What a Bathrobe Means

A bathrobe means lots of things and has lots of purposes.

• You use it when you want to cover up ratty pajamas.
• You use it when you want to cover up other things.
• You use it when it's Christmas morning and pictures must be taken.
• It is a symbol of sickness. For example, when you have it on in the middle of the day, people think you must be sick, and then they may not ask you to do something.
• You wear it when you are busy in the mornings and you just don't have time to get properly dressed and then it is suddenly noon and the bathrobe becomes a symbol of laziness not busyness.
• A new one means you are serious about not looking too ratty or dumpy, but that bathrobes are just a necessary part of a wardrobe like pants or shoes.
• It is a Saturday or Sunday thing. You can wear it more on these days than in the middle of the week.
• It can be fuzzy for the winter, and "breezy" for the summer.
• If you wear it in the car to drive the kids to school, you are a slacker mom and can't get it together.

I have used my bathrobe in every one of these ways at some point in my life. Today, my bathrobe means that I have lots of school work to do and that I want to be comfortable doing it. But it is now nearly 1:30 and my bathrobe must give way to real life and real clothes.

Reading and Writing on the Couch, Pork Rinds and Such

I often worry that this school thing will all come crashing down around me. It just sort of nags at me all the time. My permanent spot seems to be the couch where I am reading and writing in odd positions that make my shoulder hurt. For those of you who know my sad, sad tale of woe about my shoulder, this is not a good thing.

This reminds me of a book called,  "She Got Up Off the Couch" by Haven Kimmel. It's about a mom who sat on the couch for 20 years eating pork rinds, watching TV and reading sci-fi novels, until one day she "got up off the couch," lost 100 pounds and went back to school.

OK, I just can't think about that too deeply.

 I haven't eaten pork rinds since my Dad would buy them at Seven-Eleven on the way home from Vernal, UT. Pork rinds are what you eat on the way home from Vernal. And sunflower seeds that you hack out the window. The ones that you don't hack out the window spill all over the seat and stay there for a long time. He would also buy orange circus peanuts that sit in your stomach like sicky-sweet Play-Doh.  No wonder I don't have much desire to go to Vernal. If I could be with Dad then I'd like it.

Wow, such randomness on a Wednesday night on the couch. Now I have the hiccups. And no, I have not been eating pork rinds or circus peanuts.

Winter's Back

Winter's back, hopefully just for a few days. I had almost packed away my bulky sweaters, but I guess I'm glad I didn't. Aww, I'm gonna pack them away anyway. I can't bear to actually wear them.

I put a bunch of white flowers with lots of greenery around the house for St. Patrick's Day. I usually cook corned beef and cabbage to get into the Irish spirit, but my husband is the only one who likes it. Everyone else gags, so I decided against it. I found an Irish stew recipe that I wanted to make, but I couldn't find leeks and rosemary or a "pint of Guiness beer" at my local Smith's. I wasn't about to go to the state liquor store just to make something traditional. So Darren and I went out and the kids ate a frozen pizza. Slacker mom! But those white flowers with greenery sure are pretty!

I tried to pinch Nathan yesterday for not wearing green and he said, "Hey, it's on my underwear!" Typical 8th grade response. The horror of it was, I could actually SEE his underwear because his pants were so slouchy, and that was troublesome. I told him to go put on a belt, that I never wanted to to see his plaid boxer shorts again! At least when they're on his body. Heaven knows I'll be seeing them in the laundry for the rest of my mortal existence . .

Speaking of the "L" word, there are about four clean piles down there that are screaming at me. At the bottom of the pile are Sammie's PIONEER TREK CLOTHES THAT SHE WORE IN JULY AND IS NOW JUST WASHING! I am so upset at this that I can hardly speak about it, let alone write about it. They have been fermenting in her room while her tarantula--Obamaniqua- feasts on live crickets and the beta swims in a fuzzy green bowl.

Speaking of Sammie, she just came  to me said, "Worst thing ever, Mom." I sat down to read Tale of Two Cities, and I woke up three hours later!" Maybe you should read something shorter and easier, I said. Too late now, she said. "I'm sorry, honey," I said.

I'm off to make strawberry shortcake with whipped cream for dessert. Darren is barbecuing hamburgers in the snow!

Life is so weird.

Fickle Pickle

I have always been fickle.

Luckily I have become less so as I grow older. But Fickle has showed up again--uninvited and definitely unwanted--and is seriously toying with me. It keeps telling me to change my mind about school-related projects. Two weeks ago it convinced me to change the topic of a major paper that was due in 10 days, and now it's telling me change the topic of a short story that's due tomorrow. The story was nearly written, but I didn't like it anymore. Fickle will do that to you. (Well, it also had no plot movement, said my writing teacher. She was right.)

I wish Fickle would go bother someone else, at least until the semester is over. Then I might be willing to entertain it when the topic isn't school. If the topic were flowers or desserts, or what movie to see . . . then Fickle and I could joyfully hang out together. And I know we'd have fun.

Look What Turned up in the Wash

Today I was performing the "L" word, resigned to its interminable presence in my life, dreaming somehow that the Downey was the blue sea, and the powdered Tide was the white sand . . . and then I woke up from my soap-filled delusion. First of all, I told myself, you don't even HAVE powdered Tide, it's liquid, and second, watching the spin cycle go around is about exciting as your life is going get on this March day in Happy Valley, Utah. To expect any more will only result in disappointment. 

But there was a bit of intrigue--just a flash mind you--when I discovered that some jeans pockets were a bit more bulgy (bulgier?) than usual. My first thought was, "What important piece of information have I missed because it's been wadded up in Nathan's pocket?" My second thought was, "Maybe it's cash!" My kids know that if their money goes through the wash it's mine. I tell them it's my payment for washing their dirty clothes.

I did give back a soggy $10 once, partly because it was $10 and not just loose change, and partly because it was "hard-earned baby sitting money." Through the waterfall of tears running down her face, my daughter told me that the kids she'd babysat for that measley $10 were horrible kids and she would never tend them again for any amount of money. And that she was so glad I'd found the money for the worst night of her life. How could I keep it?

Most of the time it's only loose change. But I've had some $1s at times and one time a $5. I guess laundry isn't entirely thankless.

So I examined the "bulge." It turned out to be a guitar pick that said "Pick Syd for Student Council," (cute) a hard as a rock tootsie roll, a study guide for the Constitution test, and a Media Center Lunch Pass Punch Card which had 10 punches left. To think that these precious things almost went through the wash!

Honors Classes in Utah

Even though I want to be an English teacher in Utah, and even though I am excited about the possibilities, I still get so frustrated with the status quo. The class sizes scare me more than anything, and this is the issue that is creeping into the quality of my own kids' educations.

At the local junior high, 70 kids tried out to get into honors geography and English, yet they accepted only 35. The other kids, who maybe just don't have that edge, are resigned to take regular English. This wouldn't be a problem if all the regular teachers were excellent. But that just isn't the case. I think a good teacher can make any class worthwhile an meaningful, whether it's regular or honors.

My son and his friends were in honors English in 7th and 8th grades. These are kids who score high on standardized tests and can write compelling essays. They are excellent students--they just aren't stellar students. Maybe they goof off too much, maybe they are a bit sassy. Maybe they turn in assignments late once in a while. But they are all honors students and should be challenged. I have studied the consequences when adolescents aren't challenged. They shut down. They coast. They wonder why they are sitting in this class when the work is dull and meaningless.

I am not the type of parent who believes her kids can do no wrong. I would never ask a teacher to change their grades or excuse their bad behavior.

So I hope that they will open another honors class for my son. I have petitioned the principal to consider this. If his response is negative, I know it will be because of budget constraints. I know that he does his best with limited resources. If he says yes, I will be happy for my son the other students who I know will thrive in a challenging class.

Xanadu

Darren and I went to see the Hale Center Theater's production of Xanadu last night. I loved the 80s garb--roller skates, shirts falling off the shoulders, leg warmers, side pony tails. It was a visual blast from the past.

But the music took me down memory lane, so far in fact, that I came home and made a Xanadu Pandora station.  Then I sat up singing Olivia Newton John's "Suddenly." The Bee Gees' "Tragedy" was on the list as well. I had to tell my kids all about my disco lessons in 1978 with my best friend, Teresa. Now that was a sight.


Listen to "Suddenly"

Listen to "Xanadu!"

Research Blah

Today my fears came true. I have been trying to fake it for about seven months now. Pretty successfully actually. I have been quite the imposter. But I think I have been exposed.

 I don't know how to write a research paper anymore. Help! I have a draft of a big, yucky one due Tuesday and I am befuddled.

What do you expect, people tell me. You haven't written one in more than 20 years. It will be fine.

They're right. But the fact remains, I have to do it.

Here I sit. Saturday afternoon. Kids have done their chores (sort of), Nathan's basketball game is over (he scored 8 points, but their team got slaughtered), laundry is progressing (as well as can be expected), and I don't have to do anything until 5.

Blah. It is beautiful today. My yard is a wreck, thanks to that dumb, dumb dog. I should go out there.

Research calls. It will not be ignored.

Mean Tooth Fairies

Last night I had to "extract" a tooth from Leah's mouth that was making her gum infected. The dentist told told her on Tuesday that she had to get the tooth out by Friday.  If not, he would have to pull it. NOOOOOOOO! She was adamant that she could do it. So Leah, sweet little worrier that she is, spent most of the day Wednesday and Thursday wiggling that stubborn tooth around. Every time I looked at her she was working on that tooth.

It was hard to get out because the infected gum was poking up through the middle of the tooth. That tooth was defiant. It was also making Darren and me crazy. Of course Darren had to do the Dad thing--go get his biggest pair of pliers and say, "Hey, let me get that old tooth out for you. I have just the right tool."

Leah's response: SCREAM BLOODY MURDER. I told her that's just what Dads do, they try to tease you to make you smile. Or scream. My Dad had the biggest pair of pliers on the planet, and he took great joy wielding them around when I had a tooth that needed to come out.

Even Leah's best friend's father, a surgeon no less, had a similar reaction on Wednesday night. He went and got some surgical tools out of his kitchen drawer and said, "I can get that tooth out for you, Leah."

Leah's reaction: Cover her mouth and back out of the room.

Why do all Dads do that?

So, last night we sat at the kitchen table and with a paper towel I just wiggled that tooth around for about 10 minutes it seemed. Leah would wail now and then I would stop. She started coloring a picture to get her mind off the ordeal.

At this point my arm was numb and I had had enough. RIP!

SCREAM. HOWL. MANY TEARS. SOME BLOOD.

"I'm not going to school tomorrow," she sobbed. "It just hurts too bad." I made her a milkshake with crushed up ibuprofen so she wouldn't have to chew the tablets. She said it was gross. It was. Little purple chalk-like pieces floating around.

She said she was going to bed. This morning, she could hardly wake up.

As I like to say, "She was having a bit of a lie in." A term the English say for "sleeping in."

The tooth fairy, after putting his pliers back in the garage, only produced $3. He was flat out of cash, he said. That was sort of a rip off after the ordeal. I will try to make it up to her today.

Mean tooth fairies.

Two Great Irish Tales

Top 'o the morning to you! And no, I'm not chipper in the a.m., I just like that expression. I've been thinking a lot about Ireland lately because it's St. Patrick's Day soon, and because I've read two amazing books about Ireland for my young adult lit class.

The first book is a non-fiction book. Like most people, I prefer fiction, but not after reading this amazing story of the Great Irish Potato Famine of the 1850s. The book, Black Potatoes, chronicles the terrible famine that consumed Ireland due to the failure of the potato crop. During those times, the average Irish person ate 14 pounds of potatoes per day. So to have that crop decimated resulted in deaths of at least a million people and the migration of millions to the US and other countries. This is one reason for the strong Irish presence in the eastern United States. 

Non-fiction books for young adults are not written like they used to be. In the past there really wasn't such a genre as non-fiction for young adults. You just went to the library and picked out a boring encycolpedia, textbook-like book in the children or adult sections. Now authors are writing these riveting books for young adults. When you read them, it feels like you're reading fiction because the details are so descriptive and the format is so interesting. The facts are there, but told in such a way that they become page-turners. They're read for pleasure and not just for information.

The second is a novel titled The New Policeman by Kate Thompson. It is a fantasy tale about losing time and gaining time and the connection time has between two worlds. It is rich with Irish lore, customs, music and dancing. The Irish are a superstitious people, and this book explores some of those themes like luck, elves, and the use of music to keep bad spirits at bay. Each chapter has piece of music relating to the plot. I didn't realize music was such an integral part of Irish culture. But it was fun to sit down and play some of the tunes!

March is Such a Flirt

March is not my favorite month. The weather flirts like a lunchroom of hormonal teenagers and then the bell rings and everyone has to go to class. Glorious one moment, gloomy the next. Come to think of it, that's what teenagers are like in general. In fact, I think March is the most teenagerly month of the live-long year.

If I were a month which one would I be? I do have mood swings like March, but since I don't care for March all that much . . .hmm.

I love months that are not too hot or cold. Spring makes me crazy because the weather is so unpredictable--flirty, right? Snow in May is just too depressing for words. So that eliminates Nov., Dec., Jan., Feb., March, April, May, July, August, September. That leaves June and October. June is glorious, with the hopes of the summer before us, and days that smell like roses. October is beautiful and warm and colorful, and I was born in October.

So, by process of elimination, if I could be a month I would be June or October. Such randomness on a Wednesday morning when I've got to be in class in less than an hour!

Wow, that was short

Woe is me.

I was supposed to post every day in March. On March 1st I posted. Then I just forgot. For about two days. And how it's the 6th and I wonder why I can't remember things and how this always happens to me.

Take last Friday for instance. I took Leah to buy a gift for her friend. We found the gift and I went to pay. No debit card. I left her at the store (she was with her friend, I'm not that much of a slacker-well, maybe I am) and went home to look for the card. After tearing things up a bit I found it in a checkbook full of empty checks that I had been scrambling though earlier to find a blank check. (I didn't find a blank check, of course, and all the others were gone, not surprising.) I ran back to the store, paid for the gift, then collected the girls. Came home, got in the car to go collect the dog from the groomer, and got two blocks before I stopped to make sure I had the card. Dumped my wallet out. Cursed. Fumed. Cursed again. No debit card. Called the toy store to see if it was there. (At least I had my phone!) Went back home and took the credit card out of the drawer that I use only for emergencies. Now it was too late to collect the poor dog who had been at the groomer's since 9:30 am. because I had a hair appointment to get to. Darren said he'd get the dog and I went on my way. Still have the credit card and am using it because I can't bear to go into the bank and get another debit card for the 2nd time this month! I am thoroughly disgusted with myself and embarrassed.

Yesterday, Sammie was looking on a shelf and said, "MOM, isn't this your debit card?" Bless you dear child I said and put it in my wallet that is now more disheveled than disheveled. I put the credit card back in the drawer.  On my way home from school I stopped at the grocery to get some things, and was all happy to have my cute pink debit card with me, tucked into my wallet. The checker ran it through twice but it was denied. It was then, and only then that I realized that this must have been the debit card that I lost two weeks ago and forgot to destroy when I got a new one.  I got a bit teary when I told the checker that I couldn't believe it, that my life was disorganized beyond belief, and said that maybe I would be back after I went home to get the credit card. But I didn't. I was just too defeated.

Instead I wondered why I had given up sugar, what a stupid, stupid thing.

I know that the minute I go to the bank I will find the $%^#@ thing,  but I am getting desperate and the credit card balance is steadily growing and this doesn't bode well for my marital happiness. I hate checks but it looks like I am going to have to order them.

This just isn't the slightest bit amusing anymore, but it makes for good blog material. I think I had better head for the bank. Defeated by the debit card again.

Hey, how about those Orem High Tigers? State 4 Champions! Go Tigers!

Writing Every Day in March

In my teaching composition class my professor has encouraged us to write in our blogs EVERY day in March. If we do so, and regularly comment on our fellow students' blogs, then our writing will improve, and I think she said something about winning books or something. Winning books is enough for me. I am going to give it a shot.  Here are some things I'm thinking about lately. Just things that keep running though my mind on the first day at March.

• Walking in the snow is beautiful at night. I love it when it snows at night.
• Winter doesn't seem to be over. It never came and now it's here when it's time for spring. Hmmmm.
• Leah was the runner up in the school spelling bee on Friday. She and another girl were in a stand off for 15 minutes! What a nail biter. She was so cute and brave, especially since her teacher forgot to give her all the words to study, and she was in a panic right before the bee. Darren and I were nervous wrecks in the back of the auditorium.
• I am giving up sugar (in a fashion) for Lent. We were in Salt Lake last weekend and decided to take the kids to the Cathedral of the Madeline, a gorgeous Catholic church with stunning stained-glass windows. They sermon was about Lent, and giving up bad habits while exercising restraint in all ways. This is something that struck a chord with me. I decided to give up sugar--all baked goods, ice cream and chocolate Monday through Saturday. I can have some hard candy or licorice. Then on Sunday I can have a dessert(s). Sunday is a day of desserts. So instead of eating random treats every day, I will look forward to a very nice desserts(s) on Sunday. I have gone three days so far without sugar, except for a couple of Red Vines. 
• Check out this guy. When were in SL we went to hear him sing with the Utah Symphony. He was awesome. He sings all the old Frank Sinatra tunes, and he sounds just like him!