A to Z: Zoo Love

Zoos are pretty neat places to visit, if you want to learn about animals.  While I am not a huge fan of keeping animals in captivity, I understand that zoos can bring the world to children.  After all, most families cannot afford a trip to Africa every summer.  So we take Zane to see creatures from far and wide, and we discuss where those animals come from and what they do when not waiting for him at the zoo. 

Also, when the heck would I ever get this close to a cheetah? How about never?

The San Antonio Zoo is celebrating their 100th year in existence right now.  They just added lions to their exhibits, and the tiger cubs that were born last year are now old enough to frolic on their own.   The recent birth of a Komodo dragon just adds to the fun.

This statue is at the front of the Zoo, and every single child who comes to visit wants to climb them.  I don't know why.

Our family visited the zoo during spring break, on a cool windy day.  We went early, to avoid the crowds, and had a great time.  Zane asked lots of questions about everything, and I was glad that the Zoo had people standing around waiting for just such situations. Larry and I just let Zane talk all he wanted. 

I have no idea what kind of bird this is, but he really, really, really wanted me to take his picture.

But the coolest thing at the zoo right now?  The carousel.  Yes, it's a merry-go-round.  But it is a merry-go-round with 100 different animals instead of horses, all meticulously crafted.  Of course, my son had to ride the rhino!

Meanwhile, I made friends with a hummingbird, who seemed to be winking at me.

Is there a zoo in your neck of the woods?  If so, when is the last time you visited?

A to Z: Yeah. Goodbye. Whatever.

You think I should stop all the clocks?

Cover the mirrors?

Fall into weeping hysteria

Grasp at bloody shards,

the tired shreds of what was?

Come kiss me goodbye then.

A proper shroud beckons.

I only mourn

The waste of my time.





42 words in response to the question, "Have all your clocks stopped?"  As I am jumping back into these writing prompts after a short hiatus, I would very much appreciate any and all constructive criticism.

A to Z: X rant

X is an odd letter. I've thought about this quite a bit, mostly at staff meetings.  The letter X seems to be a random letter, thrown into the alphabet at the last minute because they wanted an even number of letters.  We could easily have used another letter in the place of X, but we didn't.  It bothers me, this illogical use of a weird letter.  If not for the fact that the English language is one of the most illogical languages ever created, X would not fit. 

But perhaps it is just misunderstood.

The letter X is almost always read as "ex", for instance, and that just brings up all sorts of negative connotations, even for words like "excitement".  All of us have an "ex".  Some of us have more than one "ex"; and when we hear the first part of a word with the letter X in it, at least some of us automatically think of that evil person who broke our heart into a million pieces and stomped on it.  We can't help it, and that makes the letter X a bit irritating.  Maybe we could just stop writing "ex" and just leave it at X? That might be a more positive association, right?
 
Xcept when you use the letter X in the word 'Xylophone', and then it is a Z sound. How did that happen?  Was someone drunk while writing the dictionary? Were they smoking that book binding glue that causes hallucinations?  Why would you have an X make a Z sound?  Such a pronunciation puts the earth off kilter, but again we have an Xample of the English language on a mission to drive people completely insane. 

The X is also a rune that represents "gift", which is pretty cool.  At least, it's cool until you find out that the transliteration of that rune is...g.  How did the manly letter X come to stand for g? What was going on that day in the Ancient Languages department at Oxford?  Seems like an algebra problem gone horribly wrong, doesn't it? 

X is also supposed to mark a spot, a destination, and sometimes that spot can contain treasure.  That's pretty awesome, right?  Way to go, Letter X!  Your presence can not only indicate the end of a journey, but also that fabulous cash and prizes may await.  Not many letters have that claim to fame.

I guess we should keep X around, after all.

A to Z: WTF?

What the heck?  What the frack?  What the (insert favorite word/curse word) here; I even heard a guy on TV say "What the veg?", which made me say WTF?  It is an exclamation, usually used to express surprise, astonishment, etc., at something or someone.  For example, if I happened to pass a man wearing no pants, covered in glitter, and belting out off key show tunes, I might exclaim some form of that phrase.  Most people would say something similar to WTF, and not one person would blame them, if they were there.  I mean, it's a man with no pants!

People have to have a way of expressing their astonishment, after all.  The world has lots of surprises in it. Things happen all the time that are strange or odd or just plain weird, and the brain just can't compute.  Nobody expects to see anyone walking about without pants these days, for instance, and because that image is so "off", we pause and we exclaim WTF? or the equivalent. It is almost a reflex.

Sometimes we say "WTF?" to express courage.   I at least think WTF? before I try a new food, for example.  It's my version of the YOLO(you only live once).  I'm throwing caution to the wind and stepping out onto the ledge for a new adventure, and in the case of new food, the hope that the food will a)be delicious, and b)not cause food poisoning.

I've been hearing variations of WTF? as long as I can remember.  It's almost ubiquitous, universal.  If you say it, people always know what it means.  It may be an ancient phrase, found among the hieroglyphics on the tombs of the Pharaohs. Perhaps there's a passage in Sanskrit which features the words, or maybe carved into the walls of burial mounds somewhere.  I wouldn't be surprised.

I also wouldn't be surprised to find out that some version of the phrase appears in every single language on the planet.  Although we in America are all about being unique with our extremely complicated language, other places and people experience astonishment and are surprised by life all the time.  And the people of this earth got to be where they are by bravely seeking out new places and new experiences in the face of certain death. 

Many languages, many cultures, and at least one phrase in common. 

A to Z: Virginity is Overrated

Virginity used to be a big deal. Way back before electricity, when women were deemed property and traded for land and cattle, a virgin was extremely valuable.  Virginity was considered to be the mark of a superior woman.  People who were not virgins were considered to be inferior, and they were used accordingly.  Women who, usually through no fault of their own, were not virgins, were considered used goods, to be tossed aside or viewed as "less than".  They were considered to be "fallen" women. 

Women.  Not the men.  If a guy loses his virginity, he is applauded, as if he had won a prize. He gets a pat on the back from society,  while the girl is treated like a used hanky.  There's a distinct double standard here that hasn't ever really gone away, no matter how far women's rights have advanced. This chaps my backside.

There are all these father-daughter virginity clubs popping up everywhere these days.  The girls in these clubs promise to remain chaste until they marry.  It's all over the news, and it's a bit creepy, but people seem okay with it.  However, I have yet to see any of these chastity clubs requesting male members. What message does that send? Why is it only the girl's job to keep her legs closed?  It takes two to tango, they say--even it's offered, a person can still say no.

The double standards need to go.

Let's stop making virginity such a big deal for teenagers.  Let's stop associating virginity with being "good", and all those awful implications.  Instead, let's explain the facts of life clearly, from a medical perspective, and then be available to answer questions as needed. There's no need to try to insert those certain values about good and bad into sex education.  Knowing what sex is doesn't mean that your teenager is in any hurry to go out and have sex.  Show a little trust--most teens have other things on their minds, contrary to the media.

If your daughter or son admits to having sex before they are ready, be supportive.  Don't judge.  That's not what kids in that position need. Things happen, and teenagers are not likely to think about consequences until afterwards. It will be difficult for me, if it happens to my son, this not judging thing. I would rather he wait until he is mature enough to handle sex and all that it entails, so I may yell at him a little.  But I won't love him any less because he is no longer a virgin, and I won't heap on any guilt over it.  That would not change if my child happened to be a girl.

That is the way it should be.

A to Z: Under Threat

Until such time as schools and other community buildings are created bomb proof, bomb threats will be made.  We hear about them all the time, on the news and in the paper.  Sometimes we see the results if a bomb threat is not just a threat.  There are bad people out there who like the smell of fear and the chaos that come from blowing things up.  Sickos.

Monday we found out that a bomb threat had been made in reference to an elementary school in the San Antonio area.  The threat was rather specific as to the date, April 24th, but not much else appeared to be clear.  Law enforcement officials contacted all the districts and alerted them to the threat.  All the school districts let their campuses know, and procedures for closing off the campuses were initiated, as a precaution.  After years of shoddy emergency preparations in my previous district, it was refreshing to see that the school districts in San Antonio had their plans ready to implement immediately.

But it certainly hasn't been fun.

We've all been locked inside all day, starting Tuesday.  It's likely that this will continue until Friday.  Playgrounds sit empty, sad without children playing on them.  Movement inside the school is allowed, fortunately; I have to get up and walk a few times a day. Even the private schools are locking the children inside; my son's school even has people stationed at the locked doors. We've received the letters and the phone calls regarding the threat and assurances that everyone is safe. 

Assurances haven't been enough for some people.  There are a number of parents who have pulled their children from school for the week.  What if?  they've said, and instead of dealing with that question appropriately, they've had a kneejerk reaction.  They are afraid, their fear wrapping tendrils around their brain and squeezing all common sense out of them.  Fear is the name of the game for a person who calls in a bomb threat; the best way to stop someone like that is to refuse to be afraid.

I am not scared.  Of all the things I get anxious about, this is not one of them.  For me to not be worried about a bomb seems rather odd, but I'm not scared. I kissed my child and sent him off to school, and I know that he will be just fine. He has no idea what is going on, except that he has a spelling test today.  I have a feeling that this day will be like any other day--nothing will happen, and we will all go home at the end of it. 

Okay, I am a little scared, and the 'What its?' are roaring through my brain in a crushing flood. The world has lots of scary stuff in it. But I refuse to let my life be dictated by fear, no matter what. So I am here, at work, just like any other day.

But I'm not stupid.  All this week, I've been extra vigilant. I've paid attention to the cars in the parking lot at my campus.  I've looked underneath the bushes at the front of the school.  I've scanned the area around me for suspicious items left lying about.  

Just in case.

A to Z: Test Drive

There is really nothing to compare to buying a car. All those car dealerships on every street corners, the salespeople hollering like prostitutes offering two-for-one's, the rush to get you to buy no matter what.  It is horrible, and a lot of the time people will buy a car just to stop the madness.

My mother-in-law is already a little crazy. She is so overanxious that she is paralyzed whenever she has to make a decision. Since she is alone now, she is supposed to be able to take care of herself and make her own decisions. So far, the only big decisions she has made seem to involve calling or texting her son so he can make the decision for her, whatever that decision might be. (Either she doesn't realize that she is driving her son crazy, or she realizes it and just doesn't care how disruptive she is; it's all about her.)

Larry wants to be a good son, so when her car finally gave up the ghost, he tried to help her. He asked her what kind of car she wanted, and where she wanted to look. These questions sent her into paroxyms of indecisiveness. She wanted what she had. They don't make those cars anymore. She wanted Larry to decide, and Larry was just as determined not to decide anything. He told her about several websites where Ruth could look at a variety of cars and prices while she was at home; she wasn't comfortable with that, etc.

Finally she was ready to go to the lot and choose. Larry went with her, and after awhile, I started getting these texts. These texts let me know how things were going.

"I am in the backseat while she is test driving," read the first one.

"Valium would be nice," read the next one.

And so it went, my husband freaking out over his mother's mad driving skills. I felt a little bad for him, having been driving with my own mother and her tendency to slam on the brakes 300 feet from the intersections. I hoped his mother would be able to make a decision soon.

"I hope you have some idea of how nerve wracking this is," read the last one.

It sucks to be old, I am sure. It must doubly suck to be old and crazy. Finally, Ruth selected a car--and immediately found something wrong with it.

It's always something.

A to Z: Silliness

Silliness should be a virtue. As adults, many of us spend way too much time being serious. There certainly are a great many reasons to be serious; bills to pay, kids to feed, work to be done. It gets to be an avalanche of duties and responsibilities. I find myself at the end of the day, teeth clenched, my shoulders hunched. So much of what we do as adults is boring, repetitive, and dull; something is needed to break up the monotony.  There is so much beauty in the world, and we miss it, our noses to the grindstone, oblivious to what is out there. One day, we tell ourselves, as life passes us by. I think that it is time to stop all that. I think we need to start taking time to be silly.

Silliness is good for our health. A good belly laugh does wonders; loosening those muscles we didn't even realize we were clenching so tight. The laughter created by silliness erupts from our core, clearing out the debris of the past in one fell swoop. The chest opens up, and we can breathe freely once more. Those frown lines disappear, and for a moment we are young again.

Silliness breaks up that monotony, that boredom, that keeps our creativity stagnant and state. Being silly frees us from the "must" in our lives that keep us working late instead of being at home with our families. One of my favorite movies is Parenthood, and one of my favorite lines is when Steve Martin angrily comments, "My whole life is ' have to'".  That character was too focused on the 'musts' in his life. He forgot to be silly. That was a wakeup call for me.

So how to be silly? I know how to be serious, but silly is hard.

Silliness doesn't involve elaborate preparation. All you need is something to laugh about. It can be a picture, or a word, or a person. Silly websites with silly cat pictures is another way to get into a silly mood. Talking to your friends can also help.

The very best experts in silliness, however, are children. Silliness and play are their jobs, and they do them well. If you truly want to learn the art of silliness, spend about fifteen minutes a day with a child. You'll have tea parties, and run around in the rain, and before you know it--Boom. Silly.

Suddenly the laughter comes bubbling to the surface, and there's no stopping it.

A to Z: Really?

Race is not something that I spend a lot of time thinking about. Why would I? It's not something that I care about, so I just don't think about it. I have all sorts of friends from all over the globe, and we all get along famously. Occasionally, however, I run into situations where I can't help but think about race or ethnicity. And then I have no idea what to do.

A teacher was showing off a picture of her son at lunch, and everyone was 'oohing' and 'ahhing'.  I dutifully looked at that adorable face and beatific smile, I complimented her. 

"What a beautiful boy!"  I exclaimed.  The others at the table agreed with me.

"He looks white," the teacher replied cheerfully. "But he's really Mexican!"  

She then left the room, oblivious to the sudden discomfort in the air of the teacher's lounge.  We all sat quietly for several moments, afraid to voice what we were all thinking.  I know what I was thinking.

Really?  That's all you got out of that?

Because anything that any of us would have said at that moment, positive or negative, would probably have been misinterpreted.  The fact was that none of us wanted to start any sort of an argument.  We were just admiring her child.  Nobody had said anything about that adorable boy's skin color.  All I saw was a child who bore a strong resemblance to his mother with a beautify smile.  Did she not see that?  

I've thought about the entire incident quite a bit since then.

Was I wrong?  Should I be looking at skin color when parents show me pictures of their children?  And should I have responded to that remark?  What could I have said that would have only been interpreted as courteous?  I've decided that it was best, in this situation, not to have said anything.  The teacher likely made a thoughtless remark.  Maybe she really feels this way, or maybe not.  She probably forgot that she said it the minute she walked out the door.  That's how these sorts of situations usually play out.   

It's probably going to bother me, on the other hand, for a long time.

A to Z: Quirky

Quirky is how I used to see myself.  Others would call me odd, weird, or just plain nuts over the years, but I never saw myself that way.  I suppose that it is normal to have a view of yourself that is a bit biased, or is that quirky as well?

Quirks just are. 

There's not necessarily a rhyme or a reason to the oddness that is me.  I didn't inherit my love of word play from a long lost relative, so genetics is certainly not to blame.  I love language not necessarily because of what it says, but for how it sounds.  Puns, double meanings, and other manipulations of the language are fascinating to me, like the inner workings of a well cared for timepiece.

But that's weird, right?  Most of the time, no one else around me catches the joke.  If I'm the only one laughing, is it still funny?  Probably.  That's another one of my quirks--I laugh at things that no one else seems to find funny.  Something falls, a person makes a comment, a dog shows up, a completely random event--and I will giggle, or outright guffaw.  It's rather embarrassing.  (I also laugh inappropriately in some situations, out of anxiety, but that's not necessarily a quirk, but a faulty survival mechanism.)

I have an almost visceral reaction to someone biting their fork, which is a quirky sort of quirk. (See what I did there?) It's like nails on a chalkboard annoying, and the sound causes my entire body to clench up as if I'm having a seizure.  This makes visits with my friend Evil Laura a little interesting; one of her quirks is to never let her lips touch her fork.  Luckily, I am as tolerant of the quirks of others as I can be.

Quirks just are. 

When I was a kid, I wasn't happy about my quirks.  I grew into them over the years, and now I believe they fit me, a well worn security blanket.  There's comfort in my quirks.  I'm sure that I'll have them my entire life, and it's likely that I'll find more them them along the way.  That's what being human is all about--the quirks make us ourselves. 

What quirks do you have?



 

A to Z: Parents Come In All Flavors

Perhaps I'm old fashioned.  I did grow up in a traditional household, with a mom who stayed at home and a dad who went to work.  A mom who cooked and cleaned and occasionally made things for me for various school activities.  Everyone I knew lived in the same sort of household.  No variation to the plan, all through high school.   

But the times have changed, and traditional has taken on an entirely different meaning. Parents come in all flavors, like ice cream.  In the traditional environment I grew up with, certain expectations seep underneath your skin, whether you like them or not.  Expectations about what moms are supposed to be, or look like, or sound like. 

I became a mother in my forties.  I am not a stay at home mom, either.  You would think that I should know better, be more accepting, but prejudices are like cockroaches, hiding in the shadows underneath the refrigerator.   I've had to get over a few biases over the years. Some that I didn't even know I had.    

I chaperoned a field trip last year with my son's class. One of the other moms had blue hair and several piercings.  I caught myself feeling...disapproval.  This woman didn't look like my expectation of a mother, and I got a little irritated about it.  Once I realized that I was being a bit of a jerk, I got even more irritated. At myself.  My bias was showing!  This mom was obviously very interested in her child.  She stayed with him as he walked through the pumpkin patch and helped out with some of the face painting.  If a mom loves her kid, is there for her child, who cares if her hair is blue?  The piercings I'm still having difficulty with, but I'm working on it.  I can at least smile at her without wincing. (those had to hurt! especially the eyebrow!)

I've been around many different flavors of families over the years.  Some are the traditional families, but they are becoming a rarity.  What I see most often today are single moms(and occasionally single dads) trying to raise children by themselves.  I've seen families with two moms or two dads.  I've seen grandparents raising their grandchildren, something that was completely unheard of when I was a kid.  What used to be the expected form of the family has changed.  What was, served a purpose, and that purpose no longer exists in this day.  It's time to accept that, and move on.  That includes me.

Different doesn't mean bad, no matter the flavor. There are too many children abused, neglected, or thrown away out in the world. Parenting is a thankless job, and it is not for the weak. Instead of castigating a parent because they are different, embrace them for the warriors they are.  If a person loves their child and is willing to do what it takes to raise them to adulthood?  It is all to the good.

A to Z: Overheard

Overhearing the conversations of others is pretty common in our society today.  No matter how hard we try to pretend otherwise in a crowded setting, our brains tend to fixate on the various excitement going on around us.  It's unintentional in most cases, but eavesdropping happens.

My old office, in the early 90s, used to be one big, open room.  We did not have dividers between desks while we spoke on the phone or typed out psychological reports.  The internet didn't exist as it does today, so secret online shopping while at work was unheard of.  

I had stepped out of the BIG ROOM for a moment to make some copies one afternoon.  When I came back, one of my coworkers was on the phone.  Of course I heard every word--her desk was less than ten feet away! I pretended that I wasn't listening, to be polite. I even got out some test manuals and flipped through some pages.  (One was upside down, and I did not even notice. This is why I am not an actor)

"Yes, I'd like to order a bikini," Paulette said.  I immediately became jealous that she was a)able to wear a bikini, and b)going someplace where she could wear a bikini.  It was cold outside!

"#1234567."

"Size 10." 

"Blue."

"Two-day delivery."

That's about the end of the conversation, I thought, opening a folder and pretending to read an IEP.   All the salesperson needed to do was ask if there was anything else. The call would be ended, and silence would prevail once more.  I waited.

"Yeah.  Can I get some breasts and thighs to go with that, please?" 

I admit that I turned and stared at Paulette, too surprised to pretend any longer.  She was smiling at me, not fooled for one second.  Apparently the salesperson on the other line was shocked as well; it took her a moment to respond in the negative.

"Oh well, it was worth a try. You have a good day." 

Paulette hung up the phone and we had a good laugh about it.  Then I made her tell me all about her upcoming trip.  We did not get any work done for the rest of the day, and that was just fine with us.

What funny things have you overheard?

A to Z: Not So Much

Nowadays, family routines are a little different from the way they used to be.   Once I pick up Zane, we may have errands to run, or we may have soccer practice. There may be a PTO meeting at the school.  My husband may or may not get home before 5pm. There's homework. Lots of variables, including my son.

The other day I made Zane something to eat after we arrived home.  He likes to eat before he does his homework, and he'll sit at the table and watch shows on his tablet while he eats and I get dinner ready for Larry and I.  I was just turning the oven on when I saw my son heading for the bathroom, tablet AND dinner plate in hand.  I stopped him.

"What are you doing?"  I had a pretty good idea what the answer to my question might be, but I had to ask.

"Going to the bathroom," came the reply.

"You cannot take your food into the bathroom," I said calmly. Well, calmly for ME. 

"Why not?"  I was a little shocked that my child would argue with me about this, but perhaps they had not covered this chapter of hygiene in the kindergarten yet.

"It's germy in there."  Yeah, that was all I could think of to say. Go me.

"But you cleaned it!"  My son was correct; I had cleaned the bathroom. I tried to be reasonable. I opened my mouth to explain about micro organisms and how they all lived in the bathroom and caused many diseases involving bodily fluids. 

"NO!"  The Mom Veto just popped right out of my mouth without explanation.  Zane grumbled as he brought his food back to the table and left it before he returned to the bathroom. 

To Zane's way of thinking, taking his food into the bathroom was the most efficient means of time management.  He would be engaging in three different activities at once, after all.  I was a bad Mama for not allowing him to engage in such efficient behavior.  I should feel guilty about not giving in to his whims.

Not so much.  

A to Z: Marriage

Marriage is hard.

There are tons of great things about marriage, of course.  Love. Sharing. Partnership. Never having to pick up another dead cockroach or live spider ever again. Someone to binge watch Supernatural with.  That stuff is great. 

But don't be fooled for a second by all those romance novels. Before marriage, the blinders about marriage need to come off. Romance novels make it seem as though spouses never fight, that they agree about everything, and that they have sex like rabbits. Don't be fooled by those romantic movies, either, where Richard Gere rides in to save the day and carry off his love.  That sort of romantic stuff may happen during the initial stages of a relationship, but the bloom wears off the rose pretty quickly once the marriage is on the books. 

That's when those bad habits that we developed when we were single show themselves. While you were single, it didn't matter that you left half-full glasses all over your apartment until they grew legs and migrated to the kitchen sink.  When you were single, you could hang out on the couch all weekend without showering, or eat food right out of the container, or order take out every night.

They were bad habits when we were single and lived alone, with nobody to see them.  When displayed around your partner, these habits become downright annoying. Yes, your spouse is the love of your life, and they make you complete, but there are just those moments where they get on your last nerve. There are moments that you would rather die than listen to one more story about which audio system is the most innovative or how many gamers prefer Xbox One to everything else on the planet.

That is part of life, and that is part of marriage.  Marriage is about reciprocity.  You sit and listen to your spouse discuss the finer points of the Marvel universe for hours, not only because it makes him happy, but because there will come a time when you will want to discuss the finer points of crochet, and he will have to reciprocate.  Without reciprocity, a marriage becomes tedious for one of the partners.  One person is giving and giving and giving, and getting nothing in return. That gets old.

Marriage is also about compromise. Neither person gets their way every time, and each person has to give a little. That's how partnerships work. I will listen to some songs I don't like when we are traveling together, and my spouse should be willing to listen to the music that I like.  Compromise.  It's not always easy to compromise, because we think that we are right, whether that is true or not.  Just because it's difficult doesn't mean that we drop everything and run home. It just means that we work  harder.

So what do you think is necessary for a happy marriage? 

A to Z: Lasagna

Lasagna is delicious.  I think that we can all agree on that.  All that cheesy goodness melted in with the pasta sauce and the noodles...yummy.  I am not one of those master chef types, and reports of the many times I've set fire to my kitchen are not exaggerations.  Yet I make a decent lasagna, if I do say so myself.

My first attempt at lasagna was made in college.  I had an apartment with an actual kitchen, and I decided that it was time to venture forth and start cooking.  I searched the cookbooks for a meal that caught my eye and found a lasagna recipe.  Most people just starting out on a cooking adventure would choose something less complicated, but not me!  With the adventurous optimism of the young, I was off to the store to purchase my ingredients.  I even called up my friend Arnold, who was a football player.  I told him to bring a couple of friends.  I was that confident.

It was at the store that I first realized that I was making a meal "from scratch".  There would be no shortcuts, because at that time, there were no shortcuts.  I would have to chop up the tomatoes and garlic, and ground the beef, before I could even begin layering stuff in the pan.  It was here that I first noted that I would have to cook the noodles as well.  I would have quit at this point, except that I'd invited football players over for dinner.  They would come hungry, and Lord only knew what they would happen if they had to leave hungry!

I'd just have to suck it up and do my best.

I boiled the noodles, per the instructions, and laid them out while I finished making the sauce.  I had a bit of trouble with draining the grease off of the ground beef.  I cut myself twice while cutting tomatoes, and once while chopping garlic.  And it was hot in that little apartment kitchen!  The only pan I had that was big enough was a pan that someone had written "rectal" on the inside(thanks Dad!), but it was too late to run out and purchase a new one.  I carefully followed the layering instructions and placed the lasagna in the oven to bake.  Then my roommate and I cleaned up the best I could and waited for our three guests.

Who came in the door, said hello, and proceeded to inhale every last scrap of lasagna(the recipe said it would serve 12 people), plus two loaves of garlic bread.  And then they left, no doubt off to some other girl's house, to eat another meal or two before they felt less peckish.  Arnold did say that the lasagna was very good, and I suppose the fact that the entire pan disappeared was a compliment. 

These days, I take advantage of the shortcuts. I've made lasagna enough since college to feel comfortable with the whole process of making it, which I consider progress. I use jars of pasta sauce, and buy garlic already chopped.  I buy oven ready noodles that don't have to be cooked.  I modify the recipe that is on the back of the box of noodles, and add different types of cheese, or use turkey instead of beef.  And I use the crockpot to cook when I can, to save time.
My husband loves it, and he has not had one case of food poisoning, so I guess I'm doing it right.   

What is a recipe that your family loves? 

A to Z: Kindness Take Backs

Kindness is something that everyone needs, and it is often in short supply. I know that there are many days when I could really use a pat on the back or a sympathetic ear for a few minutes.  Just having someone notice you is a kindness for some of us.  A nice little note, a bar of chocolate, a happy little comment on the blog...I love to receive those kindnesses. I hug them to my heart, and they make me smile. 

I try to give back or pay it forward.  I'll buy the meal for the person in the car behind me at the drive through, or offer to help some of my teachers with their paperwork.  I'll hold the door open for a parent with their hands full, or grab the neighbors chihuahua as she makes a break for freedom, or throw newspapers on the porches of the people on my street.

I don't do these things because I'm trying to score points or make myself look good.  I try to be kind because such considerations make other people feel good, and they in turn may show such considerations toward others.  Doing nice things for other people makes me feel less doom and gloomy about the world, which is a good thing. I don't require or expect any other sort of recompense.

Occasionally, however, I wish for 'take backs' on my kindness.  The person at the receiving end of a kindness is so hostile or ungrateful, that I just want to say "You know what? Forget it."  Manners seem to have gone by the wayside in the wave of technology sweeping over us, and people have lost track of all the little niceties that make society work. If I made a pie(hypothetically--no requests for pie!) for someone, and they didn't even say thank you, but just tossed the whole thing to their dog?   As far as I'm concerned, that person does not deserve any kindness. From anyone.  I'm not expecting a big thank you, but give me the consideration to at least wait until I leave before you throw the pie to your dog. 

Am I the only one who thinks this way? 

While I might think various evil thoughts in those situations, I recognize that their response is their hang up, their issue.  It has nothing to do with me.  It is difficult for some people to know how to accept gifts gracefully or how to say thank you.  I just need to grit my teeth and smile. 

And then open a bottle of wine when I get home.

A to Z: Jelly Bones

Jelly is a slippery substance.  It looks solid enough in the jar, but when it spills and you try to put your hands on it, jelly just oozes through your fingers, only now it's sort of spread out in a bigger mess than it was.  No matter how hard a person tries to contain jelly, it ain't happening.  After awhile, it becomes almost worth it just to leave the jelly where it falls and hope the dog prefers strawberry.

Kids can be that way, too.

Kids have tantrums, and most parents can deal with that, even when they happen in a public place.  Most parents can ignore the screaming, the crying, and the yelling.  Many can even ignore the kicking, the flailing, and the hitting.  I often see parents dragging their screaming children down the aisles of Walmart, going about their business, as if they were not holding hands with the Tasmanian Devil.  It's logical--ignore the bad behavior, and kids lose interest in that drama.

But nobody can ignore the Jelly Bones. 

We've all seen it happen.  A tantrumming child suddenly goes limp, his extra calcium-enriched skeleton turning to jelly.   Little Susie has suddenly become a puddle of skin on the floor, all of her muscles unable to support her.  Instead of a loud screaming fit, there is silence, and extreme passivity.

At first the situation is scary.  Did they faint? A seizure?  Did my child randomly grab something off the shelf in the Lawn and Garden section?  WTF?  Calm down. It's a case of the Jelly Bones, right in the middle of the Dairy aisle.

Your child has switched tactics on you! This is passive noncompliance at its finest. Since imitating a volcano hasn't worked as a means of world domination, your child will now attempt...The Mountain. A mountain does not move or respond to rewards/bribes/threats, and short of explosives, nothing can make that mountain put back that package of Oreos.

What do we do?  A Taser would likely work, but Child Protective Services frowns upon that sort of thing.  Rolling the cart over them is just right out; those tire marks never come out.  Leaving them on the floor is a viable option, but when you try to "lose" your kids, Walmart will find you.  Not that I would know anything about that. *cough* (It was only once, and only because I knew he'd be off the floor the second I turned the corner)

Some moms haul their recalcitrant child right out of the store and home for some quality time out sessions, but other mothers have become immune to the Jelly Bones drama, place their child into the cart, and go on about their business. Moms have stuff to do, which means less time for kids to engage in those fun and dramatic behaviors that they used to.  Occasionally, I will see a child with Jelly Bones flopped in a cart, covered in groceries. 

I always give that mom a high five.

A to Z: Hats Galore

Hats are amazing inventions.  Not only do they keep the elements off of our heads, they also serve to delineate one job from another.  For instance, only firemen where those special firemen-type hats.  Imagine that fireman's hat on Oprah?  Looks rather silly, and would totally mess up her hair.  Cowboys are generally identifiable by their special hats, and those hats look ridiculous on anyone who has never sat on a horse.  Military personnel wear specific headgear, and seeing anyone else in such a hat just doesn't fit.

Specific job=specific hat. 

My department attended a workshop a couple of weeks ago.  The trainer handed out paper plates and markers, and asked us to divide the plate in half.  On one side we were to write all the jobs we had to do at home, and on the other side we were to write all the jobs we did at work. Because we're all about the multi-tasking.

The work side was easy.  When I punch in, I'm an evaluator, problem solver, consultant, detective, data archeologist, interventionista, counselor, behavior specialist, report writer, and occasional crisis manager.   That's not including that clause in my contract that states "other duties as assigned".   I love every bit of it.  It's exciting and fun to me. If I could choose a hat to wear for my job, it would be one of those pith helmets that the old time jungle explorers wore.  That is the perfect school psychologist hat. 

The home side was more difficult.  I wear a lot of different "hats" at home as a wife and a mother.  Problem solver is one hat.  Political consultant to my husband is another.  Soccer mom.  Blogger.  Housekeeper. Triage nurse.  Kisser of boo boos. Resident hugger. Kid herder. Crisis manager. Counselor. Crying shoulder.  Cook. Animal trainer.  Snake handler.  Spider shoo-er. 

I could go on.  What sort of hat would fit such a plethora of roles and duties?  It would need to be stylishly loud, because if I am going to wear a hat, I need to rock it.

Then it hit me.  The perfect hat.

It's fancy, bold, and stylish.  And it suits me, I think.  

A to Z: Googly Eyes

Guess what?  I've been living a lie.  All these years, I've just been pretending. All that smiling and nodding like I knew what was going on, when I really had no clue. But it is time to come clean.

I had no idea what googly eyes are.

I should have asked the very first time someone described another person as having them.  I should have stood up and admitted my ignorance.  There would have been pointing and laughing, but I've dealt with that before.  At least then I would have been enlightened for the next time. 

But I wanted to fit in, so I kept my mouth shut.  Then I promptly shoved all thoughts of that trauma out of my consciousness.  And the next time someone mentioned that So-and-so had googly eyes, I didn't make a peep.  Asking questions is something I love to do, but somehow I felt embarrassed about the entire thing.

Things finally came to a head during the last staff meeting I attended.  My brain began obsessing about googly eyes.  It's a wonder I was even able to sit still, with all the questions in my head.  I am just lucky that no one tried to talk to me, as I am not sure what would have come out of my mouth.

What the heck are googly eyes?  If someone has googly eyes, does that mean their eyes pop out of their head, like in Beetlejuice?  Is it a glandular thing?  I've heard women say that a man was making googly eyes at them--should I be concerned?  Is that a sign that a person is in love?  Do we all make googly eyes when we're in love, or when we see something we're scared of? 

Does it mean that the eyes are rotating counter clockwise?  Oh wait--that just means crazy. Or possessed, depending on the movie.  No, that's just the head that turns, not the eyes. Not googly.

Embarrassment is the great motivator.  After years, I decided to search the web for answers.  That's right, I consulted the Google about the googly eyes.

Urban dictionary noted that googly eyes mean that you really like someone. So I suppose that I was on the right track using context cues.  Google also pointed out that someone with the condition of strabismus might be told they have googly eyes.  Eventually I did stumble on an answer:

These, my friends, are googly eyes.  Balance has been restored to my corner of the universe.  And if this subject ever comes up as a trivia question on Jeopardy! I am set.

A to Z: F, Forgotten

Forgot the letter F. 

I had G all up and running in my head, H doing stretches, and the I lacing his sneakers up.  I was feeling proud of myself for having a good handle on this A to Z thing, patting myself on the back and having a glass of wine to celebrate my small self(I have to celebrate the little things on occasion).  It was very relaxing.  And then a little thought popped into my head.

You forgot the F.

My brain passed right over that small thought, it was so small.  It was busy thinking of grocery lists, items to be laundered, and what to pack for lunches for the week.  My small thought was persistent, however.

You forgot the F.

That time there was a little ripple in The Force, and my brain paused between the peanut butter and jelly and the pretzels.

"What?"  (Yes, I talk to myself.  Occasionally, it is the only adult conversation I get.)

You forgot the F.

"No, I did not," I told myself.  "I would never forget a letter." 

You forgot the F. 

"I did not."

Did too. Go look.

"Look, A, B, C, D, E, and F, just like I said.  See?"  I smugly opened up my blogging notebook with a flourish, and pointed.

There's no F.

Wah?  I looked.  I looked twice.  I looked three times, just in case F was a time traveler, to give him time to pop back. 

No F.   I cannot believe that I forgot the F.  Some of my favorite words start with that letter!  Folly, forensics, forlorn...how could I forget such a letter? It would be totally understandable if I forgot the Q, or the U.  But not the F.

I just forgot.

Which also starts with the letter F.  So...that's my confession.  I will live with the shame forever, unless I find forgiveness.

Too much?