1. I was a straight ‘A’ GATE student and graduated high school an entire year early.
2. Thankfully, I graduated a year early because I got pregnant 3 months later. Book smart, sure. Street smart, not so much!
3. Being a mother since I was 18 is all I know. My every focus is devoted to my children.
4. I have never smoked a cigarette or even tried marijuana. And I didn’t say my first curse word until after I was a mother!
5. My husband is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and my children. The steady paycheck is not a bad thing either. Just kidding honey.
6. I gained a lot of weight after my divorce. Penniless single mom, working full time, going to college full time, and little league = Chicken Nuggets and Del Taco, unfortunately.
7. I’ve lost 30 pounds this year.
8. I love organizing, but I HATE laundry. I’m good with junk drawers, closets, labeling and storage. But ugh, the laundry must die!
9. My husband and I high-fived each other on our 5-year wedding anniversary because we both realized that we surpassed our previous marriages. You’d have to be divorced to understand that feat. LOL
10. I never tell a lie to anyone, not even my children. I have more hatred for lying than anything imaginable. Lies are at the top of my evil list. Did I tell you that I hate liars?!?!?
11. I have a crush on Edward Cullen, and my husband knows.
12. I like rock music and chick flicks.
13. My favorite wine is Moscato D’Asti
14. I have one sister and we are best friends.
15. I lost my last grandparent this past year.
16. I play the piano and am self taught.
17. I hate blow-drying my hair everyday. Such a waste of time.
18. If I could, I would wear flip-flops and jeans every single day.
19. I haven’t had a soda, even diet, in almost a year. I only drink water and an occasional iced tea.
20. I LOVE to cook and bake. Getting new kitchen gadgets and whatnot are exciting to me. My kitchen tools are my prized possessions. I record the Rachael Ray show everyday and usually try at least 3 new things each week from her menu.
21. I am a Jon & Kate plus 8 fanatic. Although, sometimes I want to poke Kate’s eyes out for being so bitchy to her helpful and loving husband.
22. My parents are still married to each other and so were both of my grandparents. My sister has been with her husband since she was 14. I am the black sheep of the family! Awww, poor Reyna. LOL
23. I talk to my mom everyday
24. I am embarrassed by my past and hope to get over that one day.
25. When I grow up, I want to be an oceanographer.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Friday, November 14, 2008
Are you afraid of the dark?
I am.
I don’t remember being afraid of the dark when I was young and I don’t remember any situation in particular that would have made me feel this way, but I do.
My husband and I both have lamps on our nightstands, matching of course. We also have a ceiling fan that contains light as well. The ceiling fan is remote controlled; however, the remote is located on my husband’s side of the bed. When you walk into our room and flip on the light switch, it activates the lamp on my husband’s side of the bed. Not, mine. Therefore, when I head to bed first, I have to walk to the wall, turn that light off and walk to the bed in the dark. However, it’s not really as simple as it sounds.
You see, I am terrified of what might by lying underneath my bed. Ok, I’ll give you a moment to stop laughing and collect yourself. Yes, I am afraid of the dark, and I am not afraid to admit it anymore. This is how entering my bed alone usually goes:
I do all the necessary get-ready-for-bed activities, brushing the teeth, showering etc. Then I’ll head downstairs, tell everyone goodnight, lock the front door, get a drink, whatever. Then the dreaded walk up the stairs. Now, if there are people actively playing upstairs, Jake on the computer, and whatnot, there are usually lights on in the hallway, so things go very smoothly on my walk up the stairs. However, the nights when the kids are all tucked in asleep, and Tom is downstairs watching TV, or in the garage tinkering, I head up the stairs alone, and the fright fest begins.
There is a light switch at the bottom of the staircase. I flip it on. I walk happily up the stairs in a brightly lit stairwell. I turn the corner to head up the second flight of stairs and eyeball the light switch at the top of the stairs that I will use to turn these lights off. I head directly for it, but right before I turn it off, I eyeball the route to my bedroom, memorizing it, so that as soon as I turn this stairwell light off, I can walk that path with my eyes closed if need be, and know full well, there is nothing in my way.
I flip the switch, head straight to my door, and immediately turn the light switch on in my room that operates Tom’s nightstand lamp. Phew! I made it.
Now comes the hard part. I, again, map out the path from the bedroom door to my bed. Making sure nothing is in my way, no shoes, no purse, etc. Keep in mind, my bedroom is 17x24 feet, therefore, the walk from my bedroom door to the bed is approximately 8 to 10 steps.
After taking about 4 to 5 steps, I can actually feel cold air coming from under my bed on my feet, a sensation that would make anyone feel eerie. What is the cold from I wonder, are there vampires under there? A man with a cold steal weapon, or the boogey man himself? When I feel this sensation, and that I am close enough to actually make it, I take a giant leap, with all my might from about 3 feet away and jump to the top off my bed, not letting my legs or feet dangle off at any point. I mean, I make my entire body meet the center of the bed in one giant move.
I immediately get under the covers, survey the room, and take deep breathes, well, because I just jumped really far and that was a lot of work and now I am out of breathe.
Now, I know the simple solution to this is to turn the light on at the wall, then walk to my side of the bed and turn my lamp on, however, as you can see, my critical thinking skills are lacking during this stage of my day! J But I do have some excuses.
I suffer from cataracts. I do have a vision problem and wear contacts; however, this is separate from the cataracts. My cataracts cause a vision problem for me that cannot be corrected with contacts or glasses. It’s like splattered paint on your eyeballs. Therefore, when light hits my eyes, even with the corrected vision of my contacts, I see shadows and some objects I cannot see at all. All of this is caused by glare. If light is behind me, I am perfectly fine. But if the light is in front of me, it’s literally blinding. Now, with this information, think about where the light is coming from when I walk, run, leap into my bed. It’s right in front of me, causing my vision to blur and all the of objects seem black and distorted.
Yep, that’s the best excuse I can come up with. I am visually impaired and therefore, the boogey man lives under my bed.
I also can’t sleep until my husband comes to bed, but that’s another blog entirely.
Although my excuse is pretty lame, I do have a simple solution that will work even when my critical thinking skills are on the fritz….. The Clapper!
I need the device that plugs into the wall, and when I am in bed, I can clap my hands, as my old lady turkey arms wave back and forth, and shout CLAP ON! CLAP OFF!
It feels good to get this off my chest. My husband has only recently discovered my fear.
Stop laughing!
I don’t remember being afraid of the dark when I was young and I don’t remember any situation in particular that would have made me feel this way, but I do.
My husband and I both have lamps on our nightstands, matching of course. We also have a ceiling fan that contains light as well. The ceiling fan is remote controlled; however, the remote is located on my husband’s side of the bed. When you walk into our room and flip on the light switch, it activates the lamp on my husband’s side of the bed. Not, mine. Therefore, when I head to bed first, I have to walk to the wall, turn that light off and walk to the bed in the dark. However, it’s not really as simple as it sounds.
You see, I am terrified of what might by lying underneath my bed. Ok, I’ll give you a moment to stop laughing and collect yourself. Yes, I am afraid of the dark, and I am not afraid to admit it anymore. This is how entering my bed alone usually goes:
I do all the necessary get-ready-for-bed activities, brushing the teeth, showering etc. Then I’ll head downstairs, tell everyone goodnight, lock the front door, get a drink, whatever. Then the dreaded walk up the stairs. Now, if there are people actively playing upstairs, Jake on the computer, and whatnot, there are usually lights on in the hallway, so things go very smoothly on my walk up the stairs. However, the nights when the kids are all tucked in asleep, and Tom is downstairs watching TV, or in the garage tinkering, I head up the stairs alone, and the fright fest begins.
There is a light switch at the bottom of the staircase. I flip it on. I walk happily up the stairs in a brightly lit stairwell. I turn the corner to head up the second flight of stairs and eyeball the light switch at the top of the stairs that I will use to turn these lights off. I head directly for it, but right before I turn it off, I eyeball the route to my bedroom, memorizing it, so that as soon as I turn this stairwell light off, I can walk that path with my eyes closed if need be, and know full well, there is nothing in my way.
I flip the switch, head straight to my door, and immediately turn the light switch on in my room that operates Tom’s nightstand lamp. Phew! I made it.
Now comes the hard part. I, again, map out the path from the bedroom door to my bed. Making sure nothing is in my way, no shoes, no purse, etc. Keep in mind, my bedroom is 17x24 feet, therefore, the walk from my bedroom door to the bed is approximately 8 to 10 steps.
After taking about 4 to 5 steps, I can actually feel cold air coming from under my bed on my feet, a sensation that would make anyone feel eerie. What is the cold from I wonder, are there vampires under there? A man with a cold steal weapon, or the boogey man himself? When I feel this sensation, and that I am close enough to actually make it, I take a giant leap, with all my might from about 3 feet away and jump to the top off my bed, not letting my legs or feet dangle off at any point. I mean, I make my entire body meet the center of the bed in one giant move.
I immediately get under the covers, survey the room, and take deep breathes, well, because I just jumped really far and that was a lot of work and now I am out of breathe.
Now, I know the simple solution to this is to turn the light on at the wall, then walk to my side of the bed and turn my lamp on, however, as you can see, my critical thinking skills are lacking during this stage of my day! J But I do have some excuses.
I suffer from cataracts. I do have a vision problem and wear contacts; however, this is separate from the cataracts. My cataracts cause a vision problem for me that cannot be corrected with contacts or glasses. It’s like splattered paint on your eyeballs. Therefore, when light hits my eyes, even with the corrected vision of my contacts, I see shadows and some objects I cannot see at all. All of this is caused by glare. If light is behind me, I am perfectly fine. But if the light is in front of me, it’s literally blinding. Now, with this information, think about where the light is coming from when I walk, run, leap into my bed. It’s right in front of me, causing my vision to blur and all the of objects seem black and distorted.
Yep, that’s the best excuse I can come up with. I am visually impaired and therefore, the boogey man lives under my bed.
I also can’t sleep until my husband comes to bed, but that’s another blog entirely.
Although my excuse is pretty lame, I do have a simple solution that will work even when my critical thinking skills are on the fritz….. The Clapper!
I need the device that plugs into the wall, and when I am in bed, I can clap my hands, as my old lady turkey arms wave back and forth, and shout CLAP ON! CLAP OFF!
It feels good to get this off my chest. My husband has only recently discovered my fear.
Stop laughing!
Monday, October 6, 2008
When your teenager gets hammered and decides to vomit inside your car...
Raising a teenager is painful to say the least. There's no more cute little voice, lovey dovey moments, or innocence. And you obviously can't spank or wave your finger at them while saying "no, no little Johnny, don't do that". You have to come up with more inventive ways of disciplining, communicating, and overall loving.
I strongly believe that affection is still very important, no matter what age. Every person on this earth wants to feel the touch of someone who loves them. Whether it be a soft pat on the back, holding hands, or fingers through the hair. Everyone loves it and needs it. But beyond the physical affection, things change when children get older, namely, they do just that, get older.
My son recently came home smelling like cigarette smoke. He's almost 17. But that's no excuse, it's just me listing his age. I smelled it on him in 1 second flat. The stupidity of a teenager shines through in these moments. Smokers are somehow oblivious to the fact that the rest of us can smell you from 6 miles away. Our noses turn into that of a brown bear's nose. We sense you, smoker people! To top off the fact that I hate it, hate it, hate it, my other son is deathly allergic to it. He's asthmatic, and one of his allergies is cigarette smoke, along with trees, grass, and animals with fur. So, to have a person in my home purposefully bring in something that might harm another one of us is just not tolerable in my book.
But being level headed, I took a deep breathe, and my husband and I decided to only give advice, and facts about smoking. Instead yelling and screaming "what the hell were you thinking?" We decided to be smart about it. The yelling and screaming comes easy to me, can you tell? LOL
We explained what smoking does to your body. We explained the seriousness of addiction and the affects of that, as well as the cost. I told him that if a girl had a choice, would she choose to kiss a guy with ashtray breathe, or strawberry bubblegum breathe? But we also deeply discussed Brody's health issues and that it cannot be tolerated for that reason alone. We left the room by saying "these are the facts about smoking, but it's up to you because we can't police you 24 hours a day". Since then, I have not smelled cigarette smoke. I have even heard him on the phone with someone telling them, "naw, I don't smoke anymore". YAY! The After School Special tactic worked. (Unless of course, he is better at hiding it, either way, I can't smell it.)
Two small, very small, days later, he went to the high school football game. Our backyard overlooks the football field. That night, he strolled thru the front door right on time. Smiling ear to ear, he came right at me and hugged me saying "Hi Mom". WHOA! I could smell something new that night.
I told him to head to his room and that I would be right there. After putting the other kids to bed, I headed for his room. He was already lying down on his bed, but was still smiling. I said "what are you smiling about?" "I was making out with a girl" he replied, smiling even bigger this time. I said "have you been drinking?" He replied immediately, without any hesitation "Yep!" I sat down on the floor beside his bed, keeping my composure and asked a load of questions. He happily answered every single one. At one point, I wanted to ask "are you sure it was vodka and not truth serum?" I had trouble at times not laughing at him. He was so giggly and it was almost cute. But I had to check myself and say STOP, this is terrible stuff. What are you doing thinking this is funny?!?!
So, I did the same thing as we did two nights earlier. I explained that he could get me in a lot of trouble for being underage and the trouble he could get himself into. Thank goodness we live within walking distance; otherwise, he could have been in a car! By the way, they were drinking in plain site at the school football game. Anyway, I did the after school special routine on him and hoped for the best. I hoped he would be sick out of his mind the next day, vomiting, crying "I'll never drink again".
Yeah, right! He was up the next morning at 7:00 a.m. asking me for eggs and bacon. He was perfectly fine. ARGH! He had no punishment out of it. We talked more and he remembered everything. I also brought up the fact that he spilled his guts to me the night before and to remember that, because if he ever does it again, he will tell me everything!
Two little weeks later, the homecoming dance! He's supposed to be home at 10:00. My strict rule, which he abides by very carefully. At 10:05, he was not home, so I called his cell. He answered and said "I'm almost there".
I decided to walk out front and stand in the driveway and wait for him. As I looked down the street, I heard giggling from behind me. I look the opposite direction from where he should be coming, and here comes a load of people, falling down in my yard as they try the simple task of walking. They're laughing, falling, tripping, and looking totally ridiculous. And alas, here he comes, bringing up the rear of this train of fools. He's trying that cool teenage boy swagger, but it ain't working. Even at 10:15 at night I can see his pearly whites, he's smiling so big. The swagger kept swaying from left to right, in a diagonal line. He walks right up to me and says "Hey mom" with this goofy "I'm wasted" voice.
He's white as chalk and sweating already from his head. I decided to grab my purse and take him to his father's house because I had all the other kids in the house still watching TV. I didn't want them to witness this catastrophe. I told him to stay put. I ran inside, grabbed my purse and off we went. I told him we were going to go for a drive.
Now, some background, I am not a drinker. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy myself some Mexican food and margaritas. I also enjoy wine, by the bottle at times. But I never get wasted and have never had to throw up and get sick over it and I am not 16 years old.
But I toss him in the car, and drive to his dad's. I use the excuse of the kids being up, but really, honestly, I just don't want to deal with it. It's someone else's turn as far as I am concerned. I wasn't in the mood.
We get about 3 minutes from the house and I hear this loud rumbling, which turns into groaning. Before I have a moment to react, I realize the vomit it coming, fiercely coming. I reach across for his door and yell "open the door, open the door!"
Oh man, what a site, my entire door, passenger side of the car covered in teenage stupidity! It didn't take but about 10 seconds for me to realize my terrible predicament.
Crying, I call his dad, telling him, possibly yelling, "I am bringing him to you, he just barfed in my car and you're taking care of this! He just BARFED in my car!!" He said "why are you yelling at me?" I said "because you are on the phone, that's why!"
I cried the entire way to his house. I called my husband and said "don't ask any questions, just get in your car and come pick me up at Jake's dad's house." "Uh, ok" he said.
When we got there, I walked him to the door; he barfed on his way up their stairs and all over his bed. I gave his dad the keys to my car and told him "make sure my car is spotless by tomorrow afternoon, I'll be back to get it". His dad does car detailing on the side, so he has all the needed equipment.
My husband shows up, gets out of his car and opens his trunk. He pulls out a gas can and walks up to me and says "You ran out of gas didn't you?" No, I didn't run out of gas, but that sure would have been easier to deal with. So I explained what happened and he hung his head really low and proceeded to his car without saying a word. LOL
The next day, I got a call at about 3:00 and was told my car was finished. I picked it up, along with the teenager, and it was spotless. He did a great job but I was deserving.
But what I am struggling with is this….how the heck do you punish this kid? I mean, ok, I know, restriction, take away the computer, take away the phone, banish him from the outside world and only allow fresh air when needed. But really, what's your advice? Instead of getting drunk, I was off getting pregnant. I never dealt with this side of things.
I also wonder if being 3rd generation square has anything to do with it. You see, my grandparents drank and smoked. My grandmother smoked so much, all of us hated it. All I heard my entire life was how terrible it smelled. So, in turn, I associated the smell of smoke with the term BAD. Same with drinking. It was drilled into me that it was bad.
For Jake however, we're not around anyone who does those things. So he hasn't had it drilled into him like it was for me. I guess you could say it almost is never brought up because it's never been an issue.
I know what you're thinking. "Oh, he's a teenager, most teenagers do this." But really, do they? And where else is this headed. Is there any end in site? I surely hope so, I need a drink.
Signed,
Desperate Mother, wishing I was a housewife
I strongly believe that affection is still very important, no matter what age. Every person on this earth wants to feel the touch of someone who loves them. Whether it be a soft pat on the back, holding hands, or fingers through the hair. Everyone loves it and needs it. But beyond the physical affection, things change when children get older, namely, they do just that, get older.
My son recently came home smelling like cigarette smoke. He's almost 17. But that's no excuse, it's just me listing his age. I smelled it on him in 1 second flat. The stupidity of a teenager shines through in these moments. Smokers are somehow oblivious to the fact that the rest of us can smell you from 6 miles away. Our noses turn into that of a brown bear's nose. We sense you, smoker people! To top off the fact that I hate it, hate it, hate it, my other son is deathly allergic to it. He's asthmatic, and one of his allergies is cigarette smoke, along with trees, grass, and animals with fur. So, to have a person in my home purposefully bring in something that might harm another one of us is just not tolerable in my book.
But being level headed, I took a deep breathe, and my husband and I decided to only give advice, and facts about smoking. Instead yelling and screaming "what the hell were you thinking?" We decided to be smart about it. The yelling and screaming comes easy to me, can you tell? LOL
We explained what smoking does to your body. We explained the seriousness of addiction and the affects of that, as well as the cost. I told him that if a girl had a choice, would she choose to kiss a guy with ashtray breathe, or strawberry bubblegum breathe? But we also deeply discussed Brody's health issues and that it cannot be tolerated for that reason alone. We left the room by saying "these are the facts about smoking, but it's up to you because we can't police you 24 hours a day". Since then, I have not smelled cigarette smoke. I have even heard him on the phone with someone telling them, "naw, I don't smoke anymore". YAY! The After School Special tactic worked. (Unless of course, he is better at hiding it, either way, I can't smell it.)
Two small, very small, days later, he went to the high school football game. Our backyard overlooks the football field. That night, he strolled thru the front door right on time. Smiling ear to ear, he came right at me and hugged me saying "Hi Mom". WHOA! I could smell something new that night.
I told him to head to his room and that I would be right there. After putting the other kids to bed, I headed for his room. He was already lying down on his bed, but was still smiling. I said "what are you smiling about?" "I was making out with a girl" he replied, smiling even bigger this time. I said "have you been drinking?" He replied immediately, without any hesitation "Yep!" I sat down on the floor beside his bed, keeping my composure and asked a load of questions. He happily answered every single one. At one point, I wanted to ask "are you sure it was vodka and not truth serum?" I had trouble at times not laughing at him. He was so giggly and it was almost cute. But I had to check myself and say STOP, this is terrible stuff. What are you doing thinking this is funny?!?!
So, I did the same thing as we did two nights earlier. I explained that he could get me in a lot of trouble for being underage and the trouble he could get himself into. Thank goodness we live within walking distance; otherwise, he could have been in a car! By the way, they were drinking in plain site at the school football game. Anyway, I did the after school special routine on him and hoped for the best. I hoped he would be sick out of his mind the next day, vomiting, crying "I'll never drink again".
Yeah, right! He was up the next morning at 7:00 a.m. asking me for eggs and bacon. He was perfectly fine. ARGH! He had no punishment out of it. We talked more and he remembered everything. I also brought up the fact that he spilled his guts to me the night before and to remember that, because if he ever does it again, he will tell me everything!
Two little weeks later, the homecoming dance! He's supposed to be home at 10:00. My strict rule, which he abides by very carefully. At 10:05, he was not home, so I called his cell. He answered and said "I'm almost there".
I decided to walk out front and stand in the driveway and wait for him. As I looked down the street, I heard giggling from behind me. I look the opposite direction from where he should be coming, and here comes a load of people, falling down in my yard as they try the simple task of walking. They're laughing, falling, tripping, and looking totally ridiculous. And alas, here he comes, bringing up the rear of this train of fools. He's trying that cool teenage boy swagger, but it ain't working. Even at 10:15 at night I can see his pearly whites, he's smiling so big. The swagger kept swaying from left to right, in a diagonal line. He walks right up to me and says "Hey mom" with this goofy "I'm wasted" voice.
He's white as chalk and sweating already from his head. I decided to grab my purse and take him to his father's house because I had all the other kids in the house still watching TV. I didn't want them to witness this catastrophe. I told him to stay put. I ran inside, grabbed my purse and off we went. I told him we were going to go for a drive.
Now, some background, I am not a drinker. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy myself some Mexican food and margaritas. I also enjoy wine, by the bottle at times. But I never get wasted and have never had to throw up and get sick over it and I am not 16 years old.
But I toss him in the car, and drive to his dad's. I use the excuse of the kids being up, but really, honestly, I just don't want to deal with it. It's someone else's turn as far as I am concerned. I wasn't in the mood.
We get about 3 minutes from the house and I hear this loud rumbling, which turns into groaning. Before I have a moment to react, I realize the vomit it coming, fiercely coming. I reach across for his door and yell "open the door, open the door!"
Oh man, what a site, my entire door, passenger side of the car covered in teenage stupidity! It didn't take but about 10 seconds for me to realize my terrible predicament.
Crying, I call his dad, telling him, possibly yelling, "I am bringing him to you, he just barfed in my car and you're taking care of this! He just BARFED in my car!!" He said "why are you yelling at me?" I said "because you are on the phone, that's why!"
I cried the entire way to his house. I called my husband and said "don't ask any questions, just get in your car and come pick me up at Jake's dad's house." "Uh, ok" he said.
When we got there, I walked him to the door; he barfed on his way up their stairs and all over his bed. I gave his dad the keys to my car and told him "make sure my car is spotless by tomorrow afternoon, I'll be back to get it". His dad does car detailing on the side, so he has all the needed equipment.
My husband shows up, gets out of his car and opens his trunk. He pulls out a gas can and walks up to me and says "You ran out of gas didn't you?" No, I didn't run out of gas, but that sure would have been easier to deal with. So I explained what happened and he hung his head really low and proceeded to his car without saying a word. LOL
The next day, I got a call at about 3:00 and was told my car was finished. I picked it up, along with the teenager, and it was spotless. He did a great job but I was deserving.
But what I am struggling with is this….how the heck do you punish this kid? I mean, ok, I know, restriction, take away the computer, take away the phone, banish him from the outside world and only allow fresh air when needed. But really, what's your advice? Instead of getting drunk, I was off getting pregnant. I never dealt with this side of things.
I also wonder if being 3rd generation square has anything to do with it. You see, my grandparents drank and smoked. My grandmother smoked so much, all of us hated it. All I heard my entire life was how terrible it smelled. So, in turn, I associated the smell of smoke with the term BAD. Same with drinking. It was drilled into me that it was bad.
For Jake however, we're not around anyone who does those things. So he hasn't had it drilled into him like it was for me. I guess you could say it almost is never brought up because it's never been an issue.
I know what you're thinking. "Oh, he's a teenager, most teenagers do this." But really, do they? And where else is this headed. Is there any end in site? I surely hope so, I need a drink.
Signed,
Desperate Mother, wishing I was a housewife
Educating America, one word at a time
Word for the day: Nuclear
I am on a soapbox today because I am trying to educate 4 children in my home. They actually sat and watched the debate with us last night, and during which, we have the leaders of America mispronouncing so many things. It’s scary. I’d like to know how many of their school teachers are mispronouncing words in the classroom, thus causing this great catastrophe in the world.
I’ll admit, I think Sarah Palin is gorgeous, smart as hell, and could be a great leader. I think the same of Joe Biden, except for the gorgeous part. However, other Americans are listening to them speak and learning the incorrect pronunciation of words. It’s just sad. And George Dubya is worse!!!
Did you know that because so many people, high level people, have pronounced the word “nuclear” incorrectly that they have actually added the incorrect pronunciation to dictionaries????
Check out this site:
http://en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Nucular
It is new-clear, NOT new-cu-lar
Can you believe that? Just because a few high profile people said it wrong, it now makes it right?????
Some other words that tick me off that are pronounced incorrectly:
Acrossed - hello people, it's just across, there's no ‘ed’ on the end.
Artic - No such thing peeps, it's the Arctic. Read it again if you didn't get it.
Aks - If you plan to chop down a tree, it's ax. If you want to get an answer, you must ASK a question. Aks??? Really?!?!?
Fisical - Ok, I work in the accounting field and hear this so much it drives me up the wall. The word physical, we all know well, I can assume. But there is this thing called fiscal. Like fiscal year, fiscal crisis etc. Are you fiscally sound? It is NOT fisically sound, or fisical year. It is fiscal. (Fi-skull)
Supposably - No such thing. It's supposedly! Period.
And lastly Volumptuous - Take out the M people. Our boobs might be lumpy, causing you to put the word lump in the middle, but that's NOT how the word is pronounced. It's voluptuous!
I am on a soapbox today because I am trying to educate 4 children in my home. They actually sat and watched the debate with us last night, and during which, we have the leaders of America mispronouncing so many things. It’s scary. I’d like to know how many of their school teachers are mispronouncing words in the classroom, thus causing this great catastrophe in the world.
I’ll admit, I think Sarah Palin is gorgeous, smart as hell, and could be a great leader. I think the same of Joe Biden, except for the gorgeous part. However, other Americans are listening to them speak and learning the incorrect pronunciation of words. It’s just sad. And George Dubya is worse!!!
Did you know that because so many people, high level people, have pronounced the word “nuclear” incorrectly that they have actually added the incorrect pronunciation to dictionaries????
Check out this site:
http://en. wikipedia. org/wiki/Nucular
It is new-clear, NOT new-cu-lar
Can you believe that? Just because a few high profile people said it wrong, it now makes it right?????
Some other words that tick me off that are pronounced incorrectly:
Acrossed - hello people, it's just across, there's no ‘ed’ on the end.
Artic - No such thing peeps, it's the Arctic. Read it again if you didn't get it.
Aks - If you plan to chop down a tree, it's ax. If you want to get an answer, you must ASK a question. Aks??? Really?!?!?
Fisical - Ok, I work in the accounting field and hear this so much it drives me up the wall. The word physical, we all know well, I can assume. But there is this thing called fiscal. Like fiscal year, fiscal crisis etc. Are you fiscally sound? It is NOT fisically sound, or fisical year. It is fiscal. (Fi-skull)
Supposably - No such thing. It's supposedly! Period.
And lastly Volumptuous - Take out the M people. Our boobs might be lumpy, causing you to put the word lump in the middle, but that's NOT how the word is pronounced. It's voluptuous!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
I Love My Dad!
I found this letter my dad wrote to me a while back. At the time, I was struggling with my teenage son, as most parents do. It was a very trying time for me. It was testing my devotion as a mother to the fullest. I felt weak for the first time as his mother and embarrassingly so. It's terrible to say, but it felt good to hear that I wasn't alone. It was a test of my commitment and loyalty, but we persevered.
My dad's letter helped me through it and I thought I would share it with you. Perhaps you can gain strength from it as I did and use it to your advantage.
He wrote:
"Just a note to say how much I love you........things may be overwhelming right now, but, somehow (and we don't know how or when) things always work themselves out.
When faced with hard times it is sometimes comforting to reflect on the beautiful occasion(s) that led to this time. For me it is always thinking back to that gorgeous 18 year old that I made a promise to so long ago at the altar of God. Maybe, in this case, it's that first time you held that beautiful baby boy.....for I'm sure that's all it took to dedicate you to a lifetime of devotion.
Reyna, you've faced tough obstacles before and always landed on your feet. It is important to recognize that the toughest obstacle you'll ever face is devotion.
Devotion tests you, it comes charging at you, it envelopes you and it tries to drown you. It will unnerve you, it will frighten you and it will confuse you. But, know that you'll feel pride when you pass the test, you'll gain strength to face it's charge, you'll learn to shed the paralyzing cocoon, and you'll learn what it takes to keep your head above water. You'll be more steadfast....you'll become valiant..... and you will become certain. True devotion will always make you a better person.
A wise man we all knew once told me your children are your life and your legacy. Lee didn't profess to know much about either, but, his life produced his legacy.
We all do our best to control our life, but, it's going to turn out the way destiny chooses. That leaves you with your legacy, and a new chapter is written every day. You are the author, so choose the words carefully.
I love you,
Dad"
Nuff said.
My dad's letter helped me through it and I thought I would share it with you. Perhaps you can gain strength from it as I did and use it to your advantage.
He wrote:
"Just a note to say how much I love you........things may be overwhelming right now, but, somehow (and we don't know how or when) things always work themselves out.
When faced with hard times it is sometimes comforting to reflect on the beautiful occasion(s) that led to this time. For me it is always thinking back to that gorgeous 18 year old that I made a promise to so long ago at the altar of God. Maybe, in this case, it's that first time you held that beautiful baby boy.....for I'm sure that's all it took to dedicate you to a lifetime of devotion.
Reyna, you've faced tough obstacles before and always landed on your feet. It is important to recognize that the toughest obstacle you'll ever face is devotion.
Devotion tests you, it comes charging at you, it envelopes you and it tries to drown you. It will unnerve you, it will frighten you and it will confuse you. But, know that you'll feel pride when you pass the test, you'll gain strength to face it's charge, you'll learn to shed the paralyzing cocoon, and you'll learn what it takes to keep your head above water. You'll be more steadfast....you'll become valiant..... and you will become certain. True devotion will always make you a better person.
A wise man we all knew once told me your children are your life and your legacy. Lee didn't profess to know much about either, but, his life produced his legacy.
We all do our best to control our life, but, it's going to turn out the way destiny chooses. That leaves you with your legacy, and a new chapter is written every day. You are the author, so choose the words carefully.
I love you,
Dad"
Nuff said.
Why my grandmother is who I strive to be, and why I'll never be like her...
I don't know if this happened because she passed away, or if it's just my age, but perhaps it's just a little bit of both. My grandmother, Mary, was the kindest, softest, and most "put-together" women I have ever met. She cooked a meal the size of my Thanksgiving spread almost every single Sunday and the entire family of aunts, uncles and cousins would be there to enjoy it along with Grandpa's music under the fruitless mulberry tree. And as I recall, the small 2 bedroom 1 bath house was as clean as a whistle. She had obviously been cooking all morning, and somehow there were no dirty dishes and she didn't even have a dishwasher. When did she find the time to wash the dishes? Now don't get me wrong, I am fully aware that it was only Grandma and Grandpa living there, not making large messes and so on, but those images are engrained in my mind. I can remember vividly how perfectly the beds were made; even her sheets were ironed, or "pressed" as she would say. The kitchen floor and counters NEVER had a crumb on them and the toilet and tub were spotless. To boot, she was always happy, kind and not rushing or sweating in the kitchen to prepare the meal.
I recently had my son's 16th birthday party at my home. I prepared food and cleaned the house as well. I had actually been cleaning for almost a week prior. The day of the party, I enlisted each of my children to help me around the house with the remaining chores while my husband worked to prepare the yards. By the time the party started I was literally sweating, trying to make sure every chore was complete and done to my satisfaction. I also needed to make sure my hair and make-up were in place and that my food would be ready in time to eat. All the while, all I could think about was Grandma. She wouldn't be sweating, and her house wouldn't take 5 people to clean it. Why?
Well, for starters, I think my "vivid" memories are a tad skewed. I mean, they have to be right?!? I was a child for one, I can't have really paid THAT much attention to every detail. In fact, I was outside playing in the barn until we were called in to eat. How do I really know how she was acting inside? And perhaps my mom and aunt were inside helping her finish up everything, washing the dishes, putting things away etc. Now I know for a fact her house was immaculate. That part of my memories I don't doubt, but the calmness that I remember, how could it be?
Was it her genetic make-up, just the way she was born or raised? Could it be her old age, or even a tiny pill like valium? Or just my imagination?
But knowing what I "vividly" remember, I place more stress on myself to be just like her. Perfect! My sheets should be pressed, and my toilets should be spotless, and for God's sake, I have a dishwasher, I certainly shouldn't have dirty dishes. The pressure I put on myself is terrible, making the task at hand seem even harder to attain.
When I walk into my home, my eyes are immediately drawn to the crumbs on the kitchen floor, like Crumb Radar. Then my eyes scan in horror as I notice the pillows out of place on the sofa and the kids afternoon snack wrappers on the table. And it all gets worse when I notice the shoes, socks, backpacks and homework tossed all around the dining area. By then, I am sweating, my mouth is foaming and steam is coming out of my ears. To resolve, the issue, I either start shouting orders, or my attentive husband notices the dripping steam from my head and starts shouting them himself, trying to avoid his wife's inner demon from escaping.
As each evening wears on, I shout between 20 and 30 more orders to any given person. Pick up your shoes, take a shower, where's your homework, brush your teeth, what were you thinking…etc. etc. etc. By the time I go to bed, I often think, WWGD? What would Grandma do?
I can't honestly say. But just the pressure of knowing how perfect her home was makes it that much more important to me.
I recently told my husband that I honestly feel guilty that I don't make everyone's bed each morning. He thought I was nuts. And yes, I am a working mother, not a stay at home mom, but I feel brainwashed by my grandmother and possibly television, that mom's are supposed to make their kids beds. Yes, I know, we have to teach our children how to be independent and self-sufficient. But I still have that guilty feeling.
So I asked myself today, what if I just stopped trying to be like Grandma? What if I my memories of her were skewed and she were less perfect than I remember? And my answer is that I don't think I would be the women I am today, if I at least didn't try. I know times are different, and I know I work full-time and have twice as many children as she, but if I didn't try, my carpet would be permanently stained, and we would never have a clean spoon and their shoes would still be in the living room.
If I didn't give orders, or make them clean up their own messes, they would never learn to clean up after themselves.
I recently went into my step-daughter's bedroom to find a mess far beyond my wildest imagination. While she was gone, I decided to tackle it myself. I was crying, angry, and sweating. After three and a half hours I decided to stop and wait until she returned to finish the job. At first, I was going to scold her for not keeping it up to my standards. But after a 24 hour cooling off period, I came to my senses. I realized that everyday, the kids learn from me how to keep the kitchen swept, the shoes put away, the pillows neatly placed and the dishes clean. But we never had daily lessons of keeping our bedrooms organized. When she returned, I decided to show her how to organize, how to plan ahead and how everything in your room has a place. It's been almost a week and she's already invited several friends over after school to play in her room, which she hasn't done for quite sometime. She's obviously proud of what her room looks like now. And she told me that she made sure to clean the mess up before her friends left. And since she is our princess, I hope I made a good impression on her, giving her good advice instead of it being a terrible memory of when her evil step-mother made her scrub the floors, and polish the glass slipper.
About two weeks ago, I started placing little note cards around my house. Little reminders to the family members, a.k.a CHILDREN, about how to take care of certain things. Here's a sample of my reminders:
On the microwave –
"If you make a mess in the microwave, please CLEAN IT!!!"
On the toilet –
"If you just used this toilet, please flush it. And courtesy flush the pooh please!"
Over the kitchen sink –
"Rinse your dish off COMPLETELY"
So far, the little reminders are working!
Perhaps it's all in my head. I call it "shouting orders", because that's how it feels, I feel like a drill sergeant. But I am probably just teaching lessons and being a mom. I know in my heart, I will never be that "vivid" memory of my grandmother, but I strive each day to be that woman. And maybe one day, when I am 65 and have no children at home, retired, and baking, I will get there.
Until then, please put your shoes away!!!!
I recently had my son's 16th birthday party at my home. I prepared food and cleaned the house as well. I had actually been cleaning for almost a week prior. The day of the party, I enlisted each of my children to help me around the house with the remaining chores while my husband worked to prepare the yards. By the time the party started I was literally sweating, trying to make sure every chore was complete and done to my satisfaction. I also needed to make sure my hair and make-up were in place and that my food would be ready in time to eat. All the while, all I could think about was Grandma. She wouldn't be sweating, and her house wouldn't take 5 people to clean it. Why?
Well, for starters, I think my "vivid" memories are a tad skewed. I mean, they have to be right?!? I was a child for one, I can't have really paid THAT much attention to every detail. In fact, I was outside playing in the barn until we were called in to eat. How do I really know how she was acting inside? And perhaps my mom and aunt were inside helping her finish up everything, washing the dishes, putting things away etc. Now I know for a fact her house was immaculate. That part of my memories I don't doubt, but the calmness that I remember, how could it be?
Was it her genetic make-up, just the way she was born or raised? Could it be her old age, or even a tiny pill like valium? Or just my imagination?
But knowing what I "vividly" remember, I place more stress on myself to be just like her. Perfect! My sheets should be pressed, and my toilets should be spotless, and for God's sake, I have a dishwasher, I certainly shouldn't have dirty dishes. The pressure I put on myself is terrible, making the task at hand seem even harder to attain.
When I walk into my home, my eyes are immediately drawn to the crumbs on the kitchen floor, like Crumb Radar. Then my eyes scan in horror as I notice the pillows out of place on the sofa and the kids afternoon snack wrappers on the table. And it all gets worse when I notice the shoes, socks, backpacks and homework tossed all around the dining area. By then, I am sweating, my mouth is foaming and steam is coming out of my ears. To resolve, the issue, I either start shouting orders, or my attentive husband notices the dripping steam from my head and starts shouting them himself, trying to avoid his wife's inner demon from escaping.
As each evening wears on, I shout between 20 and 30 more orders to any given person. Pick up your shoes, take a shower, where's your homework, brush your teeth, what were you thinking…etc. etc. etc. By the time I go to bed, I often think, WWGD? What would Grandma do?
I can't honestly say. But just the pressure of knowing how perfect her home was makes it that much more important to me.
I recently told my husband that I honestly feel guilty that I don't make everyone's bed each morning. He thought I was nuts. And yes, I am a working mother, not a stay at home mom, but I feel brainwashed by my grandmother and possibly television, that mom's are supposed to make their kids beds. Yes, I know, we have to teach our children how to be independent and self-sufficient. But I still have that guilty feeling.
So I asked myself today, what if I just stopped trying to be like Grandma? What if I my memories of her were skewed and she were less perfect than I remember? And my answer is that I don't think I would be the women I am today, if I at least didn't try. I know times are different, and I know I work full-time and have twice as many children as she, but if I didn't try, my carpet would be permanently stained, and we would never have a clean spoon and their shoes would still be in the living room.
If I didn't give orders, or make them clean up their own messes, they would never learn to clean up after themselves.
I recently went into my step-daughter's bedroom to find a mess far beyond my wildest imagination. While she was gone, I decided to tackle it myself. I was crying, angry, and sweating. After three and a half hours I decided to stop and wait until she returned to finish the job. At first, I was going to scold her for not keeping it up to my standards. But after a 24 hour cooling off period, I came to my senses. I realized that everyday, the kids learn from me how to keep the kitchen swept, the shoes put away, the pillows neatly placed and the dishes clean. But we never had daily lessons of keeping our bedrooms organized. When she returned, I decided to show her how to organize, how to plan ahead and how everything in your room has a place. It's been almost a week and she's already invited several friends over after school to play in her room, which she hasn't done for quite sometime. She's obviously proud of what her room looks like now. And she told me that she made sure to clean the mess up before her friends left. And since she is our princess, I hope I made a good impression on her, giving her good advice instead of it being a terrible memory of when her evil step-mother made her scrub the floors, and polish the glass slipper.
About two weeks ago, I started placing little note cards around my house. Little reminders to the family members, a.k.a CHILDREN, about how to take care of certain things. Here's a sample of my reminders:
On the microwave –
"If you make a mess in the microwave, please CLEAN IT!!!"
On the toilet –
"If you just used this toilet, please flush it. And courtesy flush the pooh please!"
Over the kitchen sink –
"Rinse your dish off COMPLETELY"
So far, the little reminders are working!
Perhaps it's all in my head. I call it "shouting orders", because that's how it feels, I feel like a drill sergeant. But I am probably just teaching lessons and being a mom. I know in my heart, I will never be that "vivid" memory of my grandmother, but I strive each day to be that woman. And maybe one day, when I am 65 and have no children at home, retired, and baking, I will get there.
Until then, please put your shoes away!!!!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
An Old Story
I am obviously in a reminiscing mood today, school's out, kids are graduating, etc. I ran across this old story I wrote exactly one year ago today, interestingly enough. I thought I'd post it here today for old times sake. Enjoy!
Xavier!
My stepson, Xavier, who is 7 years old, has recently completed a month long stint of restriction. He was restricted from playing video games, playing with friends, and watching television, unless it was the Science, History, or Discovery channels. In recent months, Xavier has been in a lot of trouble, for your normal everyday boy stuff. Not listening, lying about homework, etc. etc. etc. So the month of restriction, which he has completed, was his punishment.
A Broken Door!
Yesterday, I came home from work to a hole in one of my interior doors of my home. My 15 year old son, Jake, immediately fessed up. I say hole, but it was really more like a broken dent, for lack of a better term. Brody and Cecilia were messing around causing Jake to get involved, which ended up with Brody making a comment to Jake that really hurt his feelings. I am leaving a lot of the details out, but please know that Jake had to endure quite a bit of frustration throughout this ordeal trying to control Cecilia and Brody and the entire situation. Jake is 15, however, quite immature and in Special Ed classes at school. Brody made a comment to Jake after their argument that basically made fun of Jake and his learning disability. Jake stormed off and punched the door on the way to his room.
So, as the kids started to tell me what happened, I asked Xavier to go outside and play, since he had no part in the ordeal. He grabbed his brand new bucket of chalk and went outside.
We were inside at the kitchen table for quite sometime, talking everything out with Jake, Brody and Cecilia. I was crying at one point, because as a mother, you never want to see your children argue. And you most certainly don't want your child's feelings hurt. At the end of the conversation, I leaned over to my husband and said "I bet Xavier is jumping for joy that he's not sitting at this table for once!"
Time for Dinner!
Now it's time to start dinner. I try to teach the kids how to cook when I can, so last night was Xavier and Jake's turn at the stove. Cecilia and Brody were helping my husband outside. We decided to make breakfast burritos. Carbs always soothe a broken heart right? As Jake was cracking the eggs into the pan, I was stirring away as Xavier watched. By the 12th egg, I was stirring vigorously, however Jake said "Mom, there was a huge piece of eggshell, hold on!"
Well, it was too late. I had already scrambled it in and we looked and looked and looked to no avail. Xavier said "what are we gonna do?" I leaned over and jokingly said "We'll just keep it our little secret."
Since there are 6 people in the house, I was standing at the stove building each burrito as they stood in line. Starting with Xavier's and ending with mine. By the time I got to the 4th burrito, Xavier came up behind me, having eaten almost half of his, he tugged on my shirt. I turned around and he motioned for me to bend down because he wanted to tell me a secret. I leaned over to him and he said very quietly "I got the shell".
I was so overwhelmed; I was laughing hysterically, and started to cry. I wasn't that serious about it being a secret. My family wouldn't have cared if they found it in their food. But it was absolutely outstanding how Xavier handled the situation. I shared the story with everyone at the dinner table and we laughed and laughed.
Time to Wake Up!
Every morning, before I jump in the shower, I head to the second floor window and stare out for a moment. Checking the weather, seeing the light, while letting my eyes adjust. As I look down to the front driveway of our home, I see something that made me smile from ear to ear, and prompt me to write this today.
Remember yesterday, I sent Xavier outside to play and he took his bucket of chalk? Well, what I saw on the driveway was in large print, each letter nearly 12 inches tall.
It read "I LOVE MY DAD, REYNA, JAKE, BRODY, AND SISTER". It was so beautifully written, it was as if he knew I would read it from my window. What a wonderful way to start me day! We love you too, Xavier!
Wow, I love these kids! No matter what breaks, they mend it with laughter and unconditional love.
Xavier!
My stepson, Xavier, who is 7 years old, has recently completed a month long stint of restriction. He was restricted from playing video games, playing with friends, and watching television, unless it was the Science, History, or Discovery channels. In recent months, Xavier has been in a lot of trouble, for your normal everyday boy stuff. Not listening, lying about homework, etc. etc. etc. So the month of restriction, which he has completed, was his punishment.
A Broken Door!
Yesterday, I came home from work to a hole in one of my interior doors of my home. My 15 year old son, Jake, immediately fessed up. I say hole, but it was really more like a broken dent, for lack of a better term. Brody and Cecilia were messing around causing Jake to get involved, which ended up with Brody making a comment to Jake that really hurt his feelings. I am leaving a lot of the details out, but please know that Jake had to endure quite a bit of frustration throughout this ordeal trying to control Cecilia and Brody and the entire situation. Jake is 15, however, quite immature and in Special Ed classes at school. Brody made a comment to Jake after their argument that basically made fun of Jake and his learning disability. Jake stormed off and punched the door on the way to his room.
So, as the kids started to tell me what happened, I asked Xavier to go outside and play, since he had no part in the ordeal. He grabbed his brand new bucket of chalk and went outside.
We were inside at the kitchen table for quite sometime, talking everything out with Jake, Brody and Cecilia. I was crying at one point, because as a mother, you never want to see your children argue. And you most certainly don't want your child's feelings hurt. At the end of the conversation, I leaned over to my husband and said "I bet Xavier is jumping for joy that he's not sitting at this table for once!"
Time for Dinner!
Now it's time to start dinner. I try to teach the kids how to cook when I can, so last night was Xavier and Jake's turn at the stove. Cecilia and Brody were helping my husband outside. We decided to make breakfast burritos. Carbs always soothe a broken heart right? As Jake was cracking the eggs into the pan, I was stirring away as Xavier watched. By the 12th egg, I was stirring vigorously, however Jake said "Mom, there was a huge piece of eggshell, hold on!"
Well, it was too late. I had already scrambled it in and we looked and looked and looked to no avail. Xavier said "what are we gonna do?" I leaned over and jokingly said "We'll just keep it our little secret."
Since there are 6 people in the house, I was standing at the stove building each burrito as they stood in line. Starting with Xavier's and ending with mine. By the time I got to the 4th burrito, Xavier came up behind me, having eaten almost half of his, he tugged on my shirt. I turned around and he motioned for me to bend down because he wanted to tell me a secret. I leaned over to him and he said very quietly "I got the shell".
I was so overwhelmed; I was laughing hysterically, and started to cry. I wasn't that serious about it being a secret. My family wouldn't have cared if they found it in their food. But it was absolutely outstanding how Xavier handled the situation. I shared the story with everyone at the dinner table and we laughed and laughed.
Time to Wake Up!
Every morning, before I jump in the shower, I head to the second floor window and stare out for a moment. Checking the weather, seeing the light, while letting my eyes adjust. As I look down to the front driveway of our home, I see something that made me smile from ear to ear, and prompt me to write this today.
Remember yesterday, I sent Xavier outside to play and he took his bucket of chalk? Well, what I saw on the driveway was in large print, each letter nearly 12 inches tall.
It read "I LOVE MY DAD, REYNA, JAKE, BRODY, AND SISTER". It was so beautifully written, it was as if he knew I would read it from my window. What a wonderful way to start me day! We love you too, Xavier!
Wow, I love these kids! No matter what breaks, they mend it with laughter and unconditional love.
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