Honest to Blog

The Crux

2011-07-08T17:32:00.001-07:00

It has been brought to our attention through a media shit-storm that there are bad people out there. And unfortunately, those bad people sometimes have children.

What this has brought to the surface for me personally, is that I live my life day to day with a deeply rooted fear that I will miss something important. That I will be looking at the news one day and see one of my precious babes and think, "I should have known."

**********

Let me give you a teacher's perspective.

When you start working with children, you will inevitably be trained on the fact that you are a "mandatory reporter". You will learn that this means that at any sign of abuse or neglect, you are mandated by law to report it. If you do not, and something happens to that child, you could be in a world of trouble. Not to mention, that something happened to that child.

You will nod your head in agreement to everything, because, you know you will never let a child down.

Then, your first report comes.

Perhaps it is cut and dry. A child has told you they are scared to go home. Perhaps there is obvious sign of abuse. A belt mark across the face. You know that doesn't happen on accident. Bells and whistles go off. You know you must make the report.

And make the report, you do.

One of two things will happen:

1. Very little will happen. A note will be made, or a quick inquiry will occur.

2. You will painfully watch a child you care about get grilled by the police, only to leave school in a police car. They are not going home.

There is no real way of knowing why the outcome is the way it is, but either way you will think, "It was clear. I did the right thing."

But you will still worry. And wonder. You will be shocked when they are back with mommy and daddy tomorrow.

Then, depending on where you work, or how unfortunate that particular year is, you might have to make another call. A different student. This one isn't so easy. Perhaps it's a bruise on their face, but the student shuts down when you ask about it. Maybe it is a rotten tooth, that is paining the child to the point of daily tears. You think it's neglect. It might just be.

But here is where you learn the hard lesson that there are so many factors to consider when these things happen.

Take the student with the bruise. If they don't tell you anything about it, it may just be that they are embarrassed because they banged their head getting off the bus, and the older kids laughed at them. It may be that one of their parents is hurting them. You have no way of knowing. And you better damn well remember, that you are not judge and jury. You cannot pry, there will be no cross-examination.

But what about the rotten tooth? That one does seem cut and dry, doesn't it?

Let me give you an example from my own life.

I am an upper-middle class white woman with a masters degree and a deeply rooted family support system. Regardless of all the cards stacked for me, still I once went 2 1/2 years with out getting a doctor's care for very important things. Why? Because my insurance was military, I was new to life on base and I was scared and confused. I didn't know how to get myself set up with a doctor and worse yet, I was afraid they would call me a "silly girl". It had happened before on base, and I never felt smaller. I was afraid of having that feeling all over again, it made me feel out of control of my life. (a side note: when I finally did buck up and make the call, I requested a female doctor and I was told to "suck it up" because one was not available...so that helped).

You may think that there are very few class and race issues left, and you would think wrong. Imagine you are a parent and you can't afford dental insurance (as many of us can't). Your child is in pain, but you have no idea where to go to be accepted with out too much trouble. You don't have money. You do have a past that you are immediately judged for. Who would see your child for free? So, you decide that it's a baby tooth anyway and it will fall out. You are doing the best that you can with the tools you've got.

I had all the culturally appropriate tools necessary and I still couldn't bring myself to do it.

So as a person who cares wildly about the children you work with, you will discover that you could potentially do more harm than good by making a rash decision to call in a report. You will remember what it is like to see a child taken off in a police car, with a teddy bear in tow. You will wonder if just one bruise, and the lack of a reason for it will be a good reason to call. To tear up that child's life, if it was just a bump on the bus.

It probably isn't worth it. Then again, maybe it is. See the crux?

And what about the tooth? You will wonder if it is more of a case of needing to educate and support the parents. Can you do that? Sure, as long as they trust you. But, I tell you what, you make one misinformed CPS call, and you will completely break that trust with that parent. You will never get a chance to help them the way they might need to be helped.

They probably do need help. Then again, maybe they are simply neglectful. See the crux?

So, you will go home, having not made a decision.

And you will worry.

You will worry more than you have worried on anything in your life. What if you make the call, and they tear that child away from a family that just needs a little extra support? What if you are wrong and it is neglect or abuse. You have that child's world on your shoulders.

So what do you do?

I can't answer that question. Because every situation is different. But one call is a huge decision to make that can impact many, many people in many, many ways - either direction you go.

What I can tell you is that when you see these things happening before you, when one of your precious students is mumbling that he is not supposed to talk, when you register that what is in that child's eyes is not disrespect...no, it is fear. Well, there lies a new found understanding.

And you will discover that you have a deep, dark fear of your own.

You will take that fear. You will look it in the eyes, and you will say, "I'm braver than you. I'm brave for my kids." Then you will push it down into a deep, dark corner, because kids...they can sniff out fear.

But on that one day that you realize a child is gone without a trace, just after you reported an incident and it was followed up with a house call...well, that fear will come sneaking out.

It sneaks slowly. You will have time to get into your car, you and your fear, and you will calmly drive home. When you finally get in the front door, where you know it is safe from little curious eyes, you crumble.

Because you still don't know if you got it right.

Pardon My Dust

2011-07-08T10:55:00.000-07:00

I am currently obsessing over building myself an entire new blog. Which is funny, because I don't know how to.

Needless to say, there is a lot of "how-to" googling going on, and my mom bought me an HTML for Dummies book (HTML for ADD she calls it).

So the design is wonky as I try things out.

But if we have learned one thing about Honest to Christina, what is it class?

She loves change.

GET OVER IT. Sheesh.

(loveyoumeanit)

Gratuitous Furkid Posting

2011-07-06T09:41:00.001-07:00

You're welcome.

You know....

2011-06-21T19:49:00.001-07:00

Miss CarrieJo: "you know, you should really write a book"

Me: "oh yeah? What would it be called?"

Miss CarrieJo: "Eat, Drink, Flee"

Me: "And what would yours be?"

Miss CarrieJo: "Drink, Eat, Deny"

Me: "Both accurate titles."

Teacher, Interrupted.

2011-06-07T17:18:00.000-07:00

Once, another employee at my agency asked me,

"Is it, like, a teacher thing to put something to copy on the machine and then forget about it? Are you all just really forgetful?"

When the urge to lunge at him with sharp pointy objects passed, I found myself giggling and wishing I had a montage to show him. It would go something like this:

*****
It's my lunch. I go to put something on the copy machine for the after lunch lesson. A child comes running down the hall at me. "Mrs. M! I LOOOSST A TOOTH!"
I look at her. I look around. "You passed 5 adults on the way here. Why didn't you tell one of them?"
She looks at me expectantly, "But you are the one that has the little baggies for them."
Of course.

Cue image of e-mail after e-mail asking me if I am available at 1:30 for a meeting.

I'm just going to create an auto-reply that says 'I am never available at 1:30. There are 14 children here, and if I put one in charge, their EALRS won't get met. Try again.'

While getting a tooth baggie for the student, another student runs up.
"I don't like anything we have to eat today."
I wonder if I can eat HIS lunch.
"It's chicken nuggets! You always eat chicken nuggets!"
"Well I don't like them today." He said.
I take a deep breath and wind up for a talk on why we need to eat lunch.
I finally get him to have something and walk off to make my copies.

I try again to put something on the copy machine. Up walks someone else, "OH! I'm glad to catch you!"
I look at them sideways to see if they brought me food.
"I need to talk to you about this paperwork, got a minute?"
Of course I do. It's my break. And the paperwork is important so I don't want to miss a chance to talk to them about it.
But my COPIES! Oh well, I'll get them after we are done talking.

I am done talking about the paperwork. I have to walk through the cafeteria to get my lunch.
"MRS. M! she is LOOKING at me funny"
ignore.ignore.ignore.
"MRS. M! SHE HIT ME."
ignore.ignore.ignore.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!"
In an attempt just to look sideways, I see the two kids lunge at each other.
Crap.
I step in to stop them.

I finally get my lunch. I have 10 minutes to eat so I race to the staff lounge in hopes of not getting interrupted. In walks the psychologist,
"Oh good. You're in here. Since you have a moment, I'd like to talk to you about a few students."
I look at him,
"If I'm not in here, will you assume that I don't have a moment?"

I finally get back upstairs and wrangle the class. I go to start my lesson and,
Crap.
WHERE ARE MY COPIES?

*****

But since I didn't have a montage and I was racing off to get my afternoon prepped, I just smiled sweetly and said, "You're right. We must just be forgetful."

I'm doing just fine, thankyouverymuch.

2011-05-24T19:10:00.000-07:00

fin.

The blog silence has come to an end. Lucky for you?

I have been waiting

waiting

waiting

for the moment.

the moment when I knew what I had to say would not spew poison and darkness into this blog. My space that I cherish so fondly.

It's been hard not to blog. It has become such a huge part of how I process. But I just couldn't do it.

But I'm ready.

I'm here.

This is my story.

***

A month ago, my world changed. On a sunny Monday evening, right before I left for my nightly workout, Mr. M walked out on me after 5 1/2 years of marriage.

Many reasons were cited. Most of them don't make any good sense to me, but I also don't think I was in a place to really be processing any of that anyway.

The only reason I am telling you like this, is because it is a certain point of pride to me that I did not ever give up on my relationship. I have to preserve that, or I'll feel like a failure. I believed up until the door shut behind him that everything would be ok.

And everything WILL be okay. Just not as expected.

In this past month, I have learned some very important lessons. You should not have to be 28 and getting divorced to learn them, so I want to pass some of them on to you.

1. you are only as strong as the relationships you nurture in your life (HOT NEWLYWED TIP! don't neglect your friendships. They might save you one day).

2. never put yourself in a position where you couldn't support yourself on your own. It will save much of your pride if you are able to maintain the life you were living with out skipping a beat.

3. the "what-ifs" are ugly but you are going to have to go through them. better to do so sooner rather than later.

4. gangsta rap

5. It's ok to seek help from a counselor.

6. It's ok to seek help from your girlfriends and a bottle of wine.

7. your mom is cooler than you think she is. give her a chance.

8. rearrange your furniture.

9. give a spare key to a good friend who lives close by. there is no worse reminder that you are suddenly alone than getting locked out of your apartment.

10. the shitty cliches are true. lemons, lemonade. cards your dealt, play 'em. oh blah dee oh blah dah, life goes on. Embrace it. You're not that old.

11. Let yourself surprise yourself.

12. Let other people cry for you. It will help you carry your burden.

12. Take the advice from a trusted friend who has "been there". They are a valuable tool, especially on the mornings that you wake up and say "I'm moving to New York. No, Spain. No, New York. I'm definitely moving to New York." They will gently tell you, "No, you are not" and then give you a glass of wine.

13. Have a few people you trust to tell your story. They questions WILL become too painful to answer, and everybody who means well will have lots of them. You don't always have to be the one to answer.

14. It's true when people say "at least you don't have kids." But it's also a really fun response to say, "Yeah! Now all I need is a turkey baster and a sperm bank!"

These are the things that I know.

I am slowly realizing other things. Like, I still believe in love. And for the past year, I think I had stopped dreaming. That sucks. Also, I get a do-over on a lot of things.

Ultimately, I am still painfully mourning the loss of the life I thought I had. And it's going to take some time. But, if you ask,

I'm doing just fine, thankyouverymuch.

***

Finally, a blog shout out:

To my blog love, you need to know that I take this with me everywhere I go.

And of course I can not begin to thank all the people in my life from family, to friends, to work friends who have encased me in constant positive energy, prayers and empowering words. I am nothing without the strength you give me. This is the reason I still believe in love.

Also, it should be noted, that Fuck is still one of my favorite words.

I always understood what he meant, when Hamlet muttered "words, words, words".

2011-04-09T22:40:00.000-07:00

Though I can't remember the day it happened, I wouldn't hesitate to say that since I began to read, I was both perplexed by, and in love with words.

Words can be gentle.
Words can mean more than one thing (a concept, I'll add, that is almost impossible to explain to children. Because, and I agree with them, WHY?).
Words can manipulated.
Words can be loaded.
Words can be changed with the slightest inflection.

This is what makes writing so hard. Inflection is perceived by the reader. As an author, you have to choose your words carefully in hopes that the meaning will be clear. None-the-less, you have little control over what your readers see.
And for some, this is what makes communication so hard. Why can't a word just mean what it means? Plain and simple.

I'll tell you what I tell my kids when they ask why words can have more than one meaning.

I don't know. I didn't make it up. I wish I did, but a bunch of stuffy old men did, and now we're stuck with it. So let's just work with what we've got.

Tonight, I had an enjoyable conversation with friends about the idea of reclaiming words. Specifically, reclaiming loaded words.

I'm sure you can think of a few.

And you might think that one of my favorites - the eff word is on that list. But I would argue that it's not. Loaded words become loaded for two reasons. Either the origin is one of hatred and negativity OR, like the Nazi's taking the swastika symbol, somebody very powerful took the word and turned it into something hateful and negative.

In case you were wondering, the eff-word does not fall into either of those categories. It seems to have become a negative word because sex is often (for whatever reason) perceived as negative. And it has evolved into a word with many meanings and uses. Which is probably why it is my favorite. It's a multitask-er.

But that's neither here nor there.

The words we were talking about are words like the n-word. the c-word. f*g and dyk* (ok, that one was hard to bleep so that you would know what it actually was, my apologies). There are more out there. Those are just examples. Please don't get upset if I forgot your loaded word. There is a good chance I don't even know it.

To me, the idea of reclaiming a word that is so loaded and hateful is impossible. As a lover of words, this is hard for me to reason, but the best way I can think of is that I simply believe those words should be retired. They can be used in a historical context, and just like with history, we should at least learn to understand it. Which is NOT the same as saying we should learn to agree with it. However, a loaded word should not be brought out as a reclamation of who you are.

Trying to reclaim a word, to me, is like standing up and shouting "I WANT TO USE THIS WORD TO DEFINE ME WHILE MAKING YOU UNCOMFORTABLE AND POTENTIALLY REMIND YOU OF A PAINFUL MEMORY BECAUSE MY BELIEFS AND NEEDS ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN ANYONE AROUND ME. BUT YOU CAN'T SAY THE WORD. YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT."

The argument FOR reclaiming words often leans towards the peaceful idea of a 'healing process'. If you can reclaim a word that has been painful for you, than you are bigger than that word, and therefore you are healing.

I'm not completely opposed to that thought process.

but.

People, as people are wont to do, have taken it 5 steps too far. We are pushing our healing process onto others. We are misusing the idea of healing to simply push boundaries. We like to watch others squirm. A lot. Have you watched reality TV? We are obsessed with it. We think watching others become uncomfortable is funny. We think it is thought provoking. We think that it is art.

It is none of these things.

It's just plain old disrespect.

It's is not only a disrespect to the power of words (and, really, can't we find MORE powerful words to squash the ones that we think are so important to reclaim?) but it is also a complete lack of understanding for the people around us.

As I'm sitting here processing my thoughts on this, I find myself wondering if I should give examples. But I'm not going to. I am not here to point out specific groups (because IMHO, no one group is more guilty of this than another. And BAM, just by grouping people, I have just unintentionally used words to generalize. See?) because that in and of itself is exactly what I am speaking against.

What I will say is this, I believe that if we are going to all jump on board with the idea of reclaiming words, it's all or nothing. It is unacceptable to say that f*g is reclaimed but the c-word is not. Or for me to say that I can say the c-word but you can't because of reasons a, b and c. That doesn't work. It negates the argument for reclaiming words.

So should we jump on board this bandwagon? If you ask me, none of these loaded words are acceptable. So, no. If it's all or nothing, then let's go for nothing. It sounds a lot less painful. And there are enough words to go around, so we can afford to retire a few.

Your words are powerful. Use them well. Treat them with respect. Honor them by understanding where they come from, how they have evolved, and how they can be used with honesty. And never, ever intentionally use them for harm.

But heavens knows, we all make mistakes. So let's have a little bit of grace for each other. Ok?

Your turn. What are your thoughts on loaded words? Do you use them? Do you think it's ok to reclaim them? Is it all or nothing, or should some words be retired and some words be reclaimed?

When you have ADD, Change is Always Around the Corner.

2011-04-07T20:29:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my new diggs. again.

I hope you likey.

I don't care if you don't.

I had a wonderfully creative and easy to work with blogger design it. Her name is Annie and she is an extreme Harry Potter Lover. Not to mention she has an awesome Etsy Shop, and an amazing sense of style.

Basically what I am saying is that I have a blog crush on her, and therefore it makes me sort of twitterpated that she designed my blog.

Thank you Miss Annie, for being so kind about all my spastic-ness and for designing me an awesomepants blog.

You, my friend, rock.

Well that explains...everything.

2011-03-27T22:40:00.000-07:00

My niece is turning one this week.

So, needless to say, the fam-diddly-dango is throwing the biggest theme party EVE-AH. Courtesy of my Mom, the overboard grandma.

Of course because of this, we are talking about theme parties and the things our moms did for us on our first birthdays at Mr. M's parents house today.

Mama M says she was so worried about feeding Mr. M chocolate, so she made blueberry cheesecake only to have HER mom give him a big ole piece of chocolate cake when he got to grandma's house. And she realized that none of us really have control over anything anyway.

And my mom says, SHE SAYS,
"I gave Honest to Christina her first french fry on her first birthday."

and we all laugh.

She goes on,
"Actually, we didn't have a birthday party for you, HtC."

we all stop and look at her.

Mama M says,
"whoops, guess the cat's out of the bag...."

And I look at my MOTHER, shock in my eyes. BETRAYAL in my heart and say,
"I'm sorry, WHAT?! I never had a first birthday party?!"

"Nope" She says.
"I took you to burger king, got a kids meal for us to share, and you had your first french fry. Actually you ate most of my meal."

She seems to STILL be holding this against me.

"WHERE WAS DAD?" I asked.

"I dunno. It was a long time ago." She said.

I looked at her. She looked at me. I reiterated,
"I NEVER HAD A FIRST BIRTHDAY PARTY?"

She looked at me, and said matter of fact,
"No. But you had a first french fry. You're Welcome."

I know what I want for my next birthday. I want a first birthday party. I want a cake to smash. I want a theme. I want a bunch of adults to stand around ohhing and ahhing over me while I coo and toddle around. Except I'll be toddling and cooing because I am drunk, not because I am learning to walk & talk. I WANT A FIRST BIRTHDAY PARTY.

Also, I want all the french fries to myself. I can't believe she made me share.

and now for more 'sometimes endearing, sometimes maddening side effects of being a teacher...'

2011-03-18T17:58:00.000-07:00

1. When you get home from work, it takes 2-3 hours for your volume to come back down to normal level. I hear that eventually you don't have a normal level.

2. Every good story you have starts with "One of my students..." or "In class today...."

3. The line of tempra paint/marker/boogers you have across every shirt you own.

4. The knee-jerk reaction to fix every problem around you:
Perfectly Capable Adult Friend (PCAF): "Ow! My finger hurts"
HtC: "Here! let me get you a band-aid!"
PCAF: "But it's not bleeding."
HtC: "Well sometimes you just need a band-aid to make a boo-boo feel better"
PCAF: "uh, thanks, I'm ok."
HtC: "So I take it you don't need fairy dust either?"

5. Not going anywhere without thinking, "oh! my students would love/hate this!"

6. When at a dinner or event, people always introduce you to the kids, and then SEAT you with them as if:
a) Kids think teachers are sooooo cool (they don't)
and
b) you can entertain kids at any given time because it comes natural to you (it doesn't)
When really, you showed up in the only shirt NOT covered in tempra paint and boogers to enjoy some adult conversation, having rehearsed every story you have that doesn't start with "One of my students..." or "In my class...."

Teacher Bladder

2011-03-16T20:02:00.000-07:00

If you tell me "You're so lucky you get summers off" I will likely come at you with all the crayola's I've whittled into little rainbow shivs. And you'd be surprised how much those hurt.

Not that I know.

There are many reasons why I would react so violently. But one has recently made the top of my list.

You might think it's the 60+ hours a week I work.

Or possibly the hundreds I spend of my own money on classroom supplies.

Maybe it's the simple fact that I am with kids 7 hours a day without a break.

Well, you're wrong. WRONG.

It's teacher bladder.
Symptoms of teacher bladder include:
Peeing a little when you sneeze or cough.
The ability for your bladder to take fluids, and filter them back into your body so that you are never thirsty.
The ability to hold your pee all day long but mysteriously having a pea sized bladder once 3:30 hits.
Getting up and peeing every hour at night because you didn't.pee.all.day.long.
and the ultimate symptom: chronic UTI's.

Oh yes people. I'm on UTI #2 this year.

I NEED my summers off to get my pee schedule back on track, lest my bladder shrivel up and water simply goes in one hole and out the other.

They don't tell you this in teacher school.

The adventure that I kept forgetting to write about.

2011-02-27T18:02:00.001-08:00

So ya'll might remember that Miss CarrieJo was set to get a kitten.

Which resulted in a ridiculous adventure all the way up to Canada.

CANADA, PEOPLE.

Apparently there wasn't a decent cat in the greater Seattle area so we had to venture to the Great White North. The next stop was Mexico, I swear.

Ok maybe not quiiiiiite Canada. We didn't need passports, but we were mere miles from the border.

So, CANADA, ok?

Miss CarrieJo can be a bit of a worrier. She is a free spirit and a believer that things will fall into place, however that does not stop her from over, over, over analyzing things.

I mean it's a kitten, for godsakes. WHO DOESN'T LOVE A KITTEN?

"I just have high expectations for him. This is not a good way to start a relationship. I shouldn't put expectations on him that he can't live up to yet."

I talked her down from that one with a firm, I'M NOT DRIVING TO CANADA FOR YOU TO BACK OUT OF THIS.
Then, the realization,

"I forgot to put on deoderant."
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
"That's good. He can smell my pheromones."

I told her I was going to make her drive home with him in her armpit the whole way.
Finally, new parent paranoia set in,

"What if he gets hit by a tiny kittensized meteor, and turns into red kitty dust?!"

This last bit may have been my fault, as I told her that if she kept stressing about it something BAD was going to happen. But I meant more along the lines of me leaving her in CANADA and taking the car home by myself.

We finally got there and pulled up to THIS. EFFING. HOUSE.

Are you kidding me? People really live like this? My 6 square inches of luxury were starting to look sad. And very full of pets already. Imagine if we had this much space?!
Anyway, Miss CarrieJo just about had a fit because OMFGWTFBBQ this was, like, HER DREAM HOUSE. IT WAS FATE.

Well thank effing god. I already told her I didn't drive to CANADA for nothing.

And then. And then, this:

So, yeah. The kitten was a go. And Miss CarrieJo had to remind me that Mr. M told me that we are only allowed 5 hearbeats in our house, so I can't come home with another (there were extra kittens. EXTRA KITTENS PEOPLE.)

And then, I taught her the first important lesson of pet parenting.

Pets can be left in crates while you get a beer, kids can't.

Boundary Bay. Worth the trip to Canada.

Oh yeah, so was the kitten.

She named him Woodrow.

This was in January. Woodrow is starting to get lanky and teenager-y. Miss CarrieJo is so unbelievably in love. It reminds me of when I got my babies.

And sometimes, just sometimes, when they don't know I'm looking, I can still see their kitten faces.

I hope Miss CarrieJo will always see Woodrow's too.

The problem solver.

2011-02-11T22:08:00.000-08:00

About once or twice a year, this happens.

The feeling of complete helplessness.

I can hardly bear it.

You see, in my student's young minds, I can fix anything. I have mended belt buckles, shoelaces and broken zippers. I have bandaged boo-boos and hugged away scraped knees. I have found proper fitting shoes and warmer coats. There is a stock-pile of mittens in my classroom, just in case.

There are times, it feels, that there is no problem I can't solve to make lives of these tiny people just a little more simple.

But today my heart was broken. Because I couldn't fix it.

As a looked at this little guy, so jammed up in communication because he is clearly developmentally delayed, I could see that he was simply miserable. His tooth was literally rotting out of his mouth. I examined it, to find half the tooth gone, and the rest graying and rotten.

There are a lot of things I don't have control over, but he doesn't know that. I can't control the long process it takes to get him into special ed. I can't control his family's choices on how to raise him. I can't control that he was born with a syndrome that will constantly complicate his life.

But these things, he can't grasp.

He can grasp that he is in pain. And I am telling him "no". I can't give him Tylenol. It's not legal. "no". I can't take him to the dentist myself, it's not within proper boundaries. "no." I can't make mom care that he is in pain.

But he doesn't even have the words to tell me. He just looks at me with eyes giant and welled up. Hand on his cheek. "I want it to go away."

I looked at him and said,

"I can give you a hug."

and he got up, and literally crawled into my lap. And I rocked him. I rocked him for a half hour, while his eyes drooped, and his heartbeat calmed. Knowing full well that nobody has ever given him a gentle, kind touch at home. No one has been patient with his obvious delays in communication.

As I walked him to his bus that afternoon, my throat jammed up. I wanted to promise him that somebody would take him to the dentist this weekend. I wanted to say, "Of course mama doesn't want you in pain." But I couldn't make that promise.

I was completely helpless.

Welcome to the Year of the Badass

2011-02-08T23:56:00.001-08:00

This is the year of the badass.

The year where I pretend to forget that I have built walls around my spirit.
The year where I claim a steak in the grounds of freedom and liberty.
This is the time in my life where I work my ass off to remind myself I.AM.STILL.LIVING.

This is the year of the badass.

Where colors will appear much bolder.
Where lights will shine much brighter.
Where adventures will know no other response but. Yes.

This is the year of the badass.

Not one lie will escape my lips.
Not one compromise will be unworthy.
Not one dream will go unrealized.

This is the year of the badass.

The year that embraces ME rather than me embracing IT.
The year that goes unedited.
The year that I live loud and unabashedly.
The year I remember not to forget.

This is the year of the badass.

You.are.welcome.

2011-01-24T19:09:00.000-08:00

***ETA: I referred to Morgan, the youngest furkid as the Middle furkid. I was probably asleep. Or a bad parent. Or both. Either way, he is in fact the youngest. Obviously still not ready for real kids.***

Oh my god, ya'll. Why didn't you TELL me it had been so damn long since I blogged gratuitously about the furkids? It's like you DON'T WANT ME TO.

This was my Saturday morning/afternoon. Time to be jeallllooouuusss!

We were all laying in bed enjoying some morning interneting, when Morgan the second born, paranoid and probably blind furkid had to get all awkward on us.

And started attack necking his sister. which is always weird.

See?

So as Basil and I are all, WTF Morgan? You make family time so awkward. Carmen huffed off to the window sill, because I'm pretty certain Morgan touched her swimsuit area and she hates that.

But being the bratty brother he is, he followed her there and sat swatting at her.

So she did what any respectable 4 legged cat would do to an awkward 3 legged cat in a situation such as this.

She jumped up high.

That's my girl.

Full Moon.

2011-01-19T20:41:00.000-08:00

People keep tip toeing around me and asking me reeeeaaaaallly gently and reeeeallly quietly if I am ok.

Or the sympathetic "how are you doing?" with the down turned eyes and the nod of understanding.

The special ed teacher stopped me in the hall and hugged me really tightly and whispered in my ear, "I want you to know I am praying for you. Oh that class you have this year. Sweetie, just know I'm praying."

If I got called a stupid ho by a 2nd grader before the full moon, I can only guess what might happen tomorrow after the full moon.

I'm guessing a full fledged Revolt. Because I made the mistake of explaining to my gifted kid what that meant. And he's charming. He could get the rest of the group to follow him, even if on most days they think their pencils can talk.
I tried to back pedal by telling him that revolts were only something you could do once you were 18. Any time before that, and you will spontaneously combust. Then I had to explain what that meant. Now he probably thinks it's worth trying, just to see if it's true.

I think I feel a tickle in my throat. Yes. Yes. I'm very sick. I can just feel it.

You know what? Screw it.

I'm calling in dead.

Freedom Wand, coming in hot!

2011-01-18T18:41:00.000-08:00

My doctor banned me from blogging. It went something like this.

*****

Me: My wrist hurts. Like shooting pain down my hands and I can't hold my tooth brush! This is so bad. I get coffee breath.

Doctor: You have tendinitis. You're pissing a nerve off.

Me: No, it's pissing me off.

Doctor: No more blogging for two months.

Me: WHAT?! What kind of medical degree do you have anyway? I don't believe this googly-moogly stuff.

Doctor: Repetitive motion is making it worse.

Me: You don't understand. I have FIVE readers, THREE of which are rabid. You basically just prescribed my eventual assassination.

Doctor: You have fans?

Me: I didn't say fans. Wait. did I? ok, sure. I have fans. Five of them. I am Honest to Christina afterall, and my mom says I've got gumption. Or maybe she said something about exasperation. I wasn't paying attention.

Doctor: Wait, you're Honest to Christina?! Never mind. You need to keep blogging. How 'bout you just try more cowbell?

Me: Are you one of the rabid ones?

*****

At least that's how I remember it going. So my wrist is wrapped and being iced as we speak, and I have clear doctors orders to blog even though it hurts.

Mr. M just lectured me about blogging with an injury {caused by said blogging, which he already thinks is hilarious} and how if I get permanently crippled from blogging, OF ALL THINGS, he is not going to wipe for me.

I said there's got to be some sort of invention out there for that.

And what do you know, there is. I'm ordering my freedom wand as we speak. But only because I can't find an Augbesian {because who doesn't want to wipe their butt in the fashion of a centaur?}

Speak up, please.

2011-01-12T07:13:00.000-08:00

I was in a meeting yesterday, and I found myself very confused.

Why was the person sitting across the table from me, just sitting?
Why weren't they sitting with one knee on the chair, one knee on the table, chin propped in their hands, 2 inches from my face and speaking to me in what an average person could only define as an "outdoor" voice?

And why were they answering the questions I asked instead of telling me their favorite color 8 times (different every time)? Then launch into a story about how they aren't going to make it to the next meeting because they are going to a MOVIE! and a MOVIE! takes all day. No, Mrs. M it is not 2 hours long. It is the ENTIRE DAY. Even though that wasn't what I asked.

What was wrong with them?

As I sat there and pondered this (because I couldn't hear them speaking in such a soft indoor voice), I realized. . .

I need to be around adults a little bit more.

Merry Christmas, People.

2010-12-25T13:08:00.001-08:00

This is the one and only shot we got of Basil before he figured out that Christmas not only involved curious forms of pet torture but also a Camera.

It's gettin' all Christmas-y in here, bitches.

xoxo,
Honest to Christina

The fans have spoken: It's an Honest to Blog Miracle

2010-12-24T13:20:00.000-08:00

My Little Christmas Miracle

This is going to be a kill joy for you. Because you are all "hey Honest to Christina, make a stop motion animation!" and I'm all, "OH GOD that is SUCH a good idea, but I have ADD. That sounds like it takes way to much tiiiimmmmee."

This Gingerbread house brought to you by Adderall

No, really. I have never built more than 3 walls, and a half a roof on a gingerbread house before getting bored. There is just no return on a gingerbread house.

So as tempting as it is to pass this gingerbread house off as my Christmas miracle (because it sort of is), it's not.

My Honest to Christina Christmas miracle came right at the end of a long week at work. You know, the holidays can bring out both the best and the worst in people. When you work with kids who have rough home lives, the Holidays can be extra tumultuous. You know how families get around the holidays? Try THAT, but with bigger problems than you or I could imagine. And you're 7 or 8, so you really have no idea why you are so mad/sad/mean.

Every year, we do our best to make sure none of them have a hard Christmas. One of the things we do is the adopt-a-family program. Very generous donors step up every year and give the family everything on their wish list and sometimes more. For the little kids, it is so important, because their parents don't have to have that horrible conversation explaining why Santa missed their house that year. It prolongs their innocence for at least another year.

As a 1st grade teacher who has had to explain rape, death, and why mommy won't stop drinking more times that I care to count, I really appreciate this one gift of innocence.

You see it doesn't matter what they get. It matters that they get one day with out a harsh reality.

This year, as we all know, things are tough. And for the first time in our school's history, not all of our families got adopted.

I knew that we were having a hard time with it for about a month now. But I kept hoping. Thinking we could drum up the last few donors. It was the last school day before break, when I caught wind that we had a few families who were just not going to be adopted.

My heart shattered when I found out one was a family from my class.

"Mrs. M, this is a half eagle, half tiger. It's a Griffin, a LEGENDARY am-i-nahl."

I'm going to say this, and then you are going to be all "whoa, HtC, maybe you shouldn't be in social work" and I'm going to say "you are probably right. But let me finish. No seriously, STOP interrupting me".
I see my fair share of parents who are just kind of coasting through the system. My job {and often the hardest part of my job} is to not judge them. I come from a privileged middle class family. I truly have no idea what it is like to be in their position. And while I may not be the one who gets them out of the rut, I will no doubt be a stepping stone for them to try.

And I make a much better stepping stone if I am not busy passing judgment on a circumstance that I have no real grasp on.

But this family. They have impressed me all year. A young mom {younger than me, yeesh} with a very talkative, inquisitive ADHD 8 year old boy and a very rambunctious 2 year old daughter {I once told her mom that all she needs is a harness and a helmet, because that little girl was ready to go bungee jumping. She looked at me wearily and asked if I wasn't sure I didn't want to bring home a 2 year old child of my very own. I said No thank you, I already have three pets and she laughed.}
They are in a shelter and she is going to school FULL time to be a medical assistant. Yet she still comes to all her meetings, drops cupcakes off for birthdays and goes to parenting classes so she can better understand how to keep her son from acting out. I have worked with her so many times, and she has genuinely worked hard. When losing her temper at her son's stubbornness wasn't working, she sought out guidance. Now she is trying to get to the root of the problem and help him role play better ways to deal with his frustration.

Seriously? I can't even go a day with out yelling at my dog.

And she was just about to have that horrible "Santa must have forgotten our house this year" talk with her kids.

I normally don't get involved with these things. I could end up stretching myself too thin if I do.

But I felt pulled. I had to.

I texted their case manager (who has a heart that I swear to god must take up her WHOLE chest cavity, it's so big. It's a wonder she doesn't have health complications.) and told her I'd take it.

She hugged me extra big that afternoon.

I said, I might not be able to afford everything, but something was better than nothing.

When I got home, I looked at out budget. Ok, if I skimped a little on a few things, we could swing $150 in gifts for the family. There would be no digital camera or xbox, but if I bargain shopped, I could probably get them each 2 things to unwrap.

I had 3 days.

That's when I decided to send out an e-mail to a few folks. Maybe if a few people could donate $10-20 I could do a little better.

So I asked.

And the response was overwhelming. I mean, I always knew that the people in my life were awesompants and caring, but I figured they had done their donating for the season.

Then the calls and e-mails started flooding in. What I thought would be $10-20 became a Christmas shopping frenzy. I have said it before, and I will say it again. I am surrounded by the most amazing people. Even though they were helping a family, they were really helping me. I've been a grump this season, and this was just what I needed.

In 3 days I ended up with:

$150 in gift cards to Fred Meyer
A digital camera and accessories
Clothes for all 3 family members
2 DS games for the boy
A science kit (build your own solar system model. SO RAD.) for the boy
A floor puzzle for the boy
Books for both the boy and girl
A huge play tea set for the girl
A lacing game for the girl

That's like $600 in gifts. For a very VERY deserving family. It's everything on their list, minus the xbox {which I'm sure mom doesn't mind at ALL}. And I only had to spend about $60 of my own money.

My heart fucking exploded.

I love all my children. Even the ones that hit me. But I have a special place in my heart for the little boy who BURSTS into tears when kids are fighting because he "doesn't want any bullies in class" and who swings on the swing set singing "why can't we be friends" over and over. Of course the teacher in me jumps for joy when he asked for extra science home work, because he wants to do research. My inner child seriously giggles when he tries to get out of trouble with, "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. Ever since I turned 8, my mom is A LOT harder on me." or "Mrs. M, I've had it up to HERE with you."

I seriously can not wait to ask him what Santa brought this year.

**double Christmas Miracle Bonus: Jenny The Bloggess had an accidental Christmas Miracle happen for her and her readers. to the tune of $40,000. I read it and cried. Not because she was clearly trying to one-up me, has way more readers than me and is exponentially funnier. Well maybe a little bit. But mostly because, that's just what I need to see in humanity.

It's YOUR turn to tell me what to do.

2010-12-21T21:46:00.001-08:00

I promised myself I would blog today.

holy shit, ya'll.

I'm lacking in motivation like it's my JOB.

Here are some things I have thought about blogging on:

"why can I hear my cat pee?"

"Mr. M's amazeballs sleeping habits"

"That time I wore Superman underpants to a very popular Seattle bar on a very busy night. And broke the rules for about 10 minutes before having a panic attack about breaking the rules."

"My little Christmas Miracle"

"This Gingerbread house brought to you by: Adderall"

But I need some motivation. So, I am asking YOU my dear readers, to VOTE.

What title do YOU find most intriguing?

Where the Eff is my Motivation?

Why can I hear my cat pee?

Mr. M's amazeballs sleeping habits.

how Miss CarrieJo and Honest to Christina put the 'fun' back into 'functional alcoholic'

That time I wore Superman underpants to a very popular Seattle bar on a very busy night. And broke the rules for about 10 minutes before having a panic attack about breaking the rules.

My little Christmas Miracle

This Gingerbread house brought to you by: Adderall

view results
Free vote poll

I'll write on the most voted upon title. I'm looking at you lurkers. This is your chance to say something without me ever having to know who you are (although, I would love to know who you are...but let's take baby steps here, ok?)

So VOTE VOTE VOTE like a baby STOAT!

DO IT. and take control of Honest To Blog.

"Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you."

2010-12-14T21:50:00.000-08:00

Today's post is simply an excerpt from "Oh the Places You'll Go" by Dr. Seuss.

Because I needed the reminder, so I read it to my kids today. And they totally didn't get it.

pshaw.

"Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true. That Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting. . . .

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!"

Sort of a cop-out post. Sort of just what I needed.

Deal with it.

And I'm dead.

2010-11-28T15:13:00.000-08:00

Put it in the obituary: Death by niece-us adorabalus.
(she looks pretty happy that I am sitting there taking pictures of her instead of fixing her hood, no?)

Stink-Free since 2003.

2010-11-26T20:05:00.000-08:00

Miss CarrieJo is getting a Kitten!

I'm so excited to welcome her into the pet parenting world. With years of experience, I want to help make her transition easy. Especially because her husband, Mr. Eric, is leery - and rightfully so. Pet parenting is a commitment. And there are certain things that come with the territory.

Today Miss CarrieJo asked me for her first bit of advice. She wanted to know how I keep my tiny apartment stink-free, what with 3 furkids and all. I thought I would share the same advice with you.

I pride myself on having an apartment that does NOT smell like pets. Miss CarrieJo wanted to know my secret, as most of her friends who are pet parents have apartments/homes that...well, stink of pets.

Listen folks, even your fellow pet parents don't want to smell your pets. Of course we know that sometimes your cat takes a giant poop right before company arrives. Pets barf. Sometimes the best trained dogs have accidents. It's pet parent code not to judge. We understand.

That being said, here are a few tips to help you stay mostly stink-free.

*huge disclaimer - I am NOT promoting any companies/brands. Just passing along advice.
*another huge disclaimer - you are probably already a fantastic pet parent, so I am NOT trying to talk down to you. This is just stuff that works for me!

1. Don't skimp on litter.
My experience is that the off brands, while cheaper, do not help with odor. Buy the good stuff in bulk, and you can still save some money. I personally use Fresh Step Scoopable, and will never ever switch. There may be other good brands, but I figure, why change if it works? I've tried the eco stuff, and unfortunately, it doesn't work so well. However, Fresh Step just came out with a "natural" line which I will be trying as soon as I need more litter - I'll let you know how it works!

2. Do get a litter box with a cover.
There is absolutely no reason not to. We are not talking about this any more.

3. Do scoop your litter regularly.
We do it weekly. Some furkids aren't so hot at burying their business, so you might have to scoop more. Here is the magic formula that works for us -
- once a week, scoop & top off with fresh litter (this is VITAL, don't just scoop and leave the old stuff, it's not as effective).
- once a month (or so) dump ALL of your litter and start fresh. Hose out the litter box before putting fresh litter in. Cat piss builds up, man.

4. Don't skimp on a vacuum.
Ok, this one is hard. I know. But I can NOT tell you how important a good vacuum is. Save up your money, ask for gift cards this Christmas, you WON'T REGRET IT. If you are grown up enough to have a furkid, you are grown up enough for a good vacuum.
I personally have a Dyson Ball, and I would have it's babies if I could. However, you don't need to spend THAT much on a vacuum (and really, you don't want know the things Mr. M uttered when I did). There are plenty of good vacuums at more reasonable prices. Do your research. At risk of sounding like my mother - check consumer reports.

5. Do keep good carpet cleaner around.
Pets barf, pets have accidents. Sometimes your darling new puppy discovers the litter box and smears cat poo into your brand new sofa, traumatizing you for life. And then he will look at you with big, juicy eyeballs and you might just forgive him. But, I wouldn't know. My pets are well-behaved.
When it comes to pets, "shit happens" is an understatement.
Anyhoo, we use natures miracle, but have used other brands with success. Just be sure you get one that removes odors (just plain oxy-clean takes the stain out but not the smell, trust me).

Ok. Now you have all the stuff you need. So when do you use it?

Weekly (at least)
- Dust & Vacuum your whole house.
- Scoop your litter box.
- (THIS IS IMPORTANT) Vacuum UNDER the litter box. Even if you have a mat to pick up the litter, you need to get under there. Little kitty paws track stinky litter out of the box, and it adds to the smell.

Monthly
- Vacuum your furniture. Pet dander gets into everything y'all. This includes cat towers (hey, listen, most cat parents have 'em, eyesores that they may be).
- Wash blankets & pet beds. We keep lots of cozy blankets around the living room, and even though they aren't for the pets, they become impromptu pet beds.
- Wash or replace doggie toys. I mean, ew. Those get stinky fast.

Every 5-6 months
(don't do these both in the same month, you'll waste your time)
- Shampoo your carpets. You can rent machines, or plenty of people have them these days. I always find one to borrow. It may be worth your money/space to invest in one, but a good vacuum is more important since it is pretty cheap to rent one of these bad jacksons.
- Use a pet-dander powder to vacuum with. I use Arm & Hammer Pet Fresh. You just sprinkle it, let it sit for 10 min and then vacuum it up. The scent it a bit strong at first, but it's totally worth it. I once used it before a VERY allergic cousin came to stay, and the pet dander never bothered her once. And we live in, like 6 square inches.

Other odds 'n ends

* It goes without saying - BATHE your pets.
We bathe the dog every 2-3 weeks. He is mostly indoor, so use your best judgment, or better yet ask your vet/groomer.
Our cats are indoor so we don't bathe them at all. We tried once and it ended in a bloody mess, along with some concerning sounds coming from the babe-ehs, which may or may not have resulted in a CPS call from the neighbors.
If your cats are outdoor - you might consider a bath every once in awhile. But not as often as a dog. Cats are naturally very clean, so you shouldn't need to do it unless fluffy brings home a dead mouse. Then, you might consider it.

* About once a year, I move the BIG furniture and vacuum under it. Maybe this isn't enough. I don't know. I was raised in a house where you vacuumed under the furniture EVERY week. I think I might be UNDER-compensating, so I have no judgment on this one. Perhaps somebody out there can weigh in on how often to do this....

*And this is just a weird bit that I thought I would pass on.
If you have dogs AND cats, consider turning your cat box so it faces the wall and the dog can't get to it. As it would turn out, doggies love "kitty-rocca" and will smooch you with kitty-litter breath with reckless abandon. Not that I would know.
Here is our set up:

What are YOUR pet-parenting tips?

Magic Pants

2010-11-20T08:45:00.000-08:00

I should not be let out of the house, let alone in the airport without adult supervision.

The airport nudie scan was a success. I even shaved my legs for it (helloooo scan reading fella, you see those? smooth as a baby's bottom. You're welcome). I also got patted down. ALL of me got patted down, and up. Wanted to ask the lady if she was going to buy my a drink afterwords but then I thought about how disappointed my cousin would be if I got arrested. And she's a sweet girl, she might not see the hilarity in all of it. Plus she worries a lot.

You just don't do things like get arrested and worry your sweet cousin knowingly.

right?

After walking the wrong direction in the airport for about 3 miles, I realized I needed to turn around.

Then I followed the UW men's basketball team to my gate. As it would turn out, they don't really think it's funny when you tell them you can see up their noses, and GAWD aren't sports fans annoying?

They are just lucky that Partner In Crime intervened when I texted her this:

Me: Resisting the urge to pants the UW basketball team in front of me.

PIC: Don't do it. Then security will have to check your natural pockets.

Me: Yeah right, if there is one thing I've learned from my kids, it's the art of denial. "My foot is broken! there is NO WAY I could have pantsed you." or "OH MY GOD your pants fell down BY THEMSELVES! You have MAGIC PANTS! SECURITY! this man has MAGIC PANTS!" I'd totally get out of it.

Ok, I may have added a little to the picture after the fact. But it's only to help you understand what kind of restraint it took to NOT pants him.

Bonus airport Trivia: It wasn't until 2 days later that I realized that I did NOT get nudie scanned.

A Christmas Post before Thanksgiving would be Blasphamey. But this is a post about Hell.

2010-11-16T22:54:00.000-08:00

"If," I say to Miss Carriejo, "I listened to Christmas music on the way here, THEN I don't want to talk about it."

She looked at me and her eyes rolled so far back into her head, it was really unnecessary for her to then say, "It's too soon. I'm not ready for this."

She looked over her shoulder.

"What did you listen to? Not Mariah Carey, I hope. Even thought let's be honest..."

"We both own the album." I finished for her.

*****

In truth, though I have been fighting Christmas, {as I believe that thanksgiving deserves it's own time} I was SUCKED in when one of the local radio stations turned ALL CHRISTMAS, ALL THE TIME and played a nostalgic song sung by Ray Conniff. Ah, yes. Childhood.

Ray Conniff and dog. I could not make this picture up if I tried.

Then we started listing our favorite Childhood Christmas albums.

We paused to clutch our hands to our hearts when James Taylor Christmas was mentioned.

*Sigh*

And then. And then, I went there.

Alvin and the Chipmunks Christmas .

I sang in a chipmunk voice, "I still want a HOO-LA HOO-P."
{by the way, I do a GENIUS chipmunk voice. So good, my Dad banned it from the house.}

Miss Carriejo's eyes about popped out of her head.
"Are you TRYING TO SEND ME TO CHRISTMAS HELL?!"

{What happened next can only be described as the longest run-on sentence known to mankind. I won't make you suffer. I'll add punctuation. Just know that there was none when I was frantically writing the details on my iPhone}

Apparently the Chipmunks Christmas Album put's Miss Carriejo here:

The time is now, the place is hell.
You walk up to a Diner in Southern California, only to step in dog doo as you open the door. Grumpy, you hope that there is some air conditioning inside to relieve you from this December heat wave of 102.7 degrees {apparently that .7 is what makes it unbearable for Miss Carriejo}. As you step in, you realize, no, there is no relief. Just an old fan with pieces of plastic tied to it blowing hot air and puttering on and off.
In an attempt at Christmas decor, there is plastic garland hung with little care, and dusted about 10 years ago. A string of Christmas lights hangs nearby, with only one bulb working. Barely twinkling, and hanging onto the last breath of Christmas spirit.
You look up just in time to hear the bar tender say, "Ahoy, Matey!" in his yellow armpit stained t-shirt and board shorts with the fly down. Muttering to yourself, you take a seat next to a 90 year old day-hooker with 3 teeth who is drinking a warm natty ice. She winks at you, as if to welcome you to hell.

The doors lock.

The Alvin and The Chipmunks album begins.

And you are served and never ending feast of cold fries, day old burgers and warm beer.

You are in Christmas Hell.

*****
Seriously, you guys.

I'm not sure if I should be worried. But This:

brought Miss Carriejo there.

And she had obviously put some thought into it. Because if she hadn't, then I might actually find myself more concerned.

Either way, I TOTALLY know what's going in somebody's stocking this year.

What is your favorite Childhood Christmas Album or Song? Where is Christmas Hell for you?

Like it or not, the Holy Daze are here. BRING IT ON!

Starts with "b" and ends with "acon"

2010-11-09T20:47:00.000-08:00

This came in the mail today.

The mail?

Ok, well it was delivered. In my sweet box of organic, locally grown produce that I get every two weeks from Full Circle Farm.

For those of you who are confused - these are brussels sprouts. On the stem.

And I am one of the 12 people in the world who like brussels sprouts. And this is why....

Bacon.

Well, this time, Pancetta. But either way, salty, greasy goodness.

Add some potatoes....

A kick-ass play list...

Put in the oven to roast....

Drink some wine while cooking....

(note the oxy-clean behind the wine. I promise I'm not mixing them. The dog peed inside. again. sheesh.)

And your reward is an awesome dinner.
Brussels sprouts included.

What gets you to eat your vegetables?

Harry Potter Day quickly approaches.

2010-11-08T08:00:00.000-08:00

I may or may not be Ri-DONK-u-lously excited.

And this time, I can walk to the movie Theater.

I think we will be able to go the the Harry Potter Exhibit AND the movie on opening weekend. Which will be like I died and went to Harry Potter Heaven.

So. ARE WE THERE YET?!

More NOH8ers!

2010-11-07T10:07:00.000-08:00

This right here, is a fabulous group of people. The Some Assembly Required improv group - based out of LA. When we lived in California, we loved going to their Improv shows for a good laugh, and sometimes some cheap beer. But mostly for the laughs.

Of course, I love this picture extra sauce because on of my dearest friends is in it. AND it's a cause you know I am passionate about.

Is there NOTHING more sexy than standing up for what is right? I think not.

Other NOH8 sexy beasts can be found here. If you have a NOH8 photo, I would love to share it! E-mail: honesttochristina@gmail.com

Sunday Sneeze

2010-11-04T22:19:00.000-07:00

Gesundheit.

I blog excessively about my pets.

As if you didn't know.

I have a paranoid, and probably blind 3-legged cat. Sometimes, I go days without seeing him or talking to him. Most people have stopped believing that he actually exists.

I also have a very tiny cat who cost me a very large sum of money. Worth it.

And let's not forget my dog who, through a series of unforeseen traumas has become the biggest pansy in the world.

If you think this means I don't understand parenting, you are sadly mistaken. And I will stab you if you go there.

But a sometimes forgotten fact, is that I had a cat before the paranoid cat, and the tiny cat. He peed on my degree. But I still miss him every day. In a somewhat related note, I'm still not done going through puberty. God, I hope it ends soon.

It's the MOST wonderful time of the year

2010-11-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

Well it is to US. Because we are off-kilter like that.

The usual great debate - do we partner up for a sweet team costume or do we go our own route?
For two Halloween lovers, it comes as no surprise that we can NEVER AGREE on a team costume {save the time we were two trees and a hammock}

and then we got sick of being attached to each other. almost ended in divorce.

We decided on doing our own thing. Mr. M went with the ridiculous {as always} and I went with the theme. Because I could DO IT UP right. I'm competitive about things like that.

So, come Friday night our house looked like this:

The pets were all pissed off and disturbed. We had gone hours with out paying attention to them.

Actually, I had gone days, nay, WEEKS. This costume was by far and above my most ambitious, and I wanted to impress our new favorite group of friends.

Mr. M went to bed at 3:30am, costume complete.

I went to bed at 4:30am, costume....well, I was gonna finish it later.

And finish later I did.

So with out further adieu, I present to you:

The Voodoo Queen {for the Voodoo Themed Par-tay}

The blurry phone pic

Dangles and baubles.

ooooh....creepy...

more baubles and dangles. and beer. and a homemade corset. BOO-YA.

aaaaand, The Narwhal {linked for those of you who are all "WTF is a narwhal?" You are welcome}

He insisted on the "pawsies" every time.

Sexy narwahl? Oh lord.

There is a full length picture of us floating around somewhere. I'll post it later. Maybe.

You remember those times when I said "I talk to my pets"....

2010-11-01T22:45:00.001-07:00

And then you think it's all funny that I'm batshit crazy and tell you they talk back?

Well.

They do.

And yes, I referred to Mr. M as her "daddy". Just remember: I will stab you.

If you look closely, you can see her ridiculous hair cut from her surgery {shaved kitty starfish, I'm not kidding}. Also, she is causing a fuss because she really wants me to dangle that shoelace. She's been yelling at us all day about it.
Mr. M is MUCH better at getting her spun up and yelling but he refused to do it on command.

He says I have to catch it organically.

Who is this effing hippie I live with anyway?

{p.s. Mr. M shaved his beard off so that he can participate in 'Movember', and I screamed when I saw him. Thought a strange man got in and did the dishes. Creepy shit if you ask me. In related news I will be participating in 'try-to-shave-your-husband's-creepy-moustache-off-in-the-middle-of-the-night-vember'}

Proof Positive

2010-10-29T18:58:00.000-07:00

If you have ever tried to hold it together for a rambunctious group of loving 7 year olds, then you will know what I am talking about when I say that it is about as impossible as scaling Mount Everest without an oxygen tank.

And you feel about as out of breath too.

I received some bad news today, mid-day. Now, I should know better.Wait to have meetings until after school.

But I knew something was up, and I had to know.

So I sought it out.

To be quite frank, it wrecked me. I was already precariously perched on a branch of my life that was destined to snap, and this was enough weight to send me tumbling down.

Now I have bruises and leaves in my hair.

And I cried. and cried.

then started to calm down.

When somebody found me in the stairwell.

And I started crying and crying again.

I was running out of time. I had to get back to my kids and finish out my day. I needed to suck it up. I shakily entered the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Took deep breaths.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I thought I was calm enough. But my eyes were the color of the scarlet letter.

oh well, I thought. Here we go.

I prepared a answer to the inevitable question, "what's wrong?". We were going to talk about how even adults can get their feelings hurt. How that even though I had been hurt by someone, I was ready to accept their apology and work out a solution.

It would be a great teachable moment, if I could teach it with a steady voice.

And in I went. To the most perceptive audience one could ask for. 7 year olds.

"Mrs. M. Your eyes are red. You've been crying." states my best little helper.

"oh dear, I've just been rubbing them a lot." I said as my eyes glistened over and my voice began to shake.
I switched gears to a sing song, to divert attention.
"alright everybody, let's clean up for snack!"

She looked at me and shook her head. 7 year old eyes, have always been the most knowing eyes. This was only proof positive, as she let my lie slip. Something no 7 year old EVER does, on principal.

I grabbed my water bottle to fill it up as a distraction.

Quietly, two little arms snuck around my waist.

"Mrs. M, I love you."

I took a shuddering breath.

"I love you too. So much."

Then he cleaned up his mess with out the usual complaint.

A normally rambunctious inquirer came up to me cautiously,
"Would you like to see the fortune teller I made? I can tell your fortune!"

I looked at him and sat down in defeat. It was too much to stay standing and keep a steady voice.

"I. would. love it." I emphasized. He looked at me sideways, like he had seen his share of grown-ups hiding tears and he knew better than to ask.

We worked through every number and every fortune on that teller until I was able to stand up again.

Then we ate some snack, read a book and giggled about Halloween.

If you have never been privileged enough to feel unconditional love like that, I hope you one day do. In an absolute moment of weakness, the children who turn to me for strength and stability, had paid me back ten-fold with quiet words, and gentle distractions.

Perhaps, despite it all, they are learning something.

If it were so in real life

2010-10-28T22:17:00.000-07:00

There are things I don't do on the blog.

Maybe a little bit to cover my ass. Maybe a little bit because I have some respect and dignity.

These things are:

- blog negatively about work

- blog negatively about friends and family

I think it's mostly because I have respect.

I am, by nature, a snarky writer. It works for me. If this was high school English, I would get good marks for "voice" and bad marks for "structure" and "grammar".

Come to think of it, that is EXACTLY what I got in High School English.

none-the-less, I was encouraged to write.

I was always encouraged to write.

and so I do. because somebody once told me that I was good at it. and somebody once told me I could. and somebody once told me it didn't really matter a damn what other people think.

Still,

I have boundaries.

Granted, they are much broader than they used to be. Because, hey, if you know me in real life and you are shocked by my blog, then I really haven't let you get to know me. And that is nobody's fault but my own.

And I would be happy to let you get to know me.

Because beneath all this snark and big talk is a really gentle spirit who has learned to have a tough skin, a sense of humor and a protective force field (nerd alert) against the negative and harmful ways of adulthood.

So I never want to come off as hateful.

I'm just a girl who is using a bit of sarcasm to get through some very tough days. And a girl who has been waiting for her whole life for a chance to speak her mind with out immediately being shot down.

It just so happens that a blog is a good place to do that, because I can delete the comments I don't like.

Wouldn't it be nice if that were so in real life?

Why do you blog? Why don't you blog?

Whoops.

2010-10-24T23:28:00.001-07:00

The link on my button was broken....

If you are one of the 2 people that has one, you need to re-grab it in order for it to work again..

If you DON'T have it (ahem, Alyssa, ahem) grab it on the side bar and send some love my way. I need it. I had a stupid week that I can't blog about.

xoxo,
HtC

Twitter, Twatter, Twat.

2010-10-24T10:00:00.000-07:00

It's been a stupid week. And while I was busy re-injuring my broken foot, and pissing off people unintentionally, I have nary had the time to find anything to write.

Whoops.

What I did do, was tweet.

On Minions:

@NathanFillion got a bunch of folks 2 write songs for him. I cant even get my 1st grade class to refer 2 me as your highness #ifailatstardom

Other things that don't fly: calling them minions or tiny humans.also brought to my attention that they are not there to do my evil bidding.

All I'm saying is: we have a right to know that they falsely advertise this teaching shit. Now where am I supposed to get minions?

Opposable thumbs are important too, as my pets do not have them and therefore fail at minioning.

On Pain Meds:

The 3 legged cat keeps walking up to me and creepily smacking his lips. Do cats even have lips? If he starts talking, I'm outta here.

On an unrelated note, I finally got pain meds for my broken foot. 2 weeks and one melt down later, and now the cat is talking to me.

Other People's Twits:

MonsteRawr For the love of god, who puts squeakers in the soles of kids' shoes? Besides an asshole

SteveMartinToGo Feeling slightly i'll. UH OH. ROGUE APOSTROPHE.

jamievaron "This is such bullshit: learning how to have fun without wine."

Lord_Voldemort7 I'm constantly asked why I hate people. Right now one of the world's top played songs is named 'Gonorrehea'. Don't ask stupid questions.

In summary, other people were funnier than me this week. What did YOU do this week?

2010-10-15T07:48:00.000-07:00

I want to be this kid when I grow up.

No, wait. I want to HAVE this kid when I grow up.

Right?

Oh, I don't know. Maybe both.

Either way. I have started doing this dance, very precariously on my bathroom counter. Which is really just an unstable pedestal sink. I kind of have to hold on to the light fixture, which also isn't a good plan because it is about 50 years old.

Doesn't matter. It's worth it.

But I couldn't do it today, because there is something gross happening in our sink, and Mr. M swears to jelly bean it wasn't him. But the dog is only 6 inches tall.

So who was it?

Anyway, I'll probably just go do my daily affirmation out in the hallway of our condos, where there is a very sturdy table with a mirror over it. I'll just hope that the old spinster across the way doesn't have her hearing aid turned up.

I have to affirm myself, because nobody told me what their tombstone would say, and what do you people do overnight anyway? sleep?

I CAN DO ANYTHING!

Glitter Glue

2010-10-14T17:29:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about my tombstone today.

Because I am mentally stable, and all that good stuff.

So I says to myself, I says, "Do they even still HAVE tombstones? I mean, are we running out of places to put the tombstones and the people associated with them?"

Of course, I did not know the answer to the difficult question I had posed. However, I did start thinking that I would like a tombstone. Even if it's in my kids backyard and I am off floating in the wind as ashes.

WHY, honest to Christina, WHY?

Well, because I really like to have the last word. And I prefer it to be funny. So I'm gonna haunt Mr. M or my kids or both if this doesn't happen.

Here are some thoughts on what my tombstone should say.

She was more often than not, found in a corner glitter gluing, when there was more pertinent work to be done.
I told you so (if Mr. M dies first. It can be next to HIS tombstone that will say "you were right.")
She was too pretty for jail.
Safety.
Definitely blogging this.
She loved lesbians in subarus, but sadly, was neither lesbian nor in a subaru.
Death is boring. I'm coming back to haunt you.
They actually let her teach children.
She got distracted by something shiny, and spent all her time ripping it asunder. She forgot to eat, drink or sleep, and now is 6 feet under.
Laughed when a hearse went by.

Of course, this is still a running list. When I have kids of my own, I'm sure there is some snarky remark that I will want to make sure I will leave them with.

I would write a book, but a tombstone seems so permanent and to the point.

What will YOUR tombstone say?

*****

I owe you an apology.

2010-10-11T21:25:00.000-07:00

I clearly have not been posting gratuitous pictures of my pets as of late.

enjoying an early morning scratch

My first thing in the morning scene

For those who are following her story, Carmen is back to 100%. Well, 98% actually because all of her fur is not even close to coming back in. She's got loooong fur so the process will take awhile. But she is pooping just fine from her newly shortened bowel.

{Overshhhaaaaarree}

You shut up about my bowel.

You.Are.Welcome.

A Day in the life

2010-10-07T19:02:00.000-07:00

I was inspired by one of my darling friends from our SoCal days {who I wish I had spent more time with!}, she posted a day in the life of a stay-at-home-mom, which I hope you understand that in spite of all my snark about parenting, I truly have respect for families who make the stay at home parent thing work.

I see evidence every day of what it is like to NOT have involved parents.

And, quite frankly, I get blamed everyday for the things that parents DON'T do in their children's lives and I am somehow expected to make up for it.

but I digress.

For those folks out there who think that being a teacher has *such a great schedule*, I offer you this:

My day.

5:50am - alarm goes off, hit the snooze

6:00am - alarm goes off, get up, shower, pick "professional" looking outfit that is also appropriate for painting, rolling around on the carpet, getting muddy, and snot.

6:45am - head out the door

7:00am - arrive at work
- create poster and worksheets for phonics lesson
- realize copy machine is out of toner
- print off 14 copies on personal printer with ink bought with personal money. again.
- return 16 e-mails
-prep papers for art project
- prep math supplies

7:50am - bus arrives 20 minutes early

8:00am - supervise breakfast
- stop 3 fights
- bandage 1 boo boo
- listen to 12 stories about the bus
- tell 23 children to stay in line
- tell 23 children to stay in line, again
- staple workbooks
- fish 5 breakfast bowls out of the trash

8:30am - open door for class
- students circle up
- help students practice circling up 3 times, as they can not sit quietly and are fighting

9:00am - story time
- divert inappropriate comments about today's story

9:30am - reading
- teach phonics lesson
- individually help 10 of 12 students while managing the others

10:00am - math
- assess students both orally and written, oral assessments are one-on-one and the rest of the class has to be managed with independent work activities. These activities have to be carefully set up and practiced or the students will not understand how to do them and begin to act out.

10:45am - walk class to local park for recess
- break up 3 fights over swings
- stop 5 children from running into the field that is off limits
- 1 child refuses to line up, making us late for lunch

11:15 lunch (supposed to start at 11:05)
- help students wash hands
- portion out paper towels
- send students to lunch with I.A.
- prep science activity for after lunch
- heat and drink cup of soup
- prep art activity for after lunch

11:35- pick up students from lunch
- solve 4 conflicts from lunch time

- begin writing activity with students
- stop writing acitivity due to violent outburst from 1 student
- call for assistance, no answer
- attempt to de-escalate student
- call again for assistance, no answer
- send student out to hall, he comes back in, violent. Attempt to de-escalate
- all the while, the rest of the class is left to their own devices
- call for assistance, finally answered.

12:15 finally begin writing activity

No time for science

1:45 walk class down to park for recess
- break up 3 fights

2:00 return from recess
- begin art project
- explain to 3 children that we can not get new paints, and the used ones we have are just fine
- replace 3 inadequate paint brushes
- clean up 2 water spills
- help students clean up their mess, which takes 20 minutes

3:00 serve snack
- explain to 5 students that, no, you can't have something else

3:20pm - line students up for buses
- tell 6 students to get back in line
- remind 8 students to put up chairs
- tie 2 sets of shoe laces

3:30pm - children on bus, back to classroom
- begin to plan 1 week worth of lessons, if lucky
- photocopy Monday's work
- create overheads for writing, math and reading for Monday

3:45 - called to "quick" meeting

4:15 - meet adjourned, return to classroom
- create posters for phonics lessons
- return 18 e-mails
- call 2 sets of parents
- continue to plan next weeks lessons
- dig out supplies for geography, math and ready (for Monday only)
- write up referrals for 2 students
- start to write individualized learning plans for all students
- create task list and sample projects for volunteers

7:00pm - leave for home

If you think I *forgot* to write in when I take a break, then you are sadly mistaken. If you think that I only stay this late *sometimes* then you need to think again. If you think that I *actually* got all I needed to get done so that I am completely prepared for the next day, then you need to reevaluate.

And still I take the blame for class bullying.
for poor test scores
for inappropriate behaviors
for rude students
for potty accidents
for lack of parent involvement.

This, and more.

So next time you want to tell a teacher how lucky she is to have summers off, think about weather or not you would like to solve world problems all day long and then get blamed for the problems you can't solve.

That will give you reason enough to think again.

Seriously, Mr. M?

2010-10-07T17:37:00.000-07:00

I was really groggy and a little bit dead when I got off the plane on Tuesday, but I think there was a conversation that went something like this:

Mr. M: I bought a pair of shoes this weekend.

Me: Ok?

Mr. M: I had a few martinis on saturday night. . .

Me: So you were drinking and shopping? Who are you? Me?

Mr. M: ...and I found these Star Wars Adidas.

Me: I'm sorry, you what?

Mr. M: Well they were BOBA FETT! I HAD to have them.

Me: How much?

Mr. M: *insert obscene amount of money here*

Me: *laughing my ass off* Well now you can't get mad at me next time I do that. Also I was in Disney World, so I guess you are the SUCKA.

And I'm pretty sure this all happened, because today there was an empty Adidas box in the living room when I got home, and it has the Star Wars logo on it.
But I can't be too sure, because as I stated, I think I was dead when this conversation took place.

Remember that time I went to Disney World and broke my foot? Yeah Me Too.

2010-10-06T20:22:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that I am a crazy person.

Properly medicated, most days, but crazy none-the-less.

So I says to my Mother In Law, I says:

"let's go to Disney World and run a 1/2 marathon relay"

and she proves she is JUST AS CRAZY AS ME by saying,

"sure, why not."

Because neither of us are really runners, per say.

So we finally did it, and this is the result:

The Goal: MIL runs her 5 miles in 1 hour, I run my 8 miles in 2.

We're nervous and tired. Because we are crazy and we flew across the country on a red eye the night before the race. But adrenaline, and Disney Magic kick in and MIL starts the race off at the EXACT pace we wanted. She rocked. 1 hour after she started, she showed up at the relay exchange to send me off.

And away I went. I was feeling SO GOOD. No asthma problems, no soreness, I was on a roll.

Until my foot started hurting.

So I changed my gait to heel toe (I run on the balls of my feet, and that's where the ouchie was). I ran all through MGM and as I came out to enter Epcot (on my last mile), POP!

Holy buckets.

I stopped short.

Looked around.

Oh, uh-uh. I didn't fly across the country to stop a MILE SHORT of finishing. I was WALKING if I had to.

So walk I did.

And kind of cried.

But remember that time Mr. M scared the crap out of me in the middle of the night, and I cried but we didn't tell him? this is like that, so shut up.

At the last 10 yards I started running, because I knew there was a picture involved, and I MADE IT.

And I sort of cried a lot.

But remember what we just talked about, and shut up.

The medics tried to get me into their tent and I refused until I got my DAMN MEDAL.

Then I hobbled into the tent and said,
"I think I broke my foot"

and they said,
"so what do you want us to do?"

So I wondered if the price I paid to run the race included my PhD. It IS Disney after all.

But. BUT. OMG BUT. We did it in our goal time! Just think if I wasn't broken!

Anyway, after all this, I still have 3 days at the parks. Remember we are crazy people. So forget going to the doctor and all.

We got a wheelchair and did it up RIGHT.

And I finally went to the doctor today. It's a stress fracture.

Yeah, I'm bad ass. Here are some pictures to help you understand:

I'm sorry, you want me to do WHAT?

The course.

Before race. You'll note I'm on BOTH feet.

Post Race, with medal and adrenaline causing me to feel HAPPY.

Some one get me a beer.

Oh please, like this will stop me. WE HAVE ROLLERCOASTERS TO RIDE.

Medal + Broken Foot + 3 days at Disney = WORTH IT.

You'll note a lack of a Finish Line picture. That's because after all that pain and work to RUN across the finish line for the photo, they MISSED ME.

Because stuff like that happens to me.

NOH8, at last.

2010-09-27T21:30:00.000-07:00

There is a movement that I am particularly attached to. I believe deeply in its cause for many different reasons.

The most important thing you need to understand, is that I believe without a doubt that no person deserves to be treated as a second class citizen.

I was lucky enough, to feel brave enough, to get involved in the No on Prop 8 campaign when it was on the ballot in California. I lived there at the time, and though I had never been involved in anything political, I KNEW this was something that I needed to speak out against.

Unfortunately, on that historical election day, that day where we elected the first black president in American history, I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. Because Californians had spoken out. And they had spoken out with a voice of hate.

I was heart broken as I looked to my husband and thought, "I never had to fight for this. I never had to seek anybody's approval, worse yet, get the LAW on my side to marry him" It was a gift, and I didn't know it until that very moment.

It shouldn't be a gift. It should be a right.

No on should have to be banned from spending their life with the one they love.

And now, two years later, it was with cautious joy that I celebrated the overturning of Prop 8. I say cautious, because I am afraid I have become jaded. I no longer believe that what is right will prevail. I hesitate at the idea that the greater majority believes in the goodness of mankind. To be honest, I see little respect and love in this world.

Yet.

We still have to fight. We still have to raise awareness. We are still hoping to change hearts and minds.

Our friend Benjamin from Los Angeles, posted a picture last summer of a campaign to show just how many Americans are against discrimination. I thought, "well maybe he got to do it because he is in the 'industry'". I shared it on this blog {above link} because I loved what he said,
"A picture of me from the NoH8 campaign. We must overturn the injustice of Prop 8. Equal rights for all, REGARDLESS of who they love. http://www.noh8campaign.com/ for more info."

And then, college sister called me and said the NOH8 campagin was doing an open shoot in San Francisco! but I had just gotten a new job and couldn't make the trip on short notice. So I posted her picture here, to raise awareness. She looked absolutely stunning. But as I said in the original post, nothing is hotter than a good cause.

And now, it is with great pride and joy that I get to post OUR picture. The amazing NOH8 team visited Seattle and we were one of the first in line. Excited to add our picture to the thousands of faces who will not allow Americans to be silenced by hate. I have never seen a more loving, genuine group of people. Both working for NOH8 and the folks who showed up to be photographed. It was the experience of a lifetime.

A parting note: I want to be airbrushed everywhere I go.

In which I compare pee on the carpet to diapers

2010-09-25T07:39:00.000-07:00

So last night I fell asleep at an Oktoberfest party. I mean. RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUN. It wasn't even one of those boring parties that you think, "I gotta stop being nice to that awkward person at work". There were hats. And Mrs. Pacman. And a whole bunch of lesbians who I love {I forgot to check their cars. I would guess at least a few Subaru outbacks were in the mix}. Mr. M and I were successfully making friends, which considering that we spend 90% of our time sitting on our respective couches {oh, you think I'm kidding? we each have a couch.} and staring at each other, was no small feat.

and then at 11:37, I lost it. I was rubbing my eyes. Whining a little. At one point I am certain I fell asleep.

I hope the lesbians still like me.

So at 12:30 Mr. M took me home, even though he was still wide awake, and I mumbled something about being 'Disneyland tired' and fell into bed.

I dreamt about teaching the new math curriculum.

As riveting as that dream was, I still woke up at 6:00 am. Because I hate myself. Also, holy crap my back hurts, so I get up and putz out to take some Ibuprofen. and THERE IS SOMEBODY IN THE HALL.

and I screamed. and jumped. and sorta started crying.

That's when I figured out it was Mr. M.

laughing at me.

It was dark so I laughed too. I didn't want him to know that if someone broke into the house, I would just sit there and cry while they took all our stuff.

He's a heavy sleeper. It would be up to me to save the day. Which, clearly, I wouldn't. Don't tell.

He hugged me {thank god} and said he had fallen asleep on the couch and was coming to bed. I think he tried to scare me at 6am on a Saturday on purpose. So as I come back to bed, I'm all grouchy and awake and I remind him that he doesn't know whether or not I go to the kitchen armed at night. I could have stabbed him. HARD. he mumbled something about the time he tried to kill me in my dream and rolled over. One would call this unhealthy, but we mean well.

Well. Good. Now I am awake and the cat is screaming at me. And the dog just sat on my stomach. But really, the cat is screaming. and you know how I feel about that.

I think I deserve a big. breakfast. after that.

But the pets NEED to be fed {high maintenance} and the dog peed on the carpet {WTF? was he scared too? Basil, I won't tell.} and then I had to pee, which the cat thought was an opportune time to sit on my lap. So by the time I lay down on MY couch to research what I want to eat {I don't want to talk about how seriously I take breakfast} I don't really want to get up again.

Then the cat starts scratching at the water dish. It's empty.

And the truth of the matter is that it might have been empty for awhile because we have one of those gigantuane water dispensers. It's basically a sparklettes jug. So we never check it. Pet parenting of the year award, I know.

But I'm all tired. and WHY DO THE PETS NEED SO MUCH FROM ME.

sigh. but I gave them the water and laid back down. and wrote this post.

Now, I know it's hard to tell for some, but this post makes 2 very clear points:

1. I still haven't figured out what to eat for breakfast and now I am mad at you about it.

and

2. The next person who tells me I don't understand parenting is going to get what-for, because obviously I had to sacrifice a lot of personal things this morning to make my pets happy. and that sounds a lot like parenting to me.

It's all pretty clear to me. You say dirty diaper, I say pee on the carpet. You say kid crying, I say cat screaming. You say feed, clothe, water, and good health, I say feed, water {what? they have clothes they were born in} and one time there was a big vet bill.

I will probably have a better perspective on this once I have breakfast.

Just exactly how many of the deadly sins does it take to kill a person?

2010-09-22T23:23:00.000-07:00

I have this DARLING friend, the type of friend who is always so comfortable to be around, even if you only see her once a year. The type of friend that is beautiful, and lives in Manhattan, and is generally good to everybody. As if that isn't enough for you to want her to get fat {love you girl, don't mean it. mostly.},

She just posted on the FB her pictures from her new apartment in Italy, where she will be residing and CONTINUING TO WORK HER JOB {because some people can telecommute} for 4 months. I tried the whole "I can just teach first grade over the phone!" thing and I got laughed right into a pay cut.

Anyway, I swear to jeebus, the Envy should have killed me dead by now.

There was this cute window picture. One of those typical Italian windows. That window needs a blog. Only not, because she will surely be a better writer than me and if the amount of Envy I have right now isn't killing me dead, that will definitely set me over the limit.

And I haven't lost enough weight to attend my own funeral yet.

Chance of death from Envy: 95%

So, because I am me, and I think in fairly spastic tangents, I got to thinking.

Which isn't always my best plan. But I do it anyway. Sometimes.

I have no doubt committed more than one deadly sin. And some of them big time too.

Like, Lust for example.

Mr. M had to tell me that I wasn't allowed any more TV boyfriends because I was starting to sound like a TV land whore and since I wasn't making any real money on it, it wasn't worth it. {He just stopped getting unemployment, and, people! I have priorities. See next Sin}

Lust. Totes my favorite to throw around. But not super serious about it. I wouldn't accept it's class ring.

Chance of death from lust: 40% {what? I have been married for 5 years. If I didn't die from it in college, then it's certainly not going to happen now.}

But speaking of real money, Greed is totally up my alley. Things. Things. Things. Oh they cost money, and do I ever want to pay. I want people to know I have things.

I'm a bitch like that. But I'm subtle. And I have a guilty conscience.

Chance of death from greed: 10%

Largely the reason I won't die of lust or greed is Sloth. Way. Too. Lazy. As we speak I am laying on the couch with a glass of wine and I just asked the cat to bring me my dinner. She didn't, so I just might skip the meal and continue to drink my calories. I need to get a pet with opposable thumbs, but that's creepy. So instead I keep asking the furkids, and drinking my dinners instead.

Chance of death from sloth: 60%, but mostly because I drink.

Speaking of which, we all know I am a glutton. For a lot of things. Including but not limited to: macaroni and cheese, alcohol, punishment, and nachos.

I don't even need to say more. You all know me waaaay better than that. I won't even dignify this deadly sin by playing down the truth.

Chance of death from glutton: 90%

On an entirely unrelated note, Mr. M did his laundry, and only his laundry today {we share a hamper. A HAMPER HE HAD TO DIG THROUGH TO FISH OUT ONLY HIS CLOTHES. I worked 12+ hours, and screwed up my laminating. Though not typically my favorite of the D-Sins, I am feeling mighty wrathful at the moment {wrathious?} and I might just rearrange his underwear drawer.

Nope. I still suck at wrath {Mr. M says I would make a terrible haunting ghost, I told him he better watch out, I might haunt his laundry}.

Chance of death from wrath: 0.01%

I'm not even going to speak on pride, because lets be honest, we all read this blog. We all know I have zero pride.

Chance of death from pride: 0%

So, speaking of shame {that of which I don't have} I will be the first to admit that I am rusty at any math above 1st grade level. For those of you who are unfamiliar with that, it means that I can hardly count without using my toes.

If my remedial math adds up here, I have well OVER 100% chance of death from any one or combination of D-sins.

Why am I not dead yet?

I'm sure you ask yourself this everyday, as you have unfaltering concern for my well being. You're in luck, I know the answer.

I'm too pretty for hell. {well there you go. I just upped the ante on Pride.}
Other things I'm too pretty for: Jail, mom-jeans, punishment, and Wal-Mart.

I truly rock at sinning.

My mom is going to be SO mad.

The Moment

2010-09-13T22:52:00.001-07:00

A question I will never be asked:

Do you remember The Moment, that exact breath, in which you knew you wanted to be an actor?

The answer, put simply, is Yes.

Yes. I remember it like it was just a moment ago, That Moment.
Oddly, it was bred out of this misfiring of my pistons that I have grown to so lovingly accept this year. That dreaded ADD that I used to hate and blame with all my might.

I suppose I could blame it for my never being asked that question. About, The Moment. But instead I look back on it with a bit melancholy.

Through the shades of, That's Just The Way I Was.

Because, you see, after years of never-living-up-to-my-potential or shes-just-a-dreamer and let's not forget {my favorite} you'd-be-better-if-you-tried-harder, I finally did it.

I lived up to my potential.
I made a dream a reality.
I was better.

And my mama was proud {of course she always was}.
And my papa was impressed {a slightly harder feat}.

I was, in fact, good at something.

But like with everything else, to continue to be good at it, to continue to improve I had to overcome that dreaded never-living-up-to-my-potential and the she's-just-a-dreamer topped with a little you'd-be-better-if-you-tried-harder.

And, well, I just never did.

Overcome it, that is.

What I did do was try and try. Months of fresh starts. Years of, I'll remember this time. I'll be more organized. I missed that audition but it will teach me to get a calendar and USE it.

But in my reality, trying isn't enough.

I would love to sit here and wallow in the idea that properly medicated Christina should have whacked chicken with her head cut off Christina over the head sooner.

But she didn't. And blame is not where my future lies.

So I'll never get to answer that question. Because that question will never be posed to somebody who didn't make it.

That question. The one about The Moment.

But just for the record, I do remember it.

What Teachers Make

2010-09-11T16:00:00.000-07:00

As a teacher, I found this poem/video inspiring, truthful and needed as I start my year with a pay cut and a tumultuous environment.

We make so much more. And I'd like to submit a change in the quote:
"Those who can, DO. Those who can't TEACH"
to
"Those who can DO. Those who show you that you can, TEACH."

* flips the bird *

{ok, that part was unnecessary. }

What I choose to remember

2010-09-11T09:23:00.000-07:00

I have very mixed feelings about the post-9/11 glorification that has happened.

Let me be clear.

It was an awful, terrible event. Many families suffered. It was not at all ok.

Which is something you could say about any war event that is taking place around the world as we speak. We are not the only ones who have suffered. And that's where the glorification has left me with a sour taste in my mouth. We don't remember all that is going on around us. That we are not only proud American citizens, but also citizens of the world.

But it certainly did resonate true when we were the ones being attacked.

And of course, what happened? Hate breeds hate. Terrorism breeds terrorism. Some days I look around and fear we are no better. Senseless acts of war. Bombing temples, bombing clinics, bombing homes. Burning books in the name of a God who is supposed to be loving and kind. Killing people in the name of that same God.

If I don't stop and allow myself to look around for the good things that are happening, I will too be bred with hate.

And so, I always tell this story when remembering 9/11:

I awoke to a phone call from Miss Carrie Jo
"get up and turn on the news"

We were both just getting ready to head off to our Freshmen years at college. A lot of sleeping in was involved with that process.

That's when I realized what I had been hearing playing in and out of my dreams.

Dad playing his Banjo.

I knew something must be wrong, because the man has been sick about 4 times in his 20+ years at the bank.

Upon further clarification, Miss Carrie Jo summed up what had happened. At least what we knew at that point.

And I got really sad, hearing that music playing outside my bedroom door. It sounded melancholy. As if a Banjo could.

And so, my still young, green, 18 year old self who had yet to admit how scared she was to go off into the real world with out her parents steady hands to guide her, putzed out in her jammies and asked my dad,

"Daddy, are you playing the banjo because people are hurting each other?"

And he shook his head a bit.

"yes, sweetie. I am"

***

And as an artist, I understand that.

The opposite of war isn't peace. It's creation.

We create to help ourselves cope with the ugly, brutal world that has been bred around us.

So, yes. "I remember" 9/11. But what I choose to remember is the long standing lesson my parents left in my heart. We are not put on this planet to hate. We are put on this planet to make it a better place through love, acceptance and tolerance. A lesson in creating instead of hating.

And with that lesson, I hope for all the people affected by this tragedy will find peace and healing.

Twitter, Twatter, Twat.

2010-09-09T16:00:00.000-07:00

I am fooling myself into thinking these pants fit. Many a muffin top has made the same mistake #somebodystopme

The 3 legged cat is acting weird. I'm pretty sure that's the 1st sign of the apocalypse, but it's been awhile since I read the bible.

Had a dream @joelmchale kissed me. Considering we are both married, he should be ashamed of himself, eventhough I am terribly irresistible.

My cats destroy every house plant I ever get. but unlike children, they don't talk.

Realizing that today's twitter fodder makes me sound like a crazy cat lady is clearly not stopping me.

maybe one of these days, I'll pay rent on time. Maybe not. I am a fan of tradition.

Eric Northman, pray the gay away!! Wait. Doesn't work for people #probablywontworkforvampires #damnit

I ate a shocking amount of Ritz crackers for dinner.

I wish my milkshake would stop bringing boys to my yard. It's getting increasingly more difficult to explain the crowd to my neighbors.

I am immensely amused that ADD used to be medically referred to as "minimal brain dysfunction"....uh oh!

The doctor handed me the string Carmen swallowed and said, "I saved it for you, because you paid for it". Most.expensive.thread.ever.

My cat doesn't want me to go to work today. Calling it in...

Didn't work. Apparently my reasoning that she is my child does not fall under any employer rights codes.

I blog a shocking amount about my cats. I want to apologize, but it would be insincere. I'm really not sorry.

Had to use an inappropriate amount of "2"'s in lieu of "to" in my last tweet. Makes me twitchy.

I wonder if the dog will walk himself.

I just had cheese for dinner. Don't tell.

X-Files Season 1: like boxed wine. So bad but it makes me warm inside. In a non-creepy way. I think.

Mulder and Scully seem to have no FBI supervision whatsoever. I wish it was like that at MY work. #ialsowishihuntedaliens

Just had to put the cone on the cat. Hilarity ensued.

Brought my baby Scoby home to brew my own #Kombucha - Mr. M thinks I'm batshit crazy. He's right, but just not about this.

Considering offering up the GIANT PENCIL {as seen in Seattle Times} as a prize for the person who gets me the stuff I need to teach.

If Mr. M dies, I'm carrying him around in a glass urn like Russell does Talbot. Except I'm gluing googly eyes to it. #trueblood

I have my niece today. Youngest {and paranoid} furkid thinks she's a space potato.

Just switched over to the white duvet cover, and am now eating chocolate in bed. #Iliveontheedge

update: got chocolate on the white duvet cover #theedgeblows #sheesh #goodnight @alyssatasker #stopcallingmenames

Me: *farts* Netflix on Wii: *stops working* Mr. M: YOU BROKE THE Wii

That last tweet was pert near grounds for divorce.

Mr. M ate my stash of @mollymoon choc. ice cream that I was saving for a rainy day. And by rainy I mean PMS. He doesn't even like chocolate

The amount of time I have students is the same amount it takes to cook a kid. That's some weird reverse psych. birth control shit right there

Twitter is either the best or the worst thing that ever happened to my ADD. I'll let you decide.

My little monsters arrived

2010-09-08T20:37:00.001-07:00

Kid 1: I need to take my medicine. I have ADD.

Me: ok I'll find the nurse.

*Pause* *Pause* *Shiny things* *Pause*

Me: I have ADD too.

Kid 2: I have ADHD. REAL BAD.

This tiny newspaper called the Seattle Times interviewed me

2010-09-02T09:45:00.000-07:00

and I totally forgot about it.

Until PIC texted me at 8am Sunday:

"YOU ARE ON THE FRONT PAGE OF THE SUNDAY TIMES!"

{she told me Monday that her Jewman made her wait, she wanted to text me at 7am. Thank you Jewman.}

and I got up, snuck out in my jammies to the neighbors front door to peek at the picture before they collected their paper {briefly thought about stealing it, because we just put second born furkid through college and the Sunday paper is TWO DOLLARS now} and thought,

"AW MAN, I forgot to wear make-up that day."

It was a small picture, with a caption telling about this video in which I look like I was teaching. I wasn't. Just wanted to clarify. Click here if the video below doesn't work.

So, that's how I do.

Meet Miguel Higowski

2010-08-29T16:07:00.000-07:00

I have a new pet.

Now before you get too worried, at least this one isn't furry and won't cost me anything.

Also, I say "I" have the pet because Mr. M is in a bit of denial about the whole thing.

My pet, is a SCOBY, or Symbiotic Culture of Bacteria and Yeast. It's a bit unorthadox, I admit, but it's living so it needed a name and a home.

So, meet Miguel.

sorry for the poor photo quality, it's the blob floating in the jar.

A SCOBY is used for Kombucha brewing. Kombucha is an ancient tea that is supposed to help balance your body from the inside out. Basically it helps the good bacteria grow, and detoxifies the bad stuff. You can find Kombucha tea in stores but it is VERY expensive. So Miss Carrie Jo and I are trying our hand at brewing our own. She got the "mother" SCOBY and brewed her first successful batch and then passed along the baby to me.

I will write more as the process goes along, but until then, there is some great information at the Komucha Kamp blog.

As a side note, I have been drinking Kombucha for the better part of a year now and have found it helps a lot with digestion, and {sorry, guys} yeast infections. I won't go into any more details, but just trust me, I've tried it all.

Does this mean no more cat blogging?

HA!
dream on.

Sneak preview...

2010-08-23T16:55:00.001-07:00

Honest to iPhone

Carmen Update

2010-08-21T14:49:00.000-07:00

After 5 days in the hospital, we brought our baby girl home.....

She's a little worse for wear.

Reveling in attention.

Basil keeps her company all day and all night. We can hardly get him to move.

One of the key factors to her recovery is going to be her eating and drinking on her own, rest, and about 5 different medicines. We are medicating her every 8 hours. She does NOT want.

Chicken leg EXTREME close up. Ridic.

She stinks to high heaven. We are hoping she starts feeling well enough to groom, because we can't bathe her. Her staples come out in about 10-14 days.

That's where we are. She's really doing well, she started eating little bits on her own today - really important because she is VERY weak. She started off at a healthy 6 pounds, and now she is well under.

Did I mention she stinks to high heaven?

yeesh.

We are so glad to have her back, it sure doesn't matter.

But really, she stinks.

Cautiously Optimistic.

2010-08-19T20:15:00.000-07:00

Remember Carmen?

And how she likes to play-with-and-then-eat things?

yeah, me too.

Well that is all fine and dandy if it is a bug.

It is NOT fine and dandy if it is a piece of thread that then gets caught under her tongue and starts pulling her intestines inside out, all while we are bad pet parents and out of town without a cat sitter.

{cue catholic guilt that I gleaned from my mom being raised catholic}

*****

When we got home, Morgan scrambled out from under the bed and let out the most sorrowful wail I have ever, ever heard. and then he scrambled right back under, literally panting from fear. I knew then, we had a problem.

Then, I found Carmen, limp on the kitchen floor and my heart jumped into my throat and has taken residence there ever since.

Rushed to the Vet.

Tests. X-rays. IV's. Admittance overnight.

The Doctor found a thread.

We don't know how much damage is done. So, here is a low end estimate, and here is the high end estimate for what it might take to fix her.

Scrambling for money that is tied up in savings and it is a SUNDAY.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. This can be fixed. It was MY thread by the sewing machine. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. goddamnit.

Saved by a loving MIL who gives a loan, even though she is not a pet person. She loves us. We just needed 2 days to get that money out of savings and Carmen doesn't have that much time.

Emergency late night surgery.

1 am

The string went through 8 places in her intestine. A better part of her bowel was removed. Cautiously Optimistic. You may visit tomorrow.

Day 1, How is this kitty going to make it?
Mr. M can't lose another cat {more on that later, as it was just on my mind days before this happened} so he says if she goes, we don't get any more. It's too much. Not too much money. Just.Too.Much.

She's not going to go. She's too much of a spitfire. I won't believe it.

Morgan is beside himself. Wails all night long. We don't sleep.

Day 2, blood pressure dropped overnight. New medication. Not unheard of. Cautiously Optimistic.
Go for a visit.

She meowed at me! and is decidedly pissed off. Nonetheless, she responds to my voice. These are a few of my favorite things.
Doctor updates the bill. Wants her to stay "several more nights".

But if one night costs that how can we even do it?
We can't. And that's the honest truth.

But we can do one more night.

I try explaining to Morgan, but he doesn't understand. He just sorrowfully cries and cries.

Day 3, weaning off meds. Tried to eat, threw up. Cautiously Optimistic.
Time for a visit.

Stubbornly, she gets up and tries to walk away from me. I joyfully and gently stop her. Clearly, she blames me, and that is a good sign. Doctors finagle the budget so that we can afford another night. The drain in her stomach is looking good, but one more day monitoring will put her in the clear.

Ok. We can do this.

one.more.night.

We really miss her.
Morgan is doing better. Much thanks to the kitty pheromones we sprayed. He is still out of sorts, but quieter about it. We sleep much better.

Day 4, Cleaned the dog crate, set up an infirmary. Phone call in. Still under budget. Big sigh of relief. Off all meds. Eating, not throwing up. Can she please stay one more night?

How much will it be?

Ok. We can do that.

Family in from out of town. No time for a visit. Heartsick by the end of the day for missing it.

Please can my baby come home tomorrow?
Yes. She can.

Audience Participation

2010-08-13T09:12:00.000-07:00

I'm out of town for the weekend for The Farmer's Veggie Wife Wedding.

I leave you with this question:

In 48 words or less - What wouldn't Meatloaf do for love?

You'll want to participate, because this will be part another blog post. And you want to be Honest to Blog famous, don't you? DON'T YOU?!

aaaaaand, go.

This does not bode well for our future children

2010-08-07T22:08:00.000-07:00

Things my mother will NOT back me up on:

my dog is a legitimate grandchild
my hair looks better curly
joining the circus is a likely career
Morgan, the {paranoid and probably blind} 3-legged cat is cute. and a legitimate grandchild
i am queen
she needs her hearing checked
i don't need to wear stockings

Things my mother WILL back me up on:

Morgan, the {paranoid and probably blind} 3-legged cat does not meow. He SCREAMS.

So when I say,
"My mom says so."

You will know that this is not one of those situations where my mom says I'm special. And try as I might, I have yet to evidence said screaming on camera. Mostly because it happens while I am sleeping. So my mom is the best proof I got.

onward, story.

My little cousin married his adorable college sweetheart this summer and we missed the wedding. Oh, and you know we love weddings. Best reason to dance, EVER.

Anyhooz.

Since we missed it, we made special time to have dinner and games with them last week.

You probably don't know this but, we have about 18 square inches of space in our apartment.

Our kitchen is like the galley of a small boat.
I should have put a quarter down for scale. It's about the same size.

The bathroom is bright blue (ceilings, walls, shower tiles. all of it), which I suppose is not relevant.
oh, but it's home.

So to make more room in our "dining area" {air quotes used here because we eat in the living room, unless we have guests}, I had to move the cat tower {oh yes. we are those people} to the bedroom.

Evidence A:

cat tower in said bedroom.

After a delightful evening of dinner and games, our guests departed to their home over the hill. We were left with full bellies and hearts and off we went to bed, vowing to worry about the clean up tomorrow.

A full belly, and a full heart, should equal a solid nights sleep.

Unless you're furkids are blessed with particular neurosis.

If that is the case, then your {paranoid and probably blind} 3-legged cat will go off the deep end due to this subtle change in the norm.

He will assume you are going to move. Again.

He will be sure that the space potatoes are coming to get him. Again.

He will steal all the tin foil from your tiny, boat sized kitchen and start lining the underside of the bed with it, leaving enough to only make one hat. One hat for him. Because WHY WOULD HE SAVE PARENTS WHO DON'T BELIEVE HIM?!

But because you are a people, and he is a {paranoid and probably blind} kitty cat, his complaints will not sound like that. They will sound like a kitty cat SCREAMING.
Screaming like a SMALL CHILD.
Which, yes, is weird.

And also annoying.

It will wake you and Mr. M up many times that night. You will wonder WHAT THE EFF IS WRONG?! You will consider drastic measures, like having a cat's vocal box removed. You will remind anyone who will listen {which at 4 in the morning is limited to the dog and the other cat} that you DO NOT have people babies right now for a reason.

You will discover that if you turn on the light, he shuts up.

And at that ungodly hour, you will think,

"Christ on a cracker, he's afraid of the dark." and you will direct Mr. M to immediately purchase a nightlight. An alien shaped one, because you are feeling hateful towards your particularly paranoid furkid.

When morning comes, after a cup of coffee, you will try to discover the root of the problem.

Is he asthmatic?
Is it allergies again? {you hope it's not this, because you already buy the most-effing-expensive food on the market due to the last run-in with said allergies}
Was he really afraid of the dark? {and if so, shoooot. not sure there is a legit solution to that problem}

And then you will see him {and you will try not to look directly at him, because you are still not on talking terms} SCREAM at the cat tower. After he is done screaming, he will plink, plink, plink his little legs into the room that the cat tower is supposed to be and SCREAM again.

And then, you get it.

You finally understand that you have raised such neurotic furkids that a simple change of furniture will send them spiraling downward into a deep state of panic. And they will take you along for the ride. LOUDLY.
You should not be trusted with human life, if this will be the result.

And so, even though you always intended on moving the cat tower back to it's rightful location, you now do it with a certain amount of spite. Because you did not sleep well last night, and that makes mommy grumpy.

really? are we all going to be ok now?

It's been 5 days. We have all slept through the nights.

We are NOT all talking to each other yet. But at least we aren't screaming.

Not more than usual, anyway.

And you have to believe me. Because my mom said so.

So, what is love then? Is it dictated, or chosen?

2010-08-04T22:44:00.000-07:00

For tonight, I will not worry about what is to come. For tonight, I will see the good in mankind. For tonight, I will believe that love has won.

Because I know tomorrow, there will still be mountains to climb.

But not tonight.

My heart delights in the overturning of California's Prop 8, the ban on gay marriage. Unconstitutional. Well, duh.

I listened to this song in the car today, and was washed over with emotion from the lyrics.

"So what is love then? Is it dictated, or chosen?
Does it sing like the hymn of a thousand years?
Or is it pop-emotion?
And if it ever was there and then left,
does it mean it was never true?"

Fitting? Yes.

And this....well, this makes me cry every time. Today I let it be happy tears.

Celebrate! and then, we will march forward.

As it were, I have not blogged in 11 days.

2010-08-03T22:25:00.001-07:00

and somebody has been counting.....

I would like to make one correction. This exchange implies that I do not like subaru outbacks and lesbians. This is a shocking allegation and there is no truth to these rumors. I love lesbians and outbacks. Specifically, lesbians in outbacks.

I hope you are all happy. You made me blog.

In other news, I will be posting an advertisement for new friends. Outback driving, musical loving, short dog breeding, grilled cheese eating, coffee drinking, lesbians.

This is Seattle, I think I stand a chance.

{forgive the blurry jpegs. I am not yet a photoshop pro. You'll note, there is now a complaint section under the header for such things. you're welcome.}

If anything, my dreams are honest.

2010-07-23T21:24:00.000-07:00

HtC: Mr. M, I had a dream last night that you kept pulling me underwater, even though you know I hate that!

Mr. M: I'm Sorry?

HtC: But then I work up and realized that I was all smothered in my pillow, so I really was gasping for air.

Mr. M: And you blamed ME?

HtC: Well, yeah.

G's up, Ho's down. And all that good stuff.

2010-07-12T12:44:00.000-07:00

Work out music.

We all know it's a must.

We have all showed up at the gym, dug around in our bag, found out we forgot our iPod, and promptly turned around and left.

You know you have your list.

My sister listens to Backstreet Boys and Disco. My best friend listens to techno. My husband doesn't work out {bastard}.

I absolutely tolerate no less than gangsta rap. G's up, Ho's down, and all that good stuff.

Also, I purposefully download the "explicit" version. I NEED the swear words. I NEED the thundering, driving beat. I NEED more than just a fast pace.

Join the rest of the conversation here:

The world is now a safer place

2010-07-09T13:10:00.000-07:00

This is Carmen.

Carmen weighs 6 pounds soaking wet. I'm not even over-exaggerating here {I'll give you a moment to take THAT in}.

Carmen was an alley cat before we met her. She was an angry alley cat in a cage when we met her. There were signs all over the shelter begging people to adopt her so that they wouldn't have to put her down the next day.

So we went to go save her.

We didn't want a long hair cat.

We didn't want another gray cat so close to losing our first cat who was gray.

But dammit. She wanted us.

There was some concern when she hid for the first two weeks at home.

Now, she spends 40% of her time doing this:

50% of her time judging you:

and 10% of her time playing.

That's 100% right? Check my math. I only teach 1st grade.

Today {oh yes, there is more to this story}, a GIANT fly got into our apartment.
Let's recall these important facts:

Carmen weighs SIX POUNDS.
She is not big.
She is an alley cat.

Here. For those of you who need a visual, Carmen and The Fly:

Carmen loves to chase bugs. It's the scrapper in her. Basil loves to ruin it for her. It's the little jerk in him. So they woke us up, thundering around the house trying to catch said fly.

One more important fact: Due to an unfortunate confrontation with my Mom's new couch {when we lived there}, Carmen now has no claws. I'm sorry. I couldn't afford a new couch.

{she still hasn't forgiven me}

So, just as Mr. M is about to shoo the fly out of the apartment {before the furkids completely destroyed it (the apartment, not the fly)} Carmen CATCHES THE FLY, without CLAWS, and EATS IT.

Reminder:

GIANT FLY, tiny cat.

And that, my friends, is why you always adopt your pets from a shelter.

Post inspired by LiLu's plight to save the furbabies via twitter.

In which I need one of those dream catcher things

2010-07-06T12:12:00.000-07:00

I had this dream last night.

*shudder*

I was at Disneyland ALL DAY, with a baby. We stood in line for hours just get onto Peter Pan. We walked around with a stroller. I changed diapers.

Then at 11:00pm {1 hour before Disneyland closes} I went back to the hotel room and begged somebody to take the baby so that I could go on a rollercoaster.

Just.One.Rollercoaster.

Finally, somebody did. {not sure who...dream parenting, FAIL}

But I couldn't get back to the park. I got lost. It was dark and I wanted my damn rollercoaster. Then, I finally got there and A PARADE WAS IN MY WAY. I couldn't get to space mountain.

I cried and cried and cried.

Then, I woke up.

It doesn't take a dream interpreter to understand what my subconscious was telling me.

Who has two thumbs and is NOT ready to have a baby?

This Girl!

{sorry Mom}

Because I was a parent.

2010-06-25T18:35:00.000-07:00

Today was the last day of school. Oh I have been WAITING for this. Our year went long, and we were exhausted. I was tired of being screamed at, the kids were tired of me screaming back.

I had desks shoved into me.
Pencils thrown at me.
I had to restrain children.
There were hard questions.
CPS calls.
Fistfights.

Oh, there was some math and reading too.

And today when they left, I sighed relief. My days could be a trifle more predictable for a few weeks.
I got home.
Rested for a few hours.

Then it hit me.

I missed them. Their furrowed brows. The screaming at me, the screaming back...because...goddamit we cared. We were up against a lot together. And when you are up against that much, it's not pretty.

Oh, and there was some math and reading too.

What I have realized is that, I was a parent this year. I got them clean clothes when they showed up for a week in the same stinky underpants. I brushed their hair when it was left unbrushed for so long, seeing the look of relief on their face. I hugged them when they had temperatures but didn't want to go home, because who was going take care of them? I tied shoes. And then tied them again. I built lego castles with children who had just chucked pencils at me. Because, sometimes we both need a break. I bandaged boo boos. I said "I love you" a lot.

Oh, there was some math and reading too.

So I guess I'm pretty wrecked. I don't get to keep brushing their hair, bandaging their boo boos and forgiving their intolerable attitudes. I don't get to tell them that they can hate me all they want, I'm still going to love them.

And if it were any other school, I would believe that 80% of them will get that fulfilled at home. But I know they won't. So I hope what I did lasts them at least the summer, until they get back into the classroom, where they are more than likely going to have an amazing teacher {because most are} who will take over where I left off.

Which included some pretty high math and reading scores.

My little scar.

2010-06-19T15:24:00.000-07:00

Love is a mystery.

True love is almost mythological.

Perhaps it is the world we have built around us. The world where there is no truth in ever after.

We are bogged down with fairy tales, celebrity and lies.

Yes. Lies.

And so, when confronted with a difficult situation, true love often crumbles. Because nobody warned you. More importantly, nobody told you how much better it would be if you just stuck it out.

We are so afraid of exposing our little scars because, what will people think?

You've seen how it's done. The whispers of judgment. The magazine covers. The internet gossip. You have been on the giving end of that ridicule. Watching people crumble before you. That moment when you look at somebody's little scar and you think "well I'm certainly better than that".

But none of us are. I promise you. None of us are.

And so this was the year that I thought my marriage would end. We had hit our first major bump in the road and it didn't look like it was a bump we had the traction to get over. I was embarrassed, mortified, and scared. Who could I talk to? Who wouldn't be thinking in the back of their heads "I knew you shouldn't have gotten married so young?" Who wouldn't advise me, "At least you don't have kids involved in this mess." Or "Get out while you are still young."

Who would understand that if I survived this, I would still love my husband so deeply without question?

And yes, it could have been worse. There was no infidelity, no abuse. Just two souls battling for peace.

And we did something. I have no idea how we knew to do it. But we did it.

We sought our elders. Each of us, without the other knowing, reached out to one person who's marriage had stood the test of time. Nervously, humbly, we asked for help. Like children, we looked to the people in our lives who could teach us how.

How to love.
How to listen.
How to understand.

But what we both discovered on our anonymous journeys was that the root of the problem did not lie in our partner.

We were looking at each other through the looking glass of our own faults. At that moment, our fights stopped being with each other.

We started fighting for each other.

And we fought.

And from the outside, it might have looked pretty bad. You would be glad you didn't have that scar.

Because trust me, even though you know that you are the one in charge of healing your private pain, well, that doesn't make it easy to do.

And still you wonder, what would people think? what if they really knew?

But slowly, you start to come out of it. you stop blaming. you stop seeking approval. not even from your partner. It's a very heavy burden, to know you could crumple your lovers entire world. No one should have that power. It's not safe.

And then one day. June 19th, 2010 to be exact, you discover that you found it. Your peace.

You did something just for yourself. And your love was proud of you, which was nice. And welcomed. But you realize that it. just. didn't. matter.

No one could take that moment away from you.

And you fell deeper in love with your partner than you ever thought you could. Because you were finally in love with yourself.

You are not better because of your partner. You are not better for your partner.

You are just better. And that is so filling, you might explode with love.

Memo:

2010-06-15T20:32:00.000-07:00

It went something like this:

{Honest to Christina is sitting in bed waiting for her somewhat legal download of True Blood Season Premier to fully load so she can watch it. She finds herself bored because sitting still is not really on her "good at stuff" list}
{reaches for wallet}

HtC: Maybe....just maaaaaybe I can finally buy my domain without Mr. M noticing.

{Mr. M is sick on the couch. Honest to Christina is not a bad wife but rather a wife who promotes independence}

Mr. M: {Walks into the bedroom and sees wallet} What are you buying?

HtC: {scrambles to hide already seen card, almost dropping computer} You don't want to know.

Mr. M: {Question Mark Face with thoughts of porn and expensive shoes rushing in the background behind his eyes}

HtC: {Mumbles} My blog domain.

Mr. M: {Slaps forehead and walks out}

If you still link to my old blogspot address, it will direct you here automatically so stop taking your anxiety medicine unnecessarily. If you would like to feel cooler the new address is:

www.honesttochristina.com

Because honesttoblog.com was parked by somebody else who is NOT USING IT and that makes me angry.

Punch somebody?

But whateves.

The only upsetting part of all this {BLOGGER ARE YOU LISTENING?} is that ALL MY COMMENTS ARE GONE. So if you commented recently, I'm sorry I didn't get back to you.
{The answers are: Coleen - yes the tattoo is real and I need to get it finished, also on the fucket list because it's going to hurt real badsies on my spine so I avoid it. And: Smash - I knew you would say that and I fully support it.}

Consider yourselves memoed. {memorized? memolied?}

Edited to Add: Comments back! Blogger WAS listening. Oh Google, you had me at "search".

Badassedness

2010-06-14T21:18:00.000-07:00

It is a little known fact that I was once a wildland firefighter.

This is a little known fact because it falsely portrays me as tough, and I hate to put out an image I can't keep up with {ahem, blogging, ahem}.

Like one time, when Mr. M and I were still dating, his ex-girlfriend found out I was a firefighter and she told him that she was sure I could beat her up. That was before she met me and over 6 years ago and I'm pretty sure she's figured it out by now {no bad blood, folks. We run in the same circles}. Plus, she has a gun {she's a cop} and that sorta screws me because I am more of a "bring a crayola whittled into a shiv to a gun fight" sort of girl.

Note: Crayola whittled shiv is never mightier than the sword.

Oh look, I'm making no sense again. Do you people actually read this shit?

So listen. I've been watching a lot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. We don't have TV and it's on netflix instant watch.

{That's my excuse.}

I'm a total fan girl.

{That's the Honest to Blog truth.}

What it really comes down to is this: I want to punch somebody.

Now let me be clear, I DO NOT want to punch the aforementioned ex-girlfriend. That story was anecdotal. She is a very sweet girl.

No. No. I actually can't think of anybody specific I want to punch. I just want to punch somebody. Because it looks fuckin' bad ass.

Which, I'm not.

But I want to be.

I can think of two moments where I wish I had the badassedness {totally a word} to punch somebody. One involves and ex-boyfriend in bed with someone else and the other involves and really big jerk at a bar.
But those were in the moment things. I can't just walk up and punch those people now. That's how restraining orders happen. And restraining orders = ruined career.

I know what you are thinking: "Well, that Honest to Christina is really unstable. She shouldn't teach children."

Honey, that's the least of the reasons why I shouldn't teach children.

Regardless, I also know you are thinking about the somebody or some situation in which you wish you had the badassedness {totally a word} to throw that punch.

So, fess up Buffy wannabes. What was it? {aw c'mon. you BLOG. we all know that means you are as unstable as me.}

Because it makes me feel rich.

2010-06-04T19:02:00.000-07:00

So I'm selling the Passat {pronounced in Mrs. M Speak: Puh- ASS - at}. I do love the car. It's the first I've ever owned, although not the first I have driven. Either way, It's always been VW for me.

But my parents made me an offer I can't refuse. I couldn't refuse for these two reasons.

1st {and probably most important}: It's a volvo.
Which means that I can call it my "Vulva". As in, "Don't worry, I'll drive. We can take my Vulva" {insert uncomfortable silence here}

The.only.reason.i've.ever.wanted.a.volvo.

2nd: Leather seats, sun roof.
Makes me feel rich. I like feeling rich, as I am not...rich. It's why we live where we live. Damn, the rent is cheap, but I can feel smug that the house behind us is being sold for $1.4 Million.

And when I drive up in the {11 year old, don't let me fool you} Vulva, you won't know WHAT house I'm going to. Could be the $1.4 million one. YOU.DON'T.KNOW. {Ok so they have a beamer. shut up}.

But to sell the aforementioned, doesn't make me feel rich, car I need to do one important thing.

Clean it.

yep. that's a 13 gallon, tall kitchen bag filled with garbage from my car. Like, legitimate garbage. Not just - "meh, I haven't needed this in a long time so, toss it." No. no. Garbage. Like, "Why did this not make it into a TRASH RECEPTACLE SOONER?"

I promise. I'll be nicer to my Vulva {giggles}. I have to be. It won't be rich if it's messy. Right?

An Open Letter

2010-06-02T20:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Mr. M -

I know it's been hard. I know it's been trying. I know it's been a bit confusing.

All that healthy stuff in the fridge. The lack of snacks.

I know.

It was only a matter of time before you took it upon yourself to do some of the grocery shopping. I'm sure it was good for you. Some man time. A time when you didn't have to look at the labels, count the calories, or check the fat content.

You deserved it.

I won't touch on the fact that it is ~~incredibly~~ a little annoying that you can eat whatever you want and sleep on the sofa for exercise.
But no, bitter doesn't look good on me.

All I'm really saying, nay, demanding is that you don't keep anything around the house that could be constructed into nachos.

I beg of you to remember that I have a degree in the arts that is wasting away, so you need to be creative about what could be considered "nacho makings". It might be the only creative outlet I have left and I am giving you permission to squash it.

If you insist on keeping such items around, please hide them. Hide them in a place where I have to burn lots of calories to get to them. Let me leave no doubt in your mind that, I.will.find.them.

There are only about 700 sq ft to search, and I don't mess around when it comes to search and seizure of nacho makings.

I thank you in advance for your cooperation during this trying time for both of us.

Yours,
Mrs. M

Cross-Posted at IITGI

alright folks, this is what I got.

2010-05-26T19:27:00.000-07:00

You know I love to keep you at bay with kid quotes. It's like a pacifier.

Here, take this. I know milk doesn't come out of it, but it will HAVE TO DO.

*****

Me: "yes, that's right, MORE has an "OR" sound in it, can anyone think of another "OR" word?"
Kid: "Whore."

Kid: "Mrs. M, Why don't you and Mr. M have kids?"
Me: {well, shit, did my mom call you?} "Mr. M is in college right now, so we think it would be better for him to finish school..."
Kid: "Uh, I hate to tell you this, but you can't control when you get pregnant. You just do."
Me: {ok. you're 7...} "This is a great conversation for home."

Kid: "Yeah, I punched that hooker in the nose"

Teacher: "I'm going to have to keep a list of when you are mean to each other. Each tally mark equals one minute off recess"
Kid: "What is that? Your shit list?"

Kid {on field trip}: "There are molesters in these woods"

{all different kids, by the by. Gems, aren't they?!}

The Place {where shoes go to die}

2010-05-20T18:41:00.000-07:00

All of a sudden, I'm an athlete.

I know, right? What happened? One week wine-o, next week marathon runner.

Ok, maybe not quite. but I swear, I feel like I could. And it largely has to do with these.

.....want more? I now contribute to this blog {button is on the side bar too}. Here is the rest of the post.

Enjoy!

The Emerald City

2010-05-16T22:14:00.000-07:00

I wish I had a photographer's eye.

So that I could show you what green is.

Photo Credit

I wish I had a poet's tongue.

So that I could tell you the secrets that the trees hold.

When the sun comes to the Pacific Northwest, the whole world seems to shimmer and vibrate. It's different than the sun that lingers on the California coast. It has no filter. It just shines down, making the whole city come to life.

But what is most impressive, is the green of the trees. We spend months under a rainy, gray cover and our reward is the few moments of pure life that arrive on our front porch in the spring time. You can't look anywhere without seeing shades and shades of green. More shades that a crayola box could dream to hold.

And they.are.alive.

What I am truly saying is that it is no accident that green is my favorite color. No accident at all.

The furkids in technicolor

2010-05-14T22:17:00.001-07:00

Honest to iPhone

Newsweek, I shake my angry fist at you.

2010-05-11T22:00:00.000-07:00

Remember that time I gave newsweek a piece of my mind? For being sexist, bigoted ass-monkey's about teachers?

Well, they have done it again. This time, with homophobic theatre reviews. But, my FUCKING HERO Kristin Chenoweth came to my {your?} rescue and saved us all of another tiresome blog written Honest to Christina style. So just go read it and thank K-Chen for saving you from more torture from me.

Newsweek, you really know how to target everything I love. First teaching, and now the theatre and THE GAYS. I shake my angry fist at you.

Kristin Chenoweth really is more elegant that I, in every way.

"I encourage Newsweek to embrace stories which promote acceptance, love, unity and singing and dancing for all!" - Kristin Chenoweth

First Grade Theology

2010-05-11T21:08:00.000-07:00

Kid #1: Mrs. M, why are babies born with fingers?

Me: {thinks to self: oh crap, oh crap, oh crap} because things happen like that in nature {thinks to self: good save, M}

Kid #2: GOD makes babies

Kid #1: Well then who made God?

Me: {thinks to self: good question. no, wait. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap}

Kid #2: He just exisits.

Kid #1: Well then, where to angels come from?

Me: {thinks to self: oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Also, she's good.}

Kid #2: {yelling} GAWSH! I DON'T KNOW! STOP ASKING SUCH HARD QUESTIONS!

aaaand scene.

This Urban Life

2010-05-10T14:27:00.000-07:00

Miss Carrie Jo: That guy is always out there doing that to his lawn.

Me: Mowing it?

Miss Carrie Jo: Yeah, that.

Me: I guess you have to do that when you have a lawn.

Welcome to the 2%

2010-05-08T22:45:00.001-07:00

I am 98% sure that 98% of the time, people think I am a fool.

98% of the time it's funny, because I'm not.
2% of the time it's not funny, because I'm not.

Welcome to the 2%.

Honest to iPhone

The big day.

2010-05-05T21:02:00.000-07:00

Well I haven't been able to find video, but here is the full speech that I managed to give in front of a thousand people with out peeing my pants. I had to cut it for time, but I think the full speech is much better, so that's what I am posting. Enjoy.

*****

My name is Christina, and I teach 1st and 2nd grade.

I give hugs, band-aids and check-pluses. I get dandelions, boogers and love notes.

I dance, I act, I sing, I read.

I solve world problems.

I cry, I sweat, I get really dirty.

I always do my best to fix broken crayons, broken hearts, and broken lives. But I don’t always have enough tape.

I accept hugs as currency.

I went to grad school to learn how to use just enough glue, cut on the lines, and write really fast.

But that’s not what I am here to talk to you about. I am here to tell you why I show up every day.

I often get stuck on the idea of "homelessness" because it is such a huge part of our population and it seems it should be the focus point. After all, according to the 2010 count, over half the homeless population in Seattle consists of families with children. That’s daunting. I may know how to use just enough glue, but what do I know about how to help?

What I do know, is that when children deal with trauma, the approach to teaching them becomes completely different. These kids know how to survive, but how do I teach them to dream?

One day at a time, one child at a time. That’s how.

That’s why I show up everyday.

Any teacher can tell you, that any child, anywhere, can not show up for school and leave their baggage at the door. Everything that happens in their young lives is carried around with them. And yet we expect them to push it aside for 6 hours a day in order to learn their basic academics.

Too often, as adults we forget that they are still fine tuning their coping mechanisms. They have not had the time, or often the support needed to do so. Children are still learning how to communicate their pains, but how can they if they don’t understand them? Something as simple as looking at the calendar and realizing that yet another move is coming can trigger a melt down. I know, I’ve seen it happen. And when this happens, can I really expect for them to get their math work done?

What I have learned, is that kids are resilient, they are survivors, and they carry their baggage with the hope that it can only get better. I see them begin to burrow their roots deep into the school's fertile soil and they become more and more sturdy in the foundation of hope built around them.
That’s why I show up every day.

Of course, some days it isn’t as easy to see.

Students may come and go in our classes. The going is always the hardest part.

I must admit, I was not prepared for the feeling of a child leaving and knowing that we were just on the verge of something good with them. I will always remember the sweet little girl that came in, and completely turned my teaching plan upside down. She had moved more times in her 6 years than she knew how to count. In first grade, she was reading below kindergarten level and could not comprehend basic number sense. There were so many gaps in her education caused by a life on the go. But, slowly…slowly, over the course of 6 weeks she began to settle in. We began to trust each other. I began to understand how to teach her.

And just like that, she was gone.
Oh the what-if’s.
The could have been's.
The why didn’t I sooner's…

I have to remind myself that for every child that I send off with my wondering, I see 5 who begin to grow and thrive.

Take the child who started at First Place with an attitude bordering on dangerous. In any other school, he would be seen as a behavior problem. Brushed aside or alienated into a specialized classroom. We teachers and case managers were the lucky ones to have the time to get to know him and his family. We were the ones blessed with seeing his mother take ownership of her life. I even caught myself off guard by cheering out loud with, when she told me she was finishing her GED. The case managers supported her as she took the daunting steps to get stable housing and a safe environment for her young son. And it seemed that literally overnight, we saw a peace enter his demeanor. His normal violence turned into concern for others. His bad attitude turned into respect for himself. And of course, most important to me, his refusal to do his school work turned into a note passed to me from the back of the class:

Dear Teacher,
Math is FUN! Let’s do it more.

Now, That’s why I show up every day.

They're just so innocent.

2010-04-29T20:45:00.000-07:00

ah, I am re-entering online world again. Sorry about the hiatus. I was doing so much that I forgot to poop.

no seriously.

Anyhoo, here are a few kid quotes to tide you over until I hunt down video (if it exists) of my speech, and edit video (that does exist) of my dog being reallyfuckingcute.

Kid: I don't feel good. My tummy hurts.
Me: Are you going to barf? Don't come into class! Stay at least 3 feet away from me! Do you need to lay down?
Kid: That depends. Do we have art this afternoon?
Me: Uh, Yes.
Kid: Ok, then I don't need to lay down.

{if you couldn't tell, I don't.do.barfing.}
{Also, this is a kid after my heart. I would ask the same question}

Me: You can practice your beatboxing on the playground.
Kid 1: {in shock} How do YOU know what beatboxing is?!
Kid 2: Well, DUH. She's a TEACHER.

And finally, this:

{with A Penis}

Go ahead a file "this is not an appropriate love note" under "conversations I never thought I would have".

(lucky enough?)

2010-04-22T23:28:00.000-07:00

Life is a paradox.

Oh god. and it's swirling around me.

I want to make it go away.

Not life itself. I love living too much. But the constant upheaval, the what ifs, maybe whens and we'll get there soons.

I can tell myself that everybody feels this way. But I fear I am a bad liar. It is probable that some folks are just getting it right. Right for themselves anyway. And perhaps I am doomed (lucky enough?) to not know exactly what I want. To show up and let the decisions around me, become me.

Perhaps.

Meanwhile, a good nights sleep might make me feel better about the fact that,

hey, I showed up for the party.

Interrupting cow

2010-04-21T15:17:00.001-07:00

I taught my kids a knock knock joke (which opens up a whole can of worms).

They loved it but were a little confused on the delivery:

Kid: knock knock

Me: who's there?

Kid: interrupting cow

Me: interrupting cow who?

Kid: (pause, pause, pause, pause)

Me: (looking around)

Kid: Moo! (giggle giggle)

Also, did you know that kids LOVE to write their own knock knock jokes? Yeah, neither did I but I wish I did.

Honest to iPhone

Go Team 'Merica! {sarcasm implied}

2010-04-18T21:45:00.000-07:00

It happened folks. It finally happened.

I saw something that left me with no words. I just slammed my head into a wall and I'm going to go to bed and hope that I have a concussion so that I stand a chance of not waking up in a world like this:

*slam**slam**slam*

{For good measure}

Honest to Text Message

2010-04-15T12:00:00.000-07:00

Honest to Christina: I'm on my fourth glass of wine. Uh Oh.

Partner in Crime: It's ok, you pour small so you can feel like you drink more!

Honest to Christina: I'm at a bar. So, Big Girl Pours.

Partner in Crime: Uh Oh.

{p.s. yes, it's true. I pour small so I can feel like I drink more. don't judge me, I don't judge you. not a lot anyway}

There was a disturbance on the playground. or, "Mrs. M TOTALLY got into a fight at the park"

2010-04-14T23:04:00.000-07:00

you decide.

We took the kiddos down to the park for recess today because
a) it was gorgeous
and
2) it killed some extra time

And you know kids. They run, they scream, they wrestle. In fact, I think we could take a few pointers from how kids transition into recess time. Running and screaming with sheer delight. We should feel that way at least once a day too. But, alas grown ups do not (can not?). I swear, I'm going to video tape it as a good reminder.

This, however, was very upsetting to the woman sitting ALONE in the park, using the stairs to the slide as a place to read her newspaper, even though there were about 4 perfectly good unused benches.
As soon as she spoke one word to my kids, I stepped in.

And.she.ripped.me.a.new.one.

whoo boy she was mad because I am not involved enough in my kids play time. I let them (OMG NO WAY) play tag. And a few of them were wrestling on the grass. EVEN WORSE! they were using the stairs she was sitting on to get to the slide. I was supposed to be PLAYING with them and SUPERVISING them better according to her. and she was a teacher, so she knew.

Here I am, and how often do I try to teach my kids how to handle a bully? SO I walked away after thanking her for her input as she continued to scream and threaten to call the school (you are welcome to, I told her. But I didn't tell her what school to call).

What I wanted to say was, you must be a pretty shitty teacher. otherwise you'd be at work right now. Oh, and you are welcome to leave the park...that is BUILT FOR CHILDREN at any time now. But I didn't. Goddamnit.

And one of my little peanuts says to me, "why is that lady so mad? Is it because we are making noise?"
and I said, yeah.
To which she replied, "Well, that's silly. It's a PARK. That's where we are SUPPOSED to make noise."
And I said, exactly. So go ahead and make some noise. Don't forget to use your indoor voice when we get inside.

So she rolled her eyes at me. And did.

What was so great about the whole thing was that my kids, who find 15 different ways a day (EACH) to tell me how much they hate me, or how awful I am...well, they were outraged that somebody could treat me that way.
Because they only hate me because I love them. And it's not cool to let somebody love you.

sigh. I really do. Love them, that is.

Oh, welcome. Sorry I didn't vacuum, I had no idea you were coming over.

2010-04-09T16:56:00.000-07:00

You Guys.

YOU GUYS!

I got caught with my pants down.

Seriously, I entered a contest over at Daddy Scratches blog for a GLEE prize pack, thinking, "psh. I never win anything". But since it was easy to enter {and I love Glee} I did {y'all make it way to hard with your rules about tweeting, and retweeting and commenting and spinning 14 times in a circle, then spitting on a bird AND catching it all on camera and whatnot}.

AND I WON.

And there is a link up to my blog and I have TWO sappy posts in a row.

Shit. I don't want people to think I'm not funny. That's like having company over and not vacuuming.

I worry about these things.

Heaven.

2010-04-07T19:47:00.000-07:00

I am an auntie. And I am in love.

My world will never be the same again. Honest to Blog.

first big camping trip

2010-03-30T10:39:00.001-07:00

Honest to iPhone

I may or may not have had a twilight marathon this weekend.

2010-03-29T20:32:00.000-07:00

But I don't want to talk about it.

I did, however, tweet about it:

- Watching Kristin Stewart blink a lot and mouth breathe #girlsonlyweekend

- My friend on Bella mouth breathing: "maybe she has a deviated septum" #girlsonlyweekend

- Me on Edward: "I'd play just the tip with his fangs" #girlsonlyweekend

- Friend on Edward: "He's kind of Bi-Polar" Me: "Maybe he can't process the meds" #girlsonlyweekend

- In a fight between a raptor and a vampire, who do you think will win?

- I'm on Team Raptor

Goodnight Tiny Humans

2010-03-21T22:38:00.001-07:00

Remember when I said that kids were people, just short people?

As I'm watching True Blood, my favorite vampire Eric just uttered the words that summed up my thoughts perfectly:

Eric: "They're like miniature humans. Teacup humans! Goodnight tiny humans...."

*snort* it's perfect!

Tweedle-Dee: in pictures

2010-03-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

Who let me have an iphone? AND an app that takes Polaroid style pictures?

I apologize to Twitter.

p.s. I know I spelled narcissism wrong, but I am waaaay to lazy to fix it. IT'S ALL ABOUT ME.

Is it in poor taste to just leave the whole block of cheese on the coffee table where I can reach it and still tweet?

My favorite shoe and the "innocent until proven guilty"

Thanks to Mama Kat for the "blog yer Polaroids with the accompanying tweets below" idear. {I just can't stand plagiarism.}

The one where I give Newsweek a piece of my mind {a piece of my mind that I would like back because I don't have much mind to begin with}

2010-03-20T10:44:00.000-07:00

In writing this piece, I will inevitably piss off two groups of people: Parents and Writers.

I will never claim to be a good writer. I love to write, and with some guidance I could probably do pretty well. But I don't care to.

I do not have children and right now I don't care to {emphasis RIGHT NOW}. I love children and someday want a few of my own, but right now I don't care to because I am in no place to be a parent.

What I care to do is teach. And I care to do it well.

So Newsweek, I say, Fuck You.

{Oh my gawsh, did that teacher just say the eff word? She shouldn't be allowed to teach.}

You see, apparently the problem with the education system is the teachers. Which we have been hearing about for longer than I can remember. Newsweek writers Evan Thomas and Pat Wingert assert with their article Why We Must Fire Bad Teachers, that the solution is simple. Out with the shitty teachers, in with the flawless ones!

Yet they offer no measurement on what makes this perfect teacher they speak of.

What they do offer is an explaniation of WHY teachers are so bad:

". . .teaching in public schools has not always attracted the best and the brightest. There once was a time when teaching (along with nursing) was one of the few jobs not denied to women and minorities."

I'll give you a moment to vomit.

And the reality is, if you really want to make progress, you are going to need an act of God,

"It is difficult to dislodge the educational establishment. In New Orleans, a hurricane was required."

Because Teh Womenz can't be bothered to make changes, lest they chip their manicure.

So all this Rah Rah {ah ha ha, roma romaa-ah, ga, ga, oh la la...want your bad romance} about change and what do they have to offer? A reform. A reform that turns teacher selection into a process like...

...wait for it...

THE MARINES.

"'You know, the Marine Corps never has any problem meeting its enlistment goals, because it's an elite corps, and people want to be part of something that is seen as the best,' says Daniel Weisberg"

Now let's all bang our heads against a wall.

See? We're making progress here. No Wait. We aren't. This article offers NO SOLUTION except firing teachers based on some mystery equation that shows whether or not that teacher is a good one.

So what do I have to say about all this {aside from the eff word}?

First off, I have no problem with firing bad employees. Accountability is vital to the working world. So somebody needs to offer a measurement of what makes a teacher a good employee. There seems to be this picturesque idea out their that teachers sit in front of a classroom and do NOTHING all day. It couldn't be more untrue. Teachers solve problems, think on their feet and organize major activities every day. The job is literally exhausting.
Am I good employee because I show up everyday early, stay late and turn in all my paperwork on time?
I often work 50+ hours a week to make sure I am always prepared.
I have taken 2 sick days this year.
I show up at all my meetings on time and actively participate.
I am respectful and kind to my co-workers.
I don't misuse the office supplies or equipment.
I answer e-mails in a timely fashion.
I write comprehensive lesson plans backed by research and keep records of how the lesson plans worked/didn't work so that I can make changes.

Aren't these all things that a good employee does?

So what standard am I being held to? The standard that my underfed, inappropriately dressed, attention starved students get in the top percentiles of state tests?

No, really Newsweek. You tell me why a student getting through the day with only one outburst, when his norm is ten outbursts is NOT a success.

You would never catch me writing an article on Why We Must Fire Bad Parents. I have no right to go there, because every person's situation is different.

So, when I get one of those kids that shows up in dirty clothes, doesn't eat and doesn't understand why in real life, if you shoot somebody it will kill them - I'm going to do my best to do right by that kid and that kid's parents.

If, by the end of the year, he is less violent and I have found books that interest him to take the place of some of his video games, I have done my job.
Guess what? His test scores might not be that high, but his teacher next year will thank me.

When I get a child who is constantly moving, who has unstable parents and inconsisatncy in every corner of her life - I'm going to do my best to do right by that kid and that kid's parents.

If, by the end of the year, she feels safe enough in her classroom environment to take chances and try reading a book, or working through a math problem by herself, I have done my job.
Nope, she won't test well. But she will feel safety and security which is one of the first steps to a child being a willing learner.

Could I blame the parents for these situations? yep. And ohhh would I love to. On the really hard days, when I have been kicked, or treated poorly, I do. But then I have to get over it and move on. Because, it is what it is. And who knows the whole story? Certainly not me. What I do know is that each child's version of success is so vastly different that it is almost impossible to measure.

But the most important thing I know as a teacher, is that children are PEOPLE {albeit short people} and each one is different. Just like everybody else. I might change one child's world for the better and another child might not connect with me. Each year, I will see students come in and out of my classroom, and I will hope that I am the one to help them succeed. However, I know in my heart I am just watering the roots. I may never see them bloom in my class because some plants, well, they just need more time.
So do I get fired because all of my plants don't bloom, even if they have healthy roots that will be secure?
I guess so.

But I am just a woman.

Harry Wong, I want my Money Back

2010-03-19T21:55:00.000-07:00

Chapters Missing from The Book:

"How to convince your first grader that, 'This class is fucking jacked up' is an untrue statement"

"Kid's, we don't gangsta rap in class {or, "Don't Be Samplin', lay your own fresh rhyme"}"

"It is counter-productive to sit on your bottom, criss-cross applesauce. No matter what they say"

"How to yell without losing your voice"

Curse you, Harry Wong!

Is it wrong that I find this a compliment?

2010-03-18T14:19:00.001-07:00

Student to PIC: "you don't yell like Mrs. M yells"

PIC: "I yell!"

Student: "yeah but Mrs. M's voice sticks in your head and just stays there."

Honest to iPhone

Post-It Note Tuesday: Damnit.

2010-03-15T21:14:00.000-07:00

Today's Post-It Notes Brought to you by: Things That Make Me Happy, Damnit.

From The Vaults: Knock it off, or We'll take it off.

2010-03-14T22:20:00.000-07:00

If you have read my "about me" section {It's ok. I'll wait. . .}
Then you must know,
About the Great Blog Paranoia of 2008.
Sometimes, I like to resurface my favorite posts.
And here is one now:

Maybe it's the catchy folk tune. Maybe it's that these women could be my mother, aunts, and all the wonderful women I was raised by. Maybe it's the catchy line: "even Dick Cheney doesn't want to see his granny's titties in the breeze"

This totally rocks my world. I want to be like this when I grow up.

I have my dander up.

2010-03-10T20:00:00.000-08:00

I am broken. Just a little bit. I think it's that little dohicky that is supposed to make the whatchamacallit spin.

You see, I have battled depression and anxiety my whole life. And some times it gets crying, screaming, OMG I'm blotchy, ugly.

Which I really really hate. After the fact.

You know when you feel like you are standing outside a window and you are watching yourself act a fool? You feel as though you are tap-tapping on the window. Not working. Pounding on the window. Still not working. Looking for a rock to throw through the window...Why won't the inside you hear the outside you and stop while she is ahead?!

No?

Huh.

Well either way, I had one of those nights. I hate seeing how it affects my family. I hate feeling helpless to fix it, yet knowing only I can fix it.

It honestly makes me scared to have children.
Honest to Blog.

And then I open my trusty mac. He needs a name, don't you think? With all he does for me, he needs a name. I'll take suggestions in the comments.

Oddly, I find encouragement on these internets. It felt a bit dorky at first. But it has grown into something I can rely on. Other folks weaving their lives in and out of my domain, make me feel real again.

*sigh* I have issues.

What I really want to say, is that this woman inspires me more than I can say right now.

{click the button}

Talk about perspective. After having the majority of her body burned in a plane crash, she brings such honesty and positivity to this life.
Can I eat the same wheaties she does in the morning?

No more complaining.
Honest to Blog.

What I Meant to Say: Shit.

2010-03-09T20:32:00.000-08:00

What I meant to say this week is brought to you by the letter "shit".

and it's more of a "what I probably should have said".

When I said,

Yeah, sure, no problem. I would LOVE to speak at the fund raising breakfast. I'm pretty good in front of people so I can hang.

What I probably should have said was:

Um, did you know that I have no ability to take anything seriously, and OMGWTFBBQ a THOUSAND people will be there? oops. That's a bad plan.
I mean, if you want money and all.

*sigh* I always do this to myself.

In other news I am officially old:

Student to PIC: I went to a museum this weekend where I saw stuff from back in the day. Like, spoons and plates and forks!"

PIC: back in the day, huh? When is that?

Student: Like, 1996.

Quite possibly the best case of denial ever recorded.

2010-03-07T21:38:00.000-08:00

I raced home as soon as I heard this story because I was SO EXCITED to blog about it. I sat down in front of my trusty mac, opened a new post. And I stared, and stared, and stared.

As you know, when I commonly blog about people, they get a name.

Miss CarrieJo
Mr.M
MBS
etc...

and this person. Oh she needs a name. and a good one.

I finally, FINALLY got it.

So, Partner in Crime, you have been born in blog land. And here is the story that PIC told me this week that just about killed me.

Apparently she used to teach kids with behavior disorders (or something - you know how I am with details). And this one little guy (who walked around all day with his penis in his hand - sticking out the top of his pants) got angry at her and called her a "Fucking Bitch".

When she reported it to his Mom, the mom said,
"Well you know he has a speech impediment. He didn't say fucking bitch, he said 'some times you feel like a nut, some times you don't'"

Oh, duh. because that sounds pretty close.

However, now I have the perfect code phrase for when I want to cuss but can't.

Project YOU

2010-03-03T20:37:00.000-08:00

You guys.

YOU GUYS.

I have a blog crush. It's my first big one. So, you know, this is tough to admit.

I've liked blogs. A LOT. I have envied how bloggers write. I have pined to be like others.

but you guys.

YOU GUYS, this gal is awesome.

Here is why.
She has started a project for the sole purpose of making others feel good. That's it.

{Plus she talks to me on Twitter, which has always been the one social networking site that escaped me}

With my topsey turvey life, I have come to realize that people in this world like the dear Alyssa, are gems. They should be embraced, nurtured, and THANKED for their understanding of the human nature that makes us crave love.

SO...
You should sign up for her Project YOU.

I know at times it seems silly to let someone love on you, but coming from someone as genuine as this gal, I have not doubt it will be a delightful way to nurture the gem that is inside you!

I mean, GAWD, couldn't you just use a random pick me up? I can. {right now actually. now is a really good time. like, NOW.}

You don't have to have a blog, just an e-mail address.

So,
DO IT.

What I Meant to Say Wednesday: The Doctor

2010-03-02T19:23:00.000-08:00

When I said:

I have been suffering from back pain for YEARS. The only thing that has worked for me was chiropractic care, but I can't afford it anymore. I am currently in a lot of pain. What can we do?

What I meant to say was:

OMGWTFBBQ! I am in EPIC AMOUNTS of pain. Here is what I need: A referral to a chiro that my insurance covers and some SERIOUS PAIN KILLERS for the mean time.

When I said:

Yes, I know alleve is good to take for my back but it hasn't been working. I am losing sleep.

What I meant to say was:

GIVE ME THE HARD STUFF. I promise, I just need it until that CHIRO REFERRAL KICKS IN. I don't WANT to be drugged at night but I am at my wits end.