You're Fired

A school board in Rhode Island took the unusual position this week of deciding to fire all 74 teachers and 19 staff members at Central Falls High School. The school board superintendent said the move was necessary since the school was underachieving and there was "callous disregard" on the part of the teacher's union.I don't live in Rhode Island so I can't speak directly to this case. Schools in horrible areas tend to put too much pressure on their teachers to cure all the ills. However, I do love the whole idea of firing a group of people. Let's expand this brave new move to other areas, shall we?

First, congress. Nothing controversial there I am assuming. Let's fire every single one of them. Change the locks on the doors. We own the doors, don't we? Start fresh. Personally, I'd vote for a several of you all. I read what you write, I know where you stand, I know how you think. You'd do a heck of better job that the nut jobs we have in there now.Second, Toyota. Even if your last name is similar to the car company - you are so out of there. I mean, even I would have a hard time trying to ruin the number one performing car company and I don't have any experience in automotives or business. Yet these guys seem to have ruined that company without trying. They are gone.Next, the insurance people. Doesn't it seem like all we do is pay premiums for a zillion different kinds of insurance and then when we need to use it, they don't let us? I say get rid of them and start over.Likewise, the IRS. I'd like to fire everyone there and go back and fire the ones that used to be there and have already left. Who let it get this complicated and convoluted? Fire them, burn those insane rules, and start fresh.The cast of Jersey Shore, The Kardashians, and that Playboy Girl Next Door show. It just irks me that these people have jobs when so many good, smart people are out of work. I think I'd just feel better firing them.Actually, I do feel better already just thinking about cleaning all this up. How about you? Who would you like to fire?

Just Sitting Here on My Old Furniture

Hello. I'm Debbie and I can't buy furniture.

Why is that? Why is it that I can commit to having four kids yet the very idea of buying a new sofa will send me into a nervous sweat and heart palpitations? I mean, you can always unload an unwanted sofa on Craigslist and get a little of the money back. An unruly teen? Not so much.
I've always been this way. When my husband and I were engaged, we really didn't buy anything for the apartment we were going to share after we were married. I was using old, hand-me-down furniture including a sofa so big and ugly, I cry to not have photos of it. It came from the attic of some friends of my in-laws and we honestly had to saw the legs off of it to get it down from the attic. I still have no idea how they got it up there. It was green and at least 6 feet long. Hideous would describe it well.But, I bonded with it. It was my sofa. I even made a cover for it. However, we thought it would be nice to buy a new sofa together. So, we started shopping.

Sure, we had chosen various china patterns, silver, crystal, and all sorts of other things with reckless abandon. Folks were traveling far and wide purchasing lovely items for us we had registered for. But, could we chose a sofa? Oh no.The wedding came and went. Still, no sofa. We would bring fabric after fabric home to look at. No decisions. This went on for 5 months. Finally, my mother-in-law sat us down and said, "Look. It's just a sofa. Pick one and move on." And we did.

We still have it. 23+ years later. It's in my bedroom.

As I sit typing on my laptop, I'm sitting in a chair and a half in our den. With an ottoman. Oh, how I love it. And I have loved it for about 13 years. Far too long for something we sit in every day of our lives. Our elderly relatives can't even sit in it any longer because it sags so low to the ground that they can't stand up out of it. The fabric is faded and fraying. Goodwill wouldn't take it off my hands.
How long have I been trying to replace it? Three years. Yes. Three full years. One store I brought fabric home from numerous times has since gone out of business. I've bought a car since I started shopping for this chair and helped two of my kids choose colleges.

I need help. This must be some form of mental illness that keeps me from being able to buy furniture. I'm going to be one of those little old ladies sitting in her faded, nasty house one day surrounded by her cats and her 50 year old furniture.

But at least it has molded nicely to my derrière.

Obsessive Much?

You would think with the long list of bizarre behaviors and oddities that I already travel through life with, that I wouldn't have room to add another.Here again, you'd be wrong.

It appears that I have become just the teensiest obsessive this winter about germs. Just a little bit. Never mind that my kids are comparing me to Monk (who was brilliant with the whole carrying around of wipes idea - just brilliant). I'm much more normal than Monk. I'm not even afraid of milk...yet.I blame this new phobia directly on the persistent cough and resultant broken rib that I had exactly one year ago. After that episode, I made a vow that I would not cough this year. At all. That I would do whatever it took to keep from coughing. And I do not take my vows lightly.

I was never the sort to carry hand sanitizer. I now have two of them with me at all times. My hands should come with one of those paper strips across them like hotel toilets that says "Sanitized for Debbie's Protection".
When I sub in technology lab and 25 little ones parade in every45 minutes to type on those keyboards, I stand at the door and squirt every little hand as it walks into the classroom. If the teacher I am subbing for is out sick, I get there early and swab down the desk and all articles on it. I'm a combination sub and custodian.Everything was going along relatively germ-free until now. My husband is sick. (Oh, I could hear the groans of every wife out there. Thank you for your support and sympathy.) It isn't so much that he is whining and incapable of taking care of himself. It's that he is a germ factory. How am I supposed to live with that?I got up early today to wipe down where he sits and all the surfaces he has been touching. I'm obsessive but I still didn't want to offend him.

Monk was so smart to live alone.

Putting a Little More Reality into TV

With the rumor going around that Howard Stern may become a judge on American Idol when Simon leaves, many parents were outraged.
I'm confused. To me, nothing says "family television" quite like Howard Stern. Isn't he called "The Shock Jock"? I don't really understand why everyone wouldn't want to gather little Bobby and Susie in front of the TV to see, and more importantly, hear Howard Stern. Frankly, I'm shocked he wasn't on there before. Seems like a natural fit to me. I've always thought his work was right up there with Mister Rogers and The Wiggles.

Plus, and here's the bonus so many parents are overlooking, no more need to have that uncomfortable sex talk with Junior. Good old Uncle Howard will provide all the information any impressionable youth could ever need. Now that is good news. No more saying, "Go ask your father" - you can just say, "Let's see what Howard has to say about that tonight on AI." Plus, chances are good he will have a little show and tell which always adds so much to a lesson.

With this casting brilliance, I think it is only a matter of time before other shows catch on.

The cast of Jersey Shore on Sesame Street?
John Edwards on Family Guy?I also think a spin off of Gossip Girl titled Gossip Guy and staring John Mayer would be a smash hit.But really, the best casting ever has to be on Jerry Seinfeld's new show, The Marriage Ref. Tiger said he was ready for a comeback. This one is tailor made for him.
(Want a chance to win a CD designed to promote peace and balance in your life? Enter here.)

Getting to Know my Neighbors

Last night was our neighborhood monthly Bunco game during which I actually did well for a change and came home with $30. You will be relieved to know that I was not a gracious winner and might have fanned my winnings out on the table in front of me for a time prior to sticking them partially down the front of my shirt. It is a classy gathering.Several things strike me about these get togethers. First, they are so much fun. We all take food and there is wine and excellent conversation about kids and schools and the things that make a community function. We could probably solve most of the world's problems in the hour we eat and drink - if the wine held out.Our group varies greatly from month to month depending on who can sneak out of their house to attend. We range from a woman with a 3 year old to grandmothers who have a little bit of trouble remembering which number we are rolling from time to time.

Here's the thing - about 2/3 of these women I had never met prior to these evenings starting. And I have lived in this neighborhood for over 15 years. How does that happen?

Of course, I know the answers to that question. Women used to be home all day and had more opportunity to meet their neighbors. Children used to play in their neighborhoods instead of being shuttled around all over town for one activity after another. It's not really our fault, but we have lost some of our sense of community. It pains me that these lovely women have been living so close to me all these years and I never knew them.
We trade stories and quips about kids and life. The grandmothers seem to get some bizarre satisfaction out of hearing the war stories of those of us still with kids under our roofs. The moms with younger kids love to look at those of us with older ones and think, "I'm sure not going to make the same mistakes she is making". It's great to be in a multi-generational group.

I really am enjoying getting to know them.

And taking their money.

(CD focusing on peace and stillness giveaway here.)

Sleeping Beauty? Not in Your Life

A 15 year old girl in Britain had the flu in the fall of 2008. Since that time, she has developed Kleine-Levin Syndrome, or Sleeping Beauty Disease. It appears that the teen sleeps for up to 10 days at a time. Her parents wake her (to some degree) every 22 hours to feed her and take her to the restroom.My first thought - How does this differ from every other teenager in the world?

My second thought - How can a mom come down with this syndrome?

Just imagine. What if you could go to bed and not wake up for 10 days? You could just lie there and snooze in your lovely bed and finally begin to catch up on some of that sleep we handed over the minute a baby was dropped into our arms. Wouldn't that be wonderful?
No. And here's why.

Do you really think another living soul would do one single piece of laundry during those 10 days? Would anyone go to the store and buy any food item? Would any homework get done and turned in? Would the cats and dogs be fed, the trash taken out, the bills be paid?No. You would wake from your lovely 10 day rest to find your family standing by the bed wearing disheveled, dirty clothes. No one would have bathed for 10 days and their faces would be coated in chocolate and fried foods which would be all they would have eaten during that time. Bill collectors would be knocking on the door but you wouldn't be able to open it because the trash would be piled up blocking your path. Also, the dog and cat would be lying in the way, comatose from lack of food and attention.

But, at least you would have slept for 10 days. And you'd need that rest since you'd have 10 days worth of work to catch up on.

I guess Sleeping Beauty Syndrome really is best left to the teens. They never do anything productive anyway.

Playing the Mother Card

When I was pregnant with my twins and had been on bed rest for 5 months, it didn't come as a surprise to me to hear the OB say he'd like to schedule a C-section. After 5 months of bed rest, I could barely brush my teeth. I knew I wouldn't be a rousing success at birthing two babies. So, I said schedule away.
He scheduled the birth for February 13. When I was able to talk to my husband in the navy in Saudi Arabia to tell him the good news, his first response was, "Great. I'm glad their birthday won't be on Valentine's Day. That way we'll always get to celebrate Valentine's Day and their birthday separately."That sounded like it made sense to me. Of course, once two kids were dropped into our lives, and then eventually two more, no further celebrations of Valentine's Day occurred for us. Unless you count me helping to glue construction paper to the outside of shoe boxes for the kids to bring their valentines home from school in. Somehow, Valentine's Day still got lost in the daily focus of the family.Which was fine with me. I'm not really a romantic or sentimental woman. I would honestly be furious at my husband if he spent good money on expensive flowers. I'd rather have a new skillet or something practical. Yes, I'm that kind of woman.
Their birthday never interfered with Valentine's Day. However, now they are away at college and guess what.

Valentine's Day interferes with their birthday.Yes. Somehow it never occurred to me that once they were away and had a boyfriend and girlfriend, I'd have to fight for the right to see my offspring on their birthday. Did these significant others carry my kids' 12+ pounds around inside them for what seemed like 5 years? I think not. You guess they have one single stretch mark or scar from those 9 months? I don't think so either. Any chance they breastfed those two forever like I did? Likely story.I had their feet, elbows, butts, and heads pressed all around my vital organs for 9 months. I hate to play the mother card, but I think I win.And I do. For the time being. After all, I'm still paying for college.

Sometimes a Rat is Just a Rat

Yesterday I received a picture text from my college daughter and my husband received one from our college son.

His was a very nice photo of the greenhouse on my son's college campus where he works. It was full of gorgeous flowers of every possible hue and was just a delight to see on a dark, cold, winter day.Mine was a photo of some lab rats in a biology lab.Now, here's the thing. Wouldn't you think the mom would get the flowers photo and the dad get the lab rats? Not in our family.

I don't know what it means. There must be some deep psychological reason and explanation as to why when my kids see vermin, they think of me. And why beautiful flowers remind them of their dad.Somehow, I get some deep satisfaction from being the kind of mom that receives photos of lab rats. I guess that satisfaction explains it all.

Playing Games

I'm a game player.

No, not the emotional blackmail type of game player. Although I have been known to partake in that past time but I'm not proud of that.

I'm a player of games. All games. Any games. Cards, board games, video games, games of chance, games of strategy. You name it and I'll play it.I can remember playing cards with my Dad when I was a very small child and my mother begging him to let me win. Why she did this within earshot of me, I'm not sure. But, I vividly recall him telling her that I would win when I "deserved to win". I don't remember being upset or frustrated. I remember thinking, "Well, then I better learn how to win".

And I did. My Dad is still one of the best opponents you could have in a game. We've always kidded him about his crazy luck. Play a game with him and you will be baffled by the moves he makes. They won't seem to make any sense at all. He'll still win.

I am an only child and my parents were wonderful to try to meet my game-playing needs. Most Sunday afternoons found us around our table playing one game after another. Even Monopoly. The real way. None of that wimpy shortened version stuff.My husband and I played games together when we were dating and then before we had kids. Some games he stopped playing with me because I think I won too much. Scrabble was one of those. But, he would always be up for a game of cards or something.Then we had the kids. Joy of joy. Built in game players. And just like my dad, I had a very hard time letting them win. Some card games I would make myself wait three rounds after getting a winning hand before going out. Just to even it up a smidge.

My kids all have different game playing personalities. My daughter does not enjoy games. I realize that some people don't enjoy games. I just can't imagine not loving them though. She is like me in so many ways but in that way, we greatly differ. My middle son will play the occasional game with me but those quickly fade away when he doesn't win.My youngest son and oldest son are the ones who play with me the most. Playstation? I'm all about it. Put that controller in my hand and I am a happy woman. Rock Band. I am killer on drums and not too horrible on guitar. Wii? We just got that for Christmas but I love it.

We have a coat closet, like most of Americans. Right after we moved in, I took that hanging bar out and installed shelves. For games. It is our game closet and is full top to bottom. Actually, everything we own doesn't even fit in there.

Someone asked me recently about my love for playing games. I told them I could play morning to night and never tire of them. It is true.What are my favorites? Settlers of Catan, Backgammon, Quiddler, Canasta, Mah Jongg. It is hard to choose. As with my books, I'm afraid my games are in that closet sad that I'm not listing them.

I'd love to hear what your family enjoys. I'm always up for expanding into another closet.

Dear Abby, Funerals and Clowns

I read Dear Abby. My husband does as well. Most days will find one of us asking the other, "Did you read Dear Abby yet?" and a discussion will launch on how we think she did. I still haven't bonded with the new Dear Abby. As my husband and I like to say, "She is not her mother".
Anyway, our critical assessment of Dear Abby aside, recently she received a letter from a daughter who was worried because her mother wanted to be buried in her pajamas lying on her side in the coffin. The daughter wanted to know how Abby felt about this.First, what kind of world do we live in where we write to a total stranger, in a newspaper, and ask about whether dear old Mom should have her last wishes granted? Poor Mom.

Secondly, Abby's response was that the daughter should check her local laws concerning burial.

What? You have to be kidding me. You mean with all we have to worry with regulating - terrorists, taxes, the total number of affairs a politician can have and still retain his office, etc - we still have time to regulate not only where you can be buried and by whom, but apparently what clothing you may wear and position you may be in? Sometimes I think these folks that make the laws need to get a real job or a hobby. Maybe they could come clean my house.
Still, you have to remember this story is about me and my mind is more than a little wacky. So, after I went off on the fact that no one should be able to regulate what you wear to the great beyond or what position you show up in, things went downhill in the discussion.

Funerals, while tremendously sad and serious, also strike me as uncomfortable and odd in the whole comment department. Maybe it is just a southern thing - you all will have to educate me on that - but there are certain comments you always hear around here at funerals.

"She looks so natural" and "He looks just like himself" rank first and second on the list.

Now I don't know about you all but I hope that my natural look is not looking deceased. I'd also like to think there is a little more animation in my day-to-day demeanor than what I'll look like in a coffin.

Which then led to the next part of the conversation I had with my husband in which I told him I'd like to be buried in a clown costume wearing full clown makeup. I'd love to be able to see my friends walk up, look down on me, and then try to figure out what in the world to say about that.Fortunately, my husband has a sense of humor almost as bizarre as mine. He loved the whole idea. So, if I go before any of you, be prepared. You are going to have to come up with something other than "She looks just like herself" or I am going to be haunting you. In full clown makeup.

This Must Be What Crazy People Do

I am a substitute teacher.

Why? Well, I really wanted to try my hand at that self-flagellation thing with chains or leather and blood and pain and all. But, being a substitute seemed to be a way to achieve those same goals faster.

And get paid less at the same time.Actually, at the risk of sounding like I need to be placed in a padded room for my own protection, I will admit to you all that I enjoy being a substitute. I have the freedom to say yes or no when asked to work. Most folks don't have that choice. They call me on my cell phone to ask me to work and if I know I don't want to go in one day, I just turn the phone off. The hours are the same as my kids so no juggling rides or child care is needed. What's not to love?
Except the fact that every day is a roll of the dice. Depending on the voice on the other end of the phone, I might be teaching sixth grade math, fifth grade language arts, a technology class, keyboards, or orchestra. Or, I could be listening to beginners learn to play some lovely band instruments (which apparently, when learning, loud is the same as good).

Some days I roll in there to find that the teacher has left me a DVD to play - the same DVD - to seven classes in a row. Try getting the songs from "Annie" out of your head after a day like that. The next day I might show up to find that I am to start a new unit in math on word problems.

Now, throw into the mix that only two kids out of the whole school feel any need to be honest to a sub. I am constantly amused by what they think they can pull over on me. It's on those days that I am eternally grateful to my own little hellions at home and the fact that they have given me years of practice smelling compost when it is being spread around me.Which brings me back to my original question of why I do this job barely making more than minimum wage and taking care of your little lovelies all day long. I do think it is some sort of personality quirk within me. I like the challenge. I like not really knowing what I'm going to walk into and then seeing how well I can manage the day. I enjoy testing myself on how fast I can learn the kids' names (tip - it is usually not a good sign if a sub knows your child's name) and how easily I can navigate through the day's plans.Some days are great days - like yesterday. Some days, I wonder if they will ever ask me back. And, like most teachers have told me, no two days are ever the same.

I'm hoping this job will keep my mind sharp and keep me out of the nursing home longer. Because heaven knows, I'm not making enough to afford to go there.