don't have anything to say. But sometimes, I say something here and then don't know how to follow it. I posted last on the anniversary of my brother's death about my frustration and anger over the grieving process, and how long and protracted it can be. And then I didn't know what else to say. I've posted other blogs in other places (namely Facebook) but haven't brought them here because they seemed so disjointed with the mood I set with that post. And for some reason, it never occurred to me before now that there doesn't have to be continuity of theme and mood here any more than there does in my head. So I've had enough of splitting my posts and leaving the self loathing and painful posts hanging for months on end. I'm going to move my other posts here. So there'll be a bit of back dating and an influx of posts. Not a ton, but some, and then I'll try to get my head on straight and post here more often than not. For the whole three of you who pay occasional attention. :)

Tinseled TILT

2009-12-24T12:44:00.000-08:00

It's been three weeks since I last TILTed. The end of the semester sucked the life out of me for a bit there. So today's TILT will include pieces from weeks past. It's a mixed bag on this Christmas Eve. :)

I love the excitement running through the boys' veins. Their energy and absolute adoration for this time of year is palpable. It's so much fun to watch and an honor to be a part of.

I love that my kids get to celebrate both Hannukah and Christmas. They win the holiday jackpot! I love that neither is JUST about presents for them or for us, that who they see is just as important and awesome for them as what they see in that box or under the tree.

I love my students. I've said it before, but really, they are awesome human beings. Many of my kids are away from their parents. They are living here with other relatives or friends. I love that when one of them has a birthday, the others pitch in and throw that kid a party during lunch. Someone comes late or leaves early to get a cake, they gather in my room, and they celebrate with and for each other. None of them ask for it. None of them expect it. But they all participate. It's an incredible and amazing thing to watch. It nearly brings me to tears every time they do it. It's such a little thing, but to the kids who otherwise wouldn't have a party or be celebrated or even acknowledged, it means the world.

I love the cold, sharp winter air. I don't so much love the itchy skin, but I can't get enough of the cold air into my lungs when I'm outside. It's my own little version of crack. :)

I love snow! It snowed! At my house! That hasn't happened in 30 years! It was barely enough to notice, but enough to paint the grass white for a few hours and cause my kids to lose their shit. It was awesome. I want more!

I love the lights and decorations, the music and the sounds of this season. I'm not always in the mood for it, but when I see my kids' faces light up over a song on the radio or movie on tv, it changes pretty quickly.

I love that Bette Midler found a way to Jew up classic Christmas carols. Her album "Cool Yule" has been on heavy rotation for a week now. :)

I love my trashy chili pepper lights on the outside of my house and on my mantle. I love the blue beast of a tree in my living room.

I love baking. I love the way the house smells when something's in the oven. I love the way the boys pop in and out of the kitchen while it's cooling on the rack, begging for a taste or just a little piece. I love having something sweet to share with friends when the mess is made and the baking's all done.

I love clarity.

I love Chinese food and movies when the rest of the world is running like mad to be somewhere else.

I love surprises (of the non-explosive variety) in my mailbox! I don't know why, but I am always surprised when I open the box and find a card or letter in there addressed to me. It makes my day and leaves me feeling all warm, tingly, and loved. :)

I love the quiet. It doesn't happen often, but as I type, my house is blissfully silent. The boys are sleeping. The Ninja is otherwise occupied, and I'm alone with my laptop and my thoughts. Heaven.

I love my people. My life would not be the wonderland it is without your contributions to it. You keep me sane and make me crazy all at the same time, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I love you. I am thankful for you. And I hope you know that all year long.

Whether or not you're celebrating in the morning, I hope your day is an awesome one full of the things and people you love most.

Peace out, homies,
L

TILTing on the Tiltiest Day of Them All

2009-11-26T20:55:00.000-08:00

Turkey edition:

This week, I am loving my immune system and my general good health. Being so sick last week, I realized that I take my health and strength for granted. I plan to change that. I need to change that.

I love my children. I love that my children are healthy and happy and well-adjusted.

I love my husband. I love that he loves me, dimples, wrinkles, grays, attitude and all.

I love my family.

I love that we have the luxury of too much food, Wii battles, and a day full of silliness with friends and loved ones today.

I love the people willing to sacrifice to afford us the luxury of a silly day and too much food. Deployed, stationed abroad, or home-side, thank you for your service and sacrifice.

I love peanut butter! I love that Sheryl sent me the MOST amazing peanut butter all the way from New York. I love Sheryl! Freaking. Amazing.

I love baking. I love getting my hands sticky, peeling apples with a paring knife, shooing the boys out of the kitchen, watching their faces light up and their excitement build as the smells of baking pies and breads waft through the house. I love having something delicious to show for the mess and the work.

I love making Thanksgiving dinner for my family. It's been a few years since I have because we've been pulled in various directions, but I love it. I love planning the menu, shopping for the ingredients, prepping, trying new recipes, and feeding the ones I love. It's messy and exhausting, but there's no other feeling like it. Next year.

I love humor. I love people who 'get' my humor and are hilarious in their own right.

I love people who are passionate and intelligent.

I love Ancient Angry Annie. Her total geriatric flame out at the grocery store yesterday made me laugh, made me squirm, but mostly gave me something to shoot for when I'm older than dirt. :)

And as always, I loooooooove my people. I am so very thankful for your presence and participation in my life. If I haven't said it before, let me say it now, I would not be here without you. My life would not be the rich and varied playground it is without you. Thank you.

I love that I have so much and so many to love and be thankful for today and every day. I also love that I can see how really very lucky I am.

What are you loving today?

Peace out, homies,

L

TILTing on the Edge of Insanity

2009-11-19T22:59:00.000-08:00

This week's edition of TILT is brought to you by the flu.

I love 7-up and Orange juice, otherwise known as the elixir of life.

I love hot showers on an achy body.

I love that Ninja has come home from work early every day since I got sick to take care of the boys and cancelled his trip up north so he could be here to take care of them and me.

I love that my boys are relatively easily entertained, and go out of their way to keep busy when they know I'm sick and can't play with them.

I love that Victor called himself my 6 year old babysitter, ordered me to lay on the couch and cover up in a blanket, and kept touching my forehead to check my temperature on Tuesday when I first got sick.

I love that Oscar has kept touching my forehead and telling me "yous on fiyah mama, still sick. your head burned me!" every time he does.

I love that I have a job that allows me to take sick leave. I've taken three days off with this ick. That's more time than I've ever taken for anything other than death or maternity leave. I love that I was able to take these days off rather than having to struggle through and spread this crud around.

I love my immune system. Slowly but surely it's fighting off this virus. I'm not better, but I will be. I can feel it happening little by little.

I love soup.

I love my couch.

I love the big, thick, Mexican blanket that has been my cocoon for the last three days.

I love that I can whine about being sick on here and rather than telling me to suck it up, my friends and family ask how they can help.

I love my people.

And now I'm going to slink off and pass out on my couch again.

What are you loving today my lovelies?

Peace out, homies,
L

TILT-ilation on a Friday morning

2009-11-13T12:39:00.000-08:00

I fell asleep again, and failed to TILT. Boo. But I fell asleep with an icky feeling midget snuggled up on my lap, so I think I get a pass.

Anyway, onto the love.

This week, I have SO much to love.

I love my birthday. It's Veteran's Day. I love that on my birthday, we stop and say thank you to those that make the freedoms and comforts we enjoy possible.

I love Ninja. He tries every year to make my birthday special and wonderful, and usually succeeds. It's not about the gifts or the stuff, but that he cares enough to try. Although I love that he bought me a Wii Fit, even though the last thing we needed was another game system. It was a completely unnecessary and frivolous purchase, which is exactly contrary to his nature, but he did it for me. And I love it. :)

I love my boys. They were more excited about my birthday than I was. Hearing them giggle and squirm in anticipation while I fruitlessly tried to sleep in was the best present ever. The hugs and kisses and 'you're beautiful's I got all day long were even better.

I love that Oscar has started singing Moto Moto's song from Madagascar 2 "I like 'em big, I like 'em CHUNKY!" It's hilarious!

I love unexpected visits from my mom. She drove all the way down here to see me on my birthday, and it was awesome.

I love my sister. She was sick but still got out of bed to bring me flowers and donuts at school. She even tortured my students by making them sing happy birthday to me before they could have a donut. She is awesome!

I love that Chaska is going to be a mama. That is one of the luckiest fetuses ever! Grow baby, grow!

I love having people. All day long my FB page and my phone were on fire with people telling me happy birthday and that they loved me. I have people! People who love me and aren't obligated by DNA to say so! It's a relatively new thing for me, to have so many people I call friend. It's a kind of security I have not enjoyed before. Thank you, friends!

I love that my favorite student finally got the glasses she needed. She can see now! And she loves her glasses. I caught her staring at people's faces yesterday as if it was the first time she'd seen them, just analyzing the detail and taking it all in. She was so cute walking into the room wearing them yesterday. She pointed to my glasses and then to hers and gave me a thumbs up. I freakin' love that kid!

I love saying thank you. It makes me feel good to acknowledge what others have done for me.

I love mashed potatoes.

I love mint.

I love the smell of chicken baking in my oven.

I love the sound of my boys playing, even when they're torturing each other.

I love my Ipod and all the delicious music it holds.

I love my phone. It keeps me connected no matter where I go.

And I love the absolutely wrong in the head women who keep me going and crack my shit up every single day. Thank you ladies. You know who you are.

And I also love the Assholympics, bringing a 'hole' new meaning to competition. Watch out for gravel, that shit snags!

What are you loving this week, my lovelies?

Peace out, homies,

L

TILTing a little late

2009-11-06T12:28:00.000-08:00

I fell asleep before I could TILT last night, so I'm posting a little late. Sorry!
For anyone new to the world of TILT, it's a weekly posting of things I love. Tee, the fabulous Tee, started it a while back, and many of us have followed suit in sending out a little love and admiration into the Universe.

So here are the things I'm loving this week:

I LOVE THAT THE YANKEES ARE WORLD CHAMPIONS ONCE AGAIN!!!!!! Ahem, I mean, go Yankees! Woot!

I love playing games with the boys. Oscar has learned how to throw a ball, and Vic is learning how to use the computer. Watching them blossom while figuring out the intricacies of games, watching their minds work and their faces light up when they finally figure something out is absolutely and amazingly the best sight ever.

I love that Ninja is feeling better. He was really sick last weekend, and I was worried it would become something more, but he's on the mend and getting back to himself. It's pretty awesome.

I love Dia de los Muertos. The tradition, the ofrendas, the thinking and believing that goes into it. It's beautiful and wonderful and a little heartbreaking, but I love it more every year.

I love that it's pumpkin pie and egg nog season!

I love intelligent conversation, logic, respectful and mature discourse. I love people who know how to have that discourse and walk away still friends even if the conversation is heated.

I love my mother. I often don't understand her. I more often don't know how to talk to her. But I love her nonetheless.

Musically, I love Melody Gardot! I heard her on NPR the other day and can't stop listening to her. I love that she found music while recovering from a traumatic head injury, and then it became her life. She's amazing and so is her voice.
http://www.amazon.com/My-One-And-Only-Thrill/dp/B0027J4SKA/ref=pd_sim_dmusic_1

I love my friends, near and far. Y'all are insane, as Auntie Sugarbush says, not right in the head, but you are loving, amazing, wonderful human beings who enrich my life in more ways that I can list. Thank you.

What are you loving this week, my lovelies?

Peace out, homies,
L

TILTing Baby, One More Time

2009-10-30T12:27:00.000-07:00

The fabulous Tee Tee makes us all want to be and feel better! To that end, she started posting lists of things she loves on Thursdays. It's an awesome way to refocus your energy and toss a little love and positivity out into the Universe. So many of us have followed in her footsteps.

Here's what I'm loving this week:

I love that Victor, who is just barely 6, is a voracious reader. As I sit here writing, he's finishing his second chapter book of the afternoon. Awesomeness!

I love that Oscar's favorite phrase right now is "what the BEAST?" He uses it when he doesn't understand or is surprised by something. It's his own little version of WTF? and it cracks me up EVERY time I hear him say it.

I love having grown up furniture in my bedroom! Ninja and I bought a new bedroom set last weekend and FINALLY have furniture as nice as the kids have. :) YAY!

I love having so many friends who are pregnant or with new babies. I love hearing their stories, seeing their pictures, and watching them become mothers to their babies. It's an awesome transition, not always smooth, but awesome nonetheless. Mostly, I love knowing that I can ooh and ahhh and smile and appreciate the cuteness without having to get up and feed it at 2am. :)

I love that I have local friends who love my kids as much as I do and think to include them in little things like lunch at school or trips to the park. That's the kind of stuff kids remember, and it's awesome. Thank you for being awesome!

I love honey crisp apples. They are the bombdiggity, yo. Seriously, manna from heaven. Or a tree. Whatever. Eat them!

I love autumn! The weather is amazing. The smells are so rich and delicious. I just can't get enough of fall.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE Halloween! I love seeing the kids dress up, hanging out with my local friends and their kids, seeing kids in the neighborhood meet and greet each other on the street. It's one of the few times during the year that the suburbanites come out of their houses with their kids. It's awesome to see just how many people actually live here!

I love the feeling that comes with finishing something and finishing well. I am surrounded by people who half ass everything they do (at work mostly), and it kills me. I love knowing that whatever I've done has been done to the best of my ability. I'm not perfect. I have my half assed days, but not much compares to finishing well.

I love getting organized. My desk at work was an atrocity until two days ago. Now everything has a place and is in it!

I also love binders and dividers! I couldn't run my classroom without them. Seriously, best organizational tool ever.

I love the smoky thick voice of Mercedes Sosa, a folk-type singer from Argentina :

http://www.amazon.com/Mercedes-Sosa-en-Argentina/dp/B0000015SU/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1256862352&sr=8-2

I love, LOVE my students. I had a sub yesterday because I was at the district office for meetings. The sub was apparently a complete asshat, cursing at the kids, lecturing them on their inferiority and the lameness of their home countries, insulting me and my classroom, throwing away or stealing my supplies-a reeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaal doodad. At the end of the third hour several of my kids had had enough and walked out to get another adult to deal with him but not until he started to talk badly about me. I love that they care enough about me and what I do for them to be insulted and upset by what he said. I love that they were willing to get in trouble to defend me. Mostly, I love that they recognized how wrong he was about them, about me, and about what we do every day. They are super awesome kids! (And yes, the doodad will be dealt with.)

I love sarcasm and people who understand it.

I love poke wars with friends I rarely get to see. It makes them seem so close even when they are so far away. :)

And as always, I love the amazing, freakishly intelligent, witty, complex and truly loving and lovely mix of crazy I call my friends. Nothing would be the same without you.

So you, what are you loving today?

Peace out, homies,
L

TILT the 3rd

2009-10-22T12:25:00.000-07:00

Again, following in the footsteps of my awesome friend Tee Tee, I'm here to declare my love and adoration for the following people and things:

I love evening walks with the boys in the crisp autumn air. Mostly I love that the Ninja and I have given them a life that allows for evening walks together. It's a luxury many families cannot afford, and I am grateful.

I love snuggling in the frosty mornings with both boys. They still nestle in when I curl up next to them and let me hug on them and sniff their hair, tickle them awake and wish them a good morning. I love that. I will miss it when they are too big for snuggles and tickling in the morning.

I love that Victor has discovered Tai Pei and Shanghai, puzzle games on the computer. Watching him try to work through the tiles, focused and so serious, makes me giggle and delights me to no end. He's becoming a man so quickly.

I love that Oscar, so independent and feisty and ornery, tells me I'm beautiful at random times and for no particular reason, but when I most need to hear it.

I love healthy babies and happy mamas. "The Best Doctor Ever" had her little boy earlier this week, and it makes me giddy with glee to know that she's a mama now. Luckiest little boy ever, right there. :)

I love that my favorite student got to go on a field trip to a pumpkin patch today. She had never been on a school bus, seen a pumpkin up close, or seen hay before. And she got to drink fresh apple cider, pick a pumpkin off the vine, and go on a tractor ride. She was so excited this morning when I saw her waiting for the bus. It made my eyes tear up. Still does. I can't wait to hear how her day went when I see her tomorrow.

I love that I work with people who care enough to include her in their activities, even though they have no reason to feel obligated. They are just that awesome and caring and compassionate. Truly remarkable human beings.

I love seeing my former students doing well for themselves. Pham, shut it. 3.7 at Berkeley is amazing. And if you want a 4.0, stop going to brownie parties and crack those books! ;0)

I love the smells of autumn. Spicy and warm, a little smoky, but oh so comforting.

I love scarves.

I love the interwebs and all of the wonderment they bring to my life, not the least of which is:

http://projectrungay.blogspot.com/2009/10/tim-gunn-is-tired-of-your-bullshit.html

I love cooking. Food is love, y'all. I love making dinner for the family and hearing them say they love it too. I don't love the dishes or cleaning up after cooking, but that's for another list. ;0)

I love those whores I call friends. Still. Always.

I love being tagged in TILTs. It makes me smile and warms my heart to know that my peeps love me as much as I love them. But it still always surprises and humbles me that they think to include me in their lists of beloved things and people. You honor me, bitches. Truly.

What are you loving today?

Peace out, homies,
L

TILTing 2.0

2009-10-15T12:24:00.000-07:00

It's Thursday again! Yay! Time for some unsolicited and unconventional love!

Things I'm loving:

*Watching Victor ride his bike. He just learned to ride without training wheels. He's so confident and proud as he zips around on two wheels. I can see the silhouette of the man he is becoming and it makes me so happy to know that that man will be a good one.

*Listening to Oscar talk. His language grows by leaps and bounds every single day. At two he can articulate his wants, needs, likes, and dislikes, better than some adults. His perspective is so funny sometimes. I absolutely adore listening to him and his stories.

*That my husband will come home from work early to take care of the boys so I can go sit in a meeting and support my friends who are potentially losing their jobs. That he recognizes how important they are and how important my being there for them is, makes him awesome.

*That my sons like each other. You can hear their laughter pealing off the walls wherever they go. It is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world and it makes my heart happy.

*Blustery weather. We had thunderstorms the likes of which I'd never seen earlier this week. It was awesome and frightening and so damn cool. It was as close to a typhoon as I've ever been, and about as close as I'd ever like to be. :)

*My principal. I've worked in a lot of places and for a lot of people. But I've never worked for a person anything like Eick. He is an awesome and amazing human being, and he's damn good at his job. He makes you want to do yours better just by being around. He's taking a beating, we are all taking a beating, over the current budget crisis and impending cuts. That part sucks, but what I love is that even in the face of so much sad and angry, he's an upbeat and positive guy making everyone around him feel the same way. It's an honor, a privilege, and a sincere pleasure that I get to go to work with him every day. (And he's not on my page so it's not like he'll read this-no sucking up. All truth!)

*That my favorite student can now tell me good morning, goodbye, ask how I'm doing and tell how she's feeling each day. I love that she is gaining language every day, and that she's comfortable enough now to give me high fives and small hugs. I love that she looks for my signal to tell her she's gotten something right, and that I can see when she doesn't understand just by looking at her. I love that she WANTS to learn and WANTS to do what everyone else is doing and is willing to try even if she doesn't have the right answer. And I love that she draws and colors me pictures every day and says thank you when she pins them to my wall.

*I still love that I get to do this every day.

*Hebrew. Awesomeness.

*Change. Sometimes things get stale and stinky. Sometimes they get old and boring. Change is good. Change is necessary. Change keeps things alive and interesting.

*Bean soup.

*Helping the people I love understand each other. It doesn't always work, but I try anyway just in case.

* Being crafty. I suck at crafts, but it's fun to get my hands sticky and colorful in the name of pointless crafty fun.

*NPR and PRI.

*My peeps. All of 'em. You keep my heart happy and my feet on the ground. I will never be able to thank you enough for the rich and varied ways you make me better.

Peace out, homies.

L

Fasting

2009-10-03T10:51:00.000-07:00

This year, I decided to fast in observance of Yom Kippur. I've attempted it in the past, but have never made it through the entire 25 hour period of fasting. It was a fascinating experience. I don't enjoy being hungry. It wasn't a particularly pleasant experience. But it gave me a sense of clarity and appreciation I've not experienced before. I take a lot for granted. I indulge too much in a variety of vices and luxuries that don't exist for many. Every pang of hunger, rumble of the tummy, and wave of dizziness reminded me how fortunate I am that this is not my every day existence. It brought into sharp relief the abundance of good fortune in my life and made me think about how often I take that for granted. It caused me to consider how desperately I need to make some changes, how irresponsible I've been in some regards, and reminded me how much I have to lose if I don't.
It was a quiet day of contemplation and consideration that I don't think I'd have had otherwise.

TILTing For The Very First Time

2009-10-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

TILT stands for Things I Love Thursday.

My awesome friend Tee Tee started a tradition. Every Thursday she posts a list of things she loves. I'm a fan of public declarations of love and a huge fan of hers, so I've finally decided to hop on board and post a list of my own.

I love:

my kids. der. :) They are wicked tough to deal with somedays but they make my life exciting and colorful in ways I'd never imagined possible. They also remind me how awesome it is just to be alive on a daily basis.

my husband. He's a class act. He's not perfect, but neither am I. He tolerates my shit and still respects me in the morning. I call that a win.

my job. That I have one in this ecnomy is enough to love, but that I GET to go to work every day and do what I love is amazing.

my students. They don't realize how much more they teach me every day. Their stories are inspiring and heartbreaking and some days the progress they make takes my breath away.

that I have the luxury of fasting. I fasted in observance of Yom Kippur this year. While I fasted I thought a lot about why I was doing it and what it meant. I realized that for some people, that gnawing, aching hunger I felt in the middle of the day is an every day reality. For me it was a choice, a self imposed restriction, a luxury. It made me extremely grateful for the abundance of comforts I am privileged to enjoy.

my friends. No matter what, my friends know who I am and where I stand. They don't all know each other. They don't all love each other. But they all know and love me, and for that I am eternally in their debt.

the freak show that is my school's neighborhood. It never fails to provide me with the entertainment I need. Today I saw a nearly naked woman in a car full of filthy children shaving her face and neck with a bic razor parked out front. I am stiiiiiiill laughing!

the delete button and knowing when to stop myself. Some things should stay inside my head. I love that I have the self control to keep them there.

Cakeob (my friend Jakob) and his crazy music/lyrical status updates that bring me new and awesome music to experience.

days like yesterday that are the perfect mix of instruction and advocacy. They let me know I'm in the right place, doing the right things, and making a difference on this big round rock.

I'll stop. I could go on for days because things are just that awesome. :o)

Peace out homies,

L

Non-linear

2009-09-11T11:10:00.000-07:00

I can usually find the words a friend in pain needs to hear. I can tell them to let their grieving happen. That it takes time. That there is no set schedule for grief or healing. That the process is not linear. Their pain and anger will ebb and flow, sometimes disappear and reappear seemingly at random. That it will eventually change, and in that change there will be better times. And when I say these things to my friends, I mean them. I know them to be true. They are not quippy phrases or Hallmark sentiments. They are lessons I've learned through my own pain and processing.
But when it IS my pain, when it IS my grief, I cannot get past the non-linear nature of it. I am frustrated by my sadness. Overwhelmed by my anger. I am angry at my inability to simply be o.k. I am annoyed by the hollow feeling and inescapable emptiness I sometimes feel, rather annoyed by inablitiy to just climb out of the hole this loss has created in my heart. Iam irritated by my regression; full of rage that I am back in a place, clouded and dark, where everything hurts or is numb. Because I should be past this. I should be over it. I should have healed by now. Instead, I am a raw nerve, frayed and tangled, just waiting for one more reason to shoot sparks of pain into the universe.
And I feel like a hypocrit.

Dear Joe Wilson,

2009-09-10T06:39:00.000-07:00

You are a complete douche bag. Your little outburst during PRESIDENT Obama's speech last night threw into sharp relief the complete lack of respect you, your party, and people like you have, not only for the man in office, but the office itself. It is no wonder to me, any longer, why you allowed a complete idiot to be the face of your party for so long. You aren't smart enough to know better.

Had that speech been delivered by W, you would have applauded. Had that speech been delivered by anyone other than PRESIDENT Obama, you would have sat quietly through it, grumbled your dissent, and gone about your day. But because it was PRESIDENT Obama at the microphone, you felt entitled to openly call him a liar? Who raised you? Who taught you that the PRESIDENT of the United States is not entitled more respect than to be interrupted and openly insulted while addressing the nation he leads? You should be embarrassed and ashamed. Your party should, too.

Newsflash, snowflake. Your mama lied. You are not the center of the universe. You aren't even an important piece of the machinery. You've done little to nothing to make this place better. So until you get off your happy ass and do so, keep your commentary and criticisms to yourself. And for the love of Pete, remember your place. When the PRESIDENT is addressing you, keep your pie hole shut.

Sincerely,

This angry bitch now fueled by outrage.

One of THOSE days……

2009-09-09T22:25:00.001-07:00

Have you ever had one of those days where everything you touch disintegrates beneath your fingers? Where everything you hear is a slight or an insult? Where everything you do turns out wrong, disastrously, inexplicably wrong? Have you ever had one of those days where no matter what you say or who is around, no one seems to hear you? Where everyone you meet needs a smack or a throat punch just to knock enough sense into them to make them go away? Have you ever just wanted to scream and shout and pull out your hair and have a giant flaming tantrum because the Universe is just pissing you off THAT much?

That was my day.

Why is it that one shit-brown day can undo weeks of positivity and hard work? Why does one little day, one single set of 24 hours, have so much power? Am I really that much of a sissy la la princess that a few hours of crappy behavior by others can make me feel so worthless and pathetic? When did I become such a weak-minded asshole? I mean, I am a grown ass woman. I have accomplished so much. I work hard. I have two beautiful kids and a marriage in progress. I have students I adore who work hard and do well. I have a job that matters. I make positive contributions every time I set foot on campus. I have friends who love me, and whom I love dearly. Why can a couple of dicks make me forget all the good I have around me so quickly? Why can one bad night turn it all on its head? What the hell is wrong with me that I can't put into perspective? I'm teetering on the edge of a complete flame out. Some of the people around me are just ridiculous. Their stupidity is so maddening, it's overwhelming. I need to get myself under control before I lose it and let them ruin everything I've worked for. Someone tell my temper because it's not listening to me anymore.

6

2009-09-03T23:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Victor,
Every year, your birthday is a source of excitement and joy. You count down the days until it arrives, and are giddy the entire day of because it's 'your' day. 24 hours under your complete (albeit supervised) control. In the past, your birthdays have been filled with trips to the park and board games, soy ice cream and vegan cakes, movies and snuggling on the couch. In the past, you were a little boy. Today, your birthday was filled with school, a surprise trip to the golf course with your papa, and a late dinner out at the restaurant of your choosing. The day passed, hustled and bustled, and I barely had time to hug you tight, tell you I love you and wish you a happy day.
You are not a baby any more. You are a young man. There are days when I struggle to see you as you are and not as you used to be. But it's so easy to see the wonderful man you are becoming. You have been the light of our lives for six amazing years. I look forward to watching you grow and mature for many, many more.

I love you forever and always,

Your mama

Sometimes they just break your heart.

2009-08-28T19:19:00.000-07:00

I've been a teacher for a relatively long time. This is my ninth year. In those nine years, I've had hundreds of students. Each of them came to me with their own story, their own traumas and triumphs, their own little take on the world. Each of them, in their own way has touched me and shaped the way I see and interact with the world. Many of them are the reason I come back to teaching year after year. On any given day, I feel prepared to handle whatever my students bring me, be it sorrow or joy, serious conversation or light-hearted celebration. Today a little girl walked through my door and showed me just how much I still have to learn. I can't post much about her particular circumstances, but suffice it to say that such a short life should not contain so much abuse and neglect. The scars of her past are visible on her person and in her eyes. Her fear and uncertainty were palpable as soon as she walked through my door. She recoiled from my hand as I gently touched her shoulder, and it took a concerted effort for her to raise her eyes up off the floor. It broke my heart to watch her struggle with simply being in the room.
As the days go by and I try to teach her English, I have a feeling I'm going to have to teach her much more than a language, and I have no idea how I'm going to do it. Watching her trying to shrink into her desk, trying to hide in plain sight reminds me how fortunate my children and I are to be where we are and have the lives that we do. It may sound odd, but I am thankful that she found her way to me. I am almost certain she has as much to teach me as I do her.

What a difference a year makes.

2009-08-25T14:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Victor,
A year ago, you couldn't sleep for nervousness over starting school and the changes that would bring. You got up early, excited, scared, unsure about what the day would bring. You fingered your breakfast, not really wanting to eat, in too much of a hurry to get your clothes on and get on with your day, your new 'life' as a kindergartner. You walked up to the school, anxious and excited, clutching your papa's hand the whole way, wanting to go but not quite ready to let go. You wavering confidence was adorable and oddly reassuring. On the playground, waiting for the bell to ring and your new class to start, you became confident and reassured that kindergarten would be fun and you would make friends. The walk into kindergarten was easy and exciting, as long as you were holding my hand.

Today you began first grade. There was no nervousness, no fright, and the doubts you had about being able to handle first grade were fleeting. The day couldn't begin early enough for you. You inhaled your breakfast,

threw on your clothes,

and waited by the door impatiently. For an hour.

You didn't walk up to school, so much as you ran, your little brother chasing behind you.The walk to class was more like a swagger, and there was no time to hold hands.

When it came time for class to start, you sat patiently,

raised your hand, and let the whole room know you were there and ready to get down to the very serious business that is first grade.

You are such an incredible little boy.
I'm so excited to see what this year has in store for you, and you for it!

Love,

Mama

Some things never change.

2009-08-10T17:14:00.000-07:00

I was out of the classroom for a whole year. While I was gone, I fretted that upon my return, things would be horribly different, new, foreign. The weeks leading up to the start of school were sleepless and anxiety ridden as I chewed my lips and paced the floor trying to plot my courses and plan every minute of the days ahead of me. I felt surprisingly like a first time teacher all over again. Until today. Today I walked back into that room and it felt like home. A few things are different, like the tardy and cell phone policies (which are ever changing and often hardly enforced) and some of the faces walking the halls. But that feeling, that sense of purpose, that knowledge that what I do here matters, those never change. I've never been more grateful for, more humbled or excited by that than I am this year. It's good to be home.

Ten.

2009-07-24T02:34:00.000-07:00

Dear John,

Ten years ago, at this hour, I was laying on a sleeping bag on my mother's livingroom floor, listening to my very drunk brother nattering in my ear. He went on and on and on about what it means to be married, how hard it is to be a good partner, how much work having a successful relationship is. Having never actually accomplished ANY of those things, I told him to take his drunk ass to bed so I could get some sleep, lest I have bags under my eyes the next day. I threatened to beat him about the head with my shoe if he didn't let me get some sleep. He waxed philosophic for a few more minutes, kissed me on the forehead, told me he loved me and was happy for me, and stumbled off to pass out in our other brother's room. I laid there for a long while thinking about all he'd said, marveling at how he could know all of those things well enough to say them to me, and yet his own relationships were nothing short of disasters for the most part.
I eventually fell asleep, only to wake with the sun in order to prepare for our wedding. As I moved through the day, preparing to say my vows and begin a life in tandem, I wasn't nervous. I wasn't anxious. I was freaking. tired.
As I stood at the end of the aisle, waiting for the Star Wars theme to begin so I could take my brother's arm and make my way toward marriage, I punched him in the arm and called him an asshole. Then I told him I loved him, and thanked him for the pep talk. We marched down the aisle to you.
As the minister spoke the words I'd carefully crafted, I didn't hear her. I didn't see her. I didn't hear or see anyone but you. I stifled delirious giggles and sucked back tears of exhaustion, waiting for her to say that I was married to you. When those horrible fake nails and that damned twine I insisted on tying around our vows conspired to frustrate me, I let the tears loose and sobbed, surrendering to the fatigue and the moment. I don't think a single person in the audience understood a word I said for a good five minutes. I nearly lost my shit in front of God and everyone, but you reached across the empty space between us and wiped the tears from my cheeks and everything was right with the world once again.
The rest of the ceremony and reception is kind of a blur. I remember dancing down the aisle to Queen's "Another One Bites The Dust" much to the chagrin of every other adult in attendance, and not caring that we couldn't dance without tripping over each other. I remember dancing alone in the middle of the dance floor with you, doing the Time Warp with my friends, and shaking lots of hands. I remember Berta falling, drunken groomsmen getting up to no good, and a serious shortage of beer. But mostly, I remember being with you.
It's been ten years. Much of that time is a blur as well. My brother is gone, but I've come to realize that everything he said to me that night was true. This marriage, this partnership, has been hard, and rewarding, work. We've both gotten new jobs, new careers. We've bought a house. We've become older, wiser, better people. We've created a family. This life we've made, in some ways so much like we'd always planned and in some ways so very different, is a beautiful one. In all the memories I've collected over the last ten years, those that are strongest are the ones I made with you.
It hasn't always been easy, and it's far from perfect, but I can't imagine having made these memories with anyone other than you.
Happy anniversary,
Boo

Holy shit 2 months!

2009-07-23T23:41:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's been two months since I've had anything to say. How is that possible? It's not. Really. It's not. I've just had a boat load of stuff going on. I can't tell you how many times I've been to the gym and seen a middle-aged ass hanging out of spandex, sat through a meeting listening to mental midgets blather on about how smaaaaaaaaaht they are, or cruised through the market only to be hissed at by a free-range toddler spitting and snatching cookies off the shelf, and thought "maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan I've got an angry letter for you!" Alas, those letters never got written because life got in the way. I kinda suck like that. I apologize. That letter to the spandex wearing freak at the gym (seriously, who wears a speedo to do cardio?) reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally needs to be written! In fact, I think that's where I'll take this apology, right back to our regularly scheduled asshattery:

Dear Speedo-sporting Douchebag,
You can't be serious. You can't be. No one in their right mind wears a Speedo, not even Michael Phelps! They are not flattering on the fittest of physiques, which yours doesn't even remotely resemble. Seriously man, I neeeeeeeeeed to get my cardio on. But when I walk into the gym and see your spandexed ass hanging out all over the machines, I just can't. I can't do it. I can't even touch the machine knowing your barely covered crack has been near it.
You have the softest thighs and roundest hips I have ever seen on a man. Spandex is NOT helping. In fact, it's traumatizing. The last time we saw you on the Helliptical machine, my son asked me why you were allowed to work out in your underwear while everyone else had to wear pants! You're scarring the children, homie! Scarring them!
For the love of all that is holy, cover up the junk in your trunk! Hell, cover up the trunk too! It's just wrong! And burn the spandex Speedo. Burn them so you won't ever be tempted to wear them in public or private again. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. And really, you shouldn't.

Sincerely,

The crack-phobic fatty waiting for a clean machine.

It went so quickly.

2009-06-11T00:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Victor,
It seems like just yesterday that we were walking you, so nervous and excited you didn't say a word, to your first day of kindergarten. You were so brave, so strong that day. I watched you walk in and greet your classmates like you were old friends, settling into your new role as a student without a second thought or hesitation. I, on the other hand, went home and bawled like a baby. You are not a baby,not even a little boy, any more. You are a little man. The year was not without it's challenges, boredom, brats, and bullies to name a few, but you faced each one head on and overcame them all, mostly on your own. I could not be more proud of the boy you are, or the man you are becoming. I love that you are so excited for first grade and all the adventures it will hold. You are one amazing kid, and I can't wait to see all of the amazing things that you will do.

I love you buddy,
Mama

Good Lord, I'm depressing.

2009-04-24T01:43:00.000-07:00

Here, watch this!

Rites of Passage

2009-04-24T01:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think that Victor asking to go to the synagogue last year was more for me than it was for him. Since venturing over there, I have repeatedly been floored by things I've heard or seen there. All in a good way, but also unsettling. It's uncanny how the Rabbi's seem to say what I need to hear, or direct me to something I need to read without my saying a word.
A few weeks ago, Rabbi Nancy lost her father. After she returned to the synagogue, she was talking about her loss, and her grief, and she said "It's a rite of passage. It is. And it's ok." And it stopped me. This year has been marked by loss and sadness for my family, both home and work families. I have been to several funerals, several hospitals, and muttered countless prayers under my breath for the people I love. For her to say, days after losing her father, that death is a rite of passage and it's ok floored me. Because she's right, and I had never considered it before. It's not ok to lose the people you love. It sucks. It can be maddeningly painful. But it's inevitable. What's ok is to grieve for them. To feel that pain, that loss, and then to let it go. It's the letting go that I struggle with. Others it's the feeling. But for me, it's the letting go. I don't know how to not be sad for what could have been. I don't know how to not grieve for lost opportunities and connections, for missed events and tasks left undone. I want to know. I want to let go. I think in some ways, I've started to, and in others, my heart remains steadfastly clenched around the hurt and the hole they left behind.
Rabbi Nancy is assured by her unwaivering faith that there is something more than this life. That those she's lost will be waiting for her when her time comes. I don't have that faith. I have questions, and doubt, and uncertainty. But I want it. I find myself, for the first time in my adult life, hoping that I'm wrong. Hoping that there is something more, someone waiting on the other side of that particular rite of passage.

Neglected

2009-04-24T01:07:00.001-07:00

This poor blog has been so neglected. It's been a helluva year so far. At some point, I'll sit down and write the fifty blogs rolling around in my head. But not now.

Dear Ramon,

2009-01-11T01:22:00.000-08:00

We weren't expecting that phone call. I don't think any of us thought you were capable of dying. I know I didn't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry we didn't visit more. I'm sorry the boys didn't get to know you the way they should have. I'm sorry I didn't insist that we spend more time with you.
We didn't always get along. We couldn't always be in the same room at the same time, but I hope you knew that I know how important you were, and still are, to John. You were the single most positive and influential person in John's life. You taught him how to be a man when no one else would. You were the one person I knew he would talk to, even when he wouldn't talk to me. You were more of a brother to him than his own brother has ever been. You gave him a chance, and a job, when no one else was willing. You helped him find his way, and led him to me. I never thanked you. I took it for granted that I'd have the time to tell you exactly what you meant to him, to us. I was stupid. And I'm sorry.
I hope you didn't suffer. I know you weren't ready. You said so. We weren't ready either.
You were loved, jefe. You still are.
L

Dear Oscar,

2009-01-08T20:18:00.000-08:00

Two years ago today, you came flying into the world, surprising everyone with your strength,assertiveness, and absolute male-ness.

It doesn't seem possible that you are two years old already. You have been the light and laughter in our lives since the day you were born.
It seems ridiculous that there was ever a time without you.
You are learning to talk more and more each day. The words you use, the phrases you create, fascinate and amaze me. You are so very expressive. I love the way you have figured out how to show what you cannot say. Your hands are never still, and your mind is never quiet. Your little dances and playful songs make me giggle, and remind me how very lucky I am to get to spend this time with you.
I forget sometimes that you are only just two. Your soul is much older. Your eyes are so much deeper. They always have been. It's easy to get lost in them, to forget all the growing and learning you still have to do.
I look forward to what each day brings you, what each day brings us through you. You are fearless and adventurous, the bravest little boy I've ever met. Your curiosity and desire to see, learn, and know all you can will take you so far in life. Even when you frustrate me, you amaze me, little man. There has never been another little boy quite like you.
And I thank my lucky stars that you're mine. Happy birthday, my sweet prince.
May you have many, many more before you.
Love,
Mama

So Fast

2008-12-17T11:01:00.000-08:00

It seems like it was just a week or two ago that I walked Vic into his first day of kindergarten, and here we are, already at the start of Winter break. He's terribly excited to not have school. I had thought it would take a few years before the shininess of school would wear off and break would seem like a good thing. But no, I was wrong. He's beside himself! Tomorrow is his class Christmas party. He gets to sing the dreidel song in front of his class, and then he gets to help me teach his class how to play dreidel. We went to World Market and found the cutest wooden dreidels and the chocolate gelt. He's just sad that he can't eat the gelt. I told him he could use Skittles instead, and he seemed even more excited at that prospect.
Once school lets out on Friday, there will only be a few short days to get ready for the start of Hanukkah, and then a few short days before Christmas. We've never done a big deal for Hanukkah before. I've always lit the menorah by myself, for myself, but I've never done any other celebrating. I'm a touch nervous. I'm sure it will be a touch awkward and clumsy, but it'll be fun. I got the boys a menorah of their own to light. I'll let Vic try to light it on his own. That will be an adventure in it's own right. Vic and fire should probably not make friends very often if I want the house to survive the holiday season. I've invited friends over for the first night. I'll make a big dinner and the kids can open their gifts. I bought some books for them to read and some games to play. I'm hoping it'll distract them long enough for me to get some pictures. Really, what I'm hoping, is that they'll remember the fun, the family, the light they bring to our lives.

I'm not sure how much I'll get blogged for the next few weeks while the kids are off, so if I don't get back to it, have a wonderful holiday!

Ruminations and Giving Thanks

2008-11-26T21:59:00.000-08:00

Some things should stay INSIDE my head.

Another Year Gone

2008-11-13T21:30:00.000-08:00

It's crazy how quickly time seems to pass. I remember as a kid, marking the days between birthdays and Christmases that seemed to go on and on and on just to annoy me. Each day seemed like a lifetime, each year an eternity. Any more, it's hard to see the days, let alone the years as they fly by. I don't mark time by holidays anymore. I mark time by the size of my kids' pants and the length of their hair, the piles of laundry, and the stains in the carpet. Birthdays roll around, and where once there were parties and excitement, there's a quiet nod and a wave as another year ends and a new one begins.
I don't hate my birthday. I don't hate getting older. In fact, since I was very little, very young, I can remember being excited to get older, loving the idea that the older I got, the more I could do. I hate the idea of getting old. I hate the idea of getting out of touch, and rusty, and crusty, and just out of sync with the world. I hate the idea of becoming soft-bodied and hard-hearted. I know it doesn't have to be that way, but I've seen what happens to the women in my family as they age. There are two roads, one leads to crazy and the other to crabby. Neither appeals to me. In fact, they both frighten me immensely. So, although I've only just begun my 31st year, I've decided to lay the foundation for a new road. I don't know where it leads, but I know it isn't where the others have gone. And when I'm ready to walk down it, I'm sure I'll be rockin' my tiara, my pin-stripped pants, and heels, or chucks if I decide to pave it in cupcake shaped cobblestone just for kicks.
And to those of you who've traveled down the road that has led me through this year, thank you. You make this journey rich with love and laughter. I can only hope that you continue to travel with me, paving as we go, so that I might have a chance to repay you.

Dear Victor and Oscar,

2008-11-04T23:03:00.000-08:00

When you wake up tomorrow, it will be a brand new day.
For the entirety of your lives, we have lived in a nation submerged in doubt, fear, war, and deceit. Every day of your short lives I have worried about your futures, about the paths lying before you as citizens of this country and of this world. I have lain awake nights worrying about this war we’re in, and fearing that someday your names would be called to serve, to die, like so many before you. I have lain awake nights dreading the morning light; knowing that the coming dawn will bring higher gas prices, higher food prices, higher everything prices, and knowing that each cent spent on the basic needs of daily living leaves less to provide for your education, for your future. For the entirety of your lives we have lived under the direction of a President with no moral code, with no ethics, no conscience. We have lived in the shadow of his ego and self-serving ambitions. We haven’t seen the sun for 8 years.
But tomorrow, tomorrow when you wake up, you will wake up to the sun. Tonight as you sleep, the people of this nation have spoken. The people of this nation have decided that they are tired of the darkness. They are tired of the cold, impersonal, and abusive policies we’ve struggled and failed under for the last 8 years. They are through with hate and negativity and abuse.
Tonight, the people of this great nation elected Barack Obama to be the next president of the United States of America.
Barack Obama will not be able to end the war on his own. He will not be able to lower gas prices, food prices, anything prices on his own. He will not pay the mortgage or put food on our table. He will not send you to college. He will not be able to change anything on his own or immediately. He is not the messiah. He is not a god. He is but a man. But he is change. With his election, there is hope. With his election, there is potential for greatness that has not yet existed in your lives. He is the first black man to ever hold the office of President. And it’s a beautiful thing that the color of his skin will mean nothing to you when you are old enough to understand it. With his election, he has changed the very landscape laid out before you. The good he does will only add to the beauty of that landscape. I can’t wait for us to be a part of that good, to leave our mark on that landscape.
When you wake up tomorrow, we are going to celebrate. It’s a brave new world, my little men, and it’s full of hope.
Love,
Mama

Even Arnold Thinks You're Tarded

2008-11-01T18:23:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday, in California, we'll be voting on more than the presidential race. As in every other state, we'll be voting on local measures and propositions. Proposition 8 asks the citizens of this state to ban gay marriage. It is asking us to openly and proudly embrace bigotry and hate, to teach our children that some people are better, more deserving of protection and respect, than others, and to generally be a huge disappointment to humanity. Fuck that shit. There is NOTHING good about Proposition 8. There is nothing good that can come from its passage. How anyone can read that tripe and see something good in it is beyond me. Even our governor, the Governator himself, who has often shown himself to be a first class pig, is opposed to this proposition.
As is Dianne Feinstein:

And Margaret Cho:

And Ellen:

and a whole host of other people who all have brains and working consciences. Look, I don't give a shit what the proponents of this proposition say. I am a teacher. I can tell you first hand that what you NEED to be worried about your kids learning is not happening in the classroom. It's happening on the playgrounds, in the cafeteria, on the walk to and from school, at home, on the Internet and anywhere there are kids who walk and talk and think for themselves. And let me tell you, what they ARE learning and learning about is FAR scarier than two people loving each other enough to want to spend eternity legally bound to each other. If you're worried about the things your kids are learning, what you need to do is talk to your kids. What you need to do is take the time to get to know your kids, get to know their friends, get to know the parents of their friends. What you need is to take responsibility for the raising of your kids, and be a responsible parent. If you want to be a bigot, that's your prerogative. If you want to raise little bigots, again, your prerogative. But your lifestyle choices are not my responsibility to maintain, nor should they be my burden to uphold. If they deny me and mine our rights, then they become my problem.
I, for one, hope that come Tuesday, the collective good of the Universe rains down upon California, and gives the Mormon Church and its cohorts a giant f-you finger with an overwhelming NO vote on Prop 8. I know I'll be waving my finger proudly as I cast my vote. I hope you'll join me.

The only thing about this presidential race

2008-10-30T08:05:00.001-07:00

that I will miss when it's over, is the funny.
Like this:

I love everything about this video. But I especially love the moosehead-wearing piano player guy. You sir, are hilarious and awesome!

(found here by way of my friend Kim's net surfing!)

Cakes! I Makez Dem!

2008-10-25T22:53:00.000-07:00

I like to make cakes. For every birthday, I make a special cake for each of my boys in whatever shape they choose. I make them for other occasions too.
I've made Spiderman: which I can't find a picture of.

A Lightening McQueen:

A green Power Ranger:

Pablo the Backyardigan:

A flaming sword:

A corset cake for my sister's bridal shower:

And the other day, I made a yarn cake:

I am so flippin' proud of this cake! It's the first time I've made a cake with any kind of 3-D element on it. And it actually looks like what it's supposed to look like, unless my friends are just humoring me :)!
There's no real reason for this post, other than that I'm all geeked out over my cakes, and kinda wondering if I should make them more than just a hobby. They are fun to make, and relatively easy, but they are time consuming and can be expensive, and I have no idea what kind of a market there is for stuff like this. I do know that the laws in Cali make it virtually impossible for me to run a legitimate cake business out of my home, because it's just not big enough and I only have on kitchen, so it would be complicated.
Anyway, that's just one of the things occupying space in my brain. No matter what I decide to do, my kids still get killer cakes for their birthdays, and I have fun making them. :)
Peace out, homies.
L

Doodads and Dicks

2008-10-21T09:43:00.000-07:00

My kids are on one HELL of a roll. Let me explain and expound:

My affinity for the word douchebag is well documented. I use it aaaaaaaaaaaaaall the time. When someone cuts me off in traffic, does something completely tarded, or just generally annoys me, that's what flies out of my mouth. My love for that word is second only to my love of the f-bomb-which I don't use as frequently in real life because of the boys. I generally try to edit myself around them anyway, but in the car, sometimes things happen. So today, we're driving to the grocery store. It's just me and Oscar running down the road for a quick trip. Some troll cuts me off, and I honk. I didn't say anything, but swerved to avoid an accident. What do I hear from the back seat? My sweet little boy yelling "Nooooooooooooooooo! Doodad! Noooooooooo!" And I looked in the rearview to see him pointing his finger out the window and scrunching up his face as he shook his angry little fist at the offending 'doodad'. I will now sit quietly and await my appointment as mother of the year for teaching my kid how to say douchebag before he can say his own name.

Pt. 2 of my parenting greatness:
Victor has been having a terrible time in school with all things involving writing. He hates it. He hates any activity that requires him to hold a pencil or a crayon, because it means he can't hold a toy or a ball or run around and be his crazy self. So it's been a struggle to get him to do his homework. The only reading his teacher gives him is reading, but I know my son, and I know he needs more. So we do handwriting, math, phonics, and a couple of other kinds of homework every day. Today went pretty well. Victor was feeling SO good about himself and his homework because he got his pattern activity done quickly and without whining. Then I taught him how to draw a five-point star. He thought that was THE coolest thing ever and proceeded to draw them all over everything. And then, to show me his appreciation, he drew me a picture. Now, given that he HATES drawing and writing, this is a HUGE deal! Right? Right. So when he presented me with his lovingly crafted drawing, I HAD to make sure he knew how much I loved it and him, and that the drawing was beautiful. But, I'm a dick.
I couldn't not laugh. So I laughed, and clapped, and told him how great it was. And then, because I couldn't STOP laughing, I grabbed him and hugged him extra tight and extra long. So now, it's official. I'm a dick.

I don't care if she WAS on SNL last night,

2008-10-19T12:32:00.001-07:00

Sarah Palin is still a douche. I'd love to sing her this song.

Dear Angry Teachermen,

2008-10-16T07:30:00.000-07:00

Get over yourselves. You can't stage a revolt. You're not an oppressed people. What you are is a bunch of middle-aged, middle-class, overly privileged white guys with a sense of entitlement dwarfed only by your egos. What you are is immature. What you're doing is not a revolt. It won't bring about change. It won't improve conditions for your "people". It's a tantrum. You're toddlers. I've half a mind to bring you blankies and binkies next time we meet. If you don't want to do the job, get the fuck out and make room for someone who does. Let the young and still-hopeful take your place. Your crust is starting to ooze, and the kids can tell. They don't respond to you because you don't know them, and you don't care. Why should they? It's apparent you've decided what they're capable of (nothing), what their value is (nothing still). What reason do you give them to try? At the end of the day, you're there for the pay check, and they're there for a safe place to be. So much wasted time. So many lost opportunities. I'm a grown ass woman, and I find it difficult to refrain from punching you in the throat when we're together. I can't imagine how the kids manage to. Your arrogance and ineptitude let off a stink that wafts for miles. It pollutes the air and clouds your judgement. And I,for one, am tired of it. The kids deserve better. The school deserves better. Everyone deserves better than your toxic contributions can give them. So go. For the love of Pete, go. Stage your tantrum on the front lawns and walk off. No one will be sad to see you leave, least of all "those damn kids."

Sincerely,

That bitch who still gives a shit.

If I could pick my grandmother

2008-10-09T20:49:00.000-07:00

I'd pick Helen!

Voter Registration Deadlines

2008-10-09T12:38:00.000-07:00

The deadline to register to vote in north carolina is TOMORROW!
Friday Oct 10th. It's also the deadline tomorrow and Saturday in
other states: VOTER REGISTRATION DEADLINE THIS WEEK: FRIDAY, 10
OCTOBER: NEW YORK, OKLAHOMA. SATURDAY, 11 OCTOBER IS DEADLINE FOR
DELAWARE.

Early voting, are you registered to vote, where do you vote info, and a list of all of the offices of the Secretaries of State here:
Rock the Vote

VR deadlines for all states are below. IF YOU DON'T SEE YOUR STATE,
YOUR DEADLINE HAS PASSED
State - Voter Registration Deadline

Alabama - Fri, Oct. 24
California - Mon, Oct. 20
Connecticut - Tues, Oct. 21
Delaware - Sat, Oct. 11
Idaho - Register at Polls
Iowa - Fri, Oct. 24 (or on Election Day at polling place)
Kansas - Mon, Oct. 20
Maine - Tue, Oct. 21 (or on Election Day at polling place)
Maryland - Tue, Oct. 14
Massachusetts - Wed, Oct. 15
Minnesota - Same Day Registration at polling place
Montana - Mon, Oct. 6 (or same day at elections office)
Nebraska - Fri, Oct. 24 (mail by Fri, Oct. 17)
Nevada - Tue, Oct. 4 (or in person until Oct. 14)
New Hampshire - Same Day
New Jersey - Tues, Oct. 14
New York - Fri, Oct. 10
North Carolina -Fri, Oct. 10
North Dakota - N/A (North Dakota is the only state that doesn't require voters to register in order to cast a ballot.)
Oklahoma -Fri, Oct. 10
Oregon - Tue, Oct. 14
South Dakota - Mon, Oct. 20
Utah - Mon, Oct. 6 or in person Tue, Oct. 28
Vermont - Wed, Oct. 29
Washington - Sat, Oct. 4 (or until Mon, Oct. 20 in person)
West Virginia - Wed, Oct. 15
Wisconsin - Wed, Oct. 15 (or on Election Day at polling place)
Wyoming - Can register at polls

Don't let them take YOUR vote away! Check your voter registration!

2008-10-09T12:36:00.000-07:00

Some voter registrations have been invalidated in MICHIGAN, OHIO, INDIANA, COLORADO, NEVADA, NORTH CAROLINA by "clerical error".

Yeah. Right.

Article from NY Times: http://www. msnbc. msn. com/id/27093919/
States' purges of voter rolls appear illegal

By Ian Urbina

updated 10:06 p.m. MT, Wed., Oct. 8, 2008
Tens of thousands of eligible voters in at least six swing states have been removed from the rolls or have been blocked from registering in ways that appear to violate federal law, according to a review of state records and Social Security data by The New York Times.
The actions do not seem to be coordinated by one party or the other, nor do they appear to be the result of election officials intentionally breaking rules, but are apparently the result of mistakes in the handling of the registrations and voter files as the states tried to comply with a 2002 federal law, intended to overhaul the way elections are run.
Still, because Democrats have been more aggressive at registering new voters this year, according to state election officials, any heightened screening of new applications may affect their party’s supporters disproportionately. The screening and trimming of voter registration lists in the six states — Colorado, Indiana, Ohio, Michigan, Nevada and North Carolina — could also result in problems at the polls on Election Day: people who have been removed from the rolls are likely to show up only to be challenged by political party officials or election workers, resulting in confusion, long lines and heated tempers.

Some states allow such voters to cast provisional ballots. But they are often not counted because they require added verification.
Although much attention this year has been focused on the millions of new voters being added to the rolls by the candidacy of Senator Barack Obama, there has been far less notice given to the number of voters being dropped from those same rolls.
States have been trying to follow the Help America Vote Act of 2002 and remove the names of voters who should no longer be listed; but for every voter added to the rolls in the past two months in some states, election officials have removed two, a review of the records shows.
The six states seem to be in violation of federal law in two ways. Some are removing voters from the rolls within 90 days of a federal election, which is not allowed except when voters die, notify the authorities that they have moved out of state, or have been declared unfit to vote.
Some of the states are improperly using Social Security data to verify registration applications for new voters.
In addition to the six swing states, three more states appear to be violating federal law. Alabama and Georgia seem to be improperly using Social Security information to screen registration applications from new voters. And Louisiana appears to have removed thousands of voters after the federal deadline for taking such action. Under federal law, election officials are supposed to use the Social Security database to check a registration application only as a last resort, if no record of the applicant is found on state databases, like those for driver’s licenses or identification cards.
The requirement exists because using the federal database is less reliable than the state lists, and is more likely to incorrectly flag applications as invalid. Many state officials seem to be using the Social Security lists first.
In the year ending Sept. 30, election officials in Nevada, for example, used the Social Security database more than 740,000 times to check voter files or registration applications and found more than 715,000 nonmatches, federal records show. Election officials in Georgia ran more than 1.9 million checks on voter files or voter registration applications and found more than 260,000 nonmatches.
Officials of the Social Security Administration, presented with those numbers, said they were far too high to be cases where names were not in state databases. They said the data seem to represent a violation of federal law and the contract the states signed with the agency to use the database. Last week, after the inquiry by The Times, Michael J. Astrue, the commissioner of the Social Security Administration, alerted the Justice Department to the problem and sent letters to election officials in Alabama, Georgia, Indiana, Nevada, North Carolina and Ohio. The letters, which express concern that voters will be blocked from voting because of the inappropriate use of Social Security information, ask the officials to ensure they are complying with federal law.
In three states — Colorado, Louisiana and Michigan — the number of people purged from the election rolls since Aug. 1 far exceeds the number who may have died or relocated during that period.
States may be improperly removing voters who have moved within the state, election experts said, or who are considered inactive because they have failed to vote in two consecutive federal elections. For example, major voter registration drives have been held this year in Colorado, which has also had a significant population increase since the last presidential election, but the state has recorded a net loss of nearly 100,000 voters from its rolls since 2004.

Asked about the appearance of voter law violations, Rosemary E. Rodriguez, the chairwoman of the federal Election Assistance Commission, which oversees elections, said they could present “extremely serious problems.”
“The law is pretty clear about how states can use Social Security information to screen registrations and when states can purge their rolls,” Ms. Rodriguez said.
Nevada officials said the large number of Social Security checks had resulted from county clerks entering Social Security numbers and driver’s license numbers in the wrong fields before records were sent to the state. They could not estimate how many records might have been affected by the problem, but they said it was corrected several weeks ago.

Other states described similar problems in entering data.
Under the Help America Vote Act, all states were required to build statewide electronic voter registration lists to standardize and centralize voter records that had been kept on the local level. To prevent ineligible voters from casting a ballot, states were also required to clear the electronic lists of duplicates, people who had died or moved out of state, or who had become ineligible for other reasons.
Voting rights groups and federal election officials have raised concerns that the methods used to add or remove names vary by state and are conducted with little oversight or transparency. Many states are purging their lists for the first time and appear to be unfamiliar with the 2002 federal law.
“Just as voting machines were the major issue that came out of the 2000 presidential election and provisional ballots were the big issue from 2004, voter registration and these statewide lists will be the top concern this year,” said Daniel P. Tokaji, a law professor at Ohio State University.
Voting rights groups have urged voters to check their registrations with local officials.
In Michigan, some 33,000 voters were removed from the rolls in August, a figure that is far higher than the number of deaths in the state during the same period — about 7,100 — or the number of people who moved out of the state — about 4,400, according to data from the Postal Service.
In Colorado, some 37,000 people were removed from the rolls in the three weeks after July 21. During that time, about 5,100 people moved out of the state and about 2,400 died, according to postal data and death records.
In Louisiana, at least 18,000 people were dropped from the rolls in the five weeks after July 23. Over the same period, at least 1,600 people moved out of state and at least 3,300 died.
The secretaries of state in Michigan and Colorado failed to respond to requests for comment. A spokesman for the Louisiana secretary of state said that about half of the numbers of the voters removed from the rolls were people who moved within the state or who died. The remaining 11,000 or so people seem to have been removed by local officials for other reasons that were not clear, the spokesman said.
The purge estimates were calculated using data from state election officials, who produce a snapshot every month or so of the voter rolls with details about each registered voter on record, making it possible to determine how many have been removed.
The Times’s methodology for calculating the purge estimates was reviewed by two voting experts, Kimball Brace, the director of Election Data Services, a Washington consulting firm that tracks voting trends, and R. Michael Alvarez, a political science professor at the California Institute of Technology.
By using the Social Security database so extensively, states are flagging extra registrations and creating extra work for local officials who are already struggling to process all the registration applications by Election Day.
“I simply don’t have the staff to keep up,” said Ann McFall, the supervisor of elections in Volusia County, Fla.
It takes 10 minutes to process a normal registration and up to a week to deal with a flagged one, said Ms. McFall, a Republican, adding that she was receiving 100 or so flagged registrations a week.
Usually, when state election officials check a registration and find that it does not match a database entry, they alert local election officials to contact the voter and request further proof of identification. If that is not possible, most states flag the voter file and require identification from the voter at the polling place.
In Florida, Iowa, Louisiana and South Dakota, the problem is more serious because voters are not added to the rolls until the states remove the flags.
Ms. McFall said she was angry to learn from the state recently that it was her responsibility to contact each flagged voter to clear up the discrepancies before Election Day. “This situation with voter registrations is going to land us in court,” she said.
In fact, it already has. In Michigan and Florida, rights groups are suing state officials, accusing them of being too aggressive in purging voter rolls and of preventing people from registering.
In Georgia, the Justice Department is considering legal action against officials in Cobb and Cherokee Counties who sent letters to hundreds of voters stating that their voter registrations had been flagged and telling them they cannot vote until they clear up the discrepancy.
On Monday, the Ohio Republican Party filed a motion in federal court against the secretary of state to get the list of all names that have been flagged by the Social Security database since Jan. 1. The motion seeks to require that any voter who does not clear up a discrepancy be required to vote using a provisional ballot.

Republicans said in the motion that it is central to American democracy that nonqualified voters be forbidden from voting.
The Ohio secretary of state, Jennifer Brunner, a Democrat, said in court papers that she believes the Republicans are seeking grounds to challenge voters and get them removed from the rolls.
Considering that in the past year the state received nearly 290,000 nonmatches, such a plan could have significant impact at the polls.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

2008-10-08T10:05:00.000-07:00

I'm not a Republican. I've known for most of my life that that was not the party for me. But I have to admit, that when the rumors started buzzing that the Republican Presidential Nominee was going to select a woman as his running mate, my interest was piqued. When I saw what he actually picked, my interest was no longer piqued, but my sensibilities were offended. Sarah Palin isn't a woman. She's a jack ass. She's a mockery of femininity and progress. She's a half-wit and an insult to thinking women everywhere. I've yet to hear her form a complete sentence that didn't include something scripted for her, something obviously memorized or read from a teleprompter. I've yet to hear her describe HER opinions or thoughts on the state of the world and/or this Nation today without making a gigantic ass out of herself. You can see Russia from your house, really? Really. I'm tired of it. I'm tired of the puppetry. I'm tired of the objectification of women that is so institutionalized and common place that Sarah Palin can meet with leaders from all over the world, and the ONLY comment to come out of those meetings that makes a headline is that she's gorgeous. We really haven't come that far after all if the only thing she had to contribute to those meetings was her pretty face.
Aside from her constant demonstration of her lack of political/world knowledge and her seeming approval of the way she's been used and marketed by "her" party and running mate, I find Sarah Palin's politics objectionable. She is an enemy to and hater of women everywhere. How else can you explain charging rape victims for their exams? How else can you explain her fervent anti-choice stance? How else can you explain expecting rape vicitims to carry the pregnancies resulting from their rape to term? How ELSE do you explain forcing your teenage daughter to marry a boy who doesn't want her or the child he helped create?
Sarah Palin is wasteful and negligent in her professional practices. ($20 Million deficit after her mayorship anyone?).
She's a predator (because hunting from a helicopter is totally fair and fun!)
Sarah Palin is a jackass. And McCain is a tool. If this:
is the best he could find when searching for a woman to select as his VP candidate, he obviously doesn't know that there is a difference between being female and being a woman, nor does he care.
She may have a box, but she couldn't find her way out of one if you drew her a map. Let's hope that her stupidity continues to shine through the lipstick, and that this hockey hog goes far far away once the election is over.
McCain never stood a chance of getting my vote anyway, but with this he has earned my disgust.

Dear Victor,

2008-08-26T11:31:00.001-07:00

Today was your first day of school. You were so excited to get there, you woke up early and hardly touched your breakfast. I watched you running around the house, asking a hundred times if you were late for school yet, and couldn't help but think that it wasn't all that long ago that you were just learning how to crawl around this space. Now it's barely big enough to hold you. I can't believe how fast the time has gone by. It seems like just yesterday that we celebrated you entering the world, and next week we'll be celebrating your fifth birthday. Five years. Five years of sheer joy and occasional frustration. Five years of laughter, and love, and adventures I'd never have had without you. Thank you little man. You have made me a much better person. Being your mama has taught me more than any class, any book, or any school possibly could about what it means to be a decent human being and what the right way to walk in this world really is. You are the best teacher ever.
This morning, you looked like such a big boy, marching yourself onto campus.

And lining up, waiting for your teacher, just like you'd been shown and without having to be reminded.

And getting down to the serious business of playing and making friends.

You are such an amazing person, my little friend. The world has great things in store for you, and you for it. I can't wait to see what they are. Just remember that no matter how big you get, no matter how smart you are or how much you know, you will always be mama's little man. And you may look like this:

now. But in my heart, you will always and forever be my baby.

Love,
Mama

Inconceivable.

2008-08-17T23:53:00.000-07:00

The memorial for Russel was today. I went up early. I wanted to make sure that the physical needs of the day were taken care of by someone other than Barb. I wanted to do something, to take care of her, to let her know that there would be at least one person in the house throughout the day who did not need HER to take care of THEM. I knew that the emotional complexity of the day would be enough for her to bear. She was wearing Russel's shirt, a large, black t-shirt with Wallace Shawn from 'The Princess Bride' on it. It said, 'Inconceivable' in large print across the bottom. As I hugged her for the first time since getting her phone call, I thought of the appropriateness of the shirt, the phrase, and her wearing it on this day. The loss of her father 12 months ago, three days after her wedding? Inconceivable. Breaking her foot during volleyball practice by taking a small step? Inconceivable. The death of her mother a few months later? Inconceivable. Her house burning down? Inconceivable. Russel's death? Inconceivable. A life and a future without him in it? Inconceivable. And yet, here we were, gathering to honor him, and all she has are her memories and his things.
Throughout the day, I watched as people moved in and out of the house, mingled with each other, sometimes sharing words, other times a somber look or a gentle touch. I was not surprised by the number of people there. Russel was an awesome human being who touched the lives of just about everyone he met in a positive way. I marveled at the relative calm of all present. The grief was palpable throughout the house, but almost everyone there behaved remarkably well and respected the enormity of Barb's grief by stiffling their own. Almost.
It is inconceivable to me how some people can take any situation and make it about themselves. I don't care to name them, but several people in attendance today showed their asses, and in doing so, compounded the hurt and loss felt by Barb and those closest to her. And to them I say, get over yourselves. Not everything is about you. Not everything should be about you. And if you can't put someone else first, even at a time like this, then you deserve the misery you've wrought. And even that is more time and attention than they deserve.
And now the memorial is over. Barb is left, alone, to figure out how to make life go on from here. Every plan, every want, every hope for the future has been inconceivably altered by Russel's death. And as much as I'd like to think that I can help her find her way, I know that I can't. Phone calls, cards, and visits only go so far in helping the healing. And not that it matters one bit, but my heart is still broken for her.

My heart is broken for her.

2008-08-14T21:26:00.000-07:00

I was walking today. As I walked, I approached a salon. As I neared the door, with my son in his stroller, I saw the door being held open by one of the ladies that worked there. I stopped to allow the people exiting the salon to pass. It was a very old gentleman pushing his wife, in her wheel chair, out of the salon. Every Thursday, he takes her in. She gets her hair done. She gets a manicure and a pedicure, and she gets treated like a princess. Every Thursday, he pays the ladies of the salon to wait on her, and he sits and talks to her while she gets pampered. Every Thursday he tells her how beautiful she looks when they're done and how lucky he is that she is his. And Every Thursday she smiles and nods as he speaks, but never responds. She has Alzheimers, and he does it any way. As I walked behind them, listening intently to him tell her how beautiful she is, how lucky they are to be together, how he loves her, I cried. I cried at the beauty of the love that man has for his wife, how unabashedly he shows it, for the rarity of that sight any more.
And I cried for my friend, Barb. Almost exactly a year ago, I was sitting on her deck, celebrating her marriage to Russell. That celebration was tinged with sadness due to the sudden death of her father. Over the course of the last year, my friend has had nothing but sadness, heartache, loss, and grief. On Tuesday, that grief increased exponentially when her husband of little more than a year was killed in a car accident. Watching that beautiful couple this afternoon, I couldn't help but think about Barb and Russell. That is the kind of love and marriage they had. And that is what was taken from her on Tuesday. What should have been a fairy tale ending to a nightmare of a year, has become a nightmare in and of itself. And my heart is just broken for her.

Victor's first Kippah

2008-08-13T22:26:00.000-07:00

A little history:
My Victor is a very curious boy. It's one of the many, many things that I adore about him. He asks many, many questions throughout the course of an average day, and they range in topic from the mundane to the bizarre. One day, while in the car on the way to the babysitter's house, Victor asked about religion. Specifically, he asked why we didn't have one. I explained, as best I could without confusing or scaring him, that I didn't have a religion because I couldn't pick one, and that honestly, there have been more times than not in my life where I have questioned and doubted the existance of a god/gods/goddess/whatever. I tried to explain to him that more often than not, I didn't think there was a god, that what I saw of the world, in the world, lead me to believe that we are on our own. I also told him that just because that's how I feel, doesn't mean he has to agree with me, that because he was a smart boy, he could look at the world and decide for himself if he believed in a god/gods/goddess/whatever, and that when/if he was ready, I would help him find a religion that best suited his needs/wants/beliefs. And then he asked me what religions there were to choose from. So I rattled off a list, giving him examples of people he knows who belong to the various religions I had named. When I got to Judaism, he stopped me. He wanted to know more. So I explained. I gave him the short version of all the reading and learning I've done since I was 13 and developed an inexplicable love for a religion not my own. I told him about Israel, about some of the holidays, about the Saturday Sabbath, and synagogues. When I paused he said "hmmmmm, that sounds pretty cool. Can you take me to a cinnagot?" And I got excited. Despite my lack of faith, and perpetual uncertainty as to the existance of a diety, I love religion. I love the idea of it. I love the ritual, the pomp, the history, and tradition of it. I left Catholocism at 12 because of the intolerant nature of it's flock and the absolute refusal of the clergy to acknowledge, let alone attempt to answer my questions. I got excited when Victor asked about religion, and specifically Judaism, because when I was little and asking the questions he asked, there wasn't a place for me to find the answers I can find for him. I made an attempt to convert to Judaism when I was 13 and failed. I couldn't do it on my own, and was not fortunate enough to have anyone in my life at the time who was able to or interested in helping me do it. And then in my late teens, I found out that my mother's family were Sephardic Jews who fled Spain to avoid persecution under Franco. Out of fear, they outwardly lived as Catholics, but never converted. So the pull I have always felt toward Judaism makes sense. So, yay Jewness!
Victor's Kippah:
So I mentioned to some friends that I wanted to take Vic to a "cinnagot" so he could speak with a rabbi, ask some questions, and just experience Judaism for himself. My friend, Sarah, suggested I take him to
Congregation Beth Shalom in Carmichael. I looked over their website and sent them an email explaining that I had a curious 4 year old who wanted to visit and ask questions. I immediately got a response from Rabbi David, inviting me to bring Victor down. For a variety of reasons it took us a few weeks to get over there. But on Monday, we finally made it. The synagogue itself is a small building with a fenced in yard and play area off to the side. We went in through the fence and were met at the door by Rabbi David. He shook Victor's hand, Oscar's hand, and mine, and welcomed us warmly. We walked through the office area and into his office. We sat around a table and chatted for a bit. He asked Victor some questions and invited him to ask his and explore the office. As Victor spun in his chair and investigated all of the things on the shelves and walls in the office, Rabbi David turned to me and asked me about our family history. I explained that I was raised Catholic, left the church, attempted conversion, and then found out about my family's history in my late teens. As I was talking, he stopped me, reached across the table to touch my hand and said "you know you're Jewish, right? You know this." And I was so struck by his sincerity, by his unwaivering and immediate acceptance of me, that I cried like a damn baby. It was embarrassing, and frustrating that I cried, but I was overwhelmed. I tried to explain why I was crying. I tried to thank him for allowing my son the opportunity to question, to investigate, to learn that I was never given. I tried to tell him that as a child, I was made to feel that because I could not blindly accept, because I could not follow, because I lacked faith, something in me was broken and I was bad. But I didn't have to. Rabbi David understood, and said as much. At that point, the boys were losing their minds. Victor was impatiently waiting to see the sanctuary, and Oscar just wanted out. So Rabbi David asked that I promise to come back to speak with him without the boys so that we could speak freely and at length without being distracted. I agreed and we headed for the sanctuary. Before entering, Rabbi David handed Victor a basket and asked him to pick a Kippah. He explained to him that Jewish men wear the Kippah as a recognition that God is above them. Surprisingly, Victor thought this was pretty cool, picked a Kippah and slapped it on his head like a pro. Inside the sanctuary, Rabbi David showed Victor everything there was to see, told him what everything was called, sat on the bemah (the altar area where the Torah is read) and answered his questions, and even pulled out one of the scrolls for him to see, showing him the beautiful writing and reading a passage for him. He even said a prayer blessing Victor, since it was the first time he'd ever been in a synagogue. Victor was fascinated by the Hebrew he heard and saw. In fact, he was fascinated by everything he heard and saw while we were there. We ended our visit with a story about honesty (which Rabbi David told to Victor as an example of what he might hear during a Shabbat service, and which was very topically appropriate since we've been having "difficulties" with the bendiness of the truth lately) and a tour of the rest of the facility, which includes a meeting room and cafeteria/gathering room where they have dinner after services. On the way out, Rabbi David told Victor he could keep his Kippah as long as he promised to take care of it, which he enthusiatically did. It was an incredible visit, and one I hope to repeat in the near future. Victor has not stopped talking about his experience, and for the rest of the day on Monday, would not remove his Kippah, as you can see here:

And for Auntie Sugarbush:
Surprise! It's Shabbat!

Excuse me

2008-07-30T09:19:00.000-07:00

but Fuck you Mr. Voight. Because being a prisoner of war never "programmed" anyone to be "militant and angry". Right. Again, I say fuck you.

It isn't perfect, but it's ours.

2008-07-24T13:40:00.001-07:00

Pardon this interruption to my normal assholery.

April 6, 1995. On that day, I nervously walked into the Social Security office to start my first office job. I was hired as a student assistant to help with filing and general office maintainance, and translation when needed. As I walked through the office with the secretary, taking a tour so she could show me where everything was and introduce me to the people I'd be working most closely with, I passed your desk. You were busy. You didn't see me, at least not that I could tell. I noticed your puffy hair and almond shaped eyes. You had, and still have, the most amazing eye lashes I've ever seen on a man. There was something about your demeanor that day that caught my attention, and has held it ever since. You were so comfortable, sitting there, on the phone with whichever claimant needed your help at that moment, so focused on doing your job, on helping someone and getting it right, and yet relaxed enough to laugh and actually enjoy the conversation. I don't remember meeting anyone else that day, but I remember seeing you. It would be weeks before I gathered up the courage to even say hello to you. Talking to you made me so nervous. I felt like a child waiting for Christmas every time you'd walk by my desk. When we took that long walk along the river, talked for hours, and shared more than two relative strangers probably should have so soon, I fell in love with your honesty, your intelligence, and with you. I felt as if my whole life was a dream. 13 years later, you can still make me feel that way.
The day I became your wife was one of the happiest, and hardest, days of my life. Binding myself to you for forever and a day was something I wanted, but not something I was prepared for. Never have I waivered in my love or devotion to you. There have been times when I have felt that being your wife meant being someone or something other than myself. There have been times when I have lost sight of our strength, our connection. There have been times when I have wondered what would become of us. But there has never been a time when I have regretted us. There has never been a time when I wished to not be your wife. The last 9 years have been full of love, laughter, pain, frustration, sorrow and joy. And for every last second of it, you have been by my side, whether I chose to see you there or not. There is no one I would have rather shared it with than you. This life we've made, it isn't perfect, but it's ours, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Thank you for being mine, for making me yours, and for not giving up on us when I pushed you away.

Oh. Honey. No.

2008-07-24T09:42:00.001-07:00

Dear Douche Bag Motorcycle Guy,
You're killin' me smalls. The 80's called. They want their leather pants and feathered, permed, and free-flowing locks back. They'll take that vest, too. That look wouldn't have worked on you then, Bubba, and it sure as Hell isn't working on you now. What it IS working on though, is making me revisit my breakfast. Holy. Hell. Man. How did you EVER get into those things. The phrase "painted on" doesn't even come close to describing how tight those suckers were on your rather portly ass. And who told you men should wear bright red thong underwear? They lied. It is not manly. In fact, it's frightening. While I appreciate that your 'whale tail' spared my children the site of your ass crack, I do not, whole-heartedly do not, appreciate having to listen to my four year old point, laugh, cough, gasp, and laugh some more about the fat naked ass that just cruised by his window as he sat in his car seat on the way to his sitter's house. Nor do I enjoy or appreciate having to explain to him that you were not, in fact, bleeding up your back, but instead had made a poor fashion choice in regards to your chonies. For the love of Pete, and all the is Holy and good in the world, do the world a favor and buy some new pants, man. And by pants I mean an entirely new wardrobe. Lest I be forced to knock you off that bike the next time I see you.

Best,

L

Why do people feel the need to be complete assholes?

2008-07-20T07:56:00.000-07:00

I need to know this. I need to know why some people just can't go a day without being giant balls of suck. It seems as if everywhere I turn, I encounter another asshole. More often than not, they are the kind of asshole you stare and wonder at, rather than the kind you can roll your eyes and make fun of because their assholish behaviour is just not funny.
I have a myspace. On that myspace, I have many current and former students. I pretty much only keep it to spy on the few kids whose lives would give me nightmares, and because they know they can contact me there and I'll help them however I can.
The other day I got a message from a former student. She was in my class maybe five years ago, and graduated two years ago. She was and is a good kid. When she was a senior, I had several long talks with her about what she wanted to do with her life. When she told me she wanted to go to cosmetology school, it gave me pause, but I supported her (in addition to begging her to consider doing something more than that.) I told her she had a huge opportunity to do whatever she wanted. I told her that cosmetology was nice, but that I saw her as a person with more than superficial beauty to add to the world. She had expressed an interest in law enforcement and criminal justice. So I made her pursue that for her senior project, and at the end of it, she loved it and had a plan. Her plan was to go to cosmetology school right out of high school, work and save money, then go to college for a degree in criminal justice or try to get on with a local law enforcement agency and get into the academy. She could still do the cosmetology thing on the side or when she wanted to make extra money. Great, right? Right. She left me with a plan.
Skip to the other day, and she's feeling like a failure. All of the adults in her life, the people who are supposed to encourage and support her, are trying to talk her out of doing anything more than cosmetology. I don't get it. Why would you deliberately try to talk your kid into a life of poverty and customer service? Why wouldn't you want more for them? Most cosmetologists don't end up in Hollywood, catering to the stars. And even those that do, don't make a huge amount of money. THe salon owners do, but the stylists? Noooooo. This kid could do something. She could contribute to the world in substantial ways. And they want her to do hair? Maybe I'm the ass hole. Maybe it's me that doesn't see. Don't get me wrong. There are people who LOVE cosmetology and cannot see themselves doing anything other than that for the rest of their lives. And for them, awesome! I love the woman who cuts my hair. I am thankful for her every time she fixes this mop on my head. But if I went in to see her tomorrow and she told me it was her last day because she'd taken an office job, or gone back to school, or decided on a new career of any kind, I'd be ecstatic for her because she's be doing more for herself. And I want more for this kid. It just kills me that I can't give it to her.

Catching up

2008-07-14T12:17:00.000-07:00

I'm fine. The boys are growing. All's right with the world. Now on to more douchebaggery, and the real reason any of you stop by for a read. Seriously, it shouldn't be this easy to find so many ridiculous examples of retardation, but it is.
More letters to the complete trash that never ceases to entertain me:

Dear Mother of the Year:
I applaud your parenting skills, or not. Really. It's quite a talent to be able to reign in your children while sitting on your ass, smoking a fat pile of cigarettes, by doing nothing more than screeching at the top of your soot-infested lungs for that "little fucker" to get off the slide. Really, it was one of the few times I've ever felt sadness at having grown up and moved out of the ghetto. My ghettiquette is obviously, and sadly, in disrepair, as I could not get my mouth to form a coherent response to you or to the untrained monkeys you claim to be your children. I can only assume that "ass hole", "little fucker", and "dumb ass" are yours, since each of them responded with a finger or a bare-assed salute when you called upon them to leave the playground equipment. You've obviously trained them up right. You ma'am are a true, shining example of douchebaggery at it's best. As long as you continue to stumble through the world, I will sleep safe in the knowledge that my worst day as a parent pales in comparison to you. On the scale of suckdom, you are a perfect ten.

Truly,

L

Dear Douche bag Dog Walker,
Your dog is ugly, really ugly. And she's mean. And no, it's not cute when she growls and snaps at my small children. It's especially not cute when she runs up into MY yard to get at MY children. I don't care that you have her on a leash and you think she's "just playing". She's not. If you knew anything about dogs, you'd know that teeth baring isn't a smile, it's a warning, you complete douche. She wants to eat my babies like a dingo. I will snatch your nuts off like a paper towel if you let that dog on my property again. That is, provided you have any. What kind of man has a tiny dog, anyway? And don't tell me she's your wife's dog, because your wife is just as scared of that thing as my kids are. Me? I love dogs, but I'll punt that little fucker into next week before I let it eat my kid. You'll notice she doesn't run up on me. She and I have an understanding. She stays away from me, she lives.
I suggest you look to your dog for a role model.

Your friendly neighborhood ass hole,

L

A moment of seriousness before I catch up

2008-06-29T07:01:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, ten or eleven years old, my cousin committed suicide. He was in his early twenties, still living with his mother, in constant pain from a back injury and feeling sorry for himself. He left a note for his mother, took a bottle full of pills, and died before she got home from work. His name was Zoltan. He was the one person on my father's side of the family who was consistently nice to me. I adored him. His suicide crushed me in more ways than I can describe, and still affects me to this day, mostly because of the sheer selfishness and stupidity involved in it. His was a cry for help that went unanswered.
In my first year of teaching, one of my students, despondent over a fight with his girlfriend and angry at his father, put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. His cry for help also went unanswered. The people who should have recognized what was going on didn't.
Every day, thousands of people make that same cry for help. Every day, their cries are answered by the crisis counselors at the Hopeline. This year they celebrate their tenth anniversary of helping people and saving lives, and the government wants to take them over.

If you can spare it, please make a donation to the Hopeline. If you can't, just pimp them out. Spread the word to others who can, so that their work can continue.
Thank you.
XOXO
L

A Thank You to the Supreme Douches Around Here

2008-03-30T10:22:00.000-07:00

These people aren't neighbors, per se, but they do frequent my neighborhood and the businesses surrounding it. Their douchetastic behaviour warrants a thank you, in my estimation, for helping me teach my children how NOT to behave.

Dear Douche Dad,
Hi. You might remember me from the other day, but probably not. I was the crazed woman standing on the corner screaming at you as you careened down my street with your two year old in your lap steering your giant piece of shit. Yeah, that was me. Yep. I saw you. I saw your toddler, unrestrained, steering your car. Well, I saw him trying. I also saw him clapping, jumping up and down, turning around to face you, and pulling the wheel back and forth like a toy. I saw your car zig zag down my street, spend more time on the sidewalk than the actual street, and narrowly miss several groups of children and adults walking on the sidewalk. And then I saw you laugh. Motherfucker, you better be glad you were in your car and that I'm no longer a sprinter. My child plays outside. His friends play outside. My neighbors and I take walks with our families. You could have killed someone. There's a reason two year olds don't get driver's licenses. They. Can't. Drive. Had your car had a plate on it, I'd have called the cops on your ass. But I wish to thank you. Thank you for being SUCH a dumbass. Thank you for helping me teach my son the importance of being aware of his surroundings. Thank you for helping drive home the need to look both ways before crossing the street. Thank you for making my son believe me that there are supremely STUPID people in this world who do not think about their actions before taking them. THANK YOU, Douche Dad, for being such a stellar example of bad parenting that my four year old now thinks I'm the best parent in the world because I make him wear a seat belt.
Hope to never see you again!
L

Dear Stupid Whore,
You're old. My son is four. I know it's annoying when a kid bounces on the seat behind you and moves your chair. I know. It annoys the shit out of me too. But here's the thing, I had corrected him. I had made him stop. I was about to have him apologize to you. And he's four. When you take your gigantic geriatric ass and bounce his seat, making him drop his food and spill his water, you are not teaching him a lesson. He doesn't get it. Again, he's four. He just thinks you're fat, old, and mean. Or that you have really bad gas, because your fat rubbing on the vinyl seat made fart noises, which cracked him up. If you don't want to eat around children, you should not frequent restaurants catering to children during the lunch hour. Do us all a favor and stay home! But, Stupid Whore, I wish to thank you. Thank you for being such a bitch yesterday. Thank you for showing my son how not to behave in public. Thank you for demonstrating a total lack of manners and civility. Because of you, my son gets it now! He saw what an ass you made of yourself! He heard the cussing and rude things you said about him! We all did. And he understood that to mean that you are a monumental douche whose mother didn't teach her how to behave in public! So thank you, Whore! Thank you for helping me to instill a sense of compassion, courtesy, and civility into my son! Because of you and your supreme powers of assholery, my son will be a better human being!
Should we meet again, I won't be polite either!
L

Stay tuned for further acknowledgements and testimonials from the world of asshattery I live in!

If wishes were fishes.....

2008-03-28T12:11:00.000-07:00

I wish, for just one second, that I could make all the thin people who hate themselves and the way they look see themselves the way I do. You're not fat. You haven't lived in the same neighborhood as fat for a very long time. Get over yourselves. Please.
I wish, for one minute, that I could make anything happen. I'd tell him I love him one more time.
I wish, for one hour, that I could make them hear me. It gets better. You just have to get through the suck. You'll be better for it. The other side of high school is a much better place to be. I promise.
I wish, for a day, I could live inside my son's head, feel the world through his tiny fingers, see me through his eyes, and exist as freely as he does.
I wish, for one year, money didn't matter.

If wishes were fishes, which wish would you fish out of the fishwishing sea?

Raymond's Scholarship

2008-03-22T17:38:00.000-07:00

If you know me, you know about Raymond. If you don't, here's a quick re-cap. Raymond was my younger brother. He was a hilarious, high spirited, crazy-fun, and amazing human being. During his short life, he struggled with many things, but ultimately used his time to make the world a better place through his art, his work, and his contributions to the goodness that makes up humanity. He was an art therapist in the terminal ward for Stanford University Hospital, and he was set to enter the Peace Corps as part of their art therapy program where he would go into post-war zones and help refugees come to terms with their trauma through art. But he died. The details of Raymond's death are still somewhat of a mystery, and not at all the point of this post. After his death, those of us that knew and loved him decided that the best way to honor his life and memory would be to set up a scholarship in his honor at the two schools he loved. First, we established a scholarship for graduating seniors at Enterprise High School in Redding, California, where Raymond spent his high school years and received his high school diploma. The scholarship at Enterprise is open to any student graduating who wishes to attend college to pursue a degree in art. Second, we established a scholarship at San Jose State University in San Jose, CA,Ray's alma mater, for students currently attending the University with a declared art major. Ray graduated from SJSU a few months before his death.
In order to fund these scholarships, my mother has been making and selling these good luck charms she calls 'dangles'. Though the name is goofy (sorry mom!) the charms are beautiful and well constructed. She's set up a blogger page to help distribute them and raise money for the scholarships. If you love me, and I know you do, and have a few bucks to spare, please visit her page and buy a dangle, or at least make a contribution to the scholarship fund.
Rearview Dangles

An Open Letter to the Assholes Infecting My 'Hood of Late

2008-03-18T18:15:00.000-07:00

Attention You: You there, living in the 5000 sq. ft. McMansion. Yes, you, the one having the garage sale to raise money for your "sick child". Yeah, you. Maybe you should put a for sale sign on the Escalade in your driveway. No? How about the BMW parked next to it? No, again? Hmmmmmmm, maybe the Audi in the garage then? Not that one either, huh? Maybe you could take the Juicy Couture purse off the arm of said "sick child" and toss it up on Ebay. You could toss in the Rolex dangling from your wrist and all that bling dripping off your trophy wife, too! No? How about you slap a for sale sign on that McMansion then? Ah, no, of course not. Well, then, sad as I might be for your "sick child" in her Apple Bottom jeans and her Baby Phat hoody, I'll have to politely decline the opportunity to buy any of the wares you're peddling. Oh, and I'll take a pass on the store bought cookies and that plastic punch you're selling, too. If I want store bought, I'll waddle up to the corner grocery store and pay for them there, and it certainly won't cost me $2 per cookie, but thanks anyway.

And you: Yes, you with the hell hound you try to pass off as a child. Yeah, you, the one who sits at the back of the karate class and laughs every time your little shit acts out and gets one of the other kids in trouble. Some day, when our kids aren't watching, I'm going to kick your ass. Your kid has obvious developmental delays. He's not just a "boy being a boy." He struggles. He hurts. He needs your fucking attention and intervention on his behalf. He needs you to stop being a mindless whore and to start being his mother. His tantrums are not cute. They're not funny. They're symptomatic of his disorder, whatever it is. My money is on something in the Autism spectrum, despite the fact that you've shared loudly that you don't "believe in Autism." In case you haven't noticed, no one is laughing with you during class. No one. At this point, we're all too sick of you to even laugh at you. Deal. With. Your. Kid.
PS- Buy some pants that fit because an exposed ass crack is never cute. Never.

Dear Geriatric Gigolo, Hi! Remember me? Probably not, but that's ok. I certainly remember you and your Depends ruffle using my machine at the gym as an arm rest while you flapped your gums at the twenty-something child on the machine next to me. Despite not being able to actually USE the machine I was on because of your presence, I have to say you made my day. I have never heard pick up lines like you were throwing down that day, and may never hear any so great again. My favorite is STILL "Baby, I'm so sad I gave up sugar for Lent, because you are SWEEEEEEEEEET!" Your yellow mullet wig, John Deere mesh cap, mom-jeans, and orthopeadic shoes made it all the better. So, thank you GG. You made returning to the gym a real treat! And don't let those young bucks discourage you. A true swinger never gives up!

Dearest Neighbour, Our children play together nearly every day. Nearly every day I feed your children a snack. For us, a snack is a piece of fruit, perhaps half a ham sandwich, or some pretzels. Nearly every day, you feed my child a pile of sugar and fat, which he happily inhales and then bounces home. Your children are pale, stick thin, and sickly. They need real food. They need real food more than once a week. Please feed your damn kids something other than the shit you've been sharing with mine! Thank you. See you at the park!

Attention Shit Head: Yeah, homie. I'm talkin' to you. No one's buying your tough guy act. You live in the 'burbs homie. You drive your mom's car Ese. Orale, huey, you have blonde hair and blue eyes. You'd probably piss yourself for a week if you saw a real Vato. Take off the khaki pants, wife beater, and flannel shirt. Put your mom's seat back up, like she likes it. Turn that radio down. Those stock speakers are just KILLIN' that beat you stole off the net. And for the love of Pete, stop trying to be someone you're not. There's nothing wrong with being a good kid. In fact, it's been known to get people pretty far in life. Acting like an asshole though, that's got a pretty short path leading directly to a life full of suck.
PS- Slow the fuck down or I'll pop your mama's tires and tell her one of your "gang buddies" did it.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that's better!

I'm lame sauce.

2008-02-03T11:21:00.000-08:00

And totally last in posting this tagalicious blog, but here ya go.

The rules in this game of tag are simple -- once you have been tagged, you must write a blog with ten weird, random things, little known facts or habits about yourself. At the end choose 10 people to be tagged and list their names.

Thank MJ:

1. Brussel sprouts were my favorite food when I was a kid. I still love them, even though they smell like ass and give me gas.

2. I have a handful of secrets. I fantasize about making postcards for them and sending them to Postsecret, but I'm too much of a pussy to actually do it.

3. I have an uncanny ability to drive people away. I don't even realize I'm doing it until they're gone, or pretty well on their way and it's too late to change it.

4. I am amazed every.single. day. that I have friends. (see 3)

5. I need my alone time. If I don't get at least an hour by myself every day, I get very, very grumpy. I'm pretty convinced this makes me a bad mom some days.

6. I have a double jointed jaw.

7. I am an angry person.

8. I am more than slightly obsessed with the show "Ninja Warrior" on G4. The would-be ninjas are HILARIOUS!

9. If I have a day where I don't feel like going to work, I sing the Batman theme in my head while I'm getting ready for work and pretend I am Batman, preparing to battle evil. My car has been the Batmobile a lot lately.

10. I exist in a state of organized chaos. Everything goes into piles. It looks like a complete mess, but I know exactly where everything is and in which pile it's hiding. Except on my kitchen counter. That's a disaster area I have no control over.

Riveting, no? I'm not tagging anyone. If you feel compelled to do this, knock yourself out.

Blog for Choice

2008-01-22T16:29:00.000-08:00

As a 30 year old woman, living in the United States, I am in the enviable position of never having lived in a time when I did not have the right to choose. Today is the 35th anniversary of the landmark decision by the United States Supreme Court that granted me, and the millions of other women in this country, that right. Roe v. Wade is not about abortion. It is about choice. It is about the power to control the path one’s life takes, whether that path should include a child or not. Roe v. Wade is about making personal decisions without the interference or intervention of any outside authority. It is about privacy in making those decisions. I have never been in the position of having to make the decision to terminate a pregnancy. But at 17, working as a peer crisis counselor, I listened to girls who had. I held their hands. I hugged them and stroked their hair as they sobbed about the horrible decisions they were faced with making. I can tell you that not one of them took the responsibility of making that decision lightly. Not one of them was happy to have to make it. But every last one of them was happy to have it available. And so am I. It does not matter whether you could choose abortion for yourself. It does not matter what circumstances lead any woman to that decision. All that matters is that the choice be available. Now, more than at any other time since the ruling was made, the right to choose is in danger of being revoked. Many of the conservative candidates in the current presidential race would have your rights stripped to satisfy their moral code, their vision, their version of God. In order for our daughters, our nieces, our young women of today to have the right to choose, we need to stand up. We need to fight to protect the rights our mothers fought so hard to win for us. Stand up. Add your voice to those already demanding Roe v. Wade be upheld and our right to privacy maintained. Vote for a Pro-Choice candidate.

Dear Oscar,

2008-01-08T22:17:00.000-08:00

It's been a whole year since you entered our lives. It's been an amazing year of growth, and change, and getting to know the awesome little man that is you.
I don't think I'll ever be able to fully explain to you how happy I was the day I found out I was pregnant, what joy feeling you grow strong and healthy inside me brought, or just how awe-struck I was the first time I saw your handsome little face. You were not the baby I was expecting to meet, but you could not be more perfect, more beautiful, more mine. Your enthusiasm, excitement, and sheer zest for life are intoxicating. Every day is filled with fun and adventure, and a million little miracles I'd otherwise never get to see.
You light up every room and melt every heart you enter. Thank you, baby boy, for choosing me to be your mama. It's only been a year, but it feels like you've always been a part of this life and this family.
I can't wait to see what great things you have in store for the world. No matter what they are, I know they will be amazing. I'm just honored to get to go along for the ride.

Love always,

Mama

I've been demoted.

2008-01-07T22:07:00.000-08:00

Victor used to tell me that I was the 'best mom in the whole wide world.' Today I got demoted. We were out running errands after lunch, and he hopped out of the car. He looked up at me and said "I love you mama. You're the best mom in Roseville." I said "In Roseville, huh? I thought I was the best mom in the whole wide world." He responded "You were! But then you wouldn't let me have Starbursts for lunch AND you made me take a nap. So now it's just Roseville. Sucks for you!" And with that he ran up to the sidewalk and did a little dance just to drive home his point. I swear, this kid.

Dear Gall Bladder,

2008-01-03T20:12:00.001-08:00

Hi. It's me. I hate you. I'm not sad you're gone. You made my intestinal life a living hell for the better part of two years and, for that, I celebrate your demise. You tried to ruin Christmas, but I held you off. I thought you were going to win there for a minute, but I am stubborn and you, well, you were just a pissy little pear shaped organ. No match for the surgeon's blade were you. Mwahahahaha. I will gleefully display your little granuals of hate now that you've been ripped out and done away with. Good bye my nemesis. I will eat pizza and enjoy it in your absence.

Sincerely,

Me

PS: Surgery and liquid stitches suck, but they are well worth it to be rid of you!

What can I say?

2007-12-31T21:53:00.000-08:00

I am a TOTAL bad ass!

21

Find a Sonography school near you

Happy Day

2007-12-25T17:48:00.000-08:00

It's Christmas. For years, every time the subject of this day has surfaced, I have met it with nausea and a rolling of the eyes. I have hated Christmas for as long as I can remember. Let me clarify, I hate what the day has become. I hate the frenetic shopping/wrapping/greed mongering that takes place in the name of this holiday. I hate the fact that some people feel this day gives them license to be assholes of a variety they wouldn't dare to be any other time of year. I am not a Christian. I do not believe in Christ. I am not at all certain that there is a God. I hate the assumption that everyone here IS a Christian and DOES believe in God, and therefore celebrates this holiday above and instead of all others. I hate the fake happiness and insipid posturing of plastic people. I hate the bull shit. In fact, if I hear one more jackass say "Jesus is the reason for the season," I may have to punch them in the throat. I'll forward my cellblock and inmate number so y'all can write me love letters while I'm in the Pen.
But now I have kids. And I love what this holiday gives me the opportunity to do for them. Because of this day, I can give them traditions, and memories and fun like I never experienced as a kid, and I can make them better people. I realize that I don't need a special day to make memories or create traditions for them, but there is something magical about this day that lends itself to the memory making. My eldest is just now 4, just now old enough to remember, just now old enough to get excited about things to come because of the way things were done before. The excitement and energy and sheer joy in his eyes and squeaky little voice have been a constant source of entertainment and inspiration for the last week. Like every little kid in America, the land of excess and ease, he has been beside himself in anticipation of what Santa might bring, vibrating with the hope that he might get Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga for his Nintendo DS. But what has kept him up at night, what he has run through the house celebrating and anticipating and singing about, has been the arrival of his grandma, and his grandpa, and his aunt. His family. In celebrating this day, I have the opportunity to cement into the very fabric of his tiny little being that it is the people in life that matter. Not the gifts. Not the money. Not the bull shit. He seems to have gotten that message already, and I couldn't be happier or more proud. For him, and for his brother, I will celebrate this day and love every minute of it.

And for you, my friends, I will say thank you. I love and appreciate every, single one of you. Your presence and participation in my life enriches it in ways I cannot find words to express. No matter what this day means to you, I hope that it was spent in ways that make you happy. I hope the coming year brings you health, happiness, and success in ways you've never known. I love you bitches.

My House Hates Me.

2007-12-15T08:34:00.000-08:00

I'm convinced that my house was built upon an anthill, and that my house thinks it's funny to let the little fuckers in when I least expect it just so it can watch me jump and scream and cavort like a complete tard while simultaneously trying to avoid and destroy the ants. I hate ants. I hate them more than any other living thing on the planet. They are disgusting. They stink. I am CONVINCED that one day I will wake up covered in them and will have to set myself on fire on that day. I hate them with the passion of a thousand burning suns. They are the only thing that has that much power over me. And yet, they are everywhere. Every-fucking-where in my house, and they come out of nowhere for seemingly no reason. The other night I was up late, working on a project prompt to torture my students with when I felt a tickle on my foot. I reached down, without looking, to scratch at my foot and felt the tickle move. Up. My. Leg. I freaked. I looked down and my carpet was ALIVE. There was a GIGANTIC trail of fucking ants from my dining room table, where I was working, to the closet door in my hallwa, where my sons have a little activity table. There were thousands upon thousands of ants all nasty and writhing on my floor, up the wall, and around the closet door. They were in my carpet, taunting me with their stink and disgustingness. For a half second (maybe a little more) I seriously considered setting my house on fire to kill them all. Common sense prevailed though and I opted for poisoning the hell out of the little fuckers. I emptied half a bottle of poison onto my carpet and some of them were STILL alive. I swear they are bionic and will take over the world one day. It took all night for the stuff I sprayed to dry. The next morning I vaccumed all the little carcasses up and did a little dance of victory on the mass grave I'd created before leaving for work.
When I got home from work, I really had to pee. So without really paying attention, I ran into the hall bathroom to do my bidness. When I reached for the toilet paper, I screamed like a 12 year old girl at a boy band concert. The vanity was COVERED in ants. COVERED! The entire counter top was alive. The mirror was black with ants. The wall looked as if it had veins. The sink was FULL. There were SO many ants I actually reached for the lighter and nail polish remover and seriously considered creating a molotov cocktail to set that mother ablaze. Again, common sense prevailed and I let out a string of obsenities to make a sailor blush and went for the other half of the poison I'd used the night before. I bathed the entire bathroom in that shit. I could not for the life of me figure out what they were after.Mr. Mature heard me screaming and came to see what was up. When he saw the ants he just smiled. When I asked him why he was happy he said "now they're not lonely." Huh? Lonely? "Yeah mama, when I was in here this morning, I saw an ant and he looked lonely. So I gave him a snack before we got in the car." WHAT? Snack? "Yep. I gave him some crackers from yesterday. I put them in my room because I didn't finish them and wanted to save them. I shared though, cuz I'm a good boy." And with that, and his little chest all puffed out with pride, my darling midget marched back into the living room to play with his borther, completely blind to the trauma he'd caused me. Yeah. So now, it's not just my house plotting against me. My kid has joined the party.

Maybe we haven't come so far.

2007-12-08T07:51:00.000-08:00

The commercials this time of year either annoy me or piss me off entirely. On the annoying side you have the increase in shit peddled to little kids. Everything sings, dances, vibrates and/or has wheels so the little buggers can simultaneously deafen you and knock you on your ass by running it under your feet. Awesome. On the entirely piss me off and make me frothing-at-the-mouth-angry, you have This. When I first saw the commercial for this thing it annoyed me, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. It irritated me that the commercial kept playing in my head. But it wasn't the commercial itself that was bothering me. It's the idea of it. Why, in 2007, damn near 2008, are we still telling little girls that they should hope for nothing more than a fucking cottage kitchen with a cradle and all the other acoutrements of a domestic centered life? Is there no higher hope for our daughters than poppin' out kids and tending to a home? If I had a daughter, there's no way in hell that thing would make it into my house. There is NOTHING wrong with being a mother, a wife, a domestic person. There's nothing wrong with playing house, playing mommy, or playing wife. But I'll be damned if I teach any little girl that that's what she SHOULD be. And this 'toy' (I'm more inclined to think of it as a weapon.) does that. It's not marketed to boys. There are no boys in the print/net/tv ads for it. The whole thing is pink and purple and soft yellows-all the colors generally associated with femininity. Their description of the thing even points out that it is specifically for girls. "Rose Petal Cottage gives your little girl a house of her own to live in, take care of, and decorate" and "Playing “house” in the ROSE PETAL Cottage lets your little girl build her very own home – and her imagination – right in your living room!"
Hello, 1950 called and wants its gender roles back.
Why can't we teach our little girls that they can be doctors, or lawyers, or police officers, or professionals of any kind AND play house at the same time. Why isnt' there a briefcase included in that kitchen set? A microscope? How about a law book or a gavel? Why isn't there anything included in that kitchen set that teaches a little girl to imagine her potential beyond exercising her uterus? Why are we still propogating the uterus-as-clown car mentality? (I LOVE that phrase Michelle !)

Conversations with Mr. Mature

2007-12-07T23:40:00.000-08:00

So, tonight I was in the kitchen making taquitos to take to Mr. Mature's karate Christmas party. He saunters into the kitchen and plops down in his chair at the kitchen table. We're chatting about games and his day at the babysitter's house when out of nowhere he gets very quiet and serious. This beauty of a conversation followed:
MM: "I don't want to lose my teeth, mama."
Me: "Lose your teeth? Your baby teeth?"
MM: "Yep. I don't want to lose my baby teeth."
Me: "Well, there's not a lot you can do about that honey. It's going to happen. It won't hurt though. It's a good thing. It means your growing up and becoming a big boy! That'll be cool, won't it?"
MM: "NO! I don't want to grow up. I LOVE being a kid mama! Being a grown up is NO fun."
Me: "Well, sometimes that's true. But being a grown up is fun sometimes and you get to do tons of fun stuff you can't do when you're a kid."
MM: "Nope. Nothing fun. You can't have my teeth. I won't let you make me grow up. I'm never getting bigger ever!"

And he ran out of the kitchen with his hands over his mouth! He cracks my shit up!

Random Announcements

2007-12-04T18:47:00.000-08:00

Pinky and The Brain = Best cartoon EVER!

Smokin' Aces = Crappy movie and waste of 2 hours of my life I'll never get back.

I hate bigots. Sucks that I work with a gaggle of them.

4 year olds hopped up on sugar should be illegal.

My kids are cute.

That is all.

Odd

2007-12-02T13:57:00.000-08:00

I did something odd the other day. I shaved my arms. Now they are hairless. It feels odd. I can't stop touching them, and I feel dirty because of it. They are just so soft and smooth and, well, hairless. They are fascinating! I highly recommend shaving your arms. Of course, I have no idea what the regrowth will look or feel like, since I've never done this before, but for now it is teh awesome! I am such a hairy beast, it's ridiculous. And don't tell me I'm not, those of you who've actually seen me in person. Because I am. You just can't tell because it's all blonde and very light brown. It took me 4 passes with the razor in each spot to get my arms all sexy smooth. 4 passes people! I bet there are sasquatch running around who wouldn't have to work that hard to get a clean shave!

There are some things

2007-11-22T10:27:00.000-08:00

a father and daughter should just not discuss. Fecal sacks and breast feeding rank at the top of that list. Particularly in the same conversation.
My father observes no such boundaries or rules of decorum. Whatever pops into his fetid little head comes right out of his mouth. He called to say Happy Thanksgiving this morning, and instead read to me from his medical reports detailing all of his newest, shiniest ailments. Included in the litany of diabolical afflictions which he imagines will eventually kill him, was acute pressure on the fecal sack secondary to a slipped disk in his back, at which point he informed me "I can't stand up straight, and Ifeel like I have to shit all the time." Nice. From his pressurized ass, he ventured to my breasts and whether or not I still nurse my infant son. Ten minutes later, after hearing all about what a saint my mother was for nursing all five of us, even after we had teeth, I answered that I was, indeed, still nursing Count Latchula. For this, I received the verbal equivalent of a good game ass slap. "Ah, good girl. You know that's what they're there for. And they look nice too. Hehe. Hehe. Hehe." Good. God. Kill me now. I can't believe I share the man's DNA. I live for the day my mother tells me she had an affair and I'm her love child.

Happy Thanksgiving hookers! May you have poop-free dinner conversations!

New Decade, New Perspective

2007-11-18T09:08:00.000-08:00

For as long as I can remember, 30 has been the magic number, the number I've feared and anticipated since I was a child. It has always been the number of adulthood, the magic number at which I would become old. I remember being a kid and thinking that anyone in their 30's was close to death and must be so scared to be almost done living. I was a dumb kid. While I've grown and come to realize just how far from death 30 is, on some level, that thinking stuck with me. I began to see 30 as the death of my youth, the beginning of a period in my life where it would be unacceptable to be child-like at all. I relish acting like a child! My inner twelve year old boy needs air time at least once a day! The thought of having to be grown up all the time was depressing. All last year, I was displeased about my impending change of decade. I, at various times, wanted to skip the day entirely and pass quietly into a new decade without ceremony or notice. Thinking that, if I paid it no attention, the adultness of the number wouldn't apply to me. The closer the day came, the more upset I got. And then my friends stepped in. Most of my friends are older than me. All of them are successful, independent, amazing women. They all told me how ridiculous I was being, that 30 was way better than 20, and a whole host of other things that were wise and sensical. So I entered the day pensively. I examined my every feeling and twinge, every creak of my spine and crack of my joints, and realized they're the same damn twinges, creaks, and cracks I've had since I was 16. I walked through the day owning my adultness, and enjoying the fact that I can still act like a complete retard, and exercise that inner twelve year old boy, without losing and adult-cred. The surprising thing about turning 30 has been the validation I feel. I feel like I've earned my place in the adult world, and it's not such a bad thing. During my 20's, I felt like an imposter, like a little kid playing at being an adult in an adult world. And although it wasn't a conscious thing, I believe that underlying feeling of 'faking it' kept me from doing things I need and want to do, like pursuing an advanced degree and taking on certain posts at work. But now that I'm 30, I'm a real adult. I've earned the right to be where I am. I belong in the adult world. And I like it. Thank you bitches.

It's been 3 years

2007-11-10T10:40:00.000-08:00

and I finally feel ok. There have been days where I felt as if I couldn't make it through the daylight hours because the sadness was so intense, the anger all consuming, and the brightness of the sun was an insult to my pain, assaulting me with it's light and warmth. But they have lessened in numbered and intensity. Time hasn't made it any better. It's just made it different. I've finally come to a point where I've accepted that he's not coming back. He won't need his art supplies, his back pack, or a ride anymore. It's ok to give them to someone else. He won't call in the middle of the night and leave ridiculous messages, or silly songs on my voicemail anymore. It's ok to stop looking for the messages. He's gone, and I'm ok.

For a while, after he died, I saw a therapist. She was a complete joke, but in talking to her, I realized something, or rather, I acknowledged something. My brother's death forced to the fore-front my life-long struggle with my lack of faith. It just isn't there. I have never really believed in a god. Ever. I have tried. I have pretended. I have agonized over it. It's. Just. Not. There. I see the world in a scientific way. Things live. Things die. Everything serves a purpose, supports something else, and then goes away to make room for the next cycle, the next species, the next phase of evolution. My brother died. There isn't room on the planet for everyone to stay forever. It was his turn to go. It's ok. For a long time, I felt guilty for feeling that way. And now I don't. The retarded therapist said that I needed to accept my loss, to make peace with his death. I don't. I accept that he's never coming back. I acknowledge that he's gone. There's no peace to be made with those things. They are facts, indisputable facts. I am not at war with his death. I was at war with myself, with my misguided notions of what grief should be, and what the 'appropriate' way to mourn his death was. I was angry with myself for not being able to just accept that there is a god so that I'd have a place to direct my anger, something to blame for my rage at his death, frustrated with my 'stubbornness'. But that war is over. I have finally come to the realization that I am accountable to no one for my grief, my opinions, my loss. They are mine to deal with as I choose. Am I angry that my brother died? Hell yes, and never moreso than when I see some shitbag masquerading as human stumbling around taking up space and using up oxygen, doing nothing to better this world. But I'm ok. My brother died to make room for someone, something, else, better, more, new. While he was here, he used his time. The world is a better place for having had him in it. I am a better person for having known and loved him. And even though he's gone, I'm ok.

As if I'll ever grow up!

2007-10-28T09:28:00.000-07:00

My friend MichelleL tagged me with the task of explaining to you what I would like to be when I grow up because I'm a lazy ass blogger with little inspiration. She's stepped in to save y'all from another bitch and moan session from moi. However, she's assuming that I actually want to grow up, which is debatable! But here ya go.

'Write five things you want to be when you grow up. Big dreams that seem like folly, but in your heart of hearts are very real and dear to you. Things that maybe you have forgotten about in the ebb and flow and toil of the everyday, but that never really leave your soul. What you would do if anything was possible?'

1. A doctor. From the time I was able to talk, until I was in 7th grade, a doctor is all I ever wanted to be. I am fascinated by the inner workings of the human body. Blood and gore do not disgust me or even make me queasy. They intrigue me. I love science and everything related to it. Had I not met Mr. Tenbrook in 7th grade Algebra, I'd have pursued a career in medicine. At that time, he informed me that I was too stupid to be a doctor and that if I tried, I'd end up killing someone. If anything were possible, I'd go back to 7th grade and tell Mr. Tenbrook to go fuck himself, and told mini-me to ignore him.

2. A professor. I love teaching. I am a teacher. But there is an allure associated with teaching at the college level that does not exist for the high school teacher. Teaching adults, students who want to be in class and can participate in intelligent discussions is a tantilizing prospect. If I had the money and the time, I'd pursue a master's/doctorate so that I could teach at the college level. I wouldn't want to teach Spanish though. I'd like to teach linguistics or Englich language acquisition classes. As soon as I win the lottery I never play, I'll be making this happen.

3. A chef. I. Love. Food. I love cooking it, and I love eating (most) of it. The things people do with food fascinate me almost as much as medicine does. If I could, I'd go to a culinary academy and learn how to create the artistic masterpieces I see them create on the cooking shows on TV, and put Rachel Ray out of business. I'm tired of seeing her manhands.

4.A CSI. And not because of the show-which isn't all that close to reality anyway. Again, I have a love affair with science. The information gathered and processed by CSI/Forensics team and lab are tantamount to magical in my book. I'd LOVE to nail creeps with their own DNA for a living.

5. An author. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to write a book. I just can't decide what about. There are just too many idiotic and freakish events and stories in my life to choose from, and then there's the shit I make up in my head. I've actually started two books, but haven't finished either one, not even close. I get started and then get distracted. So, on the same day that I win the lottery I never play and become a graduate student, I'll sit down and finish a book or two.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, that's it. All the people I know on here who would do this, have already been tagged, save one. So I tag Amy Lane and any other passersby who feel the need to share.

I'm tired.

2007-10-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

I'm tired of irresponsible people. I'm tired of hyper-sensitive people. I'm tired of ghetto-ass ignorant people. I'm tired of people who don't know what they think, but like to argue. I'm tired of people who have nothing better to do than meddle. I'm tired of fragile egos. I'm tired of people who want to be something they're not. I'm tired of jealous people. I'm tired of bitter, angry people, who've no right to be neither bitter, nor angry. I'm tired of the people who have let themselves fall so far down the rabbit hole, they couldn't claw their way out if they wanted to, and I'm tired of them trying to drag me down with them. I'm tired of the emotional retards I seem to be surrounded by. I'm tired of the walls I've built up and can't seem to knock down. I'm tired of working in the ghetto. I'm tired of lazy speech and limited vocabularies. I'm tired of the foolishness that passes for appropriate behaviour anymore. I'm tired of seeing asses hanging out of pants and boys who waddle instead of walk to keep said pants off the ground. I'm tired of people who refuse to let their kids grow up. I'm tired of people who refuse to accept responsibility for the choices they've made in this life. I'm tired of people who cannot handle confrontation. I'm tired of not being enough. I'm tired of allowing other people to 'make' me feel anything. I'm tired of taking shit and owning other people's misery. I'm tired of being sad. I'm tired of being strong. I'm tired of being it. I'm tired of being stuck. I'm just tired. I think I need a nap.

Freakish dreams

2007-10-22T05:39:00.001-07:00

When I dream, I dream so intensely, vividly, and in detail, that I wake up tired from the dreaming. But with an infant in the house, and in my bed most of the night, it's rare that I sleep well anymore, let alone well enough to dream. Last night, however, I managed to sleep deep enough to have a freakish dream that I cannot thoroughly explain. There are a few things that are obvious representations of things going on in my real life, and a few that I just don't get. The telling of it may involve a little TMI, just sos ya know.
Here's the dream:
I finished pumping and was cleaning myself up, putting things away and getting my bra back on.(I am breastfeeding/pumping milk for the aforementioned infant in real life.) I went to put the pads back in my bra, only they weren't pads. They were square chocolate muffins. And they were HUGE. So I'm sitting here, on my couch, shoving chocolate muffins into my bra, snapping the bra closed, all like this is completely normal. When I pull my shirt down over my bra, I have square boobs, which I walk to the mirror to check out. Instead of being horrified, I smooth my shirt down over them, stick my chest out, and the start smooshing the corners of the muffins with my fingers, trying to round them out. Having successfully rounded my corners out, I brush the crumbs off my shirt, look down and see the crumbs on the floor around my feet, and proceed to pick them up and put them BACK IN MY BRA.
This whole scene repeated itself 3 times before I woke up.

So, I ask you, wtf is wrong with me that on the one occasion in the last 10 months that I've gotten decent sleep, my brain decides to give me chocolate square boobs? Anyone? Anyone? Yeah, I don't get it either.

Sometimes I suck at life

2007-09-10T21:17:00.000-07:00

and parenting in particular. Mr. Mature has six, count 'em 6, cavities. I have brushed his teeth and taken him to the dentist since he was an infant. He has always gone with me when I've had to go to the dentist. He loves it there. He loves brushing his teeth, and I've never had to fight him to do it. So imagine my horror when, today, the dentist informed me that my kid had so many cavities, and one so bad that it requires a root canal and a fucking crown, that she didn't feel she could treat him in the office. Instead, she feels he needs to have all his dental work done at once. In the hospital. Under sedation. Yeah. She wants to put my kid to sleep to fix his rotting teeth. And all for the low, low price of $3k.
I feel like an utter failure. He's only 4. I don't understand how this happened. Well, that's not entirely true. I know how it happened. He has my horrid teeth. They are very close together and difficult to clean in the back. Any guesses where the cavities are? Yep, you guessed it, in between his teeth and in the back. Which is exactly where all of my issues have always been with my teeth. My parents didn't take me to the dentist when I was a kid, except for when I broke my front teeth out while being an idiot. The result? I had completely rotten molars and an abcess when I finally went to the dentist at 13. I had to have four root canals, two crowns, and what seemed like a hundred fillings. I lived in the dentist's office for months and probably paid for his vacation home in the Bahamas AND his kid's college tuition with the work he put into my mouth. As he was repairing my teeth, the dentist lamented not only the condition of my teeth, but their make-up as well. My teeth suck. They are too close together in the back and the enamel is weak. He called them 'pithy' because they are soft and porous. And this festering cesspool of a dental nightmare is what I passed on to my son. Awesome.

A post for future explanation

2007-09-08T09:57:00.000-07:00

Why, WHY do people I can't stand feel they are entitled to a 'drop-in' visit? Mr. Mature's birthday party is tomorrow. If you can't make it, so be it. That doesn't entitle you to suck up all of my Saturday with your inane drivel and passive aggressive shittiness. For the record, I hate you as much as you hate me. Since you've stopped pretending, so will I. I don't want you in my house! The only reason I'll open the door is because that little boy still thinks you are a nice person. Some day, when cheap toys and Wal-mart outfits lose their mystique, he'll see you for the fucked up mess you are. I. Can't. Wait.

A little late, but as promised

2007-09-08T09:08:00.001-07:00

The health update.
I'm about to turn 30 and my body is falling apart, or threatening to. It's highly annoying. It seems as though this summer was spent either in a doctor's office, an lab, or travelling to one or the other. I have been having trouble iwth my right ear. I used to have very accute hearing. Even with my back turned, I could hear my students' whispers from across the room and repeat what they had said. Now I just hear the hushed buzzing of secrets, but not the actual words. And there is a constant pressure in that ear, like someone is sticking their finger in it and pushing hard. Sometimes it hurts, mostly it just pisses me off and distracts me. It annoys me and concerns me. So I went to the doctor. She threw lots of scary words and referral slips at me and sent me on my way. I had to have an MRI and then go see an ENT. The end result, nothing. The MRI showed nothing that shouldn't have been there. Good news is, I do, in fact, have a brain. The ENT did some hearing tests, a physical exam and then shrugged his shoulders. He said something like "yep, you've lost some hearing on the right side. It's definitely not as good as the left. But there's nothing physical causing it. That's just weird. I don't really know what to tell you other than come back in a year so we can monitor your hearing loss." Gee. Thanks. So, here I sit with my retarded ear. Now my jaw is starting to hurt on that side, so I'm thinking maybe TMJ (which the ENT did mention but said he was pretty sure I didn't have it.) So I may go back to the doctor and ask her about that. We'll see. I'm a little sick of seeing her face, as I'm sure she is of seeing mine.
While I was there for the ear thing, I mentioned my stomach issues. I have a very grumpy tummy. It hates me, in fact. It hurts at least daily, usually more than once a day. It feels like the right side of my abdomin is trying to claw its way out of my body with a teaspoon and fire. I also have issues with food. When I eat, I usually have a five to 20 minute window before I'm going to have to run for a bathroom, depending on what I've eaten. I've suspected for a while that my gall bladder was unhappy. So, upon giving her this little nugget of information, she scrunched up her face at me and tossed some more scary referral slips at me and sent me to have an abdominal ultrasound and referred me to a gastroenterologist. The ultasound showed I have small gall stones, but that's allegedlly normal given my age and the fact that I've had two midgets. Apparently exercising your uterus can cause gall stones. I still haven't figured out how that works, but whatever. The gastro was a very nice man who can't tell time. I sat and waited in his lobby for the better part of an hour, trying to entertain 2 kids because he (or his underlings) had forgotten about my appointment. Nice. The short of it is that he believes I will have to have my gallbladder removed at some point, but before he hacks up my tumtum, he wants to be sure there isn't something else to blame, since the stones are so small. So I get to have a scope shoved down my throat and more scanning and poking and prodding done of my innards in the coming weeks. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Whatever. I just want this feeling to stop. It sucks recycled ass.
So, there ya go, the health update I promised. Lovely, wasn't it? :)

Good to know.

2007-07-12T21:12:00.000-07:00

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Wow. I suck at this blogging stuff.

2007-07-12T08:54:00.001-07:00

It's been two freaking months since I blogged! I officially suck at this. It isn't that we haven't been doing anything. We've done lots and there's lots to report on. I just suck at the reporting part. There's medical stuff, a wedding, and a vacation to discuss, plus pictures! I'll do all that later. (See how I continue to suck!)
But for now, I'm here to tattle on myself.
I did something the other night that I haven't done in 17 years.
I ate red meat.
I quit eating it when I was 12 because I didn't really care for the taste and it was a way to annoy my parents.I was a vegetarian for a loooooooong time (12 years or so) and a vegan for about 4 of those. I started eating chicken because I wasn't getting enough protein and my kidneys were freaking out.
Lately, I've been super frustrated with my diet because it's so limited. I can't eat any dairy products or eggs because I'm nursing the baby and we're trying to prevent him from developing food allergies like Victor has by not exposing him to the allergens (milk and eggs). It has seemed like the only things I can eat on any given menu when we're out to dinner are deep fried and horrible for me. I don't really care for deep fried foods to begin with (there are a few exceptions like really good fried chicken but on the whole-yech!) And it started me thinking. Red meat cannot be as bad for me as all the fried crap. I made the decision to not eat meat when I was a kid. My tastes have changed in other areas, so I wondered if they had in this one too. So I ate a little shredded beef I had made for John and Victor. It was weird, but it was kinda good. Not something I'd want to eat every day, but not something I'll refuse again. The weird thing is that I feel a little guilty about it. Like I did something wrong. How stupid is that? I know. I'm a freak.

Taggety Tag, Tag, Tag

2007-05-13T10:17:00.000-07:00

Amy Lane tagged me this mornin'. I am to tell you 8 random facts about myself and then tag others to do the same. I don't believe there are enough people who read my drivel to tag, so if you happen upon this and feel so inclined, consider yourself tagged by moi.
1. I'm bendy. Even when I'm fat, I can put my hands flat on the ground and put my feet on top of them.
2. I wanted to be a doctor when I was a kid. It's the only thing I ever really thought about being until second semester of my 7th grade year. Mr. Tenbrook changed all that by telling me I was too stupid to be a doctor and if I did, I'd end up killing someone. No medical career for me.
3. I have a head full of useless and random knowledge and sometimes it seeps out of my mouth before I even know that I know it. It happens in my classes all the time. For example: Flamingoes are pink because of the iodine in the shrimp they eat.
4. I am the go to girl for all things inappropriate at work. If a kid has a question that should not be asked, they will ask me. Gynecological advice? Ask Ms. C. Parent issues? Ask Ms. C. Birth control? Ask Ms. C. Bodily functions not functioning? Ask Ms. C. It is bizarre.
5. I am right handed but there are some things I cannot do with my right hand.
6. I love to cook but don't enjoy eating most of the things I cook. You'd think this would be an excellent weightloss plan, since I'm the only cook in the house, but no. Oreos are not cooked by me and thusly, are delicious.
7. I haven't eaten any red meat or pork for 17 years. I was a vegetarian for 11 or so years, but my kidneys revolted and now I eat chicken and turkey.
8. I am afraid of ants. Not much else scares me or freaks me out, but ants will send me running and screaming like a tard as soon as I see them. I hate them and wish I could obliterate them.
So there you go. A little bit of an insight into the freak that is me.

It's been far too long

2007-05-13T10:00:00.000-07:00

So it's been a while since I've posted anything. Spring break ended and I went back to work and got sucked back into the miasma that is a teacher's life. No time for social stuff. So anyway, here's a brief rundown of what's gone on since my last post:
-Our house got egged on Easter night. We caught the little fucker. I say we, but I mean my husband, who, due to his detainment of said fucker, has earned himself the name Mr. Ninja amongst my friends. He chased the kid down, screaming "your mine motherfucker!" and pinned him down using his super secret agent ninja skills to detain him until the police arrived. Fun!
-I cut and colored my hair. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Lady in Red once again has red in her hair.
-We attended a Shabbat dinner at a Hassidic Rabbi's house. I met his wife in my OB's office while I was pregnant. She saw my Hebrew tattoo and followed me out. That was in September or October and she's been inviting us over since then. Until recently, we always had something else going on. When she called in April, we were free, so we went. It was awesome. There was a lot of singing and praying, which are usually not my thing, but it was beautiful. The food was really good and the company was really nice. It was nice to get a glimpse of my heritage. It kind of made me sad in a way, too. I feel like I missed out on a whole life, a whole culture I could have known if I hadn't had defective relatives. Eh. Whatever. I'm just glad we got to go.
-The little fucker from above, the one who egged our house, we're pretty sure he and his little fucktard friends slashed Mr. Ninja's tires two weeks ago. We can't prove it, but we KNOW it was them. Asshats.
-Work has been tumultuous at best. We are finally done with testing, and now onto the downhill slide toward the end of the year. I have enjoyed the kids I've had this year. They are overall the kindest, most respectful, well behaved bunch of kids I've had the pleasure of teaching, but I'm so done with them. They can move on to someone else now. Please.
-The midgets are growing exponentially. Oscar had a visit to a cardiologist to rule out any heart conditions and deformities. He is perfectly healthy. Thank Pete.
I do believe that's it folks. If I think of anything else, I'll add it later.
I hope y'all have a great Mother's Day.

Already bought my ticket...

2007-04-10T13:34:00.000-07:00

Your Deadly Sins

Envy: 60%

Gluttony: 40%

Lust: 40%

Sloth: 40%

Greed: 20%

Pride: 20%

Wrath: 20%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 34%

You will die at the hands of a jealous lover. How ironic.

How Sinful Are You?

So gross

2007-04-02T20:30:00.000-07:00

So, I went to get a pedicure earlier today, because I'm a princess and I can, and as soon as I walked in the door of the place, this girl starts asking me if I want my eyebrows, lip and legs waxed, if I want fake nails or maybe a manicure. I politely tell her "no, I just want a pedicure, thank you." So she points to the row of pedicure chairs and tells me to sit wherever. A few minutes later, I'm sitting in the fun chair and a different lady is rubbing salt stuff on my legs and massaging my calves (which feels so yummy) and the girl who had accosted me with the list of available services when I walked in sits down next to her. She hoists her leg up on one of the chairs and starts picking at her toes. Yuck. But then her pant leg fell back (she had her leg way up there) and I almost screeched. Her legs were HAIRY! I mean, not just a little stubble. I mean full on, haven't been shaved or waxed in years, you could braid it and make rope with it, hairy. So I sat there for the rest of the pedicure, creeped out, thinking, if you're in this business, wouldn't you use the services you are selling? Wouldn't that make sense? I mean, what the hell would make me let you put hot wax on my legs and rip it off if you aren't even willing to do it yourself? I don't think I'll go back. I'll find somewhere else to be a princess, thank you very much.

I may need a face transplant.

2007-04-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

I DO NOT look like Tara Reid. I DO NOT! I hate that tramp.

This one is marginally better. At least I got Buffy!

..>

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http://www.myheritage.com

Teacher of the year

2007-03-30T13:26:00.000-07:00

Yeah, that's me. I just spent a good 10 minutes of my class explaining the linguistic differences between the words force and fart to one of my students. He was adamant that 'force' was the word used to describe a fart. Fist shakingly secure in his belief that he was right, he announced it to the class. The kids were cracking up. I almost died. I was laughing so hard, I was almost crying. It's a good thing this kid has a good sense of humor. He even went on to make up a little song for himself so that he could remember the difference between the two words. I couldn't make out all his lyrics, but there was mention of a bathroom, so maybe I'm glad I missed them.
This is, however, the same kid that told me an amphibian is a girl who likes to kiss other girls, so I'm not sure I should have been surprised by today's conversation.
Most days I really like my job, but some days, I love it.

Snackage and Random Musings

2007-03-29T16:04:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna whine a little.
I'm on a restricted diet. It sucks. I have been since the beginning of the 7th month of my pregnancy. My eldest son has pretty severe food allergies, and because of this, the doctors suggested I restrict my diet during pregnancy and while nursing to try to prevent Oscar from developing them, or lessen their severity should they develop. It still sucks. I can't eat anything with milk or eggs in it. No real bread, no milk chocolate, no ice cream, no cheese or yogurt. I can't even eat scrambled eggs for breakfast or have belgian waffles. Pfft. It isn't as bad as it was with Victor. I can at least eat a little bit of a variety because in the last 3 years, I've assembled a nice little list of allergen free foods and alternatives, but they just aren't the same. No matter what the label says, a vegan waffle just does not taste the same as a regular one. It just doesn't, but with enough syrup, they are palatable, and they do satisfy my carb cravings.
While I was in Target the other day, spending more money I don't have on a secret pal I've never met, I stumbled across a treasure trove of snackage that made my heart skip a beat. Chocolate. Honest to Goddess real chocolate that has no milk in it! It's semi-dark and has fruit and nuts in it and I am in HEAVEN! I haven't had real chocolate in 6 months. 6 months people. Do you know how homicidal I was about to become? Extremely. It's bliss. And it has poetry in the wrapper, which I consider to be a bonus. I was good and only bought two bars. The first had cherries and almonds in it. It was gloriously delicious. I stretched that puppy out over 3 days. The one I busted into today has freeze dried raspberries in it. It is also delicious. I like just looking at it too. The brilliant redish fuscia color of the dried raspberries against the dark, dark brown of the chocolate is beautiful. It really is, and not just because it tastes good!
Speaking of my homicidal tendencies, what the fluck is the deal with soccer moms? I'm not talking about every mother of every child who has ever played soccer. I'm talking about the 'soccer moms'. You know, the perfect little bitches with one child who is involved in every conceivable activity, who drives an SUV because she can, even though she only has one kid to cart around, and feels the need to inform everyone she meets that she owns every gadget known to man and so does her kid. I don't get it. It's just stuff lady. Now I'll explain my random rant. There's a new kid in V's karate class (which could lead to a whole other rant all by itself, but I'll save that for another day.) He has been there twice. Both times, he's been a total spaz, which is ok because he's young and new and still learning the ropes. His mother is a nice enough lady. The first day he was in class, she sat right next to me and about in my lap and talked the whole time about how our two boys were just too cute and needed to be friends. She went on and on about how we should do play dates and how they'd love it and yada, yada, yada. I'm cool with that. V needs friends his own age who live around here. But class ends that day and they leave without saying a word. Sweet. Whatever. So we're talking after class yesterday, and she brings up the playdate thing again, only this time, she goes off about all of the things her son has that mine could play with. He's got a car that drives and a motorcylce too, and all the Star Wars movies, and...............for five minutes while I sat there staring at her. My social retardation came into play here, because I totally didn't know what to say to her. Your kids a spoiled brat? Why don't we just go to the park? My kid has toys too? So I pussed out and just said we could talk about a playdate next week, scooped up my midgets and tore ass to the car before she could talk anymore. Maybe it's just where I live, but this happens all the time. This is the reason I don't associate with any other moms around here. They are ALL like this. Or at least, they appear to be. I don't get it. Is it me? Has my retardation reached such a level that I've just completely lost the ability to behave appropriately in social situations? Or are they really the status hungry money-mongers I think they are?
Moving on, I ordered something for my secret pal and it was supposed to be here yesterday. I procrastinate, so of course I ordered it late and then paid an exorbitant shipping charge for 1 day Air. It didn't show up when it was supposed to. I need to mail her package off tonight so that she will get it before April 1st. Yes, I've waited THAT long. If there is not a package on my doorstep before the post office closes tonight, I'm gonna hurt me a UPS guy.
I am so ready for spring break, it isn't even funny anymore.
And on that note, I'm off to do some more dishes before yoga.
Later peeps.

Gratitude with Grace

2007-03-25T16:46:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine posted this on myspace saying that this is how she likes to view the world. It struck me that I agreed, and yet I have difficulty with parts of it.
Here is what she posted.

The Law of Giving (adapted from Deepak Chopra)
1. Wherever I go, and whoever I encounter, I will bring them a gift. The gift may be a compliment, a flower, or a prayer. Today, I will give something to everyone I come into contact with, and so I will begin the process of circulating joy, wealth and affluence in my life and in the lives of others.
2. Today I will gratefully receive all the gifts that life has to offer me. I will receive the gifts of nature: sunlight and the sound of birds singing, or spring showers. I will also be open to receiving from others, whether it be in the form of a material gift, smile, or a compliment.
3. I will make a commitment to keep wealth circulating in my life by giving and receiving life's most precious gifts: the gifts of caring, affection, appreciation, and love. Each time I meet someone, I will silently wish them happiness, joy, and laughter.

I do this, to a degree. I am the consumate gift giver. I am always giving someone something, a compliment, a smile, encouragement, a pencil, advice, an actual gift, whatever. I like to give things to the people around me.
What I don't do is receive. It isn't that the 'gifts' aren't offered. It's that I don't know how to take them. I cannot take a compliment. I don't know what to do with them. It has been pointed out to me before that I am more comfortable taking criticism than compliments. This is true. I know what to do with criticism. I evaluate it, and either dismiss it or act on it to make improvements or corrections. But with compliments, I can't do that. It's almost as though I don't feel worthy of them. They make me extremely uncomfortable. It isn't that my self esteem is so low that I think there is nothing in or of me to compliment. I know that there are things I do well and good parts of me. I just rarely feel that compliments are sincere. I guess it's more of an issue of trust. I don't trust many people, and as such, I don't trust that what they are telling me is true or well-intentioned. I usually feel as if there is an ulterior motive. Yes, I'm a jaded little bastard. My inability to simply trust that a compliment is nothing more than a compliment causes problems. Some people take it as arrogance or aloofness on my part, when really it's just my emotional and social retardation rearing its ugly little head. It's just one more thing I need to work on.
Oddly enough, having children has helped lessen my retardation just a touch. When I first had Victor, three years ago, people would tell me how adorable he was and I would just smile and stare, not sure how to respond, and afraid that agreeing with them might encourage them to try to keep talking to me. So retarded. I'm sure that all the little grandma types who ran into me that first year and gushed about my baby thought I was the consumate a-hole for the way I responded to their compliments. But over time, it's become easier to just say thank you when someone compliments my child (or children.) Maybe that's what I need to do when someone compliments me, just say thanks and move on instead of sitting there, red faced and mute, internally analyzing all of the possible motivations for the compliment. Yeah, that would be the sane thing for me to do. We'll see if it actually happens.
I want some continuity in my life. I want some peace. I think that the only way for those things to happen is for me to get over this issue I have, heal up some of the more jaded parts of my soul, and learn to receive the things I most like to give from the people in my life who are trying to give them to me, despite my best efforts to thwart them.

Sweet, sweet pain

2007-03-22T20:25:00.000-07:00

How I've missed thee. I started back to yoga class tonight. It was blissfully painful. I haven't been since around this time last year, shortly before finding out I was pregnant with Os. I have missed it. It centers me in a way that not many other things do. I feel so much more calm and in control when I have my weekly dose of self inflicted torturous stretching and introspection.

Bittousy

2007-03-21T15:05:00.000-07:00

I have issues. The people that know and love me, love me in spite of them. I am having an issue and I don't know how to deal with it.
We threw a baby shower lunch thing for a co-worker of mine today. She's a nice enough lady, having her third child, a girl. She wasn't looking to get pregnant. Things happen though, and she's happy about it. I'm happy for her, mostly.
She's having a girl and I find myself feeling bitter and jealous, bittous.
Oscar was supposed to be a girl. Throughout my entire pregnancy, I swore that all I wanted was a healthy baby, that I didn't care if it was a boy or girl, just healthy. To a degree, that was true. But something in me came alive during the ultrasound when the perinatologist told me we were having a girl. I want a daughter. I have always wanted a daughter. I love my sons more than I love life itself, but I feel incomplete. When Oscar was born and they told me he was a boy, and not the daughter I had planned for, I wanted to cry. I don't know if I can explain this very well. It makes perfect sense in my head, but, like a lot of things in my head, may not translate well into intelligble language. I felt as if I'd gained and lost someone at the same time. From the moment the dr. told me it was a girl, she had a name. I said her name outloud and she became real. She became my daughter, a real, living, thriving human being. I spoke to her. I sang to her. I made plans for her. I knew her. I didn't know him. I felt as if I'd lost her, almost as if she'd died. And I felt like I had been handed a baby I didn't know. There was an instant disconnect-not from my son, but from the situation. I have bonded with my son, but I still have not been able to take apart the nursery we prepared for her so that we can make it boy-friendly.
I find myself feeling bittous toward complete strangers who happen to wander by me with their baby girls. I just had a baby. I should be happy. Everything went really well, and he is the picture of health. He is a great baby and relatively easy. I don't resent him, or blame him for having a penis. But I want her. I want them both.
This whole thing is stupid. I need to get over it and just accept that I don't have a daughter and that I may never have her. But I haven't been able to. My brain just won't let it go.
For the longest time I felt like the worst mother in the world because I was sad. I couldn't just be happy that I had a healthy baby boy. My joy and happiness in his arrival and existence was, and is, tempered by the sadness of not having her. I think that makes me crazy. I don't want my son to grow up thinking that I didn't want him or that he wasn't enough for me. I do want him. He is enough for me in that he is my son, and I love him for who he is and will love him for whatever he becomes.
But there is that empty place inside me waiting for her. I don't know what I'll do with it if she never comes.

Best. Question. Ever.

2007-03-16T16:53:00.000-07:00

So, I'm giving a spelling test in my ELD writing class test today.These kids speak some English, but not much. They are amassingvocabulary rapidly though. One of the words on the test today was freedom.They have had and worked with these words all week. I ASSumed that theyknew what they all meant based on the work we had done with themearlier in the week. Back to the test. The test is oral. I sayit,they write it out on their papers. I say the word freedom forthem. I repeat it and enunciate clearly, even breaking the word down intosyllables. One of my brightest and most advanced students raiseshis hand and says "Maestra, why we free the dumb? Aren't they likeidiots or something? How you free dumb people? Where they go?" Myresponse? "Huh? What dumb people? OH! Free-dumb! No honey,freeDOM, not free-dumb like idiots. There's no helping those." The classwas rolling, and so was I. Seriously, the best question ever asked in my class!

A little self loathing never hurt anyone

2007-03-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

I kind of hate myself right now. It'll pass. It usually does, but this time is more intense. I lost it yesterday. It could have been worse, much worse, but I still feel like total shit. I'm not sure how to make it better, or if I can.
I had a craptastic afternoon yesterday. After teaching my classes, I had to attend a 2 hour meeting in which I (along with my fellow teachers) was told that I am not good enough. Not only am I not good enough, but that, unbeknownst to me, I am a racist and that by simply showing up to work, I violate the civil rights of every student I come into contact with who is not white. My skin tone is apparently more indicative of my personality, biases, assumptions, values and beliefs than are my practices and the opinion my students hold of me. What. The. Fuck. Ever.
So I leave the meeting, glad to be done, missing my boys and excited to go pick them up and head home for some quality mom time. Yeah. Not so much. I get there and the babysitter looks like she's had her ass kicked three ways from Sunday. I guess all four boys tag teamed her. Vic cried and had a melt down every time something he didn't like happened, refused to take a nap and screamed at the top of his lungs when she put him down for one. Naps are not optional at this point. Os wasn't feeling well because he got his first round of vaccinations on Tuesday. Diarrhea, crankiness, lots of the crying for no reason. The other two boys she watches are still in boot camp-still learning the ropes of the place so they act up all the time because they don't know any better yet. So fun!
I walk in and Vic immediately starts acting up-ignoring me, ignoring the babysitter, pushing his little friend, just being an ass. So I tell him to knock it off and get ready to go. He needs his shoes, back pack, yada, yada. He walks off. I tell him we're leaving and he starts screaming at the top of his lungs, seriously, like he's being beaten. He doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to pick up the toys he threw all over. Whatever. He goes into total meltdown mode. Time out doesn't help. He just screams louder. Swat on the pants doesn't help. He just gets pissed and gets louder. So I drag his ass out to the car and tell him he can't get in until he's quiet because I can't drive with him screaming like that. Takes a few, but he finally calms down. I get Os into the car, load Vic, get in myself and head down the road. Vic starts screaming again. He wants his music. No. Ya don't get to dictate what we do or what we listen to in the car if you get in trouble at the babysitters. All privileges go away. He knows this. Meltdown x10. I have never heard my child scream like he did yesterday afternoon. Never. He was out of his ever loving mind. So I pull the car over on the side of the road, screeching tires in the dirt and asphalt and everything. I get out, march over to his side of the car, open the door and lean in to talk to him. He screams louder into my face and won't stop. He just won't stop. I'm yelling and I can't hear myself over his screams. He was that far out of control.
I slapped him.
I didn't hit him hard, just enough to get his attention and get him to stop screaming long enough to breathe.
But I slapped him.
I slapped my baby in the face.
I didn't know what else to do, but I instantly regretted it. I pulled him out of the car and told him to take a few deep breaths to calm down. He just kept wailing. So I pulled him into me for a hug and told him I loved him, that I was sorry I slapped him and that I never wanted to do it again. But I also told him that his behavior was out of control. There was no reason for it. He wasn't hurt, in danger, or sick. There was no reason for it.
He just melted into my shoulder and told me how sorry he was and that he 'wubbed' me too. Then he asked if he could get back in the car because the traffic was scary. So I loaded him back into the car, got in myself and then drove home.
He was the perfect kid for the rest of the night.
As soon as he was in bed, I cried. I cried for a good hour. I feel like the worst mother ever. I know that it probably isn't a big deal. He'll forget it ever happened soon enough.
But I won't. I lost control. I would not tolerate anyone else doing what I did to my son. I can't excuse it in myself either.

Still Grief's Bitch

2007-03-09T18:32:00.000-08:00

I woke up in a foul mood this morning. On the surface, there didn't seem to be any reason for my poor humor. I had a good day yesterday, a productive day. Something I hadn't had in a good long while. I went to bed exhausted, but happy. But when I woke up this morning, I was ready to tear someone's face off. I was just pissed at the world. I stayed that way all day. Work was abismal, and it wasn't because my students were poorly behaved or any more obnoxious than normal. I just didn't want to be there. I gave them their work, answered what questions they had, and took refuge in my email inbox. I sent an all call out to my IGs to rescue me from my sour mood, and they rallied, making me laugh with their jokes, stories about their delinquent brothers and the goings on of their day. (Have I said lately how much I adore my IG sistahs? Because I do. I really, really do.) As much as I enjoyed the stories and jokes, I just still couldn't snap out of the funk. I couldn't make myself not be pissed. My classes ended and the kids left. I sat in my room for a bit just trying to center myself and dig through my noodle to figure out what was bugging me. I needed to pump so I locked up and got all set, pulled out my Ipod to block out the noise from the kids in the hall and it hit me. Raymond. His birthday is Sunday, or it would be. He would be 28. I was cleaning last night and found the cds I made to play at his funeral. The music we used to say goodbye. I am still angry. I still don't have answers. I still don't understand how my brother ceased to be. Only now it's been two and a half years, so instead of grief being overt, causing me to fall apart, cry and generally cease to function until it passes, it's become a passive aggressive little whore, stealing my good mood and happy thoughts while I sleep. Even after all this time, I am still its bitch.
I feel a little better for having figured out what's wrong with me, but only just a little. I just want to not be angry anymore. I want to not be sad anymore. But every day there is something new that reminds me he's not here, something he misses I wish he could see. People have told me over and over again that time will make it better. It hasn't. It's just made it different.