Like Marie Antoinette

19 Apr


Allie is 8 now, and the importance of giving her an educated version of recent tragedy is pretty prevalent. If you fail to properly educate your kids about events, they hear the weirdest version at school. I would much rather have a talk with her about something than deal with the strange and recycled version received at school after swapped through various tiny mouths, like a bad game of telephone.

So Allie and I had the Boston marathon talk. She looked sad, and then she looked angry. And then she looked at me, very matter of fact and said, “You know what they should do to those people? Probably arrest them and do what happened to Marie Antoinette. Off with their heads.” I think she will be sorely disappointed to find out that the guillotine is not a current method of punishment in the United States.

This would probably be a good place to be all, “Hey girl, what’s with the urge to behead people?”  But I pick my battles and today the guillotine isn’t one, especially since she just washed a load of laundry by herself.  Not to mention, the chances of her becoming a revolutionary is already pretty much 50/50, because she wakes up ready to stop around about some sort of injustice on a daily basis.

I hope you enjoy your children as much as I enjoy Allie.  I also hope you find a way to explain things to them that means they aren’t learning them on the school bus. I’m pretty sure the only useful thing I learned on the school bus was how to properly launch an egg at someone’s house, and that isn’t the most practical of things.


Allie on Scents and Feather Boas

14 Apr


While prancing through the store yesterday, Allie stops in her tracks and points to Bugles, “those are so gross. They disgust me. They taste bad, AND they smell worse than feet.”

Me, “I agree. Bugles probably have one of the grossest scents on earth. The smell of bugles could truly make me vomit.”

Allie scoffs, “Worst smell on earth? Clearly, you’ve never smelled diarrhea.”

Me, “Allie, ladies don’t talk about diarrhea, and if they have to, they don’t discuss it in a public place.”

She rolls her eyes then looks at the floor for a moment, quietly calculating if she wants to go on with the conversation or buy into the business of being a lady.

Finally, she looks up at me with a near regal facial expression and wraps an arm around my waist while leaning in to walk side by side down the aisles with me in the style of Siamese twins, “How about Rootbeer? It has a very interesting smell. It’s like you can smell it fizzing.”

She is so spot on sometimes. I love being Allie’s mom, even when it means she stops me in a craft store so that she can bury her body in feather boas because she claims it is, “the perfect opportunity for a photograph.” And it was.

Figure It Out: School Pick Up Line

11 Apr


If I take into account that most people are obligated in some form or fashion to follow the calendar, I’m guessing that most people know it is April. That said, Allie’s school began back in early August. She has attended the school for 3 years now, and while every year the child drop off/pick up process changes location with each grade, the process is essentially the same.

You have a pass with your child’s number on it. You hang it from your rearview mirror, or you attach it to your windshield with scotch/duct tape like a total junkie. Then, you follow the assigned line to pick up your child. It’s pretty simple. You pull your car into the line of cars. You wait on your child until it is your turn to pull up and get them. It’s really a painless process that has been well thought out by school officials. At most, the process has only ever taken 10-15 minutes.

Anyway, it is April, and it seems that some people still haven’t mastered the parent pick up line. They have had since August to figure out that all you have to do is to get in line with the pick-up pass placed in a visible spot. But no. At any given moment, a redneck car will randomly pull out in front of you in spite of the fact that you are both hauling around children, or try to cut line. Cutting line is pretty obvious when:


b) The cars you are trying to squeeze between are roughly one foot apart.

c) The average car is 15-17ft long, which provided you aren’t Ray Charles or Helen Keller, is pretty easy to notice.

A Volkswagen Beetle could not slyly sneak in the line; in fact, a Japanese beetle probably couldn’t sneak into the line. Also: it is a line! And I was under the impression most people picking up children were adults that could follow general principles of decent human behavior like waiting your turn or not charging at a car with a freshly retrieved from school child. But I was wrong, because at least once a week a car pulls out in front of me or nearly side swipes me.

Ugh. Anyway, it may be time to give up hope for those haven’t figured out the process, because if you haven’t figured out how to follow a simple process by now, it is probably never happening.

(Also, while I have publicly admitted my car is a disaster, I still refuse to tape a piece of paper to my windshield.)

(And I know the above picture has nothing to do with the writing, but I think Allie is pretty.)

Get Your Act Together.

10 Apr

Sometimes I think I have my act together. Then I do something like get into my car and get slapped in the face by the reality that is the dump lurking in my car. So in the event that anyone, including myself, was under the impression that I have found the key to doing it all and am using that key to unlock doors with the passion of a matador (ha!); here a few reasons why I am a hot mess:

  • The cup holders in my car are usually always full since I always have a beverage with me. Sometimes this means that when I go through a drive-thru to procure coffee or a new beverage, I have to empty all of the liquid out of a current cup in my car and dispose of it in an Oscar the Grouch car trash can that I bought 12 years ago. It’s been in every car I’ve ever owned. Obviously I have to pour the liquid out with my arm hanging out the window like a total redneck. Also, most of the beverages are 32 oz, which I think means that I could never live in New York City.
  • I moved into the house I live in about a year ago. Just this week I unpacked the last box from moving in, not just one box, but probably 10-12 boxes full of pure junk, which I mostly discarded in the garbage where it belonged. Some of it I put into a pile claiming I would have a yard sale that is probably never happening.
  • I claimed I was going to start a diet yesterday and then I had pasta and fundip for lunch when I was supposed to go running. It was watermelon Fundip, if you were wondering.
  • I finally gave in and watched the video of Miley Cyrus twerking in a unicorn costume. I watched her on Chelsea Lately not too long ago and liked her. Ugh, the shame. I’m not even ready to deal emotionally with the fact that I think Miley Cyrus is funny.
  • Chelsea Handler is probably my favorite celebrity.
  • Now that flipflop weather is officially here, I washed and mated every dirty sock in my house with the help of my sweet boyfriend. He only stopped once to tell me that Esprit sounded like a brand of electronic cigarette, not socks, and that he never pictured himself folding socks during the NCAA basketball championship. I love him, not just because he helps me mate socks and folds them in some weird little army fold that looks way neater than the socks I fold.
  • I’m caught up on all of the pop culture news I’ve missed out on the past few months, but I’m still slightly behind on actual important news of the world that has an impact on my life.
  • I spent all day Monday listening to Billboard Top Hits of 2003 and danced some to Ignition Remix while sweeping my kitchen and thinking about all of Aziz Ansari’s R.Kelly impression.
  • One day Britney Spears started following me on Twitter, and I felt special. Then I laughed at myself.
  • I drank 24 oz of Diet Coke today, which is kind of a total jerk thing to do.
  • I was supposed to listen to a third Cardiovascular lecture today, and midway through I felt like my booty was numb, so I quit and decided to walk around my house. Then, I texted all of my friends in my study-text group, who actually were studying, pictures gangrenous testicles.
  • I was supposed to put Allie’s favorite dinner in the crockpot this morning, and I forgot like a total loser. She asks for very little. #MomFail.

Detriments of COPS Reloaded

4 Apr

I’ve been watching a lot of COPS Reloaded lately.  That’s definitely not anything I ever thought I would say, let alone begin a discussion with. It’s really the kind of thing I should be embarrassed about, but enjoy so much that I am unable to comprehend or even slightly embrace the shame that should be associated with such a pleasure.  There’s just something about observing idiots running on foot from law enforcement, and when caught, claiming that it was for absolutely no reason.  They just tend to take a brisk jog when the blue lights and sirens begin working.  Don’t we all?

Anyway,  last night I found myself asking Austin if he minded if we watched “just one episode” of COPS before bed.  He laughed but kindly obliged. On said episode, I began to empathize with what I convinced myself was an innocent young man running on foot from cops who were chasing him with a car for no good reason.  Obviously he was really bright with lots of potential and didn’t need the additional pressure that is brought on by being chased by a car.

When caught, he was wearing the big, saggy sort of jeans that  when observed you can’t decide if they are the gangster version of capri pants or if the person is just preparing for a flood with super short jeans.  The pockets of his jeans,capris, and/or shorts were cleaned out and among the contents were multiple packs of Kool-Aid.


“How neat!, ” I said, wanting to believe that he was simply creative about the transportation and purchasing of beverages.   “He just carries around Kool-Aid.  Maybe he’s cheap.  He’s like those little old women who go into restaurants and ask for water and lemons to make lemonade.  Only he asks for water and uses the sugar packets to make his own Kool-Aid.”

Austin, while looking at me like I may be slightly sheltered, “I’m pretty sure he’s just actually storing drugs in the Kool-Aid packets.”

I gasped and continued to pull for  televised, gangster friend. In fact, I stayed faithful right up until the Kool-Aid tested positive as cocaine.  Then I accepted that perhaps my empathy the derelicts on cops was a bit ridiculous.

At the end of the episode, I think what I remained most puzzled about is why that young man didn’t buy new pants that fit if he was bringing in all that cash money slinging Kool-Aid packs full of cocaine. Someone should obviously educate him about the merits of nice denim.

Head Shavin’ Kind of Crazy

2 Apr

I’ve made the executive decision, as my own personal executive mind you, that if I make it through the next few months without going Britney Spears style head shavin’ crazy from stress or something that screams lunatic in some equal manner, I will reward myself with something strange I have always wanted like a pink El Camino or a crushed ice machine. (Finely crushed ice and not that crap refrigerators spit out and try to pass off as crushed. Ugh.)

I have my second of two 225 question tests of the week to take tomorrow. Just as I was settling into bed and thinking about how badly I needed a good night’s sleep after listening to 8.5 straight hours of lectures with minimum break time, Allie’s day of coughing turned into a night of vomiting. I began cleaning puke and consoling her while also thinking about how asking how a week could get more frustrating only seems to result in that actually happening. So perhaps I should stop. I usually know better than to question the inevitable but sometimes the optimist in me plays hooky.

I’m sure everything will end up being fine. But there is nothing like an extraordinary amount of self-imposed pressure to induce a head spinning sort of dizzy and frustration.

Also, there exists the guilt of focusing and worrying about your test as your child has the pukes and feels like yesterday’s garbage while vomiting up the evening’s dinner. I guess my point, really, is that part of me sort of wishes I was half of a Siamese twin so that I had an extra set of arms and even another brain to use. There just aren’t enough arms to console a sick baby.

It’s times like these that I wish my Mom lived closer than Florida so that I had some back up arms or at least someone to make fun of me for having to scrub up vomit. Because if you are palm deep in puke, you need someone to make you laugh.

It could be worse: I could still be wearing weird outfits like this throwback from cheerleading camp11 years ago.


Laugh Worthy Wednesday

27 Mar


Allie never gives me the silent treatment, but if she did, I feel she may leave a note of this nature.


This makes me laugh every.single.time.


So helpless!


My boyfriend got slaughtered in Ruzzle, and I made a freak high score in one of the rounds.

20130326-235853.jpgThe summary of most of my nights.

(Most of these pictures were taken from Pinterest.  Only the Ruzzle one is mine.)

48 Days

17 Mar


It’s 48 days until graduation.   Counting down to graduation used to be somewhat reassuring.   The past two years of my life have basically felt as if they were either in very high or very low speed, switching speedily from one to the other with no warning, completely consumed with PA school.  Whether I was going to class all day or working for free all day, I would come home at the end of each day, throw in some laundry, consider doing dishes (I hate dishes), pick up a little, read with Allie, make something that resembles dinner, and after she goes to bed, complete homework for the day and study again.  At some point, I went to the grocery store. At least I think I did, because where else would I get all of the coffee I mainlined.   There were days where I picked Allie up from gymnastics, ballet, hip-hop, and  even school if I got out early enough. One semester I even coached a team of cheerleaders for a youth football league, and I would teach them cheers involving spelling B-E-A-R-S while thinking in my head about atrial fibrillation or GI medications. I even maintain a happy relationship with my boyfriend. Most days I was in tune with the hustle and bustle, I was just used to it, because it was my life.   When your life is one event after the other with minimal rest and maximum speed, it’s just something you adjust to and really don’t think twice about.

But to be honest, there are some days I have felt almost as if I was drowning in obligations and activities while hoping that maybe, just maybe, I may grow extra limbs, don a super woman cape, and finish everything I started in one piece.  Mostly, I would finish everything for the day and feel like I had barely slid through a meat grinder, but I would be happy.  A key to surviving a crazy life is being above recognizing the insanity, because as soon as you acknowledge the quick sand, you will start to sink.

It’s not really that I’ve ever expected anyone to give me a trophy for being a single mother in graduate school with a minimal amount of family around to help me (and they would help, if I asked.)  I never think about it that way.  I just think of my life simply that.  My life.  It’s what I do, and it’s what I have chosen. I’ve chosen high education and a better life for myself and child. To be candid,  I’m just happy that I live in a place where I can choose what I do and how I do it.  Really,  the only thing I have ever expected to get is the education that I’ve paid and worked for, and maybe a hug from Allie when she isn’t wearing her sassy pants. But trophy or not, there are some days when I would compare the stress of it all, of life’s responsibilities, to a volcano.  It is as if there are times when maybe I’m just waiting to explode with tears, a real Mount Vesuvius on the brink of destruction.

And there are times when it has happened, when all of the responsibilities get a bit consuming.  The pile of laundry looks scary; my unwashed dishes beckon me;  my kitchen floors look as if a bunch of muddy ducks walked around on them; my daughter wants me to help with her math homework; I need to do about 100 more test questions to feel like I’ve studied; I forgot to return a redbox movie for the fifth day in a row; and lastly, I flattened the same tire within a 3 week span on my way to work.  Those days amount to tears, whining to my patient boyfriend, and maybe a self-indulgent nap, all the while wondering what I have gotten myself into and wallowing in self-pity.   But those times are usually followed by immediately picking myself up and getting on with it all. I’m pretty optimistic, so rolling around crying in my bed has never been a routine.  I much prefer being happy with a dry face and drinking Diet Pepsi.  I even buy myself flowers sometimes.  I’m that kind of sunshine happy most days.

A lot of people tell me they are proud of me.  And I’m thankful.  It’s nice to know that someone is proud of you, or that someone looks up to you.  For me, knowing that you are a role model to someone because they want you to be is a great reward. Or just knowing that someone took time out of their day to recognize that you are still breathing through all of it is nice.  It’s a sign you are doing something right. In all of the mess of this world, someone decided you were doing something right, and it was an inspiration.   However, there are times when people act like I’ve performed a miracle, maybe because I’m a single mother in graduate school making it, maybe it’s just because I’m a woman and making it.  All I know is that I can’t decide if I should say thank you or be offended, because I’ve always known I could do it.  So I just expected other people to know too.

I guess the overall point of this, if you are searching for one, is that I graduate in 48 days. There have been a few meltdowns along the way, but mostly I’ve been happy and busy.  It’s a day I’ve looked forward to since quitting two jobs to go back to school.  It’s a day I’ve looked forward to since starting college, the day when I would no longer need to attend.  But as it approaches, the pressure is getting a little intense.  Because after graduation is the test of a lifetime and another new start with a job.  I feel a Vesuvius type explosion coming on any day now:  Instead, I think I’ll just relax and enjoy the next 48 days, keep calm, and graduate.

Spring Break Shenanigans: Flu Baby

12 Mar


I had big plans of spending my super wild Spring Break elbow deep in studying, because I live on the wild side, and on the wild side, we read until our eyes feel crossed and bladders are full. If I had a dime for every time I held my pee in order to finish a paragraph about why you shouldn’t hold your urine, I would have to drink less cranberry juice. Anyway, my plans were thwarted somewhat when I came down with the flu this weekend and handed it kindly over to Allie, because I’m running low on valuable family heirlooms.

So on Spring Break Day #2, we made our way to the local pediatric office.

As someone entering (or maybe already in?) the medical profession, Allie is an interesting patient, and by interesting, i mean good entertainment yet a pain in the rear. When a nurse came in to inform her she had to poke her finger, Allie surrendered it while squeezing her eyes shut. Then, as she watched her nurse squeeze blood out of her finger following the stick, she dramatically said, “you know, I’ll need you to leave a bit of that in my body so that I can survive.”

“Uh huh,” the nurse said, playing along. “I think you’ll live.”

Then Allie’s nurse double wrapped her finger with bandaids. One vertically, one horizontally. “Ugh,” Allie muttered. “It seriously looks like part of my finger has already fallen off. I’m probably lose my whole hand any day now”

“So much drama.” The kind nurse said as she laughed out the door.

If only she knew.

We left with a Flu diagnosis and Allie complaining about how she hoped she didn’t lose her right hand from the finger stick, as that’s the one she writes with and it would greatly impact her doodling. I think if she has enough energy to complain, we will both be alright.

Laugh Worthy

8 Mar

Things on the internet that have made me laugh lately:

Compilation of goats yelling people.  In the event that you haven’t watched it, let this be the time you give in to temptation.

strongSo true! Nothing would make Nokia phones go away.  They were nearly indestructible.  As for these super secure bracelets, I think everyone knows they are real pain in the rear.  The fact that I still don’t have one on my wrist is only because I own three pairs of scissors.


Jail time, you say?  Jenelle ain’t skeered.  Not only is she not scared, but she also isn’t willing to go, because she has to go see Ke$ha jam to Tik Tok. She didn’t get all those feathers in her hair for nothing! (Yes, I’m still watching Teen Mom 2.  No, I’m not willing to stop.  Yes, I know I’m too old and too cool.)

Hipster Disney Princesses.  I laughed inappropriately hard.  I may be hipster Snow White or Belle for Halloween.

Wearing Crocs will never be okay to me.