tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65084144395484464242024-03-18T10:48:26.817-07:00A Day in the Lifewelcome to my mind...Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.comBlogger410125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-33513559931790968772019-09-08T09:10:00.000-07:002019-09-08T14:18:00.297-07:00I do not want to pack your lunch. I can't even pack my lunch.You guys, it just took an act of congress to sign-in to my blog.<br />
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I am "this many years old" (written with a smug look on my face that says - I am sick of 'I am this many years old'), y'all:<br />
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1. Get my coffee.<br />
2. Decide, after stewing about two things for two weeks to write it down even though I have 18,000 things to do right now that do not remotely involve me sharing with anyone how I am feeling.<br />
3. Turn on my laptop.<br />
4. Check my email (I have deleted all but nine emails after having thousands for years, so sometimes I just check my email even though I know there's only 9 because it makes me feel like I am actually doing something useful in life).<br />
5. Check my bank account (Because I <i>can</i>, y'all. I got online banking after 35 years).<br />
6. Go to my blog's http.<br />
7. Click 'sign-in.'<br />
8. Make a confused face when Google asks me what account I'd like to use (5 choices pop-up). Who are these people? Why does Google have all these accounts for me? Did I make them? Google: I hate you. Do I <i>really</i> want to write a blog post?<br />
9. Pick one randomly.<br />
10. Cuss when I log-in with a password I have pulled out of my ass (and it works - there <i>might</i> be a God and she knows me) and Google tells me there are no blogs currently for this account. Would I like to &*%^$*&% start one? There is no god.<br />
11. Lose the will to write anything.<br />
12. Pull my Password Book (titled Password Book) off the shelf.<br />
13. Cuss as I look at all the pages where I've written UPDATED PASSWORD FOR MY BLOG. Who am I? Do I even deserve a blog? DO I EVEN UNDERSTAND HOW THE INTERNET WORKS? Decidedly, no and no.<br />
14. Go to the link under Help that says, "I am a moron and I still cannot log into my blog. I have tried selling my first born and that has not worked. Please help me with a step-by-step." (Google <i>does </i>know me.)<br />
15. Change my &*%^$^$# email account AND my password AND write it down in the book AND log into my blog.<br />
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Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Here we all are, FINALLY.<br />
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I no longer remember what I had to write and I am so mad that my fingers are making nice clicking sounds on the keys.<br />
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Okay. Here we go. The two things I have really quick since I spent most of the time I don't have logging in.<br />
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<i><b>Y'all, why are high school students not packing their own lunches? </b></i> This has gotten under my skin so much that it has caused me to gain weight. I think.<br />
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So, I attended a sports meeting with my sophomore the other night and when the coach asked are there any questions a mom said, "Yes. I pack Tommy his snacks and water bottle, but I just want to make sure that there is water available at the meets that he can access."<br />
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Okay. I communicate with <i>my</i> sophomore girl right now exclusively through texts and side-eyes except when she wants to berate me for like not buying enough blueberries. I gave her a side-eye at this point that said, "Is she f&*%$^ serious? Is Tommy in PreK?"<br />
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PLEASE NOTE: I teach PreK and I am not a judge Judy when it comes to parenting. But, this really got under my skin. If you are a sophomore in <i>high school</i> and you are involved in sports, should you not know how to ask for water in the Texas heat (which is still above 1000 degrees F)? AND WHY IS SHE STILL PACKING HIS SNACKS AND WATER BOTTLE??? My kids started packing their lunches (mostly under duress) when they were like in fourth grade.<br />
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When I posted this question (innocently, I thought) on Twitter (nothing is innocent on Twitter, I know), I got the interesting response that he might have a condition that would require help. Yeah, I get that. I'm a teacher and a parent of four. But, <i>still</i>. My PreK kids (some of whom have unique needs) take out all their own snacks and water bottles and fill up their water bottles with minimal assistance.<br />
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What I really think is going on here is something I <a href="https://www.facebook.com/jenhatmaker/photos/a.217119135053756/2329231783842470/?type=3&theater">read</a> about last night. What is happening?? I know now that I am not the only one out there in the universe who does not need to know when my child is picking their nose. I haven't made dinner in <i>months</i>, you guys, let alone put trackers on my kids' phones. <br />
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Maybe this is hitting me so hard because I feel guilty all of a sudden for being such a sub-par parent or maybe it's because I am seeing sooooo <i>many capable, yet helpless</i> PreK students entering my class, or maybe I am turning into a cranky old lady. I suspect it's all three. So, yeah. I just had to get that off my chest.<br />
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And the other thing (yeah, go ahead, picture me):<br />
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Sophomore girl comes home the other day and tells me and her dad that she learned in her child development class about the character traits parents should have. Before she even recounted them my thought was, "<i>Maybe</i> I'll have one?" She carefully pointed out the ones we don't have. Even collectively.<br />
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I am My Kid Tells Me I Shouldn't Have Had Kids years old.<br />
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<insert and="" annoyed="" disgusted="" face.="" totally=""></insert><br />
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Immediately I thought of all the traits missing from her teacher's list. Oh, and, lest you think I'm completely heartless (you are not too far off the mark at this point) - lots of <i>big love</i> for HS child development teachers everywhere. I don't even know how they actually communicate with high school students.<br />
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Essential Parenting Traits (short list)<br />
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1. A sense of humor. Could this one literally not cover for all the other traits you don't have?<br />
2. The ability to listen attentively to Minecraft drivel you don't understand for literally years even though you are thinking about how many more miles you can drive without running out of gas, is there milk in the fridge, do you have clean underwear for work tomorrow, when is Christmas.<br />
3. The best playlist to get you through all the feels and to teach your kids what real music sounds like. (I mean shouldn't that one literally be a requirement for pregnancy?)<br />
4. The ability to potty train a human without losing life (yours or theirs).<br />
5. The ability to multi-task while multi-tasking.<br />
6. The ability to clean up pee, poop, vomit, and any other thing that comes out of a human.<br />
7. Have enough love in your heart to cover for all the times you screw up like sending your kid to school dressed like they're 100 when it's really only the 99th day of school. And ice cream. You're gonna need the ability to buy lots of ice cream after pulling crap like that on your kids.<br />
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I'm gonna just stop at seven even though my mind was going on and on. <br />
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Then I asked her if the teacher gave them a list of traits teenage girls should have. She gave me a side-eye.<br />
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That's all I got. I feel a little better after writing it all down. It's too late to go back. On most days, I am doing the best I can and I respect parents everywhere doing the best they can. Sometimes it's hard down here in the trenches.<br />
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Below I have included a short video because it restored my faith in our parenting thus far. If our kid makes videos while doing math online and they are so funny I have to watch them like a billion times while still finding things to laugh about, then, yeah. I think we're doing it ok enough.<br />
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<br />Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-53601946830627633882018-10-09T18:00:00.003-07:002018-10-09T18:02:56.230-07:00busy as a Mexican paper wasp.Y'know how when something kinda bad happens and you just have this sinking feeling that you are on the verge of a landslide of bad happenings? Well, here we stand (<i>we</i> being my family).<br />
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Saturday hubby was cutting some trees down and he got stung by what we think are Mexican paper wasps. His hand swelled up and he was in a fair bit of pain. (Man-pain, though. Which for comparison's sake: a man being in a "fair bit of pain" = a woman being in labor with twins.) This led to the frightening discovery of a wasp hive in some boxes of stuff that we have "in storage" next to our garage. This led to a discussion about how to get rid of said hive. (It's hard to tell how large the hive is or to scientifically estimate how many wasps could be in said hive. Estimates range from three inches to three feet in length and anywhere from 20-2000 wasps.)<br />
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Hubby and I have been thinking about the hive quite a bit since Saturday. He called some sort of wasp guru and she said hive removals can cost up to $800. Currently we have about a $20 in checking, so we're thinking that won't work. She also said that Mexican paper wasps can somehow sting through basically metal and so you are pretty much defenseless against them.<br />
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I had a nightmare in which giant bees were chasing Girl 3 and it was scary. I told hubby I had a nightmare about the bees and he said, "Me too." The fear this is unleashing is kinda a movement in our family right now.<br />
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So, today we got a notice that we are having bulky pick-up very soon in our neighborhood to which we all said excitedly, "Yay! We can finally get rid of those boxes stacked by the garage." Followed by a depressed, <i>"But, how are we going to kill the wasps?"</i><br />
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This led to a terrifying dinner discussion which was disturbing yet typical of my family. Here are some solutions that were proposed (most of them by hubby).<br />
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1. Dress in multiple layers of clothing with our ski gear on top and modified BMX helmets for head protection and unleash several cans of <strike>whoop ass</strike> wasp spray on the hole in the box. (Incidentally, when this first happened and we saw the hole in the box which is the opening of the hive, the <a href="https://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/snl-digital-short-d-in-a-box---uncensored/n12098">1. Cut a hole in the box</a> jokes began.) Boy child said to this idea, "That might work, but what if someone sees us?" Point well taken. Plus, we couldn't decide who would be the main person on this. Hubby sweats a lot and it's still like 90 here, we don't really want to put the children at risk, and I don't have good aim. <br />
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2. Get a second opinion. This was Girl 1's idea. If I had to pick a rational member of the family during this conversation, I pick her. Hubby said he'd already as good as gotten one (see #6), and that pretty much shut her down.<br />
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3. Put a lighted torch type/molotov cocktail on the end of a large (like 14 foot) pole that we have (why do we have that pole?) and somehow maneuver the pole into the hole in an attempt to burn them out. To this I said, "Yeah, but then we have the same problem if they swarm us and we just go back to needing our suits and wasp spray."<br />
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4. Burn down the entire garage (this was, surprisingly (?), Boy Child's suggestion). We all kinda liked this one because we all hate cleaning the garage and we've been wanting to start over for a while. But, y'know, laws and stuff. And I said I'd feel really bad if we accidentally burned the neighbor's garage down, too.<br />
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5. Somehow maneuver a tarp over the wasps (without them knowing) and then after the tarp was sealed (with rocks?) on all sides we would stick a fogger in there. This seemed like a reasonable suggestion to us. But, how could we get the tarp over them without getting stung?<br />
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6. Ask our neighbor who "knows a guy" that can do it for $50 to give us that guy's number. And <i>call him</i>. The kids and I really liked this idea. We pointed out that it kept our family safe and if we called the guy tonight, we could still get our wasp-free boxes to the curb (and possibly clean the garage) this weekend. Hubby hated this idea. He said $50 was still too much and we were up for a challenge.<br />
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In the end (I think it's the end?), hubby said the only way it's getting done is if we all take a job. We've kinda decided (I guess?) that three of us will dress in suits (I'm not sure what kind, but I might be getting our ski clothes out of the attic), the youngest will man the phone (in case she needs to call 911), Girl 1 will drive the getaway car, and Girl 2 will be in her room on her phone and after we've exterminated the wasps, come out alive, and are wiping the sweat off of our brows will bounce downstairs and say, "What'd I miss?"Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-52940247096472836282018-09-07T17:32:00.002-07:002018-09-07T17:32:28.003-07:00i teach prek. thank you?i blinked and summer was over. there are 54 more days until halloween. this is my life currently:<br />
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in my prek class we go hard on manners the first couple weeks. i eat lunch (and sometimes breakfast) with 18 four year olds five days a week. a lot of times they don't like what i'm eating (or what their classmates are eating). at the beginning of the year, they say things like, "that's disgusting!" "that looks like throw-up!" "is that poop?" "your food is sick!" <br />
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so, i teach them that it's more polite to say, "i don't care for broccoli." "i don't really like tomatoes." "i am not a fan of humus." "i've never seen food that looks like that before."<br />
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we also learn the "magic words." ("please" and "thank you.")<br />
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so, the other day i was eating tomatoes for lunch and a little boy named J said, "DISGUSTING! i HATE tomatoes!"<br />
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i said, "oh, J! remember, <i>manners</i>! what's more polite?"<br />
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to which J said, "i hate tomatoes................<i>please</i>?"<br />
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<br />Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-10041842588547679862018-06-24T13:29:00.001-07:002018-06-24T13:29:02.271-07:00Dental floss? Anyone?As most of you know (all three of you reading my blog - half of whom are related to me), I have four kids. When the three older ones (currently 16, 15, and 14) were, I think under say 10, I had a housecleaner who I loved dearly. Even with said housecleaner, my house was <i>rarely</i> deep cleaned. She did not: clean windows, move furniture, or clean the insides of any cabinets or such (presumably, that was <i>my</i> responsibility). With three small children and one smaller child, I just never really cleaned.<br />
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I can distinctly remember the last time every window in our home was cleaned. I was going into labor with Girl 2 (so, 2004), and hubby insisted on continuing to clean the windows until he was done. (Another blog post, entirely.) Those windows eventually got filthy again and we decided just to get all new windows. And, it's kinda gone like that. <br />
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The fridge rarely got cleaned (inside or out or underneath) and then finally we just got a new fridge.<br />
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So, since I'm a teacher, summer is my time to "relax" and get everything I put off all freaking year done. Doctor's appointments, dentist appointments, eye appointments, purging, and cleaning. On my summer list for the past few years has been: Clean the entire house, top to bottom, and get rid of unnecessary items. This is a painstaking task and usually I end up drinking a lot of beer and blogging many times while completing it.<br />
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I'm about 1/8 of the way through and here's my list so far.<br />
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1. We always end up with a lot of dental floss. It's weird. There are six of us and we all go to the dentist religiously every six months.<br />
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(And just a side-note: I have teeth I am proud of and my first memory of going to the dentist was in about late elementary when I threw up on the dentist after my mom warned him that I had a heightened gag reflex. My next dentist memory is from college when the hygenist actually felt the need to show me how to brush my teeth. I don't know if it's because I was the tenth child, but I do not recall my mom or dad ever asking me if I'd brushed my teeth or showing me how to brush my teeth.) <br />
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The dentist gives us dental floss every time any of us goes to the dentist (which is 12 times if you are doing the math). We all floss, but no one ever uses this particular dental floss. This time I checked we have 13 containers of floss from the dentist. (Along with maybe 1000 hotel containers of toiletries. I am thinking of googling a place to donate all of these items. Oh, and old contacts, of which I have 7 boxes <i>unopened</i>.<br />
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2. I clean my fridge now that I am able and it just gets dirty again. It's ridiculous. I mean, <i>how rude</i>. Fridge: Have some decency and consideration.<br />
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3. We never have band-aids. My kids constantly make fun of me because I just don't believe in band-aids and so I don't buy them. And when I do, the kids <i>use them</i>, damnit. And then we don't have anymore. Here is my logic (and if I could make flow-charts, now would be the most amazing time) - if you are cut and bleeding you might need a band-aid. Can you stop the blood with a tissue? Yes? You don't need a band-aid. No? Then try a paper-towel. Can you stop it with patience and a paper towel? Yes? You don't need a band-aid. No? Then you might need to go to the ER. Can you see bone? No? You don't need to go to the ER. Try pressure, a paper towel, and more patience. Yes? You need the ER. And go ahead and take some ibuprofen because you're probably going to need it. <br />
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My kids make fun of me for numerous things and my extreme distaste for band-aids and my penchant for ibuprofen are defiantly one of their funniest and most honest observations.<br />
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Well, I actually found five sad band-aids while cleaning. I screamed out to all my kids, "GUYS! GUESS WHAT. I FOUND FIVE BAND-AIDS. DON'T SAY I NEVER GIVE YOU ANYTHING." Girl 1 was the most pitiful. She came into my room where I was cleaning my bathroom and very sadly said, "Mom, can you <i>please</i> buy more band-aids. I actually need them sometimes." It was really pathetic and made me think what a horrible parent I am. I think I'll consider buying more.<br />
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4. Where do people put random stuff? Consider this a survey and please let me know. Where do you store safety pins? Do you even have safety pins? I mean, they're so confusing. Are they an office supply or a toiletry? A beauty product? What about Scentsy bars? Party supplies? Wreaths? We have a small junk drawer which I police religiously, but not only is it not really the place for safety pins or Scentsy bars, it's so junky they wouldn't fit. We are not rich and we definitely live in a tiny house, but if I had a million dollars and could buy the house of my dreams I'd have a junk <i>closet</i> where I would just store random stuff. For now, there is a snack bag of safety pins on my desk until further notice.<br />
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5. Can we talk coffee cups? Make no mistake, I love my parents and I get amazing teacher presents every single year. But, it is fact that teachers get approximately 8000 coffee cups a year. This year I got two <i>with my name on them</i>. I'm embarrassed to Goodwill them because the horror if the parent that gave them to me saw them at Goodwill. I love my coffee, but I use <i>exactly three coffee cups</i> (all the Starbucks large city ones) weekly. Goodwill gets a lot of cups from me y'all. Ditto for reusable water bottles.<br />
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6. I've read every single article about cleaning ever published, I think. Usually they just make me feel incredibly inadequate and dirty. But, sometimes I just flat out think, <i>who the hell</i>? And, also, <i>when</i>? I just finished Mr. Clean sponge cleaning my restroom walls and door frames. It honestly looks like I painted. Good God. Am I that filthy? (And, now, by the way, I am enjoying a beer and blogging because damn was that hard work. I do not think I'll be up to it for another 16 years.)<br />
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That's my list so far. It's a work in progress, so there might be more later. Meanwhile, if you're ever in the neighborhood, please don't hesitate to stop by for a coffee or beer. I will try to wash the dog hair off the counter before I serve you. (And you can take a sweet little bag of floss and toiletries with you when you leave.)Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-44403031729707991702018-06-20T15:27:00.002-07:002018-06-20T16:43:50.467-07:00102 years later.today my dad turns 102. he was born in 1916, and <a href="https://www.theodysseyonline.com/america-1916-what-happening-100-years">here's a google link to what i found out about that</a>. i have the upmost respect and love for this man. and when i wonder about "god" i can say that what i see in him is a light that i will equate with a god.<br />
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a list is not adequate, but it's all i have.<br />
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1. he had me when he was as old as i am now. he'd already had <i>nine</i> children. i will allow myself to imagine that only for a short time because it sometimes brings me to tears. i am an "older parent" and our youngest is nine. (<i>that</i> almost brings me to tears.) parenting is hard and having an infant right now, for me, would be really hard. i admire the heck out of him for parenting me like he did.<br />
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2. there are so many great stories when you have been on this earth 102 years. here's one: my husband and i had recently moved close to my parents and we went over to their house. hubby who is an expensive bike enthusiast had a really expensive bike. because we were living in an apartment without a garage, hubby asked dad to keep his bike in dad's garage. dad hung it up and hubby, looking at the hook dad had hung it on, asked dad, "jesse, is that hook gonna hold my bike?" and dad said, "well, if it doesn't, your bike will fall." <i>classic dad</i>. pragmatic. funny.<br />
<br />
3. dad walked almost every single day of his retired life. for exercise. and he made a habit of collecting cans (which he traded in for "beer money") and picking up trash while walking. i could honestly go on and on about this. but i think the most incredible part about this to me now is that he <i>stopped and picked up trash</i>. all of it. because he did not like litter. i used to be mildly embarrassed by this as a teen. but now, i cannot stand litter. i try to pick it up in my neighborhood every morning. i hope if dad knew this, he would be proud of me.<br />
<br />
4. dad had an amazing green thumb. he could grow anything. my mom, when she was alive, used to try to get my dad to like use mulch or water more and dad would just say, "why? it's growing isn't it?" i use mulch and water and everything i plant dies. i did not inherit his green thumb.<br />
<br />
5. my early memories of my dad are of him coloring with me. and sitting by his feet while he read the newspaper every night. another memory is that he weekly (?) would bring a vending machine snack home for me and my sister. this was a rare treat for us. my mom had these silver measuring cups and my sister would carefully divide the candy evenly into two cups.<br />
<br />
6. words i would use to describe my dad are: humble, gentle, patient, kind, simple, wise, loving, content, and generous.<br />
<br />
7. my dad crossed the border when he was nine. there are so many more details about this that i have learned and forgotten. i hope to see my last living aunt on my dad's side this summer and refresh the details of this because i would like to be able to repeat this story accurately. some details about dad i do know are that my dad knew no english when he crossed the border, he worked in the fields picking fruit, he served in WWII, he was injured in the Battle of the Bulge, he earned a purple heart, and he earned his high school diploma when I was about 12.<br />
<br />
there was a period of time a few years ago when i helped to provide care-taking for my dad. he still had most of his memory and there were days i would go to his house frazzled and stressed out for one reason or another. being with him always calmed me down. he has a way of just making you feel peaceful and purposeful. for me, seeing dad daily like that was a great time in my life.<br />
<br />
when i think about the amazing legacy my dad has, it's pretty cool. this morning on my run i thought of all my siblings and their kids. and <i>their</i> kids. i thought about all the states we live in, the professions we have, the lives we've touched. without dad, none of that would have been possible. i thought about all the amazing things i've learned from my dad - way too many for one blog post or even one book. it's pretty sappy, but it made me feel pretty good at a time when i've been feeling pretty crappy. even when he doesn't know it and he's not physically with me, he still has the ability to cheer me up.<br />
<br />
my dad is in <a href="https://monica-adayinthelife.blogspot.com/2018/04/age-related-dementia.html">an amazing memory care home</a> now where they take incredible care of him. his memory fades in and out. on good days he knows me. on not so good days i'd like to think he knows i love him. <br />
<br />
today we will celebrate him and the great life he's had and i hope that he knows how special he is. Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-65356864656157932822018-06-14T09:59:00.000-07:002018-06-14T09:59:35.951-07:00Jesus Take The Wheel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQsPbKwLiorPRezit-eN_R6dYSyo1572ZI7hhcSmQDfqFhDzYoP9Lp1-068jizjj4FdxyQJvEBpyGVKrF8FqWzAfq77PoUtiqVMyVLo6ipy9imk5C8D3AtHCKMtnzpDZ0GTEx5U8Yhyphenhyphen0/s1600/baby-on-board-in-window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="460" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQsPbKwLiorPRezit-eN_R6dYSyo1572ZI7hhcSmQDfqFhDzYoP9Lp1-068jizjj4FdxyQJvEBpyGVKrF8FqWzAfq77PoUtiqVMyVLo6ipy9imk5C8D3AtHCKMtnzpDZ0GTEx5U8Yhyphenhyphen0/s320/baby-on-board-in-window.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
To date my best parenting accomplishment has been potty training four children. I remember consulting one book and it was called <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=jQuyAwAAQBAJ&source=productsearch&utm_source=HA_Desktop_US&utm_medium=SEM&utm_campaign=PLA&pcampaignid=MKTAD0930BO1&gclid=EAIaIQobChMI5KeeusLT2wIVAzZpCh3OjwNAEAQYASABEgIvSvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds&dclid=CPygkr7C09sCFU6CAQodbE0EMQ">something like Potty Training in 24 Hours</a>. (That book was mostly a lot of voodoo, but there were some good pointers that I used. I won't say they were potty trained in 24 hours, but I will claim a moderate to high level of success comparatively evidenced by the fact that more than one friend offered to have me potty train their children.) <br />
<br />
When it came to potty training, my kids were quick learners (well, three of them), I managed to be consistent and set the bar high, there were few relapses, <i>and</i> they are all still going strong. <br />
<br />
Now, I find myself faced with another difficult parenting challenge which I would <i>like</i> to go down as a Big Accomplishment just like potty training. I will call this challenge: Teaching Your Child To Drive (While Not Dying or Killing Others).<br />
<br />
This begs the question: <i>Is there a parenting book dedicated to just this topic? </i> No? Well, <i>there should be. </i>God knows, I've already got enough material for a book.<br />
<br />
So, when I knew my son would start to drive I thought hubby would be the frazzled, cursing, white knuckled parent and I would be the cool cucumber blasting the radio with the window down and my hand nonchalantly hanging out. Hell. To. The. No. Already.<br />
<br />
Hubby is remarkably calm and I am a complete basket case. Honestly. <br />
<br />
I think the best/only way to adequately describe the current situation is a list.<br />
<br />
1. Not only is being a helpless passenger completely nerve wracking for me, when I tried to explain to Boy 1 how I felt being a helpless passenger he said, "<i>Jesus, mom. How do you think I've felt for 16 years?</i>" *silence*<br />
<br />
2. The other day while we were waiting (him driving, me a passenger, three girls screaming in the back) in the turn lane to turn left from a four lane road to a six lane road bubba asked, "If an emergency vehicle were to pull up behind me with their siren on, what should I do?" To which I replied, "Hmm. Good question. Ask dad."<br />
<br />
Then I said, "I think you should just...I'm not sure...pull out of the way?" Then bubba said, "Yeah, <i>duh.</i> But, like <i>where</i>?"<br />
<br />
I said, "Well, I'm not sure. That's a good question. I'm not sure in 35 years of driving that's ever happened to me. I think just try to get out of the way and not get hit by another car the best you can. It's not like that kind of thing happens regularly. I'm sure by the time it happens to you, you will be far more experienced and just know what to do."<br />
<br />
Then it happened yesterday.<br />
<br />
And, of course, it was raining and dad wasn't in the car with us. Just me and six kids.<br />
<br />
We were turning left from a highway access road to a six lane road. The light was red and Boy 1 was the first person turning left. An ambulance was suddenly right behind us with his siren on and honking. <i>My god</i>. Cursing ensued, Boy 1 was screaming, "*&%&$!!! MOM, WHAT DO I DO?," the backseat driver (Girl 1) went into high gear screaming, "MOVE OUT OF THE WAY. WE'RE GONNA DIE.", Girl 2 offered up her "advice" in the form of screaming and cursing, and I'm pretty sure Girl 3 (and possibly me) started crying. The two friends that were being carted around turned white like ghosts.<br />
<br />
It all came out fine, but I think all of our nerves were frayed. As for myself, I don't even take Xanax, but I felt I needed 10 afterward.<br />
<br />
3. If we had a curse jar in the van, it would be full. Everyone has started cursing. I know you're probably snickering at this since I have been known to curse on occasion, but <i>I'm serious</i>. All the kids (except, honestly, the nine year old) are cursing. <i>A lot. </i>You know those signs "Baby on Board"? We need one. Crazy Cursing People On Board.<br />
<br />
4. Everything I've known to be true has been called into question. I'm constantly thinking of driving situations I do not want to be in with Boy 1 or <i>really</i> by myself (in case there's a teen driver near). I mean, <i>really</i>. The toddler years are paling in comparison to the fear I have now. No matter your political affiliation: <i>Why do we as a society allow teens to drive?</i> <br />
<br />
5. I have seen these signs that you put on your car that say "Student Driver" and some have other things added like "Be Patient" "Don't flip the bird," etc. So, I thought that would be a great idea for when Boy 1 is driving. I suggested this to him and he said, "&^%* no, mom. That is crazy. I don't want people being <i>nice</i> to me. I want to experience driving <i>for real</i>. If everyone is nice to me, I won't really know what real driving is like once that insane sign comes off." <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I don't even know how I feel about that.</i><br />
<br />
6. Why don't people talk more about this? Why are there not online forums dedicated to Parents of Teen Drivers? I need a support group. Or at the very least, more beer.<br />
<br />
Boy 1 is working today. So, no passengering. I'm going to (happily) drive myself to the grocery store and try to avoid all other cars (in case there's a teen driving). <br />
<br />
Happy, safe driving to all of you and just remember that in the next car could be a terrified, white knuckled mom passengering around while her cursing immature teen is learning to drive. Be patient. Be kind. And please, try not to flip the bird.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-21113100936563564652018-06-09T09:35:00.001-07:002018-06-09T09:35:25.884-07:00The purge of summer 2017 in which the wii "disappeared."<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_jQyWl5WCx99_C5hWVguiamL_b-N8I36zM2ofCoW2o4KP1CUQ33VUbCPwsUPaul0fVMXod7FsfoRfndM2pjnHZKHu7ATg9NC-alrRl0IGvjvmN0UFdEjR6G2_pvYNCxhCkYxx2gwrI-M/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="182" data-original-width="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_jQyWl5WCx99_C5hWVguiamL_b-N8I36zM2ofCoW2o4KP1CUQ33VUbCPwsUPaul0fVMXod7FsfoRfndM2pjnHZKHu7ATg9NC-alrRl0IGvjvmN0UFdEjR6G2_pvYNCxhCkYxx2gwrI-M/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
As a mom of four, wife of one, I get blamed a lot. It's my fault when someone doesn't eat breakfast or lunch and is starving and can't wait for dinner. It's my fault when laundry (that's not mine) stays wet in the washer for 24+ hours. It's my fault when there's a schedule "miscommunication" and someone has to walk (no one ever has had to walk, but we've done our fair share of unenforceable threatening). It's my fault when someone doesn't get the item they needed from the grocery store (because I'm a mind reader and can predict everyone's needs and wants). And on and on. If we're all honest, it's rarely my fault. But, <i>sometimes</i> it is.<br />
<br />
So, last summer I committed possibly my worst "parenting" (and I say "parenting" because it mostly just affected my kids) mistake to date for which I am still occasionally blamed.<br />
<br />
Summer 2017, my son became a minimalist. He researched it, decided it was for him, and then decided that everything but his bed, desk, technology, and a few clothes were not essential. Then he encouraged us to start getting rid of our nonessential <strike>items</strike> crap. I sorted through things I hadn't seen since the 80's, made piles, put things in boxes, and made about 20 trips to Goodwill. The minimalist thing worked for us since I like to throw everything away and hubby could stand to throw a lot away. Also, we are six people living in a teeny, tiny house.<br />
<br />
While all of this was happening, we were building a tiny (tinier) house in the back for said son and we were also remodeling our kitchen. The entire kitchen was packed into boxes and moved into the living room and a fine layer of dust was on every. thing. (In case you are wondering, I am still married.)<br />
<br />
We also went on two vacations (one out of state) and did all the normal things we do during the summer. To say that this was stressful does not adequately describe the state of the chaos. There were boxes for our boxes and in those boxes were more boxes.<br />
<br />
We microwaved food in the living room (where our microwave perched on three boxes) for so long that when we finally moved the microwave back into the kitchen on the brand new black granite countertops, we still headed into the living room to microwave food. Our dog stopped barking at the workers, and we just got used to people being in our house from 7 to 7.<br />
<br />
Anyway. In the midst of all of this, we got a flat screen TV. We had said goodbye to our beloved tube TV months before, and finally purchased a flat screen. When we put our tube TV to the curb for bulky pick-up I had diligently separated out the VCR (yes, we had one), DVD player (because we got a new one of those, too), and what I thought was just a <i>TV contraption thingie </i>and put them all in a box to go to Goodwill. I distinctly remember (although no one in my house verifies this) asking everyone to go through the box to make sure nothing of value was in the box <i>before I took it to Goodwill</i>. My story is that this went ignored by all family members. Their story is that I never asked anyone anything and that I just threw random things in boxes and took them to Goodwill.<br />
<br />
Well, eventually the kitchen was finished, we had "minimalized" the house, and we were ready to set everything back in its place. The kids decided to play a relaxing game of Super Mario to celebrate and they asked me where the Wii had gone. I said I wasn't sure to look in the boxes that were left. No one could find the Wii. Eventually I asked what the Wii looked like. I'm pretty sure they described the TV contraption thingie that I took to Goodwill. And that's when the yelling, hysteria, crying, and blaming started.<br />
<br />
MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL.<br />
<br />
CAN YOU BELIEVE MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL?<br />
<br />
MOM DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A WII LOOKS LIKE AND SHE GAVE IT TO GOODWILL.<br />
<br />
WE DON'T HAVE OUR WII ANYMORE BECAUSE OUR MOM GAVE IT TO GOODWILL.<br />
<br />
DAD - <i>MOM GAVE THE WII TO GOODWILL!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
CAN WE GO TO GOODWILL AND BUY IT BACK?<br />
<br />
I swear to God. It's been almost a year and there is still hate about the Wii. My 15 year old daughter (self-proclaimed Super Mario expert - I'm not sure what level, but she knows everything about Super Mario) is about to purchase a new/used Wii with her own money and my kids are crazy excited about the prospect of having a Wii again. <br />
<br />
As you could guess, I haven't missed the Wii (God knows I couldn't even recognize the damn thing). But I must say a part of me is looking forward to hearing that catchy Super Mario tune again and maybe practicing my dance moves with Just Dance.<br />
<br />
It took a long time for the kids to <strike>forgive and forget</strike> not bring this up on a daily basis. There was a little retribution a few weeks after the Wii was discovered missing. I went to do my favorite ab/core workout video and all I could find was the DVD cover. At that point all the boxes were unpacked so I could not imagine where it had gone. Then it occurred to me. <i>It was in the old DVD player.</i> <br />
<br />
I was pissed. I regretted putting the tube TV to the curb. I regretted putting all the old crap in boxes. Hell, at that point I considered going to all the 27 Goodwills in our city and hunting down our Wii and DVD player, <i>and</i> our VCR for that matter. I thought about the great deal someone got on our Wii and the DVD player. <i>With my favorite DVD in it! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I take responsibility. I mistakingly gave a perfectly working Wii to Goodwill. But, like many people, I have served my sentence. Karma played her hand and there went my DVD that kept me in shape. I now have no core muscles and no visible abs. I tell my kids, "Mom has served her time." I lift my shirt slightly to show my muffin top and silence ensues. The kids shrink out of the kitchen mumbling indecipherable comments. Sometimes the gods just put everything in place.<br />
<br />
Case closed. Score even.<br />
<br />
The end.Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-68526772240441646792018-05-13T15:13:00.000-07:002018-05-13T16:54:34.173-07:00some of my more notable traits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbbb7ym02nV3kIi-U-QULDtlZADIqlg1pj-bDyqEISv5HJu5zu_m5XYe2cd7svZI2DjYUrXdlMEmC-07Jch9jNbe262gmYDzvlAAetTPUapE71XK2BJKoTsHyysS2mfkuBs17dgdZ7L7w/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbbb7ym02nV3kIi-U-QULDtlZADIqlg1pj-bDyqEISv5HJu5zu_m5XYe2cd7svZI2DjYUrXdlMEmC-07Jch9jNbe262gmYDzvlAAetTPUapE71XK2BJKoTsHyysS2mfkuBs17dgdZ7L7w/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
years ago when the kids were little i read in some parenting book that to encourage your kids to appreciate and truly care for each other it is sometimes helpful to do activities to encourage love. of course, i tried them all and experienced moderate success. my kids are older now and they still fight like crazy people, but i'd like to think that somewhere in their hearts they do love each other. (this is certainly questionable and up for debate.)<br />
<br />
so, we used to do this activity where we said things we loved about each other. a variation of this activity that the kids started doing lately is to say things about each other that they wish they had for themselves. they are usually physical traits (three of my four kids are quite vain), but if i am within hearing distance i try to encourage more altruistic traits like, y'know, "i love your enthusiasm for life," "i love your calm nature in the face of extreme stress." but, usually they just continue with, "i love your cheekbones. i <i>really</i> wish i had them." "i love the number of instagram followers you have." (because, y'know, they're teenagers, not humanitarians.)<br />
<br />
the other day, while the four of them were playing the "game," girl 2 said, "<i>oh my god</i>! i know! let's have <i>mom</i> play with us! let's all think of traits of <i>mom's</i> we'd love!!!"<br />
<br />
*crickets*<br />
<br />
after a good two minutes of complete silence, girl 1 (the one child who is not vain and who is actually quite profound), said, "well, i'd have to say, and this might sound really shallow, if i had to have one of mom's traits, i'd really love her hairlessness."<br />
<br />
happy mother's day! i hope it was........waxed.Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-33045612046107818672018-04-28T06:51:00.001-07:002018-04-28T07:00:47.407-07:00Can I get a sub? School ends June 7th here and this teacher and my four kids (and hubby by default) are just trying to make it to then alive and fairly intact.<br />
<br />
So, here's my list. Maybe you can relate.<br />
<br />
<b>Things that have basically shut down since April and/or will have to wait until summer.</b><br />
<br />
1. My kids (both my classroom kids and my own kids) have basically lost all desire to go to class. At calendar time in my Pre-school classroom invariably a student asks if we are <i>done yet</i>. At first I thought this meant <i>Are we done with calendar time yet?</i> but, reflecting more, I think it means <i>Are we done with PreK yet?</i> I'm fairly certain that my nine year old (on a few occasions in April) has kept hot water in her mouth, taken her temp in the morning and told me she has a fever. <i>This is something t</i><i>he 16 year old might have taught her - and if it were September I would take more time to research. </i>My eighth grader told me Thursday as I was driving her to school (after missing the bus four days in a row) that <i>she didn't have time to go to school. </i>Kids are done, y'all.<br />
<br />
2. There are no more family dinners happening in my home. I started the year gung-ho. Six to seven balanced dinners planned, prepped, and ready to be cooked each night promptly at 6:00 p.m. because we're "so busy" but not too busy to eat together as a family because that's what makes families bonded and mentally stable. Yesterday, five of my six family members (and a friend) were gathered around the dinner table around 9:45 p.m. eating one freezer burnt egg roll from Costco (because I forgot to buy more), some clumpy, quickly made white rice, a salad, a slightly brown banana, cheese nachos, and bean and cheese tacos (prepared by the girl who is too busy to go to school). It was kinda happy and normal until you saw that it was almost 10 p.m. and the food was like a sad buffet of What's Left in the Fridge. And my nine year was saying, "Mom, I've had cheese nachos for about a week now. Are you ever going to cook real food again?" To which I replied, "Yes, we will eat real food again when summer is here."<br />
<br />
3. A well made up face that doesn't look tired is not a thing for this teacher now. Each day I put on my "make-up" (a loose term that means powder and such from August of last year that still is spreadable to my face) and everyday I think, "On my first day off in June, I'm going to Ulta and buying more of everything in this bag." I squeeze the tube of concealer to get just enough to smear under each harried and haggard eye, I vigorously brush the eye-shadow rectangle sides hoping that I'll get enough on the brush to actually look like I have shadow on, and I swipe the mostly bare mascara brush over my lashes. I spritz myself with about one milliliter of cologne that I am refusing to throw away because when I tilt it all the way to the side I can still see an 1/8 of a drop in the bottle.<br />
<br />
4. Lesson planning (this may be a local thing) is kinda over. My lesson plans in August were detailed. I told my principal exactly what was supposed to happen down to who will take a breath, when, why, and how I will know they are breathing. This week's lesson plans said, "Finish last week's work/Assess." <br />
<br />
5. I havne't even bothered to get my Personal Calendar (similar to my bible - you know how I love lists) out of my teacher bag in a week. Up until last week, I diligently wrote every little thing I needed to do each and every day in my planner/calendar and religiously crossed it out every evening as it had been completed. Now, I have no idea what needs to be done daily. I am living minute to minute and hoping that we get through the day everyday until June without losing the house due to forgetting to pay the mortgage.<br />
<br />
6. The kids' clothes are tired and so are mine. Several days this month one of the kids has told me something like, "Mom, I need new *shoes, jeans, t-shirts, bras* these just don't fit anymore. Can we go shopping?" And, I've said something vague but hopeful like, "Yes. Make a list. The first day of summer vacation, I promise, we are going shopping."<br />
<br />
7. My okay-ish cleaning has <i>really </i>taken a backseat. There are so many prints on the windows it's hard to see out of them and the baseboards are grimy. I keep looking at both thinking, "I really should clean those." Followed by, "June 11. I'm putting it on the list for June 11. Where's my calendar? Oh, in my bag. Which is still in the trunk."<br />
<br />
8. I've got health issues to deal with that are just going to have to wait. The doctor's office politely says, "Can you come in Monday morning at 8:00 a.m.?" I want to scream, "DID YOU NOT HEAR ME WHEN I TOLD YOU I'M A TEACHER? THERE ARE NO SUBS. IT'S APRIL. IF THERE WERE SUBS THEY WERE GONE BY DECEMBER. I CANNOT LEAVE FOUR YEAR OLDS UNATTENDED. THEY WILL EAT EACH OTHER. JUNE 11TH. I CAN COME IN JUNE 11TH." <br />
<br />
There is a holding pattern that sets in about this time. Absolutely urgent things get done (most of the time) and everything else kind of sits. <br />
<br />
As I stare May down in the face, I have no doubt that the Grim Reaper could look at a teacher and say, "She's mine today." The teacher, if she saw him, would just shrug and say, "Yeah. It'll have to wait till summer or until I can get a sub."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-40246088072365592772018-04-25T18:11:00.001-07:002018-04-26T05:21:19.388-07:00How Many People Are Here For The Dog?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWtneWvmne0-n6kJvSOgfZTzddodJ3A2z6pxJ2HgL5WS06e3yNt0_sIRS03oY3i3WPoyg4mAm9b7zkQ5aeTtKxVz3wnPV8KrfaCRUA5kA44BV31kr63XKH5UYaVXG0zR9LVp_7WU8kdY/s1600/SAM_3934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWtneWvmne0-n6kJvSOgfZTzddodJ3A2z6pxJ2HgL5WS06e3yNt0_sIRS03oY3i3WPoyg4mAm9b7zkQ5aeTtKxVz3wnPV8KrfaCRUA5kA44BV31kr63XKH5UYaVXG0zR9LVp_7WU8kdY/s320/SAM_3934.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
The past couple of years have been pretty heart wrenching for our family.<br />
<br />
We've dealt with some stuff that I really hope no one ever has to go through and it is so personal and so private that I've shared it with few people. The stigma, the embarrassment, the not being able to talk freely about it are often times as hard as the facts themselves.<br />
<br />
So, a few days ago a link showed up in my inbox from BlogHer "Reframing Mental Health In America" was the memo. I'd been wondering how I might use my little blog to express some of what's been happening and in turn reach out to others who may be going through the same. It was like some sort of weird fate. I bookmarked the email to come back to later because I thought it might be interesting and helpful. I just got back to it. And, it's amazing.<br />
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If you love someone who is living with mental illness, <i><b>please watch the video</b></i>, "Be Vocal," linked below. It is time well spent. <br />
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If you don't love anyone who is living with mental illness, <i><b>please watch the video</b></i>. Because you may not know they are living with mental illness, or you will better understand those of us who are loving someone living with mental illness, or those of us that have mental illness.<br />
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Be the person that rides for the person that can't ride for themselves.<br />
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<a href="http://www.bevocalspeakup.com/documentary.html">Here is the documentary.</a>Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-25921672663124865212018-04-21T16:38:00.000-07:002018-04-22T04:38:18.741-07:00Age Related Dementia <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">In November of 2009, my mom passed away while my one year old daughter was in the hospital with a serious infection. I vividly remember sitting on a hard hospital chair, holding a hospital phone, hearing my husband tell me that he had some bad news. Minutes after he told me that my mom had had a stroke and passed away before she even got to the hospital, the nurse came in to take my daughter's vitals. She said, "Is everything all right, honey?" </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I said, "No. Not really. Everything is not all right. I just found out that my mom has passed away."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">As my heart was breaking down, I tried to recall the last time we'd spoken by phone. The last time I'd touched her face. Had I known it would be the last time, I would have done it so differently. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">And this has stayed with me for nine years.</span></i><br />
<br />
April 16, 2018<br />
<br />
I said, "Do you know me?"<br />
<br />
He said (definitively), "No. I don't."<br />
<br />
I read his face to see if he was teasing. He was not. There was no glimmer of recognition just behind his eyelids. The corners of his mouth were not upturned ready to grin showing he'd fooled me.<br />
<br />
So, I simply said my name.<br />
<br />
Alarmingly, his expression became more confused. He said, "<i>No.</i> You <i>couldn't </i>be. She's <i>much younger." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
In another place and time hearing dad say this would have been funny to me. But, I didn't laugh. I <i>have</i> aged considerably. And I knew this wasn't what dad meant, anyway. I figured, in his mind, he was somewhere in 2010.<br />
<br />
"Remember me? I'm your daughter. Your youngest daughter?"<br />
<br />
I looked for any signs of memory on his face while trying to fight the lump that was welling up in my throat.<br />
<br />
"I <i>remember </i>that I am always happy to see you," he said, taking care to enunciate <i>remember</i>.<br />
<br />
We sat in silence for a little longer. Suddenly a vision of dad riding his bike to work in the 80's came to me. I think it must have been the sunshine and gentle breeze. I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
I said, "It's a great day for riding a bike."<br />
<br />
He said, "Yes. I suppose it is."<br />
<br />
I said, "You used to ride your bike a lot."<br />
<br />
"I did?"<br />
<br />
I briefly wondered how he could forget that and then quickly regretted having brought it up. "Yes, you did. To work and back everyday. A long time ago."<br />
<br />
"Well," he said, "Your body changes and then you can't do the things you used to do. My time is coming. I'm going to die soon."<br />
<br />
<i>Sometimes</i> the conversation with dad, halted and confused as it is, goes from topic to topic to death.<br />
<br />
"Are you scared?<br />
<br />
Emphatically, he said, "Nah. Why would I be scared? I'm going to see a lot of people that I've lost. Your mom, and grandma and grandpa."<br />
<br />
I couldn't talk for a few seconds. Then I managed to say weakly, and not without my voice breaking, "Well...I'm going to miss you."<br />
<br />
He said, "No. You're not going to miss me. You're going to be glad that I'm in a better place with people I've missed."<br />
<br />
I seriously doubted this in my mind, but I tried to think of other things to keep from crying.<br />
<br />
We stayed outside on the patio of The Memory Care Facility for about 20 more minutes. I tried to soak in every second. I held his hand tightly and tried to imprint his words, his face, his breath on my heart so that when he is gone I will have those memories to hold me steady. <br />
<br />
Like every visit, I answered the same questions multiple times. <i>Where are we? Who lives here? Do I live here? Will I be alone when you have to leave? Where do you live?</i><br />
<br />
Finally he said, "I'm ready to go inside now. Can you wheel me inside?"<br />
<br />
He rolled back inside with me pushing him just in time to start a game of bingo. <br />
<br />
"Jesse! You're just in time to play bingo!" The staff quickly came over to wheel him up to the table.<br />
<br />
He said, "No. I don't want to play bingo."<br />
<br />
"But, Jesse! You love bingo!" They said.<br />
<br />
"I do?" he questioned.<br />
<br />
With that I kissed him and held his face and told him that I had to leave, but that I would see him next time. He said he loved me and thanked me for coming.<br />
<br />
Walking out the doors I steeled myself. If this is the last time, I am ready. I will have the memory I need. I will hold on to it until I can't remember it anymore.<br />
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<br />Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-83393969753028301242018-04-15T10:46:00.001-07:002018-04-15T10:46:49.652-07:00It's weird. But, here's a list to make it all better.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6DZHS2X438rofLvfZq_ATKcreaIyT7Bvqhx4vXvxVYpS6zzuqCx_KSehQ-uj88IA6HjaaVwTVbjHFGkyR_uZ5Bi7gttous0sQlAtI4zzU6XtMbDBA_yxd_I9yFLet7iX0R8Qwf2xCWF8/s1600/thumbnail.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6DZHS2X438rofLvfZq_ATKcreaIyT7Bvqhx4vXvxVYpS6zzuqCx_KSehQ-uj88IA6HjaaVwTVbjHFGkyR_uZ5Bi7gttous0sQlAtI4zzU6XtMbDBA_yxd_I9yFLet7iX0R8Qwf2xCWF8/s320/thumbnail.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
I haven't blogged in three years. There are a few new things. Like: I own chickens now (yes, real, live chickens). And, I'm kind of an expert on googling medical conditions and diagnosing and treating myself (and others). And, I have a flat-screen TV in my house.<br />
<br />
And, yet, things really haven't changed all that much. Like: I'll probably publish this and then realize there are cringeworthy grammatical errors. And, my kids still don't listen to me. And, I still procrastinate like a mother bear. And, I'm still a notorious list-maker. And, I have a $hit ton to do today, so naturally I decided to log into my blog (which I have not felt compelled to do in...at least two years) and write a blog post.<br />
<br />
What's weird is Facebook (which I'm currently hating) sends me notifications when I get new likes to my blog. And, I've gotten likes lately. So, part of me (the big part...like my muffin top) says - Facebook is a god damned lying piece of crap. But, another part of me (the small, saggy part - like my boobs) says - thank you? Why would you like someone who hasn't done $hit in three years? <i>So confusing.</i><br />
<br />
Anyway. I wanted to give you guys (I'm not even sure who I'm talking to - a lot like real life) a list as a token of my appreciation (kind of like the old days):<br />
<br />
1. I didn't think I could love a chicken, but I do. A <i>lot</i>. Three of them. They are good girls, and unlike our crazy a$$ dog, they give us things that we can eat. I'm excited to start composting again to start a black soldier fly colony to feed them (<i>who am I</i>?).<br />
<br />
2. My kids are now adultish. Almost. Well, three of them at least. I still feed them and water them, but they are so self-sufficient (and tall). And, despite my really just okayish parenting, have turned out to be quite decent humans.<br />
<br />
3. I am officially <i>post</i>-menopausal. Despite what you may have heard, this is in no way a vacation from <i>peri</i>-menopausal. It has its own set of beasts to slay. Enough said.<br />
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4. Around early 2016 Google didn't let me into my blog because I couldn't remember my password. I have no patience for technology, so (as I remember, and my memory is like a sieve) I tried for about 10 minutes to work it out and then I decided to clean the fridge (or drink a beer). And then I got hacked (by the Russians?) and I had to pay bitcoin to recover my documents and basically everything on my laptop, and then I got a new laptop, and by then I was too tired to try again to recover my password. And then three years had gone by. That's all true. The other part of the reality is that for about two years I've been mildly sad/not quite myself/in a life rut/<i>or</i> trying to enjoy the moments of happiness too much to be bothered to write stuff down.<br />
<br />
5. I still run (a lot slower now). I still do not want to do a marathon. Or even like a 5K. I still compose multiple chapters of my book in my head while running. And I am currently addicted to <a href="https://themoth.org/radio-hour">The Moth Radio Hour</a> podcasts to listen to while I run. I cry a lot while running. My neighbors still think I'm weird.<br />
<br />
So, yeah. That's it. I really miss my internet friends. I miss reading blogs. So, I'm making a new goal today to do more writing and reading. If it lasts as long as most of my goals, <i>don't miss it!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
It's good to write this down. Looking forward to writing my first comment in three years on someone's blog today. "xoxo" seems appropriate, although I'm not quite sure why. Have a great Sunday!<br />
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<br />Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-7585799571388191482015-05-11T07:30:00.000-07:002015-05-11T07:30:01.214-07:00Sometimes it's serious.Posting <a href="https://girlonapage.wordpress.com/2015/05/11/maybe-today/">over here</a> today. Thanks for the read.Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-49595989502573757582015-04-24T16:26:00.000-07:002015-04-24T16:34:50.367-07:00I'm turning hippie but it's okay because my kid is already there.It's been an enlightening couple of months to say the least. Here's some of what's been happening. <br />
<br />
I am turning into a hippie. Not the braless kind (you can rest easy now). Just the kind that makes homemade $hit.<br />
<br />
I know. It's kinda weird. But, don't judge (or at least hold it until the end).<br />
<br />
I have stopped shampooing my hair. Now, I'm only about five years late on this trend, but that's sooner than I jump on most bandwagons. So, really I'm just in time.<br />
<br />
Today this revolution of not shampooing my hair led to cleaning out my fridge which led to cleaning my freezer which led to discovering some meat that I swear had been in there for about three years so I'm gonna call it a win for all of us.<br />
<br />
Yes, I have joined the "millions of women" who have said <em>no</em> to shampoo. I consulted The Google and Say No To 'Poo is almost as scary and ineffective as Say No To Drugs. All we need is Nancy heading us up (<a href="http://monica-adayinthelife.blogspot.com/2011/09/dead-or-alive-i-have-no-idea.html">wait, is she dead?).</a> Had you told me a few weeks ago that I was going to do this I would have said, "Are you high?" But, now that I am on Day 18 (more or less) it feels like I was born to do this. <br />
<br />
Now, usually I would say Who The F*ck Cares? and I am still inclined to say that - except for the fact that I CLEANED MY FRIDGE, Y'ALL. And, not just half a$$ the way I usually do - y'know the wipe down while you are holding a cup of coffee? (Or am I the only one?) No, today was a full-on <em>clean the freakin' fridge</em>. (Even the freezer - which happened to be where the suspect meat was hiding - right behind two gallons of ice cream preventing me from putting my homemade shampoo down.)<br />
<br />
Which is more riveting for you and completely self-absorbed for me? The fact that I am no longer shampooing or the old meat? Okay. I'll start with the no shampooing. Yes, it's weird. Yes, my hair feels like I am a short order cook for McDonald's. Yes, I might smell a little funky. Yes, I am still showering. Yes, strange phenomena have been occurring all over my head. <em>And</em>, it just gets crazier.<br />
<br />
Today I <em>made</em> shampoo (right before I made fire and the wheel). Say what? Ms. DayInTheLife made shampoo? Yes. I did. From coconut milk and Aloe Vera Gel. Then I froze it (because - duh - coconut milk is perishable). And that's where it got real. I had no room in my freezer to put the ice trays with shampoo in them. (If it sounds like I am high right about now, it's because I am.) I decided then that it was time to clean out the fridge and freezer. <br />
<br />
Now here's the thing. I hate to clean <a href="http://monica-adayinthelife.blogspot.com/2013/07/cleaning-is-making-me-alcoholic.html">(a well documented fact on this blog)</a>. <a href="http://monica-adayinthelife.blogspot.com/2012/02/how-to-clean-housein-twenty-one-easy.html">I hate to clean appliances</a> even more than stuff like toilets. Exactly how much do I hate to clean? Well, I'm gonna put the Last Cleaning Of The Fridge at somewhere around the time my six year old was born? <br />
<br />
See, I've been REALLY wanting a new fridge because this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvDv2apmjV1wwsihKobFaVME97font6bdH340lzsPiwwJ7KTPSauNK-oGhj0EBudxg4uM5OUmpiTXPTBUS3GdNs3uJyzuzbOXBV_U4Sk-FQn130g4bRJcOtFdBbK5pOEpHpz4jB6PX3M/s1600/IMAG2876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdvDv2apmjV1wwsihKobFaVME97font6bdH340lzsPiwwJ7KTPSauNK-oGhj0EBudxg4uM5OUmpiTXPTBUS3GdNs3uJyzuzbOXBV_U4Sk-FQn130g4bRJcOtFdBbK5pOEpHpz4jB6PX3M/s1600/IMAG2876.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah. With that for a front it's just pointless to ever clean it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Don't worry. I keep all that yuck covered with this magnets like this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfgRqDoeTNpayRboth6P2lTvJYp3U6Miki7-6hNTvZY7VV_h5Y3f1mQGRI6kPvW7v_R8NddtismvekjOKQd15-ruxkEhN0xnQUKZfKfjYEYcQ9CLLfudNdfQojpzBeE87n55RcSicMxI/s1600/IMAG2878_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBfgRqDoeTNpayRboth6P2lTvJYp3U6Miki7-6hNTvZY7VV_h5Y3f1mQGRI6kPvW7v_R8NddtismvekjOKQd15-ruxkEhN0xnQUKZfKfjYEYcQ9CLLfudNdfQojpzBeE87n55RcSicMxI/s1600/IMAG2878_1.jpg" height="268" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just like when a light is on on my dashboard and I put a little toy up there to cover it. This method works like a charm.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But, because I needed to make room for the poo, I bit the bullet and cleaned that fridge out. That's when I found the Old Meat. It was liberating to throw that meat in the trash. Heck, I don't even like meat now that I'm a hippie. That made it even better.<br />
<br />
And, now that the inside of the fridge is really, really clean and there is nothing in there that I didn't just buy (or make) this morning I am really feeling high (on life). Oh, and also my earth friendly (albeit weirda$$) shampoo is in there for the next time I decide to shampoo my hair. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipePZsgXQpURRLTrABlXiEuu23JaN1YHdBKKHXG4KYNUHqAvfJbuaart3yfDDBuWGMl7bU46ILL2GblVRh0zYyyvsAcapDzYusJ5CqjoibfRvYqpdXi7FZzrULmxK3DwWeG_NnuwtVlAk/s1600/IMAG2875.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipePZsgXQpURRLTrABlXiEuu23JaN1YHdBKKHXG4KYNUHqAvfJbuaart3yfDDBuWGMl7bU46ILL2GblVRh0zYyyvsAcapDzYusJ5CqjoibfRvYqpdXi7FZzrULmxK3DwWeG_NnuwtVlAk/s1600/IMAG2875.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homemade shampoo in ice trays. Did I just type that?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What could be better? It's one of those days where I feel like I am making a difference for the world.<br />
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So, how does my kid factor into this equation? Well, in the most unexpected way.<br />
<br />
I got home from work last night and my six year old told me she made this for Jesus.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbQVsTH5SH4Inmo34N3TzBn0y2wrHR68DkVgp4vekktWHIjcr05FjaKC5yIGWJFgTxQ2-VUiJLUuGe_6szZNRrFysKEAdBO_3a2gBOn0lL4Svbh1UtDN6R683JJWyennPt_b3Z5NtKtA/s1600/IMAG2874.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbQVsTH5SH4Inmo34N3TzBn0y2wrHR68DkVgp4vekktWHIjcr05FjaKC5yIGWJFgTxQ2-VUiJLUuGe_6szZNRrFysKEAdBO_3a2gBOn0lL4Svbh1UtDN6R683JJWyennPt_b3Z5NtKtA/s1600/IMAG2874.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It's a STAR." (Obviously. We knew that.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Super! Turns out I'm not the only one becoming a hippie in our family. Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-61580487669524228062015-02-18T19:08:00.002-08:002015-02-18T19:09:32.590-08:00In Which I Go To A Movie Theatre<span style="font-size: x-small;">I am not being paid by Disney to do this review, but <em>really</em> I should be.</span><br />
<br />
Mr. DayInTheLife and I took two of our kids to see a movie last night. We are not movie theatre goers. So I am proud to say that if this is the only theatre movie we see in all of 2015, we made an excellent choice.<br />
<br />
<strong>Why Seeing a Pre-Screening of </strong><a href="http://movies.disney.com/mcfarland-usa"><strong>McFarland USA</strong></a><strong> Yesterday Evening With My Family Was The Best Decision I've Made Since Earlier Yesterday When I Ate a <em>Whole</em> Not a <em>Half</em> of a Cinnamon Roll</strong><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdIfartz4oXOhNzJyoct4ctoSfli54SqehNUomgEU3HFH8kkuqA_WmuMsT9XmFpFKs_aTliwuG9spqth6KKHAOqPJquEs3GiaPuN8C-l4xKITinqSc9SygLqp9V9q2u6bKVBpfVDOKPU/s1600/McFarland,_USA_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdIfartz4oXOhNzJyoct4ctoSfli54SqehNUomgEU3HFH8kkuqA_WmuMsT9XmFpFKs_aTliwuG9spqth6KKHAOqPJquEs3GiaPuN8C-l4xKITinqSc9SygLqp9V9q2u6bKVBpfVDOKPU/s1600/McFarland,_USA_poster.jpg" height="200" width="135" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"McFarland, USA poster" by Source. Licensed under Fair use via Wikipedia - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:McFarland,_USA_poster.jpg#mediaviewer/File:McFarland,_USA_poster.jpg">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:McFarland,_USA_poster.jpg#mediaviewer/File:McFarland,_USA_poster.jpg</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<em>I encourage you to click the link, but if you are not inclined to do so here is the premise of the movie from The Google: </em><br />
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<span class="r-rhscol-14 kno-desc-sh" jsl="$x 0;$t t-OvGO4nzQaN0;$x 0;"><em>Track coach Jim White (Kevin Costner) is a newcomer to a predominantly Latino high-school in California's Central Valley. Coach White and his new students find that they have much to learn about one another, but things begin to change when White realizes the boys' exceptional running ability. More t<span class="_dgc">han just physical prowess drives the teens to succeed; their strong family ties, incredible work ethic and commitment to their team all play a factor in forging these novice runners into champions.</span></em></span></div>
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1. The boys' families in the movie are migrant workers. Nearly all of our kids' grandparents were migrant workers at some point in their lives and just like the families in the movie they worked hard to ensure a better life for their kids. I am not sure my kids knew what exactly migrant workers were until last night. Now, they know. Don't worry, I am not that naïve to think that a Disney portrayal of migrant life would nail it completely, but at least we are further along in the explanation than we were before the movie. <br />
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2. This movie borders on sappy a few times, but it is a great family movie that, unless you are completely heartless, will have you cheering.<br />
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3. There is no sex, no violence, no drugs, and nothing really of questionable content. And yet, it tells a pretty amazing story of perseverance in the face of <em>incredible odds</em>.<br />
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4. I am an ex-teacher and I will always have a special place in my heart for teachers. As rainbows and unicorns as this sounds, I truly believe teachers can change lives for the better. Of course, there is the flip-side of that coin and I believe whole-heartedly in that, too. This is a story in which the teacher/coach changes lives for the good. And, yet (as you will see at the end of the movie when script is run about what happened to all the real life characters) life still happens and just because you are a high school phenomena does not mean you will not still make some poor decisions.<br />
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5. I ran cross country track in high school. I can't say this brought back any fond memories for me. I mostly hated cross country track and I wasn't fast. And, now I think you know I run because I love to eat. Despite that, I thought about these boys today on my run. I tried not to because I really hate sentimentality. But I couldn't help it. They made me not be so whiny in my head. Me not whiny? That's powerful stuff.<br />
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This movie made me happy. It's the right stuff. It's based on events that <em>really happened</em> that make for a great story. It's about real people that worked amazingly hard and it paid off for them. <br />
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McFarland USA premieres February 20. Get yer' butts off the sofa and take some loved ones to see it! You'll thank me after.Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-48721552311278792692015-02-15T08:36:00.000-08:002015-02-15T09:33:10.512-08:00Didn't we do this already?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My kids are freaking me out.<br />
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I was at a conference the other day and the speaker said that middle school students and preteens behave a lot like toddlers. <em>Yes and yesser. </em><br />
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I made you a list because I can't think about some of these things for too long or I think my head will explode or I will have to sanitize myself head to foot.<br />
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1. Toddlers need their butts wiped. My teenage/preteen bathroom is <em>constantly out of toilet paper</em>. <em>Until I replace it</em>. This begs the critical question: <em>How are they wiping their butts?</em><br />
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2. Ditto for toothpaste.<br />
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3. Meltdowns. Toddlers meltdown because you won't let them play with sharp scissors. My thirteen year old and preteens meltdown because I won't let them see <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2788710/">The Interview</a>.<br />
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4. Food issues. Toddlers just want to eat hot dogs and <a href="http://www.pollypocket.com/en-us">Polly Pocket</a> accessories. My teenagers just want to eat carbs and <a href="http://www.lindtusa.com/">Lindt </a> chocolates.<br />
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5. Clothing issues. Toddler girls want to wear the Snow White dress everywhere. All the time. If you say no, see #3. Teenagers and preteens have to do their own laundry and when there is no more underwear instead of doing their laundry see #3.<br />
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6. Which brings me to <em>Clean Up, Clean Up, This is How We Clean Up</em>. Remember that? Toddlers hate it. Usually it's like the Clean Up music cues #3. Ditto for teenagers. I tell them to do their chores and it's like I am saying, "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katy_Perry">Katy Perry</a> is dead. Now, move on with your lives." <br />
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7. Toddlers will make you a faithful follower in the religion of Reverse Psychology. If you say, "Do NOT put that in your mouth," said item will immediately go in their mouth. I scream to my teens, "TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN RIGHT NOW." Immediately the volume raises a number. Your sanity is called into question daily because you want to just say, <em>"Y'know what? PLAY YOUR MUSIC AT FULL VOLUME AND PRESS YOUR EAR RIGHT TO THE SPEAKER. YOU WILL NOT BE DEAF IN A MATTER OF SECONDS."</em><br />
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8. Pushing my buttons. Scientifically based on my six years raising toddlers, they are born with an instinctive ability to know what will make you plumb crazy and they do it 24/7. <em>With a smile</em> usually. Ditto for teenagers/preteens. Daily I say through gritted teeth, "Do <em>not</em> roll your eyes at me." Usually this is met with another eye roll (add a smirk).<br />
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9. Toddlers do this thing where they become limp in the grocery store. Like a cat who has been given a sedative. Teenagers do that same thing. Often times in the morning when it's time to get up for school. Or sometimes when they have to do #6 and they don't go straight to #3.<br />
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10. I'm pretty sure it's based on science that toddlers can melt your heart in less than a nanosecond (and if you are not a rocket scientist, that's pretty damn fast). Surprise, surprise. Teenagers can do the same.<br />
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Aw! Happy endings, y'all! Turns out my teenager and preteens have not made me totally bitter yet. I still have a heart!Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-55761386986200400272015-02-08T06:30:00.001-08:002015-02-08T07:18:56.566-08:00I needed something else to do.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixB_F2DJhhyfNvsEIWAEz4n9aTFgOcGhp61Y5enjRLK3BTQbfQRpGJWkxSZw5IXhL4R9UK9-HxBYZErRPkez31a4ItsyV00jyjD6p_BRiaCFGsKWeeRjVSJ6FUd0NGk5QEyijlnK9vEt8/s1600/scrambled+eggs.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixB_F2DJhhyfNvsEIWAEz4n9aTFgOcGhp61Y5enjRLK3BTQbfQRpGJWkxSZw5IXhL4R9UK9-HxBYZErRPkez31a4ItsyV00jyjD6p_BRiaCFGsKWeeRjVSJ6FUd0NGk5QEyijlnK9vEt8/s1600/scrambled+eggs.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my brain on "serious."</td></tr>
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Did you see the new badge in my sidebar? I'm pretty excited about it. My four kids, three jobs, and one husband have left me with plenty of time (and money) and I was looking for something to do. Wait. No. That's not how it happened.<br />
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I was feeling somewhat depressed the other night while I was ignoring the pile of work on my desk and blog reading. In the hopes that I'd won a Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, I decided to check my email one last time before heading to bed. Better than a sweepstakes, I had an email from <a href="http://www.blogher.com/">BlogHer</a> about an opportunity to participate in an initiative called <a href="http://www.blogher.com/womeslives-media-partners">#womenslives</a>. After I did a little research into this project, I thought probably they had mistaken me for someone a bit more influential. But, no. I am a woman after all. And, turns out, my voice matters.<br />
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#womenslives is an amazing venture. <a href="http://corporate.sheknows.com/">SheKnows Media</a> and <a href="http://www.pri.org/verticals/across-womens-lives">Public Radio International</a> are partnering to produce in-depth reporting about women and engage communities in discussions. You can read more about its inception <a href="http://www.pri.org/pri-launches-across-womens-lives-groundbreaking-multi-media-and-engagement-initiative-increase">here.</a><br />
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This may seem like a crazy thing for me to want to participate in when my blog is mostly about putting my pants on one leg at a time and trying to cook a meal without the smoke alarm going off. <br />
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Don't worry. I'm not changing and to prove it I made you a list of why <em>it's not really that crazy</em>.<br />
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1. They want me to contribute to the conversation!? For once I did not have to complete an eight page application, or have my blood type tested, or hand over my 25 year old GPAs, or write down my ever dwindling income level. Being a woman is what has qualified me. How great is that?<br />
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2. I am a <em>quality</em> news junkie. I am addicted to NPR. I shush people (mostly my own family) when I am listening to a good show. Most of my sentences begin like this: The other day I heard this show on NPR...<br />
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3. Did you know only 24% of news stories are about women? That's shocking news for a news junkie. This project affects all women (and men). If we can change that statistic (and more importantly, people's mindsets) by this initiative - I'm all in.<br />
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4. This affects me. I've been thinking a lot lately about my life choices. I had a career and then I left it to raise my family. Now I am trying to make a Come-back and it's not easy. In the past six months I think I've read everything the Internet has to offer on How to Re-enter the Work Force After Taking Time Off to Raise Your Family and I can't help but think there's got to be an easier way. Everything from decent affordable child-care, health-care, and career choices have taken the fore-front in my brain. To complicate matters - it turns out the successful career I had is not really the one I want now and I'm not sure it was the one I ever really wanted. I want my girls to be able to do this thing called work and family better than I have and with more support from the community. <br />
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5. This affects my family. I have three girls (and one boy that will someday, possibly like a girl? gah!) who I am trying to raise the best way that I know how. I try not to, but I worry about all sorts of things when it comes to my girls. Some days my thoughts hover around: <em>How will I protect them from date rape?</em> to <em>I hope they make wiser career choices than I did. </em>to <em>I hope they have great affordable child care and wonderful health benefits. </em>to <em>Are they getting the education they need?</em> Participating in expanding the news coverage on topics that affect women is something I can share with my girls and <em>actually do</em> because worrying is a waste of time.<br />
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7. Sometimes when I hear shows from PRI about women I'm left with a feeling of wanting to discuss this more with someone or I'm left wondering <em>What can I do? </em>Here's my opportunity and I'm pretty psyched about it.<br />
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There you go. I'm looking forward to the discussions and conversations. I'll be posting some articles here and over on the<a href="https://www.facebook.com/monicaadayinthelife"> Day In The Life Facebook page</a> that I'd like to share with you or better yet, discuss with you. And I'll be tweeting about it, too. Grab some coffee or a beer. Change starts here, right? Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-33299684747537515332015-01-23T07:39:00.001-08:002015-01-23T12:08:40.885-08:00The Internet might be trying to break up with me.Lately the Internet has been so passive aggressive.<br />
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Usually I say to the Interwebs, LYLAS. Or actually LYLAB since the Internet is masculine (naturally because he sucks at honestly expressing his feelings). But, lately it seems like he's mad at me. (But, of course, he won't come right out and tell me what I did to piss him off.)<br />
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Instead he's all, "Prove you're not a robot." (In a hateful voice. In places where it's clear he's mocking me - <em>like my own blog</em>.) Then when I'm all, "Dude, how long have we known each other? You <em>know </em>I'm not a robot." He's still all, "PROVE IT."<br />
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Also, lately he's constantly taunting me with, "Leave this page or stay on this page? You are not finished commenting yet." Even when I say, "Yes. Yes, I am done commenting. Let me leave." He insists that I'm not. He's become that friend who tries to know me better than I know myself. That friend that gives me unsolicited advice. Whattup?<br />
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He's kinda been that friend that ignores my texts, too. I'm all clicking "log on" and he's clearly all, "Not now," and "I don't think so," and "You really don't want to do this."<br />
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It's pissing me off. I want us to be like we used to be.<br />
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<br />Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-81166810557208944092015-01-20T17:01:00.000-08:002015-01-25T06:50:58.256-08:00I won a birthday, y'all!<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">I am editing this post because after you win something (including when I won a fully decorated one foot tall Christmas tree in Mexico in the sixth grade ((true story))) friends and relatives come out of the woodwork to claim they had something to do with your winning and why didn't you thank them and give them some of your birthday. Edited on 1-21-15 (pre-coffee).</span></em><br />
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So, it's my birthday. And, I don't have many friends because I'm socially awkward and an introvert, but when you are on Facebook and it's your birthday it's pretty easy to feel like the head of the cheerleading squad in high school. And by that I mean "a big deal." With all this popularity (and on the heels of the Grammys which I was awake to watch this year for the first time in........ever) comes the need to write an acceptance speech. <br />
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If that seems weird to you, I don't care. It's my birthday and I'll write an acceptance speech if I want to.<br />
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So, without further ado, my acceptance speech:<br />
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I would like to thank my parents for potty training me. Well, probably just my mom because I remember one time in first grade I wet my pants on the way home because it was about ten degrees below zero and I think your pee freezes right on to your skin when it's that cold and she yelled out the backdoor, "YOU BETTER NOT BE WETTING YOUR PANTS AGAIN, GIRL OR I WILL SPANK YOUR BUTT!" So, yes. I thank my mom for potty training me and sticking with it because apparently I did not like to "go at school" (I vaguely remember there being a curse word written in black Sharpie on the bathroom stall and that scared me). Potty training was definitely one step along the way to many a successful birthday party!<br />
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I would like to also thank my dad for having the decency to make me accept my first job at Baskin Robbins. It was there that I learned the importance of eating all the profits and the delightful sinfulness of eating all the profits............on your birthday.<br />
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I would like to thank my kids. Without them I would be able to vacation for less than $10,000. Which would totally degrade the value of a vacation for me. And if I did not value a vacation then the commercial where they say, <em>"One plane ticket - $650, one ticket to Disney - $400, one princess with a pirate - $8,000, two hotel rooms (one for you and one for your kids) - $2,000. The shock on your husband's face when he gets the bill - priceless,"</em> would mean absolutely nothing to me. I'm not sure what that has to do with birthdays, but after four kids I rarely make sense.<br />
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I would like to thank my entire staff (see above) who encouraged me to work in order to win this birthday "someday."<br />
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I would like to thank my older sister, Billy Jean, who I know is reading tonight from home because she couldn't fly down here to see me accept my birthday in person (see above for the cost of a plane ticket). Billy Jean - I love you. You taught me about negotiation, bribery, and maybe smuggling also? Was that you? Anyway! I couldn't have done all these flippin' birthdays without you!<br />
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I would be remiss (and apparently I was) if I did not mention the rest of my wonderful siblings. Without them I would be one of those weird people with only one sibling who share and cooperate barely better than only children.<br />
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I would like to thank my friends - real and virtual - for encouraging me to keep having birthdays and for feeding me cake and beer over the years. Particularly one friend who dressed me for the after-parties and who sent me this card which I think explains my life:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsK5hktCCHv9QsMzxG1sbUcV3HJkk7D31BxcZ5ieCZFlvAqVnDwSQzo1DjXv1X7oNlvsKYaBZiGEhyphenhyphen7IMPBJcGI3l3xwqZUgIWHWMjDGAEDxvQyzIsQ0hxFFB77zBjaKxEGuKvtaWaB84/s1600/10915232_10152724798973163_4075162096229578153_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsK5hktCCHv9QsMzxG1sbUcV3HJkk7D31BxcZ5ieCZFlvAqVnDwSQzo1DjXv1X7oNlvsKYaBZiGEhyphenhyphen7IMPBJcGI3l3xwqZUgIWHWMjDGAEDxvQyzIsQ0hxFFB77zBjaKxEGuKvtaWaB84/s1600/10915232_10152724798973163_4075162096229578153_n.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naturally it is Swiss cheese holding mine together so I am screwed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'd like to thank my ancestors, the Mayans, for inventing the calendar and birthdays. <br />
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And how could I forget my wonderful husband, Mr. DayInTheLife! If you hadn't discovered me and gone on to be my manager, we wouldn't have made all those movies.............wait............I'm sorry I got confused. This is my <em>birthday</em> acceptance speech. Sorry! Thanks Mr. DayInTheLife for all of my presents you are going to buy me.<br />
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And, lastly I'd like to thank God for sending me down here in my birthday suit. Although, I question why you didn't send me in flannel P.J.'s with matching bunny head slippers since I am much more comfortable in that.<br />
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If I forgot anyone else know that this is just like a chain email that says you will die in seven days if you don't get it. I'm sure I forgot people. I have a really bad memory. Forward it to people that you think I left out inadvertently! Then they will feel good and they won't die!<br />
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And, that's all. Again, this is such an honor and I will cherish this birthday forever!<br />
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<em>(Cue the birthday music.) (Me turning to exit the stage - the wrong way. Ladies who we don't know, but who all look like Vanna White gently guiding me by the elbow to the other direction. Why do they not just change the way people exit the stage? In fact, I am changing that $hit right now. Exit the way it feels natural after you accept your birthday.)</em><br />
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Happy Birthday, me! Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-28141655400062357902015-01-17T10:02:00.000-08:002015-01-17T10:02:18.551-08:00If I die, you guys can have my blog.So, I've been fairly busy playing a doctor the past few weeks. And a specialist at that. Put some initials behind my name (and pay me lots of money) because it's <em>exhausting</em>.<br />
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With considerable help from Mr. DayInTheLife, I've diagnosed myself with BPPV. (And "they" named it that to f*ck with people who have trouble pronouncing things - which may or may not be a symptom of the actual condition. Damn it). Or I may have had a stroke, or I may have Meniere's disease. (When you self-diagnose it's a crap shoot. But, it turns out when you pay lots of money to specialists it's a crap shoot, too.)<br />
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Regardless, I've decided to write it all down. If I <em>am</em> having a stroke this will be the first chapter of my yet untitled novel about my life after stroke. And if I am not having a stroke, this will just be another gratuitous blog post about nothing.<br />
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So, I woke up a few weeks ago and immediately face-planted into my dresser. This was quite unexpected and kind of unsettling. It may come as a surprise that I don't usually do this. I am quite clumsy, but I can normally maintain some semblance of balance (when not totally inebriated - which only happens at Christmas parties and other times when I invariably need to make a good impression). <br />
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If you've never experienced vertigo, it feels a little like being on a treadmill (presumably without the purported health benefits). I continued to experience dizziness (minus the blonde) and vomited immediately after drinking a cup of coffee (boo, hiss). I will spare you the medical minute by minute but I ended up at my doctor the next day.<br />
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It was determined (after a full check-up during which - thankfully - I did not have to remove my clothes and don one of those attractive gowns that don't fully close) that I had excessive wax build-up in my ears which may or may not be causing a feeling of imbalance. Sexy, I know. I had my ears plunged but alas I had wax directly on my ear drum and I was referred to an ENT.<br />
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I guess I should have said this may be more information than you will ever want to know about me. But, since my stats show that I am the only person reading this blog I figure I am quite safe exposing myself to myself.<br />
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I went to an ENT this past week. He vacuumed my ear with the world's tiniest vacuum. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvH7u228euWlC2Qk_HDUrs1kti3YEwr2Whl835VpRT8WMDQh5W3hSDjtUnIhYMDnRH-P1V6HjeamcvpiP_Yf6p7Ps23jJyIIz1Jspdmu7EJPhk2XPowdMz0vccpSDnA7KydUKsbSelI9Q/s1600/139202-Smallest-dog-living-(height)_Miracle-Milly-_Miracle-Milly-(57)_tcm25-18762.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvH7u228euWlC2Qk_HDUrs1kti3YEwr2Whl835VpRT8WMDQh5W3hSDjtUnIhYMDnRH-P1V6HjeamcvpiP_Yf6p7Ps23jJyIIz1Jspdmu7EJPhk2XPowdMz0vccpSDnA7KydUKsbSelI9Q/s1600/139202-Smallest-dog-living-(height)_Miracle-Milly-_Miracle-Milly-(57)_tcm25-18762.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo courtesty: <a href="http://metro.co.uk/">http://metro.co.uk</a>) No, it didn't look like this dog, "Milly" whose photo came up when I Googled 'world's tiniest vacuum.' But, I kinda wish it had?<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Then he gave me a hearing test. If you've never had a hearing test at the ENT, here's the thing about it: It makes you feel totally hard of hearing. <em>And just a little nuts</em>.<br />
<br />
So, you are in a sound proof room with a headset on. I'm not sure why, but this kind of made me feel like Buzz Lightyear. Then, you have to raise your hand when you hear a sound. <br />
<br />
What they don't tell you is that the sounds are not going to be like your kid calling you from upstairs. They are going to be sounds that only dogs (like Milly) can hear. So, it kind of turns into a Rorschach test for hearing. First if you're like me, you get incredibly distracted waiting for the test to start. Then, when it starts you immediately second guess yourself as to whether or not what you heard was a sound. Then, you begin to think you heard a sound when in fact there was no sound. Then you begin to think you are going completely mad. And deaf. It was almost as disarming as the vertigo itself.<br />
<br />
After I convinced myself that I was totally deaf and that was the root of my fact-planting, it was discovered (thankfully) that I have hearing within the normal range. <em>(Except for hearing hubby and my kids which I rarely do.)</em><br />
<br />
So, approximately one and half weeks after vertigo, I am still unbalanced (mentally and physically) and experiencing dizziness. The experts have charged me $173, removed the wax covering my ear drum, pronounced me "hearing", and told me they are not sure what caused my vertigo, they are not sure if it will reoccur, they are not sure if it will subside, and to take two aspirins and come back in a week if I do not feel better.<br />
<br />
<br />
Hubby and Google thankfully have been much more helpful. It seems I have something called BPPV although without further testing a brain tumor, stroke, and Meniere's Disease cannot be ruled out. Hubby is working on constructing a homemade MRI machine as I type. <br />
<br />
I'm not worried. I have four more days to feel better before I need to consult another "specialist." <br />
<br />
And, since I am so good at this, if you need a diagnosis, or hell, a prescription, give me a call. I'm currently accepting new patients. Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-20530134770979830792014-11-23T05:57:00.000-08:002014-11-23T05:57:08.642-08:00Thanksgiving Edition (in which I flip the bird)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHXlc-5cBptR_y5JLCVe4pJWMwkoSGEyVEt1dq_99y_Q_NXI7ObTJoB7Uog8AUfd-VbwJz5riIUAdRuqoCcgxldJwC0TzRMOF7aFT_9l9j5tpz3tbucO8IRwhOadttmmP1F5mw1grmMw/s1600/imagesAZAYQAIC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHXlc-5cBptR_y5JLCVe4pJWMwkoSGEyVEt1dq_99y_Q_NXI7ObTJoB7Uog8AUfd-VbwJz5riIUAdRuqoCcgxldJwC0TzRMOF7aFT_9l9j5tpz3tbucO8IRwhOadttmmP1F5mw1grmMw/s1600/imagesAZAYQAIC.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(photo credit: mattalltrades.blogspot.com.) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's like six days away from all of us sticking our hands up a bird's cavity at some ungodly hour in remembrance of Pilgrims and <strike>Indians</strike> Native Americans. Is it safe to say you guys are all past this advice: <em>Buy</em> the turkey, don't run into it? <em>Defrost</em> the turkey? Don't get salmonella? Make sure the oven's <em>on</em>?<br />
<br />
So, I decided since you guys clepped out of that drivel you might need some real tips to help take your Thanksgiving to the proverbial 'next level' (let's hope it's not the burning ring of hell level).<br />
<br />
<em>You're welcome.</em><br />
<br />
Here we go.<br />
<br />
1. Read <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kali-rogers/an-open-letter-from-introverts_b_6148550.html?ncid=fcbklnkushpmg00000046">this.</a> It has nothing to do with Thanksgiving, but I'm thinking of making it my About Me page. <br />
<br />
2. Thanksgiving is stressful, but it <em>pales in comparison</em> to the next 30 days. So, instead of those name plates from paper you wove yourself, give everyone a shiny party blower and some fireworks. It's kinda like the last day of summer (except you might not want to wear a bathing suit).<br />
<br />
3. And don't wear a costume either. It confuses your guests.<br />
<br />
4. I'm an introvert (see #1). But, damn it if like four of the five people in my inner circle have birthdays near Thanksgiving. Sucks for them because they get Turkey Surprise! for their birthday dinner and their presents all come wrapped for Christmas. Try to avoid making friends with these people.<br />
<br />
5. Don't eat turkey before Thanksgiving. I recommend leaving approximately 364 days in between the times you eat turkey.<br />
<br />
6. Become a vegetarian and go gluten free right before Thanksgiving. This will annoy the crap out of everyone you know thereby greatly relieving your stress. You will have no family and friends left to dine with on the big day.<br />
<br />
7. When you cook the bird, flip it. I did this completely by accident about 20 years ago. It was my first turkey (I think I can tell you that, right?) and I had no idea what kind of protection to use, where to put my hands, what went in where, or which way was up. Everyone raved at how smart I was because the breast? thigh? wing? testicles? came out so juicy and moist because they were left to simmer in their own juices. (I have no idea what I'm talking about, but it sounds like we're ready for #8.)<br />
<br />
8. Any mistake can be covered up with a "delicious gravy." (This tip I actually stole from NPR.) <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTkuFwLk74oklV7_jg0y_UrS2CwUwlmrukJGgjwtx4jMlN2iXkeeuBI8M2YgZlIyM20i7thd3xGbsO3pFtOfwnrV_VG3mhxyBXbGpmd-pPzqTD_KWOmkj6LC6yYPexouAUxk5TnfXH2I/s1600/untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTTkuFwLk74oklV7_jg0y_UrS2CwUwlmrukJGgjwtx4jMlN2iXkeeuBI8M2YgZlIyM20i7thd3xGbsO3pFtOfwnrV_VG3mhxyBXbGpmd-pPzqTD_KWOmkj6LC6yYPexouAUxk5TnfXH2I/s1600/untitled.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what "delicious gravy" looks like. I think you can find it on aisle 10.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Author's Note: Turns out this isn't <em>entirely</em> true. "Delicious gravy" does not <a href="http://monica-adayinthelife.blogspot.com/2014/10/my-first-call-from-prison-will-be-to.html">remove gum from the dryer.</a><br />
<br />
9. Hubby knows a little rhyming joke about pumpkin pie (circa The Bible - or when he was in middle school). As much as I cringe when I hear the joke I cannot get it out of my mind and it goes without saying that I cannot eat pumpkin pie. Unless there is a lot of whip cream. Or <em>just</em> whip cream. Straight from the can into my mouth. And a shot for my coffee.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsuVcyIbLyuY-Wr_6YgJCJ58PSOFjG8OIJ3GqMcKF3ZdQhPRH5Ky6AV3-KRIRudU_6zHvEEsevyvkbJno-CUppVvi8EdCzedjzdTplMYMxslEj2u5ApTHV9wp278waKY8CXS6oepAzXw/s1600/images57T6ED59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOsuVcyIbLyuY-Wr_6YgJCJ58PSOFjG8OIJ3GqMcKF3ZdQhPRH5Ky6AV3-KRIRudU_6zHvEEsevyvkbJno-CUppVvi8EdCzedjzdTplMYMxslEj2u5ApTHV9wp278waKY8CXS6oepAzXw/s1600/images57T6ED59.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(photo credit: gumblestump.com) That's about right.</td></tr>
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10. Alcohol. If possible start drinking it right after your first pot of coffee (which will be at about 5 in the morning if you are cooking a 20 pound bird and want to eat while you are still upright).<br />
<br />
11. If you need a new foundation (or I would venture to say any home repair costing more than a grand), consider frying your turkey.<br />
<br />
12. If you have kids, you may need to brush up on Sqanto and the Wampanogs, so you can appropriately discuss this at the dinner table (you might want to follow that with The Trail of Tears just so that everyone is sufficiently depressed and so that there is an edge of reality to your history). (<em>Hint</em>: Wampanog is not a verb as in: I'm gonna wampanog your a$$ if you don't make your bed.)<br />
<br />
14. Just in case there is not enough tryptophan in your turkey this year, I recommend crushing up sleeping pills in the stuffing. This will ensure you can watch Not Football on TV. <br />
<br />
15. This came from NPR, too: When all else fails there is always The Google. I've used this search before 'Restaurants open on Thanksgiving this year.'<br />
<br />
Have a good one and I'll save you a piece of pie (or the whole pie).Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-25486833089619267622014-11-05T14:56:00.002-08:002014-11-05T14:58:40.400-08:00Dear hackers: You're gonna need to build a taller wall.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietu-RF7Hjng1AyhOjLbTUfpYyj3_PrnRzex02yb6qNQauAZtMrU3mfxwT2EZLmRkRnEwIzsx-wSEUL9dtHDS56UBQar-nkfV-RPpMwV_FVUkVoUYDuNOaJaNjHuOxfgv7-cLIF1FjBOs/s1600/55980720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEietu-RF7Hjng1AyhOjLbTUfpYyj3_PrnRzex02yb6qNQauAZtMrU3mfxwT2EZLmRkRnEwIzsx-wSEUL9dtHDS56UBQar-nkfV-RPpMwV_FVUkVoUYDuNOaJaNjHuOxfgv7-cLIF1FjBOs/s1600/55980720.jpg" height="219" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Someone once said (it may have been <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Handey">Jack Handey</a>), "Your valleys will be as low as your mountains are high." And I immediately wanted to vomit in my mouth. Until a few days ago.<br />
<br />
When I found out (<em>damn it</em>) - it's true.<br />
<br />
Sunday night I started to do paperwork for my job and found that I couldn't open a few of my files. When I was finally able to open a few files - <em>they were in Japanese</em> (or something that looked like my six year old wrote it) (and, ironically, some six year old hacker in Russia probably did write it). <br />
<br />
I did what I often do when faced with an alarming problem that might eventually destroy my entire family, I casually mentioned it to hubby and tried my best to ignore it.<br />
<br />
Monday morning my laptop became possessed. And by 'possessed' I mean it acted as if someone else (let's call him The Devil) was controlling it. I would press 'enter' and my trusty laptop would scroll to the top of the page. I would press the scroll button and I'd end up on another site. And all kinds of unsavory pop-ups asking me to buy enhancers were popping up. <br />
<br />
<em>But</em>, I had my oil to change, prints to complete, 27 loads of laundry to do, and basically everything that should have been done the previous three days because, um - Halloween. So, again I reverted back to hubby. He was incredibly patient with me while asking me a series of questions:<br />
<br />
Is your computer plugged in?<br />
Is your Maleware turned on?<br />
Have you backed up your files recently?<br />
Do you have spyware?<br />
Have you recently scanned and deleted unnecessary files?<br />
When was the last time you did a complete scan?<br />
<em>Did you send money to long-lost relatives in Africa who were in trouble???</em><br />
<br />
I answered his questions to the best of my ability and then he sullenly pronounced me with an irreparable virus.<br />
<br />
My response was something like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVBN-Q94KcdQbsgEGnSdPpwbRcV-EmZYXofh8FLYr6CGSGrLBdFXmGcB11gUcCINk_TkDQ4QCkSArBJRkVLEXsPMVFBcWqzN8MMjHahriamqvOThvUia5GrKzTvcXcthqNaZ0bNy2R5c/s1600/gif+ellen+degeneres.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVBN-Q94KcdQbsgEGnSdPpwbRcV-EmZYXofh8FLYr6CGSGrLBdFXmGcB11gUcCINk_TkDQ4QCkSArBJRkVLEXsPMVFBcWqzN8MMjHahriamqvOThvUia5GrKzTvcXcthqNaZ0bNy2R5c/s1600/gif+ellen+degeneres.gif" /></a></div>
<br />
And then:<br />
<br />
<strong><em>How could this have happened? I was using protection? Sometimes double protection. (And - just FYI - my pleasure was not diminished by double protection.) Are you sure? Is it possible the files are just temporarily corrupted? Shouldn't there be a record of them somewhere? Y'know like how the Interweb knows what color underwear I'm wearing? Shouldn't they also know what all my files look like? AGAIN, HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED??? I never opened any emails from people telling me about my inheritance!!! I SWEAR.</em></strong><br />
<br />
Calmly and patiently hubby told me how to go about "fixing" what had happened to the best of his knowledge.<br />
<br />
This took quite a bit of time.<br />
<br />
It was ugly.<br />
<br />
Monday I got the ransom note from the hackers when I was attempting to delete infected files. <br />
<br />
The ransom note basically said: We have your files. If you ever want to see them again in their unaltered form you will need to pay us one million Bitcoins (which in case you don't know is a form of currency similar to Monopoly money that people who fancy themselves to be those blue and pink little plastic people use to basically terrorize normal people) (one million Bitcoins is roughly equivalent to 500 U.S. dollars - although its value changes daily in accordance to astrological signs).<br />
<br />
It was creepy and scary and naturally I wanted to call the police.<br />
<br />
Instead I asked hubby: Isn't this illegal??? Can't we sue these people and put them in jail???<br />
<br />
Hubby patiently said: Yes, this is illegal, but let's not involve the police. Let's use the Google and find out what we can do. <br />
<br />
The next 48 hours were spent learning everything we could have ever wanted to know about a little virus called CryptoWall 2.0. It's a nasty thing. It's main symptoms are: runny nose, fever, body aches. No, wait. That's Ebola (also a nasty little thing). Crypto King's main symptoms are: encrypted files, explicit pop-up messages (which albeit interesting - do get annoying), random possession of the keyboard, and basically the Devil on your shoulder.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sidenote: If you are (not even remotely) a techie, using the Google to research a computer virus is a little like going to a party where everyone is dressed up in Star Wars costumes (except you) and speaking a language where you understand every fifth word. At this party you are not sure what you are supposed to be doing, so you just kind of stumble forward while everyone else is dancing wildly with abandon, having a great time, and drinking this purple juice. You come home from the party with a bad headache feeling like you drank way too much even though you are thirsty. You go to sleep and have nightmares about going to a party where everyone is dressed up in Star Wars costumes except you..........................................<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm6_TD70YMLNzO9LWUnnRYgLcoHLOUMM1CZSGtAkZwyYDrWG7rsXFJvdkgJaxBB0_Yit90_77jbCkacAWHPNRqoXuwqCFoMdyQBU2uWRk-SON6T9YEhh3IxPOtpkiJZmyiKzTpHSpJVX4/s1600/star+wars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm6_TD70YMLNzO9LWUnnRYgLcoHLOUMM1CZSGtAkZwyYDrWG7rsXFJvdkgJaxBB0_Yit90_77jbCkacAWHPNRqoXuwqCFoMdyQBU2uWRk-SON6T9YEhh3IxPOtpkiJZmyiKzTpHSpJVX4/s1600/star+wars.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong>I will lead you to the decryptor.</strong></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
End of the story? Roughly 48 hours later?<br />
<br />
I lost <em>everything</em> important to my actual work while all my files <em>like this one</em>: What's For Dinner? (which included 31 Very Important dinner ideas) remained uncorrupted (<em>of course</em>).<br />
<br />
I had not backed up my files in about a year. <br />
<br />
I know you are sitting there smugly reading this (if anyone is actually reading this) thinking, "Ms. Dayinthelife - WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? You don't back up your files? What century do you live in? You should have a calendar and a strict schedule for precisely these types of activities!"<br />
<br />
What can I say? Backing up my files is like cleaning the fridge for me. The last time I cleaned the fridge someone had <em>dropped a jar of pickles inside of it. </em> <br />
<br />
I have no defense. I hide my head in shame. <em>But</em>, I did learn some important life lessons.<br />
<br />
<strong>Lessons learned</strong><br />
<br />
1. When in trouble it's not always necessary to call the police. Instead consult the Google.<br />
2. Hackers are the parasites of humanity.<br />
3. Parasites are very, very smart.<br />
4. Back up your files and then back them up again in case your back up gets a virus. In fact, there can never be too many back ups.<br />
5. Do this regularly.<br />
6. Ditto for protection. You can never have too much protection. Sometimes you need so much protection that you will never be able to just have good 'ole irresponsible fun.<br />
7. When all is said and done, this is a First World Problem. There are people starving in the world who don't even have laptops. And in that respect I am thankful to just have been hacked and not starved.<br />
8. I will and have survived fairly intact. My computer has been set back to Factory Settings (Google it - it's basically like when you shot out of your mom's womb). I am resilient.<br />
9. I believe what hubby says. He and I - we are Mexi<em>cans</em> not Mexi<em>can'ts</em>.<br />
10. And last but not least, I believe the other thing hubby has told me: It takes a lot to stop a Mexican. Hackers will need to build a taller wall to stop us. Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-23617819525676541802014-10-31T05:37:00.002-07:002014-10-31T05:37:38.760-07:00My first call from prison will be to you. Count on it.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7G4nJ3ZGSVhFRZXoHjKn0YIUdiZCMUTBU8Le19hMRBh5EkMxKC_Yoo5OMHr3f4lM15aRzIrM-u00DpTDMUV8DVGfw0JGOP15rOa-Ukn5SPyTf6hZ-ntow6zB1wcMaoMAMXriXwy1EZdc/s1600/3237031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7G4nJ3ZGSVhFRZXoHjKn0YIUdiZCMUTBU8Le19hMRBh5EkMxKC_Yoo5OMHr3f4lM15aRzIrM-u00DpTDMUV8DVGfw0JGOP15rOa-Ukn5SPyTf6hZ-ntow6zB1wcMaoMAMXriXwy1EZdc/s1600/3237031.jpg" height="258" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
It would be bad if a family member put an entire pack of gum through the washer and the dryer.<br />
<br />
But, it would be worse if you were in a hurry to get your girls to school when you discovered said incident had occurred and you had to rush out and couldn't quite manage damage control then.<br />
<br />
It would be bad if you didn't have time to attempt to clean the dryer, but you did have five seconds to quickly run the Vitamix so that it would be easier to clean later, but you didn't quite get the top on securely and the soapy/smoothie water sprayed all over your shirt.<br />
<br />
But, it would be worse if you didn't quite have the two minutes it took to change your shirt.<br />
<br />
It would be bad if while you were gone your dog (who recently developed a common? hankering for chewing gum) discovered that an entire pack of gum had gone through the laundry and there was still some scent of the gum on the clothes and so he decided to drag all the clothes out of the clothes basket searching for the clothes that still had particles of gum on them.<br />
<br />
But, it would be worse if he <em>found the clothes with gummy bits on them</em> and chewed them to a point so unrecognizable that when you rushed in fifteen minutes later because you forgot to put the frozen smoothie items back in the freezer you thought you'd been robbed and somehow the robber threw up while robbing your house.<br />
<br />
It would be bad if all this had happened and nothing else happened all the rest of the day while you were at work.<br />
<br />
But, it would be worse if your husband helped you with the laundry - something he's not done in approximately 20 years - while you were at work and dried <em>another load of laundry</em> in the gummed up dryer.<br />
<br />
It would be bad if all of this happened today.<br />
<br />
But, it would be worse if I decided to just clean it all with Goo Gone because Goo Gone is flammable and could potentially catch the dryer on fire and burn down the whole house.<br />
<br />
But, I'm pretty sure we need a new foundation for our house, so it might <i>not</i> be worse?<br />
<br />
It might be <em>really, really smart?</em>Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-49357543441280426832014-10-28T16:33:00.003-07:002014-10-28T16:33:58.979-07:00This-I$whysometimesI_hateToday there was a phone message in a cheery robotic voice on my answering machine (remember those?) that said (paraphrased), "Hi, Ms. Dayinthelife! It's Your Phone Company! We just wanted to let you know that you have a bill due in a few days. You can pay online, pay by mail, or pay by phone. Just don't pay it late!"<br />
<br />
I was almost happy when I thought, "Thanks, Phone Company! Let me find that bill I owe right here in the pile of 1,000 other bills I owe!"<br />
<br />
I checked my pile of bills and found a bill from said phone company for $.10 (no, that's not a typo - I owed ten cents). (I won't even address how ridiculous a ten cent bill is in this post because there is already enough rage here.) <br />
<br />
Now, I usually pay my bills by mail (yes, probably my 97 year old father and I are the last people in the free world that still do that), but I think stamps are now like $1.47 each so I decided I would hop online while my ground beef was browning and take care of it online.<br />
<br />
Here's how that went.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me</strong>: Hopped online.<br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's website</strong>: What do you want to do online today? Change your service? Add a line? Disconnect your cable? Schedule a service? Cancel a service? Postpone a service? Order a pizza?<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> <em>Searched for Pay My Bill.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> <em>Typed in the Search Box - Pay My Bill</em>.<br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's website:</strong> I'm sorry nothing matches your request.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> Great! I won't pay my bill.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> <em>Searched again for how to pay my g*d d*mn bill. Clicked on Billing and Payments. Ah. Thought, "Finally and good because my ground beef is almost browned."</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's website:</strong> Please enter your Phone Company login and password.<br />
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<strong>Me:</strong> Cheesus Christ. Login? Password? Where is my login book? In the flippin' car. Where someone could steal it and know all my passwords. Note to self: Take password book out of car. <em>Clicked - Help with login and password.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's website:</strong> Type in your email and we will send help to your email within five minutes. Just check your email.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> Perfect! I'll have this wrapped up soon.<br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's email:</strong> Your login is your email.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> OHMYGOD. Why didn't they just say that? The meat is done and I need to put the pasta on now for the love of all that is human. Okay. Login done. Password? <em>Clicked on - password help.</em><br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's website</strong>: Help with your password will be sent to your email within five minutes.<br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's email:</strong> Type in your login and click reset your password.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> AREYOUSERIOUS? <br />
<br />
<em>Spent the next two minutes logging in and resetting my password.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Clicked on PAY BILL (and felt quite smug).</em><br />
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<strong>Phone company's website:</strong> Type in your account number.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> (Smugly) typed in my account number.<br />
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<strong>Phone company's website:</strong> It appears your account number does not match your login and password information. Please click here.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> JESUSF8C97CHR*ST. ISTHISFORREAL??? I ONLY OWE TEN FREAKING CENTS!!!<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> Okay. Clicking here. <br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's website:</strong> Hello, Mr. Dayinthelife. Please answer your two preset security questions.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> WHAT??? MR. DAYINTHELIFE??? NO WONDER THIS IS SO MESSED UP! HE NEVER PAYS BILLS WHY DOES HE HAVE SECURITY QUESTIONS??? It's a mother loving PHONE for God's sake. NOT NATIONAL SECURITY.<br />
<br />
<strong>Phone company's website:</strong> Question #1: What size shoe did you wear in second grade? Question #2: When your first pet fish died, how did you dispose of the body?<br />
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<strong>Me:</strong> I'll take dead body for TEN CENTS.<br />
<br />
<em>Spent next two minutes successfully hacking into hubby's security questions for his secure PHONE COMPANY FREAKING LOGIN.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<strong>Phone company's website: </strong>You will need to set a password for your secondary phone company login. This password cannot be the same as your main phone company login and can only contain letters, numbers, hyphens and underscores.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> Perfect. I know just what my password will be.<br />
<br />
<em>For the next 10 minutes I typed every conceivable password I could beginning with IhatePhoneCompany_- and ending with YOUSUCKLIKEAHOOVER. </em><br />
<em></em><br />
Every single flippin' one ended with this error message: There has been an error in your password. Please read the terms and conditions of passwords and try again.<br />
<br />
<strong>Me:</strong> <strong>IS THERE SOMEONE ON THE OTHER END WHO HATES ME???</strong> <br />
<br />
After 10 minutes of being utterly and completely defeated by the password administrator I clicked "cancel" and "log out." After loudly cursing the phone company with every word I know, I picked up the phone. I called the number on the bill, talked to a robotic female (I think the very same one who left a message on my machine saying that I better pay my 10 cents) and paid my ten cent bill in about five minutes.<br />
<br />
I was filled with rage, my dinner was burned, but I can rest assured that I was not late in paying my (ten cent) bill. <br />
<br />
Thanks, Phone Company for the friendly heads up!Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6508414439548446424.post-34723996230316834012014-08-17T09:21:00.001-07:002014-08-17T09:21:23.909-07:00Memory Making 2014 (in which I do math).So, recently I have been learning that you need an advanced college degree and a year to do nothing but plan in order to successfully get a family of six to Disneyworld.<br />
<br />
We recently made our annual trip to a smaller scale amusement park (and by smaller scale I mean: no college degree needed and - I can imagine - slightly less gleaming restrooms?) and although I would do it again (in approximately 360 days) I think a time allowance chart for less experienced parents on par with the Disneyworld planning blogs might be helpful.<br />
<br />
I wanted to make you guys a pie graph (blueberry?) for this post, but I got too distracted with colors and accurate percentages and I was afraid that before I knew it my oldest would be filling out college applications and hubby would be asking me (again), "<em>What are you doing</em>?" <br />
<br />
<strong>Amusement Park Trip Time Breakdowns (approximate) For a Family of Six's Ten Hour Day </strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
1. 20% - walking around lost because everyone is too excited and then too hot to look at the map.<br />
2. 20% - waiting for all the rides to open because you get there at Opening Time because you think logically it's the time the <em>rides open</em>. <br />
3. 50% - explaining that your admission ticket does not cover the cost of all the carny games that actually open at Opening Time and that there isn't<em> really</em> a "Winner every time!"<br />
4. 60% - waiting in line for drinks because you waited until August to go and it's 106 degrees outside with 117% humidity.<br />
5. 60% - waiting in line for bathrooms (see #4).<br />
6. 20% - yelling at kids not to touch anything in the bathroom.<br />
7. 40% - touching things in the public bathrooms (this applies to kids under 5 who you've told not to touch anything see #6).<br />
8. 60% - in line for rides because of all the people using the Flash Pass.<br />
9. 40% - explaining to four kids that yes, the rules are different for people with more money. They don't have to wait in line with The Other People at amusement parks. <br />
10. 20% - applying sunscreen.<br />
11. 40% - examining all the nuts and bolts on the two rides you convince yourself to go on.<br />
12. 75% - praying your kids don't get their bathing suits stuck up their rears requiring surgical removal from the ride they continue going on which they proclaim loudly and enthusiastically gives them "<strong>a major wedgie</strong>".<br />
13. 95% - in line for a funnel cake on the way out the door (right behind the approximately 1005 people who had the same idea).<br />
14. 2% - inhaling said funnel cake with five other people.<br />
15. 50% - talking about where to buy a funnel cake maker and what exactly is in a funnel cake that makes it so good. <br />
16. 50% - exclaiming repeatedly how that funnel cake is the best use of $10 since you bought two Frappuccino's in a row.<br />
17. 20% - proclaiming earth shattering sentences that start with, "When we come next year..."<br />
18. 20% - proclaiming equally earth shattering sentences that start with, "Remember last year..."<br />
19. 100% - enjoying the heck out of the last days of summer.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmsdkdQwkbx-ZJELdhME0Byh0a7qNMd0qzmYPQW9yKV2_DWMsHRMdLE5LsS8-Y-5adzV2q_y3fsiUmn6XHWwYYkqmLeGmOioi-4g__3qqvY-VuIuB3moBTWtqvAXiO8ZHNfx5Cr2g6bqA/s1600/IMAG2496.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmsdkdQwkbx-ZJELdhME0Byh0a7qNMd0qzmYPQW9yKV2_DWMsHRMdLE5LsS8-Y-5adzV2q_y3fsiUmn6XHWwYYkqmLeGmOioi-4g__3qqvY-VuIuB3moBTWtqvAXiO8ZHNfx5Cr2g6bqA/s1600/IMAG2496.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No danger of <a href="http://monica-adayinthelife.blogspot.com/2014/08/its-either-writers-block-or-menopause.html">lost bottoms</a> or a wedgie. And? When I go next year I'm wearing the same red suit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Monicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00015313115711205106noreply@blogger.com3