What would you do for sugar?

When you really need sugar and by accident find these under your bed! They weren’t all chewy sweet tarts though.

Can you find the ibuprofen hidden in the chewy sweet tarts?


Damn! Lost Again!


I’ve gathered a few more new more songs lately.  I should say that I didn’t dare share them with my oldest daughter, but I did.  The reaction I got was not what I expected.  I mean, I guess I really thought she would like at least one of them.  Why do I never learn? Isn’t there a saying “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”

I downloaded a couple of songs from a band I had heard of recently.  I don’t remember how I stumbled upon them.  The one I decided to play for Emily was a ballad, a love song of sorts.  I thought the soft voice he was singing in was a nice change from the rawness of the other two songs I have of theirs.

Laughing, Emily said, “Oh my god mom, he is so gay!  What is your fascination with gay bands lately?”

“What? Why? Why do you think he is gay?”

“I can just tell!”

So I said, “Well, let me play you another one of their songs!”

I was going to show her that there is no way you can know if someone is gay (or the whole band for that matter) by that song.  Now all along I know at least the lead singer says he is, but I wasn’t going to let her in on it.

I obviously also have a little competitive streak in me. I didn’t expect to get into a sexual persuasion war, but yet there we were.  What was I trying to prove anyway?  I’m not sure really. I was, as usual when it comes to my music, offended because she didn’t like what I liked.

I played for her the song, which was opposite of the song she just listened to.

“It’s not my fault I look better in her party dress,” he sang.

THAT WAS THE FIRST LINE!!  Damn…why didn’t I remember that?!

Skinny Bitch

My dad told me recently that I am becoming a little cantankerous.  You know, speaking my mind, lashing out.  He thinks it might be because I work in a middle school and have to deal with all kinds of situations and it has caused me to develop an itchy trigger finger.  He may be right about that, but I don’t think so.

I think I’m becoming a skinny bitch.

Skinny bitches are one’s with the attitude because they can fit into a pair of jeans that are at least 20 years younger than they should be wearing.  That may not be the exact definition.

My husband commented that my new jeans are “really low” (low rise).  He can’t get past the fact that I am not wearing 80’s mom jeans.  Though these may be pushing it, I am thrilled I can actually wear them.

I’ve developed a weird body builder quirk.  I’m not by any stretch of the imagination saying that I am a body builder I am just acting like one, I guess.  This is just getting weirder and weirder, maybe it’s the steroids.

If there is someone acting like they are skeptical of my workouts (real or imagined I’m not sure) I’ll ask them to feel my bicep. And then I say, “And I’m not even flexing!”

Oh God, now that I’ve actually written this down I realize how insane I am acting. And yet still surprised!


Among other things in my kaleidoscope brain is a parking phobia.  Parknaphopia I believe is the clinical term.

Downtown is the worst. I have always gone to great lengths to find a perfect spot or an open spot.  I have been known to walk 16 blocks to my destination because I pulled into the first spot I saw.

When I have to go somewhere new and I suspect there is sub par parking available, I’ll call ahead and casually ask.  I hate it when people just flippantly say, “Oh, yeah, there’s parking”.  What does that mean exactly? Parking in the rear, on the street, in a garage, where, what?  I’m starting to get worried again.  I’ll move on.

The strange thing is I do know how to parallel park, but I don’t always have the confidence at the time to try it.  If I’m feeling all rough and ready I’ll do it and I’ll do it well.  I really don’t have a parking problem as much as I have a self confidence problem you are probably observing.  Or, as I am reading back over what I wrote I pretty much have both and it’s when they both collide is when I have a serious problem.

Oh, yeah I also have a little claustrophobia.  It’s pretty much hell when I’ve got to park in a parking garage and I’m feeling a little down on myself.   One time I actually backed into a cement wall trying to park John’s new dodge truck on the top floor of a parking garage that was downtown on a one-way street.  I was trying to get to the top floor to get out from under the 10′ roof that seemed to be getting lower with every floor I went up.  I was so flustered by the time I got up there I didn’t see it (the cement wall that is).

Now I wonder if you are wondering how I even get out of bed in the morning with all this to deal with.  I’m used to it I guess.  It’s probably the reason I need 10 hours of sleep a night,  I’m exhausting.










of a paper cut on my mouse finger?

Operation Rescue

Having just left work, I flipped the lock button in the door of my car to unlock the hatchback to get out the snow scraper I have back there. I have unlocked and locked my doors maybe thousands of time since I’ve had my 2003 Outback. Then why did I flick it the wrong way and lock all the doors this time?

That is the main question I thought of as I went around to check each door hoping against hope that I hadn’t really done what I knew I had done. Oh, and yes, the car was running!

Inside were my phone, purse and inside my purse were my spare keys!

I tromped back to the school in my sorrel boots from 1993 through the falling snow, wind and slush. I felt the students looking at the boots and snickering.

My sorrels are the only thing left over from my five years in North Dakota (don’t ask) that I can actually appreciate. This morning I got up, took a shower and put on my regular work clothes. Then on my way to the kitchen for coffee I passed by the sliding glass door to see at least 5 inches of snow on the deck and it was still snowing. I didn’t feel like getting changed into jeans so I said “Screw it!”, and went to the garage to dig out my trusty 20 year old sorrels! Good to go.

This is not a story about my sub zero, clunky old boots by the way, although you might think it is with all my goings on about them.

I finally made it back to my desk trying to remember my daughter, Allison’s, cell phone number. I pick her up after school everyday and it is only ten minutes until her bell rings. Now if you remember I left my phone in the car, and since I live in the cell phone age I never actually have to dial a phone number. Instead I called John to see if he could run up the keys to the school. He says Tristan is home and he will. That’s good, but now how am I going to pick up Allison?

My very good friend and office colleague, Geri, offered to drive me to Allison’s school. I accepted and headed out the door with her. We got to the car and I reached in her back seat to get the snow scraper. By opening the door I inadvertently disturbed an overhang of snow that fell on my head and down my coat into my neck! I had to take my glasses off and sit in Geri’s car melting and thanking her profusely while she laughed and shook her head at my predicament.

As we pulled up to get Allison at her charter school, Geri laid on the horn (which is never done) and started to wave her arms frantically to get Allison’s attention. I do the same because she won’t recognize Geri’s car. We looked like a pair of orangutans.

We arrived back at my school just in time to see Tristan as he was arriving with the spare keys. Geri drove us back to my car, I unlocked the doors, put the car into gear, peeled out of the parking lot and drove home.

I felt compelled to write about this day not because of the series of unfortunate events, but I felt really blessed. I don’t realize often enough on a normal day what great people I have around me until I end up really needing it. I guess when I feel lonely or unloved I will remember this day. One of the days when I needed the troops and they rallied. Thank you troops!

Tootsie Rolls

Is it shameful of me to turn my music higher because the voices of my fighting children are bleeding through the music?

I haven’t turned the music that much louder. I can still hear a sharp inflection in one of their voices here and there. I don’t leave the music blaring for very long, my conscience won’t allow me. I tentatively pause my music every two or three minutes and turn it back on when I hear a moment of silence. Unfortunately, I am not totally removed from my family, I can still feel the angry footsteps as they approach.

Tonight the argument is about sorting Halloween candy. My ten year old has just gotten around to dumping out her pillow case full of candy on the floor. My 16 year old, who acts like a 10 year old, is harassing her about giving him the candy he wants before it is thoroughly sorted into piles. I remember how important the sorting was. I asked him if he could remember that far back, have a little empathy. He just gave me a look while loudly chomping on a tootsie roll…..I guess not.