Finger Lickin' Good

A British supermarket employee was arrested for licking frozen chicken packages before putting them back on a shelf. Apparently, this fun and frivolity was caught on a cell phone camera and then put on YouTube because, well, because why not?As is usually the case when I read bizarre news stories, I am taken back to a memory in my own life.

I've told you all about my extreme distaste for most school field trips. Several times I have had to accompany a group of elementary school children to Kroger on a field trip. Sure, there was always some scavenger hunt to see where the food comes from or some other pretense of education but I noticed not a single college my kids visited asked if they had ever been to a grocery store on a school field trip. Not one. I'm beginning to think these field trips do not impact scholarships.Anyway, on one of these fact-filled missions, I was privileged to look over near the deli case in time to see one well-known elementary offender pick up lunch meat packages, lick them, and place them back into the deli case.
Oh yes he did.

I'm raising four kids. Four kids who have all gotten into trouble and done some things that left me shaking my head in wonder and amazement, not to mention shame and embarrassment. However, I don't think you could pay any of my kids enough to get them to lick a meat package in a grocery store.

Am I missing something here? It seems to be a new craze. At least the kid on the field trip with me was licking a package of cooked meat. At the time I thought he was destined to be the dumbest person ever but now I see that some guy in Britain has claimed that title.Pity. America used to be first in everything.

Why Awkward and Art Don't Mix

Last Friday, a woman attending a class at The Metropolitan Museum of Art fell into a large Pablo Picasso painting and ripped it.This is one of many reasons why no one in my family would be allowed to take an art class.

We are not among the graceful people. Although I truly believe my husband is my soul mate, our offspring would have been better off in life if at least one of their parents had even a tiny bit of athletic ability. Or balance.Actually, our shared inability to catch any item thrown at us was probably one of the things that bonded us during our dating phase. That, and the fact that both of us shiver if someone mentions the words "gym class" or "physical education" in our presence.

In my youth, gym class consisted of the following activities: softball or baseball (I still don't know the difference between those two), basketball, dodge ball, running laps, and The Presidential Physical Fitness Challenge. Every last one of those things were pure torture to me.

My gym class always succeeded on one level - I did work up a sweat. Of course, I accomplished that walking to the gym. Just the idea that it was time for gym class made me sweat. I was a complete and utter failure.In any sport that required that I hit a ball with a bat, I never achieved that goal. Never. No bat in my hands has ever made contact with a ball.

I was tall so people assumed I would be good at basketball. Bad assumption.
I hated running laps. I made it about half way around and felt like I was going to die. Plus, how in the world did those other kids get so fast? They must have had bad parents that chased them while mine were sweet and loved me.
Dodge ball was the worst. I think in my youth they used bowling balls to throw at kids in dodge ball. They sure felt like it when they hit me. Which they always did. I was the skinny kid and tried to hide behind the bigger kids. Somehow, those balls would still zoom around the big kids and nail me. Every time.

I never made it past the chin-up part of the Presidential Physical Fitness. Chin-ups were as elusive to me as the dreaded hits in baseball. Of course now that I think about it, we've had a lot of presidents that I bet couldn't have done a chin-up either. At the time, the only thing I knew was that I always had a mad gym teacher yelling at me to pull myself up to that bar. They should have let me try to hit the gym teacher's head with that bat. I bet I could have done that.

Because of my less than stellar physical past, I felt for the woman who fell into the Picasso painting at the Met. I also suddenly realized why those security guards followed my family from room to room a few years ago when we were in the National Gallery of Art. They probably train them to look out for the clumsy people.And come to think of it, one of those guards did look suspiciously like my old gym teacher.

What Fuels A Child's Imagination

When I was a small child, we lived on some land that had our house at one end, my grandparents' house at the other end, and a small empty barn in between our homes. That barn was the epicenter of my young days.In east Tennessee, the soil isn't so much soil as it is pottery that just hasn't had a chance to fully fire yet. I'm talking red clay. Solid red clay. The floor of this barn was red clay that had been walked on and worked on for years and years. It was as hard as concrete. As smooth as if someone had sanded it down to perfection.

And cool. Even on those hot, endless August summer days in the south, I can remember opening up that barn door and a jolt of cool air hitting me as if the barn was air conditioned. I would walk in bare foot on that cool, hard floor and immediately feel better.

My imagination could run wild inside that barn. I remember dragging my dolls and my tea set in there and having wonderful tea parties where the talk among my dolls and me would be all about what dangerous things were going on outside the comfort of our worn, wooden walls.

Other days, I would imagine the undiscovered treasures of past civilizations that laid beneath my feet covered with that hard packed soil. In my mind, that barn was a million years old and had seen more than its share of exciting times and people. I just knew there were secrets buried beneath me.

When I think about those days that were over 40 years ago, the memories flood back so vividly. I can almost feel that soil under my feet right now and I can smell that smell - slightly damp and musty and very earthy - that hit me every time I opened the door. I am instantly transported back to those wonderful years of my childhood.

It was magical. I've tried to provide opportunities for my own kids to have that magic.

Let's hope I've succeeded.

Looking Like A Parent

Here is the photo being shown all over the world the past two days.Yes, that is none other than Nadya Suleman, she of octomom but actually 14-omom status. It appears our dear Nadya is claiming she lost 150 pounds since the birth of her litter, I mean eight children, a year ago. Here's a brief reminder of what she looked like at that time. photo from TMZ.com

Furthermore, she claims she lost those pounds naturally. She even goes on to say that her friends call her "rubber band" because she snaps back so fast after giving birth.

No honey, your friends call you "crazy lady" but maybe that sounds like "rubber band" to you.

Anyway, here's the deal. I would like anyone out there with 14 kids to raise his or her hands. Wait, how about 6 kids? 4? 1? Seriously, I'd like to talk to anyone out there who has ever seen or touched a child.

Here's my argument (and this is disregarding the obvious issues of airbrushing and photo shopping). If Suleman is the one raising these 14 children, do any of you believe she has had time to diet and exercise this last year? By my calculations, just changing the diapers and feeding 8 newborns would take up 23.5 hours out of every day. She would feel like a new woman if she got to brush her teeth. I only had two at a time and there were many, many days when my bowl of morning cereal was still sitting there, untouched and more than a bit soggy, 8 hours later.

No, I'm thinking a woman who looks like this is not doing any full time child care. Someone who is taking care of 8 newborns would look more like this.Enough said.

The Latest and Weirdest

What have the crazy folks been up to lately? Good question. Let's turn to the headlines and find out.

In Easton, PA, it appears a man broke into a home, cut his hair, took a shower, fried up some chicken, and was noshing on the chicken in front of the TV when the homeowner came in. I don't know. If the chicken was good and he made plenty, I might be inclined to look the other way. If, and this is a big if, he swept that hair up off the floor. I'd really be ticked to come home to hair droppings everywhere.For this next one, I'm just going to have to quote directly from the Associated Press because there is just no way to paraphrase this and still do it justice. "A driver whose SUV plunged into a Northern California creek after he was startled by his hands-free cell phone device escaped the sinking vehicle by blasting out the window with a handgun." The 28 year old man is employed as an armed security guard.

I think that's great. I know I would feel more secure having someone guard me or my property carrying a gun when the guy can get so freaked out from a cell phone that he runs his car into a creek. Wonder what he'd do if a spider sat down beside him?A 42 year old man in Fon du Lac, Wisconsin was cited for unnecessary loud noise after a neighbor complained of very loud music coming from the man's apartment. The loud music in question - no, not some heavy metal band, hip/hop or gansta rap. This rocker was getting his groove on to John Denver. I sure don't blame that neighbor for being upset. It is almost a proven fact that it is a slippery slope from John Denver to meth lab. Finally, in an odd twist to the proverbial "biting off the nose that you grew up eating beside", a Jonesville, Michigan woman has been charged with biting off a significant part of her sister's nose during an argument. I've been spitting mad a time or two in my life but I can promise you, I never considered putting another human's nose into my mouth and biting.I don't know about you all but I always feel so much more normal after taking a stroll down the current events lane. I just pray a cell phone doesn't startle me on my stroll.

Embrace Technology - It Is Your Parenting Friend

When I was parading around to college orientations, a common theme for the parent sessions seemed to be "Not worrying when your college student doesn't contact you". I heard this at both colleges so I think it must be a popular talk. The college employee doing the talks would even go so far as to tell parents under which circumstances someone would try to track down your child for you or how to talk to someone to find out if your child is, in fact, still alive.Oh, I laughed. Maybe not out loud but under my breath. Neither of the little darlings I was sending away to school would ever neglect to call, text or write his or her mother. Not the woman that has loved and adored them for 18 years. Not the woman that gave them life. Not my sweet angels.At one college, the man even told a very funny story about a dad who hadn't heard from his son in weeks. Couldn't reach him by any means. So, he mailed a card that said how proud he was of his son and explained that was why he was enclosing $100. Of course, he enclosed no money. His son called immediately.My daughter left for college and sent me a text before I even got back on the interstate. She texts me all the time. Calls every couple of days. Sends me emails. It is perfect. She is perfect.
My son...well, let's just say that all that laughing under my breath came back to bite me on the backside.Once he is on his campus, we apparently cease to exist in his mind. No texts, no emails, no phone calls. No replies to texts, emails or phone calls we send. He is not perfect.

So, at the end of last semester I found myself at the end of my rope. I needed to plan picking him up. I wanted to talk to him. I couldn't figure out how to do it.

I thought about the card and money trick. There were several problems with that. First, the mail. Now, I love the good old postal service. Sending a letter has always been an incredible bargain. That's not the issue. Stamps are the issue. First, I have to find one. And if, by some miracle, I do find one at the bottom of some drawer, then I have to figure out how much the darn thing is worth. Why, oh please tell my why, do they not just print the value on the stamp? I have even resorted to looking up photos of stamps on the internet. Often, I just grab a handful and glue them all on there. Better safe than sorry. What a nuisance.

So, the letter was out. Besides, I figured he never checked his mailbox anyway.

Then, in a glorious moment when the heavens opened up and inspiration spilled down, it came to me. I sent him a text that said, "Since your phone is obviously not working, I am canceling your account."My phone rang three seconds after I hit the "send" button.

No, our communication is still not perfect. However, I have mastered using the technological age we live in to coerce and blackmail my children.

I'd say that's worth the price of a college education, wouldn't you?

My Reading Peculiarities

Now that the hustle and bustle of the holidays are over and we have all settled back into our boring lives with hours of free time a day, I'm sure that you are like me and have promised yourself to get back working on that stack of books that you want to read. I always enjoy discussing reading with you all. You give me great recommendations on books and most of you share my love of books. The ones that don't still tend to leave nice comments about how pretty I am (hint, hint).I was thinking about my odd reading habits recently and wondered if I was the only one that had those. For instance, if I read a really great book, I either have to wait a couple of weeks to start a new one or I have to read something light that I didn't think I'd fall in love with in the first place. I find that any book I read after a great one always falls short. I have finally gotten my hands on both The Help and Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - both of which I am expecting to like. I haven't started either of them because I have to time my reading of them just right. Yes, I am that odd.
I was lucky enough to snag a couple of advance copies of books recently - The Irresistible Henry House and Born Under a Thousand Shadows. Since I have to review these online within a certain time period, I'm forced to read them as they arrive. Depending on what I have finished when they come, sometimes this is not easy for me. I persevere though because getting to read a book before it is released is like winning some sort of prize for a book fiend like me. Fortunately, these two are very different books which helps my poor mind compartmentalize them.

I can't reserve books from the library because I might not be in the mood for them when they become available. After returning numerous books I had waited for months to read simply because I wasn't it the right frame of mind when I received them, I have now learned to base my reading on my mood.Which comes and goes as you can imagine.

If I start a book at the wrong time, and then don't get into it because it doesn't fit my current mood, it's toast. Rarely am I able to pick one up a second time and give it another try.I am a hard reader to please.

Please tell me, do you have any bizarre reading traits or am I the only one? And what have you read lately that you just loved that we all need to get our hands on? Staying inside so much on these cold winter days makes me feel the need to either read or clean the house.

And we both know the house is going to stay dirty.

Taking Stock

After we purchase a certain number of things, shouldn't we have part ownership of company?It seems to me that the volume of items we buy from a company should almost count as stock. For instance, our family owns the majority of Legos ever produced. As such, shouldn't I get a little kick back if the company's stock rises? I think so because without my family, that company would have gone under years ago.I'm not stopping at Legos. My kids grew up in the Pokemon age. I don't even want to know how much money I spent on those cards. Oh sure, the kids had to buy most of them with their allowances. But we all know whose money that really is, don't we? Those cards are stuck around in all the nooks and crannies of my house. Shouldn't I have gotten a little cash back from the profits of that Pokemon TV show? Speaking of TV, I'd also venture my theory toward that realm as well. If you watch enough of it, shouldn't you have a direct say into what is on? I actually voiced this opinion to my husband the other night. (That also answers the question so many of you ask in comments - what the inside of my head is like. Yes, it is just as bizarre as this blog. I am what you read.) What I'm proposing is that instead of the Nielson company randomly surveying a few households twice a year, the government or whoever just goes ahead and admits that they have the capability to monitor everything I watch. Then, keep track of that. When you see that I am devoted to my 30Rock every Thursday night, then have enough sense to put one or two other decent comedies on some other time during the week. When you see that I randomly click through every station I receive any weeknight at 10:00, then realize there is nothing but junk on and do something about it. Simple? Of course.How about food? I assert that once you've purchased that 1000th bag of Doritos, the dividend checks start regularly appearing in the mail. Almost like a pyramid scam only legal, since I thought of it. Same thing would go for soft drinks and Ben & Jerry's ice cream. I would put healthful foods on the list too but we all know that by February, those resolutions are toast and no one will buy those foods anymore. We need to keep a level head about this.

I'm no economic expert but I think I'm on to something here. However, I don't have time to talk about it any further right now. I have a call in to Starbucks.

Improving my Vision

hy is it that other people see our loved ones through different eyes?For instance, one of my children is a tad bit more argumentative with me than the others. I say black, he says white, etc. However, I have yet to have a parent/teacher conference where the teacher did not point out to me how nice he is, how easy he is to get along with, how he never argues. The first time this happened, I was fully prepared to pull my child out of that teacher's class. After all, she had obviously lost touch with reason. Probably hallucinating. But, as I sat there longer, I realized she was talking about my son. My son. Same person. Just not the same personality I get to live with.It happened with my daughter too. A guidance counselor told me she had two kids that year with the same name. One she said was happy and one was hyper. I immediately told her my daughter was the happy one. Oh yes. She has always been happy and lovely. Perfectly calm.

Nope. Come to find out, my daughter was the hyper one. Glad I hadn't placed any money on a bet.
It happens time and time again. A scout master comments on how patient my son is working with the younger scouts when he has 15 seconds of patience for his younger brother. One child tends to some minor medical emergency with a calm and rational approach away from home whereas a hangnail is cause for a 911 call when under my roof.

This same phenomenon happens with my parents as well. The stepfather who talks non-stop and tells the same stories and gives the same advice time and time again is surrounded by a crowd of adoring people every time he ventures out into the community. He and my mother receive wedding invitations from the grocery store checkout person and the pharmacy tech.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could see the people we love through other eyes occasionally? Eyes that are not so absorbed in the day-to-day struggles of homework, food, laundry, and carpooling. Eyes that aren't busy trying to make the money to pay the college tuition. Eyes that are willing to let the little petty things go and focus on what is truly important.

I'm going to try to find that view a little more often in my life.

What Do You Want to be When You Grow Up?

When my youngest son was about 3, people would ask him what he wanted to be when he grew up. His very honest answer, after giving it plenty of thought, was that he wanted to grow up to be a squirrel or an Indian. Since he was my fourth child and I had learned a thing or two by that time, I grinned a very pleased grin and told him both of those would make great choices. It did cause some concern as I drove through my tree-lined neighborhood where apparently squirrels try to commit suicide by car. I couldn't exactly kill a future relative.I'm sure if he had been one of my first children, I would have dashed his hopes and dreams and explained to him that he couldn't plan to grow up to be either of those but he could grow up to be president. Which I am sure would have sent him into lifelong depression and therapy. Wouldn't you hate to go from thinking you could frolic in the trees all days eating nuts to thinking you had to be president and be surrounded by nuts?
Raising kids and encouraging them to pursue their dreams is a difficult job. I find there are two main obstacles on that path.

The first for me is that generally, by the time my kids are old enough to actually be thinking along the lines of what they might want to do every hour of every day of every year for the rest of their lives, they are also old enough to not want to do anything I suggest. My daughter, who has wanted to be a teacher since she was old enough to speak, was sitting in the orthodontist's chair one day. We were waiting, as is required by orthodontic law, our 45 minutes for someone to come in and change the color of the bands on her teeth. I looked around and decided this could be another career possibility for her. Wasn't it my job as her mother to open her eyes to any and all possibilities for her future? Sweetly I said to her, "You know, honey, you could be an orthodontist when you grow up".

Suddenly, my docile, loving daughter was channeling Linda Blair from The Exorcist. She looked at me with a ferocity I never knew existed within her 90 pound frame and said, in a voice straight from that movie, "I told you I am going to be a teacher".Well, of course. Let's look at the statistics. She can work long hours in a mostly thankless job getting paid far less than she deserves while parents, administrators, and politicians plan and criticize her every move. Or she could take every Wednesday afternoon and Friday off while making a gazillion dollars working with the exact same kids. Pardon my stupidity.
Editors note: The author does, in fact, completely support her daughter's choice of teaching as a career and is thankful that intelligent, caring people like her daughter are willing to devote their lives to the education of our youth. But that point is not nearly as interesting.

It has been like this every time I have had my children somewhere and that light bulb of inspiration has gone on over my head. Dermatologist office? Forget about it. Lawyer? No way.

What I really needed to do was take them everywhere I didn't want them to work and sweetly suggest they do that.

Which does bring me to the second stumbling block in this career encouragement. My kids are mostly limited to wanting to be what they have experienced in their own lives. We haven't let them watch much television so unlike most of the world, they haven't wanted to grow up to be forensic investigators or reality stars. They have no idea that David Hasselhoff has announced his retirement from his judge position, leaving a huge opening that one of them could fill. Nor do they know that Oprah and Tyra are leaving us soon. Not that any of them could fill Tyra's shoes. Some jobs are truly out of the reach of mere mortals.So what's a mom to do? I'm taking the whole just sit back and relax approach. And I truly wouldn't mind being the mother of squirrel or an Indian. (Or an orthodontist. But you didn't hear that from me.)

What Has Your Pet Put In Your Eye This Time?

For anyone who wasn't around here about a year ago, I will update you on one fact about me. I hate spiders. Loathe them. Question why some cute birds and other animals become extinct yet spiders appear to thrive and reproduce quicker than rabbits.You can imagine how I felt when I read he news article about a man in England who sought medical treatment after three weeks of eye problems. He had experiences redness, watering, and light sensitivity which didn't clear up even after a period of antibiotics.

At this point, doctors examined his eye under magnification and what did they find? About a dozen small hairs which had penetrated the cornea. Once the doctors explained what they had found, the man was not confused. No. On the contrary. He immediately remembered that right before he started having problems with his eye, his tarantula had sprayed hairs into his face and eyes.
Yes, apparently tarantulas can spray hairs at you in an effort to defend themselves.

Now doctors are advising people to wear eye protection if they will be handling tarantulas closely.I don't have a medical license. Or even a medical degree. But I do have some medical advice of my own for these people.

Get rid of the tarantulas. Get a nice, gentle tempered dog, cat or maybe even a goldfish. Something that isn't likely to try to kill you or even blind you. Isn't day-to-day life tough enough? Why do some people want to add in the thrill of pets that can maim or kill?

For me, just driving through town and making it home from the grocery store with all of my limbs in tact is enough adrenaline rush for me.

And spiders still creep me out.

Are You Sure Kids Really Have to Eat?

Four kids.

Four different types of eaters.Forget water torture and other so-called cruel forms of torture. My advice to any military wanting to drive someone nuts in a short period of time would be to make them personally in charge of feeding children.It's bad here. And yes, my kids are older. It's still bad. So bad that when I am cooking and one wanders into the kitchen to ask me the age old question, "What's for dinner?", I panic. I slam a lid over whatever I'm cooking and tell them they will just have to wait to find out. That assures me a little less time listening to the complaints or seeing the eye rolls.

One of mine will walk in, see what I am cooking, and then ask, "What am I having?" I don't have to explain to you that the implication is that he would never in a million years actually eat what he is seeing me cook.My kids are all over the spectrum as far as eating goes. One will eat absolutely anything and the more unusual the food, the more desirable. On the other end, I have one that eats about 5 foods. And the other two fall somewhere in between.

How does one family produce such different eaters? Obviously, they were raised being served the same foods in the same manner. Yet, they don't eat the same foods.

One won't eat pizza with sauce, one won't eat chili. One doesn't eat meat and three appear to live for meat. They all like fruit but not always the same fruits and vegetables are hit and miss even though we've grown our own vegetables all of their lives. So, that whole garden with your kids and they will eat it theory doesn't always hold up.

I didn't plan to be one of those moms that prepares different foods for different people. And I sure didn't start out like that. I tried the whole "put it out there and sooner or later they will eat it" approach. Sadly, they all inherited my stubbornness and yes, they would choose to starve rather than eat something they don't want.

Which leads me to my meal frustration. Feeding a family with various food likes - now there's a challenge I'd like to see them tackle on Iron Chef. Without assistants. On a budget. Let's see some real pressure for a change.