Tag: humor

What fresh hell can this be?

Published on by cmglife

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a surviving victim of the catholic school system.  When Allison came home telling me she was assigned St. Catherine of Bologna as a history project, I almost choked on my mouthful of  Lean Cuisine.

After getting myself together, she told me the class was learning about important figures from the Renaissance.  The other kids were assigned fabulous characters like King Henry VIII, Queen Elizabeth I and Joan of Arc.  What evil forces were at work when she was assigned a nun? Allison was far from pleased to have to wear a nun’s habit when  the other girls were going to be decked out in all the Renaissance splendor that the era is known for.

Not only did she have to research St. Catherine, but also dress up like her, memorize and recite an entire page of a single spaced typed biography. Oh, yeah, spoken with an Italian accent, oh mio Dio!

No, she is not enrolled in a college preparatory school.  No, she is not in an arts school or even a gifted and talented program.  Just a little ‘ole 5th grader in a charter school that take themselves far too seriously.

The preparation it took for the final presentation was more labor intensive than the summer Olympics in London last year.  Hours of researching, typing, memorizing and  practicing a renaissance era Italian accent with just the right Bolognais dialect.

We started looking at photos of St. Catherine on the internet.  I found some perfectly lovely drawings of her, but all Allison could focus on was the mummified body of the actual original nun preserved and sitting in the chapel of the Poor Clares in Bologna, Italy.  I do not exaggerate.

And then there’s me, catholic PTSD every night I have to think about sewing that damn costume! I am not usually a procrastinator, but with this particular project I could not get my act together and left it until the last minute, or until the Saturday before the Monday she was going to present.  Off we went to store to buy a few yards of white, brown and black broadcloth.  I then proceeded to drape and cut and do a little (very little) sewing.  I thought she looked fabulous, for a dead nun.

That morning I was on pins and needles wondering how it was going. Was she going to choke? Was the wimple staying in place?  Did she remember the rosary?  Was the Little House on the Prairie book wrapped in brown cloth believable as a bible?

She ended up choking on the speech part (cazzarola!), but got an A for effort.  Phew! I’m glad that is over. Yesterday I got an email from the school announcing a “Civil War Re-Enactment and Ball” for the 5th and 6th graders in April.

Oh, what fresh hell can this be?

Tootsie Rolls

Published on by cmglife

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.

Shattered Dreams Shattered Urinal

Published on by cmglife

Have you ever driven with a teenager? It is a harrowing experience. My son is sixteen and has been driving for about three months. What I don’t quite understand is when I am in the car with him he has no desire to impress me with his honed driving skills, just the opposite. He seems hell bent on showing me just how fast he can take corners, how close he can get to the car ahead of him by slamming on the breaks at just the last moment while changing the songs on his iPod. Needless to say, I drove back home on that trip.

My son lost the first game of the state finals that took place during basically a blizzard. My husband, two daughters, granddaughter and I stuck it out during the rain and wind that turned to snow. It was a heartbreaking loss that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. It was mostly because the boys had endured the atrocious weather conditions for 90 minutes in shorts, played so well, and then at the last ten seconds the other team scored! That is not the point of my story though. After the game, with testosterone and adrenaline pulsing through his system, Tristan jumped in his pickup and tore out of the parking lot. In this process he cut me off! Yes, that’s right, his own mother!

A couple of days later, John asked Tristan to pick up a urinal from the local hardware store. No, this is not a normal request (my husband is building a shop). He instructed Tristan to put the urinal in the back of the pickup, but make sure it is on something so it’s not rolling around the back of the truck bed. This is good advice for the way Tristan drives and it would have been even better had he heard anything John had said. Tristan arrived home with the thing shattered in the back of the bed of the truck. I’m sure he was employing his usual driving techniques and no amount of bubble wrap would have saved it.

So, now he owes for a $50 shattered urinal and is still licking his wounds over his shattered dream of winning the state title. Being a teenager is hard.