Asides...

I am working on a scathing post about public education, but until then, to tide over my valued readers...I present you with Asides.  Random stuff I think about that makes Boy ask..."Where do you come up with this crap?!"

• If I was ever on death row, God forbid, I already know exactly what I'd choose for my last meal. It would have to be the turkey and mashed potato dinner that they serve for school lunches. I crave it. I would ask the warden to fill up a child's swimming pool of the stuff and I would sit in it while I waited to meet my maker. 
• As much as I would like bigger boobs, I could never get a boob job. I'd be so stressed about people staring at my chest that I'd be forced to wear turtleneck sweaters in the summer. I'd never get a nose job either. With my luck I'd end up looking like Michael Jackson and be forced to do the moonwalk at parties. 
• I only eat Doritos with the cheesiest side down so that hits my tongue first. Go ahead, watch me eat them. I inspect each and every one. 
• I wonder if those penguins that live in the Arctic and have to survive debilitating snowstorms while sitting on their young, get pissed at kangaroos who hop around in the sun all the time and have a built-in pouch for their kid.
• Who the hell is Justin Bieber and why is he the opening "act" for the new We are the World recording? 
• Tink is always stressed about undies being "stuck in her bum". I worry that she will never learn to wear a thong and have inappropriate underwear lines.
• I don't know what it is, but when my students are really rowdy at school I play A Fine Frenzy's "The Minnow and the Trout" and they immediately calm down. It's like a lullaby. Even my tough boys sing like girls until it's over. 
• I think about so much random stuff that I worry that my brain wasn't wired properly. Oh well, I'm good entertainment at parties usually. 

The End! 

Life and Tampax....

At a recent In-Service meeting, we were encouraged to write down our life's "mission statement".  They gave us two full pages in which to construct this mantra by which to live your life.  My esteemed colleagues were making fun of me, because I already have one and it doesn't require two pages, but one simple line.

To be happy, but not at the expense of others. 

How, you might ask, did I construct such gloriously written words?

Very simply, I thought about it.  And thought about it. And so on....

I am sure, if you are are reading this, you have gathered enough personal information about me to know that I do a lot of thinking about a lot of frivolous stuff.  I am overly emotional, moderately egotistical and search for the meaning of life, often, in Tampax commercials. 

I like to live my life like a dramatic movie montage. One where the boy and girl run through the rain holding hands while the orchestra swells to a dramatic climax. One where the mother dries her daughter's tears after an incredibly trying day at school and says the most perfect words at the most perfect time.  Usually, my life turns out like a comedic horror flick, with two naked anklebiters running around the house waving my tampons like swords.

But I digress...back to my mission statement.  I have one, because I had lost way of my life and wanted to be able to tell Pink and Tink how to appropriately run theirs. To tell them that life isn't a dramatic montage where the boy gets the girl, and even if he does, she usually has her period and he doesn't get her anyway. 

My main goal for Pink and Tink is for them to happy.  Right? Isn't that what we all want for our children? But not the kind of happy where they've been overgifted into it, or overpraised or overcompensated for their parents' shortcomings.  And not a happiness that comes from watching others fail at something we so desperately want to win.  Not "reality t.v." happiness.  But, happiness that didn't come at the expense of others.  Happiness that is generated from within and can only benefit those without. 

How am I going to accomplish this? I have no idea. Not a clue.

But, I will start by encouraging them to sing loudly and often, with their eyes closed and arms flung wide open if that's what makes them happy. I will encourage them to run, even if it's like a girl, and feel the crazy wind messing up their perfect hairdos. I will encourage them to love even if it's not returned and to give kindness, even if it is absent from those around them.  I will encourage them to laugh when life is funny and even when it's not...as long as they are laughing "with" and not "at".

And to use my tampons as swords as long as it means they've got an imagination to live in.

It Takes a Village...

For whatever reason, I have been struggling recently with the idea of my girls having to grow up between two houses. I don't know why it's been hitting me so hard as of late, considering that this scenario is over two years old.

Maybe it's regret or feelings I never dealt with initially.  Maybe because my life has calmed down considerably and I have more time to think about things when Pink and Tink are gone. When they aren't with me, especially at night, the silence in the house is deafening.  At times, I feel like it's crushing me and is so loud I can barely sleep.  I find myself waking at night to check on them and can scarcely breathe upon realizing that they're not nestled in bed. They are supposed to be sound asleep, every night, in the room down the hall.  And they're not. And I made that decision for them.  That realization is hard to swallow. 

So, I've been wondering recently...What is it that kids truly need to feel safe and secure? To grow up happy and moderately sane? To know that, whatever the family situation, it is the best they could hope for.

The only answers I could arrive at are time and love. Not rocket science you'll agree, but there are plenty of families who fail to provide even the simplest of solutions to many of life's ills. Time and love.  If my kids have an abundance of anything at all, it is these two things.

We had Tink's third birthday party recently and I realized, on that afternoon, that my daughters are more blessed than most. Not only did they have their parents present, but their stepmother, stepsister, Nana and their very favorite Boy as well.  There was so much love and time being devoted to these children, it could nearly be classified as overindulgent. I had to laugh at one point as we passed around the children like ragdolls and they never missed a beat. Boy was holding Tink, I was holding their stepsister's hand and Pink's dramatic tears were being dried by her father. Later, we all had dinner together and shared a few drinks. It may not be "traditional", but it is good and it is stable and there is more love being given to those girls than Cupid doles out on Valentine's Day.

So...I am making a conscious decision to let go of the guilt. To let go of the regret. My daughter's blessed smiles are evidence enough of the time and love they've been given since we welcomed them into the world. I am making a conscious decision to revel in the fact that they are actually pretty lucky. Our decision to separate the households, simply allowed more love to fill the silence. 

Cut the Wheel!

Every time I try to do something normal, it turns out completely bizarre.  And all the while it's happening I'm writing the next blog post in my head. This past weekend was a mix of bizarre reality and fantasyhead blog posts.

 I decided to buy my first car.  Oh I've purchased vehicles before, but only used ones or married ones or ones my dad gave me after he drove them for ten years first. The ghetto ride I was cruising around in had finally reached its embarrassment limit when the side mirror broke, swinging wildly with every turn. I enlisted Boy to help me research cars, because I needed a second opinion and because he's somewhat of a badass who doesn't take shit from strangers. Every girl needs a good badass in their back pocket for emergencies.  Boy had even coached me on how to behave in front of the salespeople.

"Now Girl, don't squeal and jump around at the first car they show you." "Be aloof, be tough."

Damn. All I have in my girl arsenal is squealing and jumping.

So, off we go to North Hills Toyota and are fortunate to be paired up with salesman Jay; a man who looked like he was no stranger to fifths of whiskey and Marlboro Reds. Life had clearly not been kind to this man, and this day was not about to make it any better.

We engaged in your typical car buying banter and I tried desperately to remain uninterested and aloof, while in fantasyhead I was screaming....I LOVE CARS! ALL OF THEM! I WILL BUY THE FIRST ONE YOU SHOW ME! In a true testament to my inner strength, aloof girl kept her trap shut and  grudgingly decided to test drive a Rav 4, explaining to salesman Jay that 4 wheel drive is of the utmost importance considering this past February kicked us in the proverbial balls.

Off we go. Just me and the open road. Well, McKnight road with Boy in the backseat and salesman Jay leading the charge. It is here that the day took an unexpected turn.  A turn right into the snowy tundra of the North Hills. Jay, in an effort to showcase the Rav 4's incredible snow handling skills, instructs me to drive up a snow covered hillside in the middle of nowhere. I, of course, being as trusting as Snow White, bite the apple and gun it up the slope.  Boy, levelheaded as ever, expresses his disdain from the backseat. "I don't think this is a good idea Girl."

"Fear not Boy!, Jay said it was good in the snow!"  Pedal to the medal baby and my little Rav 4 storms up the hill, wedging itself deep into the powder.  This is a tire-spinning, you ain't getting out without a plow kinda wedge. The next few hours were full of hand-shoveling, engine revving hysteria, as Jay, on the verge of a heart attack, was convinced that all we had to do was "cut the wheel and gun it!"

Enter one dealership snow plow and the afternoon goes from comical to surreal.  The snow plow, bald tires and all, also wedges itself deep into the snow. At this point, the remainder of the afternoon kind of goes like this:

Whaddya mean you didn't bring shovels?!
Jay sweats.
Boy swears.
According to Jay, snow plow driver is "gay", which is why they're also stuck. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)
Girl writes out last will and testament in back seat.
Cut the wheel!
Gun it!
Bumper, once attached, now unattached.
Jay reminds us, once again, that if snow plow driver weren't stupid and gay we'd be out of here hours ago. 
This would be so much more fun with booze.

At some point we did extract ourselves from the snowy hell and , believe it or not, I bought the damn thing. Not the one we dismantled in the wilderness, but my first brand new car that is "good in the snow" with the bumper securely in place.


As for Jay, I'm sure he drowned his sorrows that night in bad karaoke and a gallon of Jack. Boy and I chose Mexican food and box o wine to calm our nerves. Snow plow guy? Poor thing is still gay. Oh well, we all have our cross to bear.