what? no cap'n crunch with that milk?

This morning at breakfast the boys were arguing over who won at minature golf this weekend. Next thing I knew the little one is tugging on the showercurtain dripping wet. His older brother poured milk, from the jug, over his head. Sorry Miss B. Hope he doesn't smell too bad!

a blemish on my spotless record

I love Job, but he is a bad driver (are driving skills genetic?). On Job's birthday we were headed into a neighboring town after baseball games, when we were pulled over by the state patrol. I knew it was state patrol because of the gargantuan hat he was wearing with the cute little tassels. They asked Job for the car registration and my driver's licence. At first I was relieved. Job's drivers licence expired that day. But, then as I thought about it...hey...wait one minute...I WAS IN THE PASSENGER SEAT! What did he need my licence for? "Click it or ticket ma'am," said the patrolman. I got a ticket for not wearing my seat belt. Everyone else was strapped in like cosmonauts but not me. I was however the only one able to reach the grape cool-aid (that he made all by himself, sans-sugar) when it slipped out of my little ones hand as he fell asleep. Is having clean upholstery worth $124? Is wrecking my perfect driving record worth $124? Who knows. Maybe I'll ask the judge.

last summers decoupage dilemma

After a few requests, I have decided to share the odd story of last summer. Yes, in fact I did glue my pants and underwear to my butt. In a bizarre accident involving a thrift store find, craft paper, mod podge and a rare sunny Seattle afternoon, I made a huge crafting mistake. I was sitting on my front porch decoupaging paper onto an old table I found at an antique/junk store and accidentally spilled the quart sized jar of adhesive. Unknowingly it seeped under my rear end and glued my giant underwear and my yoga pants to my a@#. Not wanting to abandon the project I finished cutting and pasting the paper onto the little table, all the while having decoupaged two layers of fabric to my butt. By the time I stood up and realized what I had done I was in a little bit of a panic. I frantically called my husband, who works 35 miles away. He asked what exactly I thought he could do to help. Oh yeah, and he laughed. Its a good thing I got more than one phone call. I should have called Katie first to begin with but she just told me to get everything wet and see what happens. We spent most of the conversation laughing about a women who had waxed her private parts to the bottom of the tub. I desperately wanted to avoid that situation. My temporary solution: ignore it. And that worked for a while. As I mentioned however it was a rather warm day and sitting out in the sun I had consumed a great deal of water. Within an hour I had to pee. Within an hour and fifteen minutes, I really had to pee. Within an hour and a half I ran into the bathroom and was forced to deal with the problem in a desperate manner. Quick. Like a band-aid. It left a rather large strawberry mark the size of a saucer but in the end, nature had forced me to meet my problem head on (figuratively speaking of course).

why can't my underwear be cuter- and smaller?

Last summer I glued my pants and underwear to my butt. This was worse. Somehow yesterday, toward the end of the day, I was walking down the hall at school and a teacher (whom I adore) walking in the other direction pointed out that I had something trailing behind me that dropped to the floor in a wad. I turned around to look and low and behold it was a pair of my underwear in a pile in the middle of the hallway, smack dab in the middle of the elementary school where I work. Why couldn't it have been a sock or a fabric softener. No. It was a giant pair of my underwear that had somehow managed to hang out in the pant leg of my jeans all day until making a very embarrassing appearance. So I swooped them off the ground crushing them into a ball, holding them tightly in my fist and went back to my classroom. Of course I didn't have my school bag yesterday and got to carry them home in my lunchbox. Thank goodness they were clean. What I can't figure out is how the heck while wearing my tightest pair of jeans a giant wad of underwear went unnoticed in my pant leg all day? How many people now assume I have a giant tumor on the back of my thigh? Could the day have been any worse?

the "belt"way that is my middle

When I was five my dad brought me back a leather belt stamped and painted with leather working tools from Alaska. In the 80's I had a four inch white belt with a round silver buckle the size of a dinner plate that I wore slung around my hips, on the outside of my oversized button shirt (collar up of course). Well, this weekend I realized that I either needed to break down and buy a belt, or a new denim skirt, and believe it or not I opted for the belt. It doesn't hurt that I found one on clearance at the Lands End Super Store for $2.99. Up until a few years ago a belt would have been a ridiculous purchase. No woman wearing a size 28 jean needs a belt. It would simply disappear somewhere into the abyss that was my midsection causing serious chaffing I'm sure (kind of like the "spa-panty" now that I think of it). Anyway, I did it, I wore a belt, and my oldest son said it didn't match, but it did hold up my skirt and that is all that matters!

I do not defy gravity

I am at work listening to the Wicked soundtrack in between classes, laughing to myself about the fun afternoon with my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law. We went to Portland to see the musical (Job stayed home with kids and cousins) and since we got there early we thought we should buy souvenirs first; or rather attempted to. I had never heard or seen the story and was hesitant to buy stuff in case I didn't like it. By intermission I had to have a T-shirt so out we went to the lobby, again. I couldn't decide which one to buy. The one that was pink and said, "POPULAR" didn't seem to be my style; too cutsie. The other one said '"GREEN IS THE NEW BLACK" was too environmentally friendly for my taste. Then the cashier said, "what about this one?" Across the chest of the T-shirt it said, "DEFY GRAVITY." I explained to the barely 20-something boy that after two children and a lifetime of bad, ill-fitting bras (Oprah says we are all wearing the wrong size), unless the shirt came with a boob job I could not wear anything across the girls that said, "DEFY GRAVITY." It would just be wrong. I bought the green one that says, "WICKED" and went back to my seat and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the show!

46 days left

There are only 46 days left in the school year and while I am ready for a break (not that we didn't just have one) I am sad about the likelihood of my not returning to CV Elementary next year. Our current political administrations are not seeing the necessity of funding reading programs so I am out a job, THAT I LOVE! Sure we are getting bigger bridges, light rail, wider highways too bad all those street signs and transit schedules won't be able to be read! And we can bail out private companies but can't manage to scrape together enough for public education. We can give bonuses, buy jets, provide complete motorcades for imbecile politicians, but can't afford a barely above minimum wage, part time employee to teach reading? I guess not.