The barking dogs come in pretty handy once in a while.

You know that little bit of mom radar that we develop when our kids are infants? It’s amazing - we wake up at the first whimper, or the first cry for milk in the middle of the night. (Well, the leaking boobs are a bit of an alarm, as well...)

That radar comes in MIGHTY handy when those babies turn into 17 year-old children who TRY to sneak out or IN (has yet to be determined) at 3:48 in the morning. IN. THE. MORNING.


Sassy: “That was my friend Jack. He just stopped here to apologize for being a jerk. And WHY are YOU up, mother??”

Me: “Jack? Wait, that’s not your boyfriend. In fact, I haven’t seen this particular friend since last summer. And I am up because YOU are up. Let’s not confuse who is in trouble here. “

"Oh, and the next time he feels like coming over to say sorry, you tell him to come during the day.

In this house we do NOT accept APOLOGIES after MIDNIGHT."

(Apology, my $**. Does she think I’m stupid?)

(Thanks for voting for me over at Babble. I appreciate it!!!)


Quote of the day, a shameful begging, and something I NEVER thought I'd do

It's Friday evening, I'm EXHAUSTED after a fun-filled, glittery day at school, and I'm ready to put on my P.J.'s and have a, um, a large SODA!! However, I have a few pressing matters to attend to.

First, I HAVE to share the comments from two of my darling girls at telling sharing today.

Susie: "Mrs. Smith, my grandmother is going to cowaformia today. She's bisiting my new cousint!"

Jane: "Hey, I have a grandma! She's the HOMECOMING queen!" Ah, that last comment gave me hope. :-)

Second, I am FORCED to enable the word verification for my comments. I swore I never WOULD, because frankly it's a pain in the butt. However, the fact that people have to wade through them is just bad manners on my part. Enough said.

Third, I've decided I have to promise SOMETHING AMAZING in order to beg for a few more HUNDRED THOUSAND votes over at Babble. (My brother in law is so sick of me emailing him begging for votes that he has VOWED to disown me. And he would, but I always bring him his favorite local beer when I visit. HAHAHA I've got him where I want him. CHAINED to the computer.) The fact that you all got me to number SIX, NUMBER SIX, fed my competitive fires like you would NOT BELIEVE.

So, if you DO go vote, please come back and let me know what I can do for you. I don't want to be vain enough to think you want pics or videos of me OR my family- and the fact that I have worked SO HARD to maintain my anonymity precludes me doing that. So, with that being said, surely there is SOMETHING I can do in return. What it could be- I have no idea- but perhaps there is something bizarre that you all want, or need from me. Just say the word. If I get into the top FIVE, it's DONE.

(Well, except for sending money. Or posing naked. Or being mean - or anything bad. But other than THAT, we're good.)



She cannot POSSIBLY be giving advice again...

I’ve learned many valuable lessons these past 18 months of blogging. Some have warmed my heart and others have sent me to my knees in thanks. Then there are those that have been a bit more painful – but just as important none-the-less.

When I first began this journey, I had NO idea what I was getting into. NO IDEA. I was in the early stages of this “writing” path, and jumped in with both feet, holding my nose in one hand and my laptop in the other.

Throughout this process of growth I’ve learned that there are four (or a billion) VERY valuable lessons that I am compelled to pass on to others who are blogging, AND hoping to keep their jobs.

Most of you know about the “Sharp Right Turn” that my life took when the “powers that be” in my school district (here in South Dakota) found out about my blog. I did, however, make it VERY EASY for them to find me. I, well, let’s see, I used my REAL NAME, the NAME OF MY SCHOOL, and managed to slip in the real names of some of my kids a couple of BILLION times.

“I am never being mean, or hurtful,” I thought. “It doesn’t matter if I don’t change my name.

Guess What?

It does.

It was in the middle of the day while teaching, that I received “the call” that shook me to the core, and forced me to evaluate what I was doing, and why.

(Here are a few posts from then, if you care to catch up.)

What have I learned up to now throughout this healing process? I would LOVE to share. (And because I LOVE lists, here’s the “crap I learned” list. Feel free to print and post in the “teachers who blog” newsletter.)

1. Never, never, NEVER use the name of your school, town or state while writing your blog. There are no first amendment rights for teachers. Did you hear that? No. First. Amendment. Rights. Just accept it, and move on.

2. Do NOT use your own name, or the names of ANY CHILDREN in your classroom on any blogposts. Don’t ask, just do it.

3. Do not blog, or check other blogs while at school. A school/writer friend of mine looked me in the eye (when I was crying the blues) and told me, “Vodka, they are not paying you to blog. They are paying you to teach.” And you know what? He was right. So, when you don’t hear from me between the hours of 7:30 and 4:00, and do not see any tweets, it’s because I am fully present at work. I am re-committed to that job that I love, and will not jeopardize it - no matter what hopes and dreams are alive in my heart.

4. Do not say anything in your blog that you wouldn’t want your co-workers, your friends, your FAMILY members and your loved ones to see. Because guess what? One day they WILL see it. I write with that knowledge tucked deep into my soul, and it keeps me honest, and real.

In a nutshell, I think what I keep close to my heart are these truths- be authentic, be who you are, and be anonymous.

Your blog reflects who you are, what you are made of, and what you hold in your heart.

And I, for one, always strive to be proud of it.

(By the way - thank you all so much for your votes over at Babble. I am honored to be in the top ten. There are some big names pushing some of the others up the ladder, and I promised my friends and relatives that I wouldn't beg anymore. I can't offer donations, or any more chidlren, so I bow to you all, and tip my hat. Some days it's just better to let the chips fall where they may. As long as they're bar-b-qued and land in my BOWL, I'm a happy camper.)

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This coin has two sides...

Dear Sassy,

I just wanted to tell you how proud I was last Saturday, as I watched you sit with the gentleman conducting your admissions interview at Smith and Wesson University here in the lovely state of Oregon.

You were poised and articulate, and I had to force myself to see you as the beautiful young woman you have become, and not the pig-tailed tomboy I watched throw mud balls at her sister in the back yard.

I was so very proud of the fact that both the admissions counselor (and the college coach who met us there) had only glowing things to say about you, and your interview.

It sure is a good thing they weren’t at our house Friday night when you unleashed the screaming, hormonally-charged banshee rant upon your mother.

But then, they didn’t ask you to clean the kitchen now, did they?

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I'd Like the Pink Gas-Mask, Please.

These were the exciting events from TODAY’S morning meeting.

Someone in the group was passing just a little bit of gas, and let’s just say that it was extraordinary.

Matthew, who is never at a loss for Chris Rock-like one-liners, cries out,

“It smells like Nana's pot-roast up in here!”

Now, I've never had Matthew's Nana's pot-roast but if it even smelled remotely like what we were smelling, I wouldn't put it in my mouth.

A little voice whispered quietly from the back of the group, without missing a beat...

“Sorry Guys...my butt's just working overtime.” It was our dear little Frank.

Knowing the stomach flu was making the rounds, I kept my eye on little Frankie all morning, because noxious gas usually precedes a cookie toss...

Sure enough about an half hour later… I beat my fifteen-second “running with the garbage can” record.

And not a DROP made it to the floor.

(And THANKS for springing me yesterday!! I am speechless, speechless, speechless - but I will whip up blubbering thank you tomorrow!!! You guys are all amazing. Bitchy and Sassy had faith ALL along..and admire your loyalty..as do I.)


It's a hostile takeover...

To the readers of Vodkamom,

We have taken her laptop captive. We will not allow her to blog until her voting reaches at least 350. Or a million. (All you have to do is click over there, find her at #18, and click on the thumbs up. Easy, peasy.)

Her life is in your hands.

And it kind of works out for us, because we MIGHT just end up with a clean house and perhaps a meal or two.

Her family.


It would have helped if the dog could TALK.

I spent most of Saturday (about 54 hours of it) traveling with Sassy to an indoor field hockey tournament in Middleofnowhere, Oregon. Tightwad and The Golden Boy stayed home with the dogs. Rover is an older dalmatian mix we rescued from the SPCA when Sassy (who was four at the time) dropped her on her head. We were CONVINCED that she had injured her, and felt so guilty we took her home. We adopted Junior from that same SPCA several years ago for no good reason.

Yesterday about 5:30 p.m. Junior escaped captivity and roamed the neighborhood freely eating what was later determined to be soft pretzels and crap. We live on a VERY busy street and let's just say, for argument's sake, that we live at 123 Main Street. When Sassy and I returned home from said field hockey tournament, we were informed by Tightwad that Junior was missing!! They had been combing the neighborhood and the land near and far for the damn dog. (We have tons of cornfields and open fields that belong to Oregon State behind our house- it's quite gorgeous to have it right here in town, even if the street in front of our house is quite busy.)

We were despondent ALL night and this morning when Junior never came home. He's often escaped to run through the cornfields and reek havoc in the neighborhood- but ALWAYS comes home. Yeah, he usually smells like crap-but he gets his bath, a little scolding and then tons of love.

After putting my private investigator skills to good use (Remember one of my old jobs???) I received a call from the Animal Medical Hospital that a dog that fit OUR dog's description was brought in last night (about 6:45) by the POLICE. They found him on a busy street. "What street? " you might ask.

The girl at the Animal Hospital said that the officers picked him up at 123 Main Street. AT OUR HOUSE. In the FRONT YARD. Jesus. Don't they know that's our dog? And Tightwad, didn't the flashing red lights (neighbor was watching) wake you up from your nap????? Didn't you hear the officer KNOCKING at the front door? Oh wait, you were out eating Chinese at the time.

Yeah, well, you owe me 15 bucks. That's how much I need to spring him.

(It's from the lost files that were deleted in moments of panic last year. I still laugh about it. And yeah, guess where I am today? Middleofnowhere. And that dog better be locked up.)


I speak MANY languages these days...

As many of you know, I have a rather LARGE and adorable class - with quite a large contingent of “English as a Second Language” children. It's makes me feel good that the “powers that be” feel I am a good match for these kids. (Even if I DO have a tinch of a headache when I get home.)

We’ve been in school 87 (real feel- one billion) days, and at this point most of them are picking up on all that we do and are participating in our discussions. (Well, sort of...) We are helping them learn our language, and often they help US learn THEIR language. Take yesterday, for example.

We were at the computer lab working on pictures of the desert- including plants and animals from the desert. As we lined up, I saw David (one of our young lads from China) standing right in front of me holding his picture of the desert.

I said, “David, can you say “This is the desert” in Chinese???”

With a huge smile, he said, “THIS is the desert…in Chinese!”

And that little rascal ran away………..


Helpful hints for people who eat feet.

Tip number 423 for mothers of teenaged girls:

423. When you’re doing dishes and your daughter walks in with her girlfriend, check to see if there are any STRAGLERS coming in. Odds are great that her new “fella” will sneak in a few moments later as quietly as a stealth bomber, and overhear the following comments.

“I’m SO glad Jack had the nerve to come meet me! Not like that OTHER loser, what was his name? Anyway, he doesn't LOOK creepy, he's SO CUTE!!! And…”

Right about then your 17 year-old daughter MIGHT shout out, “MOM, mom, mom, MOM!!!”

When you turn around and see him standing there sheepishly with his hands in his pockets, don’t be surprised.

And WHY am I so shocked that my foot fits so easily into my mouth these days? (It's a perfect fit.)

tip jar.


The scariest animal in the woodlands....

OR, why I love to teach writing in kindergarten....

Moms and dads- sound spelling is where it's at. Do NOT correct their spelling. (We COULD talk about developmental readiness but instead, let's just say it's too darn cute...)

Beware the smell of bacon when walking in the woods........

(voting is here.:-) )


Take cover, she's gonna BLOW!

Dear Dr. Jones:

Yes, you’ve been our pediatrician for, oh, let’s say at LEAST 17 years. You were there when our darling Sassy kept me awake for the first six months of her life with the nastiest case of colic I have EVER seen. And she’s been loud ever since.

However, a 17 year old girl is even MORE enjoyable when you throw in a large dose of PCOS. For those of you out there who might NOT have medical degrees, this condition involves your ovaries, and let’s just say it keeps the poor girl in a perpetual state of PMS. (raging.)

Then, to add cherries to the already iced cake, you decided to prescribe a lovely steroid to finally knock out that nasty sinus infection that, after three different meds, she couldn’t shake.

The medicine should have come with a warning for the family. PROCEED WITH CAUTION, is what I recommend. Or even TAKE COVER. Oh, and a LARGE dose of valium for all family members who might come in contact with her, no matter how hard they try to avoid her.

Now if you’ll excuse me, her father, sister, brother, two dogs and I will be hiding under the oak desk in the basement office. Knock three times and shout “Ollie ollie in come free” and we MIGHT unlock the door.

(Frankly, I’d rather face Tightwad after an 18 point turn.)

(and for those of you chained to your computer by a mad intruder who is forcing you to read blogs, you COULD go over here and vote. They let you vote every dang DAY. So I heard.)


It's what lies within us, really.

We are all a product of our life experiences – and who we are today, is not who we were a year ago; or five years ago; or who we will be five years from now. We are evolving, changing, learning and growing. I know, from past experiences that the moments I am living in right now will change. The look of my life and my loves are constantly changing by the cruel hands of time, and fate. I have to swim hard and fast to keep my head above water, and my heart intact.

I’ve been thinking about what events have made me what I THINK is a strong, independent woman. Of course, the deaths of my beloved parents at a young age significantly impacted me. But I think there was another important event that forced me to grow up and stand on my own two feet. Perhaps now is the time to share.

I graduated from Smith College in April of my 22nd year. I spent one last summer working at the beach, before I made a hasty decision to drive to California with two people I had known for four months. I was impulsive – although I prefer the term adventurous, myself. My mother, God bless her soul, wished me well and sent me on my way with a hug and a few tears.

After landing in San Diego and living there for several months, I met an older guy we'll call Steve, who was a teacher and an incredibly brilliant man. We met at his best friend’s topless bar (I was bartending. Don’t ask.) And after a whirlwind courtship, he convinced me to marry him (I know, I know…).

During our five-year marriage we both decided to attend evening classes at a local law school and simultaneously enjoyed a rather “party-like” lifestyle. He had some unseemly connections, and I was drawn into a lifestyle that was dangerous, unhealthy and hidden from anyone I loved. My mother’s sudden death forced me to take a long hard look at the life I was living. I wanted out. However, I was far too young to do it in a mature and thoughtful manner.

One day, after Steve went to work, I packed my bags, drove to my brother’s apartment (I had convinced him to come to California. Another long story.), and he put me on a plane home.

I thought, at the time, that my mother’s many brothers and sisters, and HER mother, would welcome me with open arms.

I was wrong.

Remember when I told you that the man I married was intelligent? Well, he was also a smooth talker and could be very convincing. He had managed to contact some members of my family, and what he told them I will never know. I DO know that he managed to make ME look like the one who had a problem.

When I arrived at my beloved grandmother’s house I was met with a closed door. I was stunned. I went from house to house, hoping that someone would listen to this orphaned niece who was fighting for her life.

No one believed me.

They all thought that I had done ANOTHER impulsive thing, that SURELY it was my fault and I was the one who'd made the mistakes.

I was devastated. Utterly, and completely devastated.

Fortunately, my sister’s father-in-law lived in a nearby community, and after several phone calls, he took me in. He and his wife gave me a place to stay, never questioned why I was there, but wrapped their arms around me with unconditional love and comfort.

I spent many, many months with them, and reconnected with high school friends. I went out at night, enjoyed some of the things I had missed while I was gone. I think, in hindsight, I was desperately searching for people who would keep me sane, safe and comforted. My friends did just that, and I thank them. My brother and sister, who lived in other regions of the country, stood by me – even at the expense of their relationships with our extended family. To this day I will never be able to tell them how much that meant to me.

We spent many, many years on the periphery of our large extended family- black sheep, if you will. I don’t think the hostile part of my family truly understood the impact of their actions – they are really good people at heart. I just think they were misled and misinformed by a very smart and stupid man, and didn't realize we were three orphans desperately seeking parent figures.

It’s been over 25 years since those events, and once in a while I think about what Steve's life must be like. I know he graduated from law school near the top of his class. There, my knowledge of his life ended.

Then, out of the blue a year or two ago, one of my aunts contacted me to tell me Steve was looking for me. He had discovered a box of belongings that I had hastily left behind. She said she gave it to him, and that I should expect a call.

That made me nervous; very, very nervous.

I decided it was time for Google. One night after my family was in bed I opened my laptop and I went to work. It didn’t take me long to find out that he had been permanently disbarred from the practice of law; and not only THAT, he had been suspended many times before the official disbarment, and had been ARRESTED and convicted of manufacturing methamphetamines.

Well. Finally, after 25 years, perhaps someone would believe what I had said all along. He was a bad, bad seed – that looked good on the outside.

I don’t blame anyone for what I went through, for it truly made me the person that I am today. I am proud to say that I never, ever touched a “substance” after that plane in San Diego took off to carry me home. (Well, except perhaps a touch of vodka.)

I love my mother’s family because they are my blood- and they are good people. They just weren’t able to see my side of the story. I was impulsive as a young girl, and perhaps I reaped what I had sown.

And as for that phone call? I never received one from HIM. I HAVE, however, received NUMEROUS calls from creditors looking for him, and for the money he owes them. How they got my number, I do not know.

Yep. Just when I hope his name won’t come up, it still does. Now instead of fear and regret, however, that name evokes in me pride that I had the courage and fortitude to rectify a bad decision, and create a better me.


Reason 5,435,529 why Tightwad loves me.

Note to Self: When you have an unusually warm day, and the snow melts and everything is SOAKING WET, do NOT try an 18 point turn in your steep driveway.

Odds are great that you will NARROWLY MISS the lovely rock wall that lines the driveway, and gauge at least ONE HUNDRED deep holes in the grass that your husband tenderly planted and tried to re-grow last summer after LAST winter’s debacle. Yeah, and that three point turn will take at LEAST 100 turns. (And several righteous mud slides.)

Somebody hide me. Quick.


How do you spell organism??

This came to me today from my good friend in Arizona...

On planning out our ecosystem (terrarium gardens), a child said,

"Ms. W., Can we have more than one orgasm in the garden?"

Do you think she kept a straight face???

I wonder.


My husband Steve and another little, tiny favor.

You know how I am OBSESSED with Stephen King? I’ve read all his books, have most of them in hardback, and will forever be indebted to my sister for finding this treasure at her local Goodwill. (They know her by name, by the way.)

I’m always flitting around bloggyland, dropping comments about how I am either Steve King’s wife, lover, or biggest fan, and comments along those lines. Remember? (Kathy Bates did a lovely job portraying me- although I am a bit funnier in real life.)

Here’s an email I received last night. Honestly, I laughed out LOUD after this one.

Vodkamom: I saw a comment you left on Kate's blog and assumed your husband is Stephen King. Forgive me if I have made the wrong assumption but if not I am reading - for the second time - his great book On Writing and wondered if I could quote what he says on page 326/327 on my blog …….

Um, well, I’m not REALLY his wife, and if Tabitha sees that she MIGHT get the wrong idea. However, this email was MUCH more fun to read than that other one, and I thank you, Mr. Jones.

It appears that another “contest” kind of thing occurring in bloggyville. I TRY to avoid situations that might bring out the worst in me, but what the heck. I am honored to be included with amazing writers and people, and am thankful that anyone notices me. (And, as I heard on the radio, I have kids- that means I have no pride.)

First, I want to THANK all of the people that I paid, bribed, and blackmailed into voting for me over at Blogg’er Choice. I am HONORED that out of all those blogs, I ended up an amazing THIRD PLACE. Holy Cow!

And now, for this “contest”, I ask only this. I don’t want you voting JUST because you’re related to me, or because you feel SORRY for me (you know, having to live with Bitchy and Sassy and Tightwad…) or because I might promise you untold riches, alcohol, money or treats.

I only want to encourage you to vote if you have enjoyed my writing.

Because, at the end of the day, THAT is why I am here. It’s all about the writing, and the fact that my brain, my heart and my soul insist that I keep doing it.

The ball’s in your court. You may return the serve, or move on. It’s all good either way.


Things I never thought I'd do. Part twelve.

Today at work I had a twenty minute discussion about where boogers do NOT go. Then my class spent ten minutes looking for boogers on the gym floor.

What did YOU do at work today?


I do believe in angels, I DO believe in angels, I DO.

There are many, many lessons our children learn – and most of them do not involve their parents.

We are still coping and reeling from the recent lesson that Sassy learned about stalking. (She is safe, brave, and back to her annoying self.)

I’ve watched painfully as they’ve learned about boyfriends, girl “frenemies”, sibling fighting, about how words hurt, about bad choices, and about how a single event can bring you a grief that you’ve never imagined.

However, they’ve also learned that there are amazing people in the world, and that if you are truly a good hearted person, and do for others, then good things will come back to you tenfold. The girls saw this many times in the last year, and last weekend the Golden Boy was the recipient of a most recent lesson.

I had a meeting with some fellow teachers over the break (Don’t let anyone tell you that teachers don’t work at home. It’s a lie.) to plan a unit that we will be implementing this month. One of the other teachers has a son in Golden Boy’s class, and we thought they could bowl a few games while we did our planning at those tall tables behind the lanes. (Who needs quiet- we’re USED to chaos.)

After the games, the boys went looking to buy some water bottles. GB had a five dollar bill and was searching and searching for change- and no one working at any of the areas seemed willing to give it to him. I happen to glance up as a man (who was bowling with his family) walked across the lanes toward my son and handed him something. I watched as he told him something, and sent him toward the water machine.

“What did that man give you?” I asked Golden Boy when he returned with his water.

“He gave me the $1.50 and told me that when I was older, I was supposed to do something nice for someone else.” And he looked at me with a serious look on his face, and then broke out in a smile.

That man, who I have never met, taught my middle school son an invaluable lesson.

I thank all of you “angels” out there who do this daily. It might not be money, or gifts, but just by your behavior, your demeanor, your politeness and your generosity, you are teaching all of our children lessons that feel good.

Keep up the good work.

(How about a little bloggy love for Anna. She could use a thumbs up over here.)


Second Best Christmas GIft Ever.

This was a Christmas gift from a good friend. (Only Stephen King could trump it.)

If I could wear this every day and get away with it, I would.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm taking every medicine known to man to try to get rid of these nasty germs that have invaded my body. They're surprisingly hard to kill.


I'm making a HUGE batch of lemonade. You're all invited over.

It’s a good thing I’m not a detective….

So, after the Purple troll left a comment on my blog that did manage to rattle my cage, I spent the whole night chasing the person by a “location” that was suspiciously close to where Tightwad was working these past six months.

I emailed Suzy and Elise and Braja to tell them the troll was on THEIR blogs. I then followed her all over bloggyland, wondering why she was STALKING MY FRIENDS.

The Port Allegheny address? It was my own damn computer.

It seems I’ve been tracking myself for the last 24 hours.

And Purple? I want to thank you for giving me a great laugh this morning. I needed it.

(You guys are awesome. You talked me off the ledge, and Tightwad thanks you for keeping him alive.)


An Odd Turn of Events

I've had this blog since July of 08. I have only ever had one rude comment (Well, that I can REMEMBER) and that one involved my daughters. It turned my stomach, and totally FREAKED ME OUT. I quickly deleted it, and haven't had another.

Sure, I've had numerous comments from Suzy's many Asian friends and lovers, but since I don't understand a word of it I just always assume they're telling me how much they love me.

And then today, this came.

Purple has left a new comment on your post "The New Years Resolution Revolt.":

Maybe resolve to stop being such a control freak, and your hubby wouldn't feel the need to cheat on you. Keep your dog on a tighter leash my dear. :)

Now, I thought since we were all such good friends (All 1,271 of us) you might help me understand this. This one startled me; and frankly, I'm thrown for a loop.

It's just some crazy talk, right????

Making good use of those Starbucks gift cards.

Look what I found while cleaning the playroom after school yesterday. BILLIONS of dollars worth of toys, and this is what they found to play with. (Anyone care to guess what it is?)

(If you have a chance, visit Corey. His niece is doing a class project!!!)


My lips move, but the kids don't hear a word I say.

This is what THIS kindergarten teacher (and her para) say EVERY morning, twenty-five times.

Did you check your backpack?

Did you check your backpack?

Did you check your backpack?

Did you check your backpack?

Did you check your backpack?

Did you check your backpack?

Did you check your backpack?

Did you check your backpack?

25 times. And why do we do this, you ask? Because we’ve learned that some children will STILL leave something in their backpack that should go to the teacher.

We just didn’t expect it to be a squirming, wiggling meowing item for Show and Tell.

So, after 73 days of reminding children that they cannot bring anything living and breathing to school for Show and Tell, I was trumped by the “it’s “K” day” card.

And even though the culprit VEHEMENTLY denied bringing said kitten to school, he did manage to hand it over to his frantic mom when she showed up to find the KITTY she had been SEARCHING for all morning.

I need a drink.


I didn't know my mouth was even big enough for my foot. Although I DO seem to put it there frequently.

Not the best way to start your day.

Me: “Jackson, how’s your grandfather?”

Jackson: “Which one? You mean the one that’s DEAD? WELL, he’s not that good! Cause he’s DEAD!!!


Me: “Um, I was talking about your other one.”

(What do you do when your amazing computer technician puts your hard drive into another laptop and it LIVES????? You drop the the GROUND and kiss her feat. THEN you thank the LORD and think about the lesson that you learned. Yeah. Back-up EVERYTHING. RIGHT NOW.)


The slow, painful death.

What do you do when your laptop dies while carrying two years worth of writing, as well as your calender and basically all you need to function as a normal human being? WHAT?

You secretly sneak into your Bitchy's room while she's at work and steal HERS just so you can put up a post 'splainin' why you're conspicuously absent from your real friends. (You know, the ones in blogland.)

Yeah, say a prayer to the computer gods that it's just a short term coma.

Now hide me, I think she's home from work. I'll sneak back later and share what happened with Golden Boy today. It warmed my heart.....

Gotta go! (I'm closing comments because I can't reply anyway!!!!)


The New Years Resolution Revolt.

Well people, it’s that time of year again and frankly, I’m sick of making promises to myself that I never seem to keep. I feel a bit like a politician, or Tiger Woods.

You know the same old promises. Ones like these:

1. I promise to lose twenty pounds. (Unfortunately, when I turn around and look in the mirror, I FIND them)

2. I promise to be a better wife. I will NOT put on my sweatpants and stuff (my uniform) every day when I get home from school; I will TRY to cook dinner each night and will arrange “meetings” that will keep us somewhat happy.

3. I promise not to yell at my kids. (Yeah, right. I laughed out loud when I typed THAT one.)

And so on. You get it.

This year I decided to make a list of promises that I am probably more capable of keeping.

1. I promise to gain at least ten pounds. (Hey Middleswarth- send me a few hundreds tubs of the bar-b-que. Pronto!)

2. I promise to let the hair on my chin grow until someone in my family finally has the nerve to tell me it’s there.

3. I promise to get in trouble at work as often as I can. (That’s always a good time.)

4. I promise to piss off my children daily. (It’s a talent. I should hold a workshop.)

5. I promise to fight with Tightwad about money, the kids, cleaning the house and how I always leave the gas tank empty.

There. I think that’s about all I can handle right now. I'm off to work on number 4, hold your ears people, it won't be pretty.