How To Make A Teenager Groan

While sitting around a table at a local restaurant with my three teens and talking about their day, their friends, and their pet peeves, the youngest asked why I wasn't wearing a particular black tank top under the blouse I had on (I chose a white t-shirt instead). "Because that tank top is kinda low and I didn't want to be tugging it up the whole time while sitting across from my sons and giving them a show," I replied.

She rolled her eyes a bit and the boys muttered a Thanks, Mom to which I couldn't help add (with a wink), "Now if I was sitting across the table from your dad, I would definitely be wearing that top." The table went quiet for a split second with three young mouths hanging open before they all let forth a collective groan.

"Yeah, I could have went through my entire day without that," stated the oldest.
"Gee, Mom, uh... yeah, that is not a pleasant picture," stuttered the middle.
"Really, Mom? Really?" moaned the youngest.

Apparently the thought of their dad appreciating the attributes of their mom was a little too much for them. Who knew?  =)

I Am A Former User

It's official! I have cut the facebook cord. I deactivated my profile, gave my kids a heads up that their own accounts were up for "search and seizure" at any given time, and removed that familiar blue f from my favorites tool bar. I honestly have no intention of going back. The only thing I will really miss is the ability to post these entries to facebook; I know a lot of my friends and family followed me that way. Oh well. I guess now we'll see if any of them liked me enough to track me down (and the answer there is probably not).

And like I often say, "That's that."

Facebook No More (Well... Maybe)

Here we go. The great facebook debate. To stay or not to stay. For the first time since I joined the site, I do believe I'm about done. I logged on this morning to see the status update of someone who is not on my friend list for good reason:

A). I have no clue who the person is, and
B). Vulgar language about male body parts is something I can do without.

Since facebook implemented their latest round of changes to the site, pretty much everyone is open game. It all has to do with mutual friends and status updates and comments and likes and all that, but the short of the story is, if I can view information about people that I am not personally linked to, then those same people can see mine. I have always been very particular about my friend list. I keep it at around 100 (this in a world where people have 300-500-1000! people on their list of friends). Yes, I've unfriended people who:

A). Never commented or updated anything anyway which for some reason annoys me, or
B). Used that aforementioned vulgar language about body parts or their mama or God.

I figured that was the point of having some sort of control. I immediately nixed the whole places feature that turns ordinary people into celebrities by allowing the paparazzi (aka their friend list) to follow their every move. That kind of thing is just not for me. I once "followed" a guy as he went from the library to the gym to Starbucks and finally back to his home. This is one of those guys who has friends in the 1000s and think about it, if I was following him via facebook (this was back in my farmville days... 198 days sober!), how many other people were also? He's got a beautiful home, a beautiful wife who stays home with beautiful kids, and a brand-new 52" flatscreen/LCD/HD3D (I have NO idea what I'm talking about here)... anyway, he's one of those people that will post everything about his life.

Does this make me sound like a stalker? I promise you I'm not, but with the information that some people put out there, I almost feel like one. I'm just a semi-bored housewife with no evil intention at all who just also happens to be very observant. Imagine if I really were looking to do something like steal your new tv or investigate your child custody case or raise your property taxes...

Yeah. Maybe I should go offline with facebook.
I may not have many friends left after this anyway.

My point is that there is so much information out there. Yes, I give my own pointless updates and post pointless pictures from time to time and just generally have a little fun with it all, but that control, my control, is slowly getting peeled away and I gotta tell you, I don't like it one bit. As I told one other person earlier this morning, the whole thing is starting to get a little creepy. I know there are people out there, good people, who could care less about the whole privacy issue. That's just not me. I didn't have a high security clearance for nothing, you know.

I'm a private person (who also happens to write a public blog).
Yes. I do see the irony there.

So what happens to a facebook user who leaves the arena? Is there withdrawal? You know, the farmville reference earlier was just a joke (I really haven't counted the number of days since I last plowed or harvested or whatever), but I did discover more time once I stopped.  Maybe I won't miss it at all.

Or maybe I won't go anywhere.
Are there really more changes in store?
Am I jumping ship too early?

I never had this problem in the pre-facebook world.

Seven Minute Recap...

Cause I'm killing the light at ten o'clock.

1. Woke up with a smile.
2. Waved goodbye to kids.
3. Made some coffee.
4. Read my bible.
5. Talked to my dad.
6. Got a sick call from school.
7. Picked up a girl.
8. Went to doctor.
9. Picked up more kids.
10. Made it back home.

Yeah. Pretty typical, ordinary kind of day. I'm thinking I should have just called it a day then and went to bed early because shortly after 5:30 p.m., the remote went missing and over four hours later, I still have no clue where it went. The fridge is acting up, first the freezer side and now the refrigerator side. I have no clue why.

And I still can't find my nook charger.

Is it Friday yet?

Tony's Jeans



 My old jeans from 7 months ago (from 391 lbs. to 256 lbs.).





Yes I have both legs in one leg. LOL. There is room for another person in the other leg.




So very, very happy for you, Brother. =)

Dear World (Take 2),

Well, I gotta admit, when I wrote that Don't Mess With My Monday entry just a few days ago, I had no idea that the world (and Monday) were about to fight back. Yes, I did get the laundry done and the house got cleaned, but sometime after four that afternoon I ended up flat on my back in the middle of an asphalt driveway and everything came screeching to a halt.

So what do the uninsured do? They pick themselves up and pray for healing. At least that's what I did. A quick internet search suggested that I probably suffered something of a mild concussion and though I am loathe to search any medical diagnosis online (they all lead to death, you know), I had to agree that this one was probably right on the money. My vision was not blurred and I wasn't sick to my stomach, so I figured we could save the trip to the emergency room, take Tylenol as directed, and all would eventually be well.

Then Tuesday morning rolled around. Might I say I whimpered like a baby most of that day?  I couldn't move, couldn't eat, couldn't think. My head hurt, my back hurt, and I swear even my pinky finger hurt. The husband suggested the ER more than one time and more than one time I said, Let's just give it another day. I dined on ginger ale and saltine crackers and when the man of the house wasn't around, depended on that other man of the house (aka the oldest) to help his poor mama out of bed. What a mess! I have never (birthing three children included) felt as bad as I did that day.

Wednesday proved hopeful when I could actually crawl out of bed on my own accord. Although ginger ale and crackers still remained my meal of choice, by the evening a pizza was actually sounding good. Even though I slept most of the day anyway, I had no trouble sleeping that night. This morning showed more promise as I woke up and could actually wave goodbye to the kids from the front porch. Yes, I immediately went back to bed, but three hours later I awoke with some serious hunger pains and only a slight headache. Tonight I can actually stand the backlight of the computer and seeing as how I've already gotten a few of those looks from the kids (the do your homework look, that is), I think things are finally getting back to normal.

And normal sure feels good, even if my head is still a little sore.

So there you have it. You can think you've got something conquered (like a Monday) and then everything changes. One thing about it, being down for the count makes you appreciate all those good days you took for granted. I'm going to have a busy day tomorrow playing catch-up with everything that got put on the back burner this week, but I'm looking forward to it just the same.

And a few final thoughts:

To my mom and dad, I'm sorry I didn't call you right away, but you know how it is... I always hate to worry you all. What I would have given, though, to have my mom taking care of me that awful Tuesday. I will never be too old to need my parents.

To my friend who is taking care of her own daughter right now, I will be glad when you are back. Enough said.

And to any of you out there who may have your own concussion horror stories to share, please don't. If I want to get freaked out, I've got the world wide web.

As always, thanks for reading. =)

Dear World,

Not today.

You are not gonna have me today.

I know things look kinda shaky. I stayed up late waiting on - - -

{This reading is interrupted to point out if you've read this before, yes, a portion of this

 particular  blog entry has been removed due to my belated better judgment.

 Ahhhh... the beauty of a delete button.}

And to everyone who is tired of hearing me go on and on and on about this... well, I guess there are other things to read out there. My next big dilemma will be the prospect of going on for a master's degree. Maybe I'm just afraid I won't be able to find a job. Anyway, if this topic bores you to no end, join the long line of already bored people called my immediate family. My children's eyes form an instantaneous glazed-over, bored look at the first mention of Can you BELIEVE what I have to do this week? The husband is the only one who really has to pretend interest. This was his idea afterall. His support is not up for negotiation.

Another thing trying to bring me down this morning was my beloved children. Oh, I know it is a Monday and they stayed up too late and sometimes mornings just stink. I understand the longing to keep the feel of cold, hard cash in your pocket and thinking life is not fair and wishing your siblings would just talk nice. I really do get it, but life and the school bell waits for no one. I considered jumping the car and driving them all to school to remind them who's the boss, but let's face it: I really didn't want to get out of my pajamas. No, I'm not lazy. I'm just practical. If they're mad at me there's no sense subjecting them to another ongoing lecture that can outlast three stoplights. Besides, there's always the ride home.

I'm gonna wrap this up and kick on the tunes. I've got all day to spread a little sunshine in my life via the washing machine and vacuum cleaner. My first cup of coffee is kicking in and things are looking up already. There are some bright spots to the day:

The Falcons won last night.

And at least one kid smiled at me.

I'm taking my Monday back.

Whatever It Is, You Can Have It

One of the strangest things to me is when I ask the Lord to show me something, He does, and then I wish I would have never asked. Am I never happy? Why do I think I need to know everything anyway? It doesn't change anything except the fact that now I know and I wish I didn't. Knowing doesn't exactly bring about peace, but I guess it does stop the wondering.

So which is worse, the knowing or the wondering?

I kinda think the wondering is worse. At least with knowing, you can move on either by picking it up and lugging it along with you, or leaving it where it belongs anyway... with the Lord. Now that's the hard part. And it doesn't matter what it is. It can be big or small; life changing or trivial; spouse-related, kid-related, or work-related. I guess it always goes back to trust.

Do I trust the Lord enough?
Do I think He can handle it?
Do I think He needs my help?

I've said it before and I'll say it again:

It's not about me.
It's all about Him.
Who's all about me.

He must increase,

but I must decrease.

[He must grow more prominent; I must grow less so.]  

^{John 3:30}

Coffee Break

If this is Wednesday, it feels like a Friday after a very long week.  My whole week is out of whack. When Monday slipped by without the usual Monday events (that would be the dusting and vacuuming and doing  laundry), I knew I was in trouble. In between running around today, I managed to make half a dent on the dishes and wrangled a ham into the oven. Since I only have about fifteen minutes before I make my fourth run of the day to pick up a couple of kids from school, I thought this would be a good time for a coffee break.

And that's when the thought occurred to me.

If I was working right now, I would miss out on random moments like the one I had today. The details of the circumstances leading up to this moment are really non-essential, but suffice it to say that I made an impromptu trip to the high school to pick up the oldest. We ran the errand I needed him present for, made a pit stop at McDonald's for an early lunch, did a drive-by at the local tech college so he would know where to park when he makes his own drop-in later after school, and got him back to school in time for his favorite part of the day.

I made it home in time to fix the husband lunch, kicked the dryer on for the five-minute wrinkle knock-out, and sat down to pay (or at least think about) some bills. The phone rang with the weak voice of the youngest on the other end of the line. Mom? Can you please come get me? For parents out there like us who rarely have a kid miss school or call for an early pick-up, this is one of those situations where you don't have to think twice. If she's calling, there's a reason. Within a half hour I had her back home where she promptly made herself cozy with a bowl of chicken soup and a good book.

(And there's no way she would let me post a picture of that).

So now I sit for a moment.

Kids taken care of. 

No boss to contend with.

Ham smelling good in the oven.

Now if there's just some way I could figure out how to collect a paycheck at the same time, life would be sweet (well, sweeter anyway).

And to the middle, you've not been left out. Give me this evening and you'll have a chocolate cake by the time you get home from church. I did promise you we would celebrate the Hershey guy's birthday, right? Any reason for chocolate, buddy. Any reason at all.  =)

Does Laughter Really Cause Wrinkles, Or Do Wrinkles Just Cause Laughter?

Today I glanced in the rearview mirror while backing out of the drive and noticed something new. I stopped midway, put the car in park, and flipped the visor down thinking the lighted mirror would be more encouraging than the broad glare of daylight (and yes, I realize how ridiculous that sounds). Obviously there was no change. It was long and very defined and slightly disturbing. I smiled. I frowned. I used my index fingers to slightly tug the skin toward each temple on either side of my face. That worked... did wonders actually, until I let go. With a heavy sigh, I flipped the mirror back up and put the car back in drive.

So this is what they call a deep crease.
A no-doubt-about-it wrinkle.
Something even cover-up won't begin to hide.

I hear some of you moaning all ready. No, this is not the first wrinkle I've noticed on my face and I know full well there are many more to come. But this one was so there, so visible as if shouting to the world, Hey! Check me out! I comforted myself with all those feel good thoughts about laugh lines and love lines and just plain old life lines. I told myself it was only really noticeable when I smiled big so either

A). It's a result from all the big smiling I do every day, or
B.) I just won't smile big anymore and no one will notice.

And for anyone that knows me, either choice would be believable depending on the day and my mood. As I sat in the park a little while later waiting for a couple of kids to join the ride home from school, my daughter took a good look at me and said, "I love your hair! It makes you look waaaaay younger than what you really are!" Feeling a sudden boost of confidence, I pointed to my new found wrinkle.

"Wow," she frowned, "and you've got one on the other side, too."
There's just no end to the laughter around here.

Changing September

A note handed to me the morning of  September 11, 2011: Mrs. (That Would Be Me), Please do not turn on your radio during free time since the live reports may upset the students.

 A fellow blogger recently had a post titled Where Were You? As I read her account, it got me thinking about my own. I was teaching a small, combined class of 4/5/6th grades. By the time lunch rolled around, I had already lost a few students due to nervous parents pulling them from school early. I didn't blame them. I couldn't wait to get home.

After school dismissed for the day, my husband and dad called to tell me to make sure I filled up with gas on the way home. We were living in the country then and my tank was low anyway, so I didn't think that was a bad idea. The kids and I waited in line for a gas pump for what seemed forever. Getting to our house that day was like reaching a safe haven.

Because we were safe. At least we felt safe in our little gravel-road house surrounded by trees and located in the middle of mid-western nowhere. Watching endless hours of the same television coverage with my husband that evening while our three small children played was a surreal experience. We seemed so far removed from everything, and yet so close.

Those images today are as haunting as they ever were and I echo the sentiments of people everywhere. May we never forget. The Americans lost that day did not just die.

They were murdered.

Some estimates put that number well over 2,900, and considering the number of people still suffering the physical and emotional effects of that day, can you imagine what the actual number might eventually look like? Have you been watching any of the anniversary coverage? Dust, soot, and ash has a lingering, nasty effect on the lungs. Horrific images of people falling to their death do not easily fade away.

Kids left without a mom or dad.
Spouses continuing on alone.
Parents burying their children.

I know I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.
I'm just remembering. Our September has forever been changed.

Did He Really Just Say Hot-Cute?

I have determined that it's no use pretending. You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can never take the small town out of the girl. Consider the events of this afternoon.

The oldest and I headed downtown for his senior portraits. First of all, I hate downtown, at least on that side of the river. I get turned around easily (even with a GPS) and let's be honest, bums standing on every corner make me nervous. I know they're hungry and willing to work and want God to bless me and every one of them is a veteran, but they still make me nervous. That will most likely never change.

Secondly, I hate red lights and railroad crossings and road construction that makes me have to turn around. I just want to get in my car, go where I need to go, and get back home without horns honking. Now most of the time I manage to stay calm, at least outwardly, but it just goes without saying that I prefer to be home. I'm not a phobic or anything like that, I just like home. Peace. Quiet. Cats.

Yeah. I'm not crazy or anything.

So I take the boy because that's what a good mom-of-a-senior does, and we are ushered upstairs where he is shown the fitting room and I have a seat. The guy makes some small talk. Nick, introduce me to your sister. Whatever. Chuckle, chuckle. He asks where I went to high school which brings up a place far away from here. That immediately sparked his interest. I was asked a few pointed questions and it is quickly determined that I am something of a redneck girl.

It's okay. I can take it. I do hear myself talk, afterall.

He invites me in to watch the photography session to which I politely decline. I don't think my seventeen-year old boy needs his mom sitting in the corner while he poses this way and that. Besides, the acoustics in that place were great and I could hear every word that was said anyway... mental note for when it becomes our girl's turn. I pulled out my crochet bag (good Lord, have I really become that woman?) and passed the next twenty minutes or so in relative peace.

Of course, my mind was racing. Is that really my kid in there taking his final pictures of his high school career? I thought back to my own... I kinda remember it. Does it all really matter? Where will these pictures end up anyway? In the back of a picture frame behind other pictures? At the bottom of a cedar chest? Where are my senior pictures? At some point in the utterly pointless mental monologue, I heard the photographer asking my boy if he had a girlfriend.

Yes.
What's her name?
He tells him.
How long have you been dating?
He tells him.
Is she cute?
Yes.
Like hot-cute?

Now at this juncture in the conversation, I really do chuckle to myself. I know the guy is just being friendly and keeping the atmosphere casual and all that, but I am thinking, You obviously don't know who you're talking to. I know I'm the mother and some of you might be thinking I'm just being naive, but if I know anything about my oldest, it's that he would never refer to his girlfriend- especially to a stranger, as being hot-cute.

And that, my virtual friends, is called a father teaching his sons about respect.

The session quickly ended after a few more shots with his guitar and the mom-mandatory picture of him in his suit. I was given a brochure that featured the packages and prices arranged on the love scale (another chuckle, chuckle)... $150, we love him a little ~ $949, we love him a lot (another whatever). We made our next appointment to check out the proofs, gathered up our stuff (crochet bag included), and made our way through the stoplights, over the train tracks, and past the bums.

Home at last.
Sitting outside.
And for the record, not a cat in sight.

*And in case you're wondering, he never did answer the hot-cute question. The guy took the hint and moved on. While driving back home, we talked about that particular phrase.

I just don't get it, my oldest said.
I don't think of her that way. There's more to a girl than that.

Good grief, we are blessed.

The Celebration Continues

1. I've had the windows open ALL day.
2. I bought my first pumpkin spice latte of the season.
3. I'm sitting outside in the screened-in porch watching two cats play.
4. I took a new profile pic for facebook that didn't scare me to death.
5. And an encouraging thought hit me while I was folding laundry:

My husband's eighty-four year old grandma. She's my biggest fan on his side of the family and the only one who has ever truly liked me regardless of which side of the Mississippi I grew up on. We had her over for dinner last week for my husband's birthday and she always makes it a point to compliment the many quilts in our house. She knows my grandma made them and she spares no praise in admiring each one. She spent some time talking about her days in high school and how she has outlived most of her eighteen senior classmates (the girls are outliving the boys, she said with a smile). If we had never moved here, I would have never had the chance to know her.

Yeah, grandmas are a very big deal to me.

I need all the help I can get. =)

Celebrating Hope

Do you ever get consumed by sad thoughts to the point where you have to make a conscious decision to call a cease and desist! to that part of your brain?

I knew it was just me.

Well, hang with me cause I promise this will take a positive spin. I was in bed last night waiting for my husband to complete his next virtual level in some world that does not exist when I began thinking about the date. Now, I've already been here, done this, so I'm not going to repeat what you've already read (it may have been painful enough the first time). Suffice it to say, four years ago on this very date, I hugged my grandma on her front porch (it would be the last time I would be at her house while she was alive), hugged my mom and dad (and I won't even allow myself to dwell on that), and loaded two kids into a car to be followed by another kid riding with his dad in a moving truck.

We called it The Great Adventure.
Now I just refer to it as The Great Move of 2007.
Eight hundred and eighty-two miles in the wrong direction.

Okay. That's enough with that side of it.

I opened up my bible this morning looking for something in particular I knew I had marked. Referring to the great heroes and heroines of faith that lived in Old Testament times- and let me interrupt this thought for a shout-out to my 3rd/4th grade class of 2005-2006 (?) that memorized the entire chapter and brought the house down at our Spring Presentation. Anyway, Hebrews 11 recalls the big faith moments of people like Abraham and Enoch and Noah and Moses and Rahab... you get the idea. Verses 14-16 are circled in my bible with squiggly lines and arrows pointing to it with particular emphasis on verse 15:

Now those people who talk as they did show plainly that they are in search of a fatherland (their own country). If they had been thinking with [homesick] remembrance of that country from which they were emigrants, they would have found constant opportunity to return to it. But the truth is that they were yearning for and aspiring to a better and more desirable country, that is, a heavenly [one]. For that reason God is not ashamed to be called their God [even to be surnamed their God--the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob], for He has prepared a city for them.
 
Now don't get me wrong. As far as I was concerned, we were in our own country, but you get the point. The date inscribed by these verses would put us about one month into The Great Move. Believe me, I found constant opportunity to return home. And again, it's as tempting as ever to have a seat, kick my feet up, and keep these thoughts company for a long time; but for the sake of my day, I'm not gonna do it.
 
Yes. Our mortgage doubled.
Yes. Our income dropped.
 
But we are still here. Our family is still under one roof, new friends have been made, and we are probably closer to the Lord than we would have been had we stayed. There is something to be said about getting too comfortable. Complacency is a dangerous thing. I know for a fact that I was losing my identity in the work I was doing. I forgot who I was in Him. Hey, I'll never pretend to know the real reason for all this, but He brings good out of all things. Sometimes a hard look in the mirror is the hardest thing to do.
 
So tonight I think I am going to plan a little celebration dinner. I may be the only one in this family who takes note of the date, but I happen to think survival is a good thing to celebrate. Not just survival of a move and all that went with it, but survival of life. Loss. Heartbreak. Despair. Homesickness. Depression.
 
Hope.
 
And not the hope our current administration gives.
Thank God for that. My hope is real.
 
 
 

And now, Lord, what do I wait for and expect?

My hope and expectation are in You.

Psalm 39:7

Labor Day Blues

On this rainy Labor Day, at least in our neck of the woods, I've been reading a little bit about the origin of a day that Americans take to the interstates and lakes and backyards. There's a little confusion as to who actually came up with the idea of Labor Day, but one thing is for certain... it was originally celebrated on a Tuesday until the government decided it would make a nice three-day weekend. Now it's viewed less as a celebration of America's labor unions and more as the official end to summer.

Unemployment is at 9.1%.
Fourteen million Americans are out of work.
And the US Postal Service is going under.

Nothing like a few headlines to brighten your day.

Is There A Doctor In The House?

In the morning hours before church, my girl torments two cats with a red laser beam. Okay, so torment might be too strong of a word. They love it. How a cat can endlessly chase a tiny red dot around the living room having learned long ago that he (or she) doesn't stand a chance of ever catching it... well, I'm here to tell you it's solid family entertainment.

I am experiencing the woes of the un-insured. Health care, that is. About two weeks before the husband lost his job and our health insurance went out the window, I had went for to the doctor for an infection that you really don't want to hear about. Short of the story? It's back and I am up a creek. The husband has his VA, the kids are covered by the state (yes, we had to go that route), and I have been hung out to dry. I'm hoping to get my own veteran benefits rolling sometime in the future, but for now my hope remains first in Jesus (we had a talk just the other day) and second in an appointment I've got at a free clinic for Friday.

Well, technically it's not free, more of a based-on-your-income type thing. I had called around this past Friday when I was next to miserable. Take any clinic and try to walk in the door without insurance. The cheapest I found was $108 and that was literally just walking in the door. Put into the equation lab work and all that... $200 is a good guess and that's before a prescription. Lord have mercy. I am by no means an Obama fan, but I have had great fun telling my husband that if he would only leave Obama alone, all my health problems would be solved.

And that is a joke.
A really big joke.
But it drives my husband crazy.

I'll just wait till Friday and continue to consume large amounts of water and cranberry juice (figured it out yet?). In the meantime, I am working on schoolwork, watching some football, and anticipating the cooler temps headed our way this week. Labor Day is going to be a wash-out, but I don't know that anyone really cares around here. We are so ready for rain. The forecast last night showed a number I don't think we've seen since March. 80s. Hallelujah. Even my husband did a little jig last night when he saw that. I am ready to throw the windows open and turn off the air. Our screened-in porch needs a good cleaning and a lot of use. I'm ready for pumpkins on the porch, pumpkin bars in the oven, and a pumpkin latte in my hand.

Anything but cranberry.

So Technically Nobody Told Us Our Kid Was Great

Of course, that could be because we didn't hang around to actually meet any of the teachers (and FYI, this is part two to an earlier post). After sitting in an auditorium for an hour enduring the onslaught of college information, we were all a little more than fried. Don't get me wrong, it was great information... just too much at one time. Our oldest has his sights set on a tech school anyway, so that will all be pretty straight forward and not much of an application process. I thought it was good, though, for the middle and the youngest to sit through the whole college presentation thing.

That is until the middle informed me he slept through most of it.
Oh well. We really do try.

Anyway, after learning that we have to have a senior pic done at a particular studio if we want it in the yearbook and that the deadline is eight days away (how did I miss that memo?) I felt myself slipping into a minor panic mode. I got the graduation date marked down (only ten tickets per grad) and I think I caught the info on ordering the cap and gown (no extras for us). When the words of the speaker began to form the old blah, blah, blah sound in my ears, I knew we were done. We slipped out with the other slackers, paid our five dollar guilt-fee to the PTA, and debated if we really needed to do the whole open house thing. Keeping in mind that this is a big school and nothing really important happens in these two-minute meet-n-greet sessions, we opted to bolt for the car.

And the husband spent his birthday money on Chili's.
It was the best open house ever.

Just Tell Me How Great My Kid Is And We Can All Go Home

I am wondering where in the world August went. It seems as if we were just wrapping up summer and making school supply lists (of course, this is in the part of the country where school comes a little too early, in my opinion). I'm not complaining. I'm glad to see August go. September kicks off the four months of the year that are my favorite. Granted, we'll have to lose these ninety-eight temps before I can truly appreciate the fall months. Around here summer seems to last through October. Even so, the early mornings are cool and the late evenings are nice. Hope is just around the corner.

Tonight we have a senior meeting for parents to be followed by an open house and rounds two and three in Meet The Teacher. I never look forward to these nights. Nobody talks about what they really want to talk about and the maneuvering through the crowded halls leaves me feeling a little more than anxious. In fact, this takes me back to this same time last year. Oh well. It is the role we must play as parents. We'll load up the car, go through the motions, shake a few hands, share a bottle of germex, and have dinner out afterwards. I suppose I can make small talk for the promise of a meal I don't have to cook.

I can find joy in any Taco Bell.