Lucky me - I got to go on vacation with my family to beautiful MEXICO! I have decided that Mexico is just one of my favorite places on the planet. It's pretty, it's cheap, the people rock, the food is amazing, and the tequila is everywhere. If you get a chance to go, I highly recommend the Palace Resorts. There are 7 or 8 of them along east coast of Mexico, and one in Puerto Vallarta. I did a lot on my vacation, but I think it's a lot more telling to fill you in on what I didn't do.
I didn't:
* want to take a nap
* take any Ibuprofen
* take any antacids
* bite my fingernails
* worry about how I looked in my bathing suit
* worry about the calories in the food I was eating
* think about my house
* think about the PTA
* look at my watch
* wear a watch
* shy away from trying to learn some Spanish
* hurry
* watch any TV
* listen to my Ipod
* check my email
* read anything other than a menu
* turn on my phone
* bring my phone
* send any text messages
* stress in any way, shape, or form
* look at the Weather Channel
* watch any movies
* clean anything
* cook anything
* worry about being embarrassed at the spa
* worry about being naked at the spa
* worry about my kids having a good time
* worry about my kids drowning
* worry about my kids eating the "right" foods
* worry about how many Mojitos I'd had
* worry about the Swine Flu
* worry
All vacations should be so good. Seriously.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Glory of Being a Woman (in a dress)
Most men have NO IDEA what we go through to look good. My dear hubby got an idea this weekend when we got all dolled up to go out to a fancy-schmancy business dinner.
Step 1: Buy a dress. Sounds simple enough, but...no. Not really. I personally did my own little version of "27 Dresses", since I tried on at least that many. Did you know that - if you have large breasts - you practically have to be a contortionist in order to try on a dress with a side zipper? Imagine me, all alone, twisting the damned dress(es) around trying to hold down my boobs while pulling the zipper taut with one hand and yanking on the zipper with the other hand. Yes - it was really like that. After dress #16, I decided that I was no longer trying on any dresses with side zippers. FINALLY I found a dress. Cute and summery, fairly flattering, and 50% off. Sweeeeeeeeet. But then there's the problem of the bra.
Step 2: Buy a bra. The particular dress that I purchased was a type that sorta wraps over the boobs. It was not particularly low-cut or risque, but most of my mammoth support bras showed in the front because they didn't plunge enough. But that's OK, right? They have these nifty cool things called convertible bras! It took me 3 stores and 8 bras, but I finally found a Vera Wang bra that had a low profile in the front, and those nifty clear straps that could go over the shoulders, or cross in the back. Done. It may be worth noting here that most of those really cool bras come in A,B, or C cup sizes. Occasionally, you may stumble upon a D size (which I did.) But that's not much comfort (and I mean that literally) when you could probably use one just a little bigger than that. This bra was also the same price as the dress.
Step 3: Get Dressed. Once I was putting on the dress, I realized that when I walked around, the straps were too loose. The sitter was arriving in 20 minutes, so there was no time to sew or pin or anything. The dress has straps that button in the back, and had 2 button holes so you could adjust the strap lengths. Still a tad too long. And with the dress sliding around, the bra was showing. The last thing I needed was to have a Janet Jackson moment in the middle of the appetizer. So I get Bart to help me. First, we crossed the convertible bra straps and hooked them into place. (Ow.) Then, I had him cross the dress straps. This succeeded in making everything stay put, but man o man was I strapped in. Boobs weren't popping out, but I did look a bit like a breast-feeding mom. And in order to get the boobs to stay put, the dress was tighter, making the skin between the boobs and the shoulder kind of spooge out. UGH. Thank God for the wrap my sister-in-law loaned me. I played all night like I was chilly, and kept the wrap on. Oh - and I almost forgot what I lovingly call the sucky-innie pants. These are nude-colored bicycle type shorts that cover from just under your boobs to your thighs. They suck everything in. They are horribly uncomfortable, and getting them on is a little like putting on a wetsuit.
So I went to dinner, in my too-small convertible bra, with my boobs packed in tight, with a wrap to hide the spoogy arm flesh , and sucky-innie pants to make everything smooth. I am fairly certain I would have been more comfortable in a space suit. But I looked pretty good, and I guess that's what counts.
Step 4: Get undressed. First off - the sucky-innie pants didn't make it the whole night. After dinner, I went to the restroom and pulled them off, and stuck them in my purse. (Dear God don't let anyone ask me for anything that might be in my purse.) Wow - MUCH better, though. I have never been so glad to get clothes off in my life, with maybe the one exception of my wedding day, when I ran through 96 degree heat while people pelted me with birdseed, which then got stuck in the sweat between my body and another infamous support-and-structure type garment. Anyway, once home, I took off the dress and the bra. I had indentations in my skin from both for about 3 hours. Ouch.
All in all, though dinner went well. Nothing of mine popped out (not the boobs, not the sucky-innie pants from my purse), and the evening was a success.
It still surprises me what we go through to look good. And in re-reading this, it surprises me that we invent vocabulary when we look good. I'm pretty certain I've never seen "sucky-inny" pants marketed anywhere, and "spoogy" is not in the Dictionary.
Maybe it should be - most women understand 100% what "spoogy" skin is. Maybe I'll write "The Women's' Beauty Dictionary". Words like "spoogy" and "sucky-innie" could become a part of the world's everyday vocabulary! Then again...maybe I should spend that time doing something to make the spoogy stuff a little less spoogy, and decreasing the necessity of sucky-innie pants.
My Wii Active should be here today.
Step 1: Buy a dress. Sounds simple enough, but...no. Not really. I personally did my own little version of "27 Dresses", since I tried on at least that many. Did you know that - if you have large breasts - you practically have to be a contortionist in order to try on a dress with a side zipper? Imagine me, all alone, twisting the damned dress(es) around trying to hold down my boobs while pulling the zipper taut with one hand and yanking on the zipper with the other hand. Yes - it was really like that. After dress #16, I decided that I was no longer trying on any dresses with side zippers. FINALLY I found a dress. Cute and summery, fairly flattering, and 50% off. Sweeeeeeeeet. But then there's the problem of the bra.
Step 2: Buy a bra. The particular dress that I purchased was a type that sorta wraps over the boobs. It was not particularly low-cut or risque, but most of my mammoth support bras showed in the front because they didn't plunge enough. But that's OK, right? They have these nifty cool things called convertible bras! It took me 3 stores and 8 bras, but I finally found a Vera Wang bra that had a low profile in the front, and those nifty clear straps that could go over the shoulders, or cross in the back. Done. It may be worth noting here that most of those really cool bras come in A,B, or C cup sizes. Occasionally, you may stumble upon a D size (which I did.) But that's not much comfort (and I mean that literally) when you could probably use one just a little bigger than that. This bra was also the same price as the dress.
Step 3: Get Dressed. Once I was putting on the dress, I realized that when I walked around, the straps were too loose. The sitter was arriving in 20 minutes, so there was no time to sew or pin or anything. The dress has straps that button in the back, and had 2 button holes so you could adjust the strap lengths. Still a tad too long. And with the dress sliding around, the bra was showing. The last thing I needed was to have a Janet Jackson moment in the middle of the appetizer. So I get Bart to help me. First, we crossed the convertible bra straps and hooked them into place. (Ow.) Then, I had him cross the dress straps. This succeeded in making everything stay put, but man o man was I strapped in. Boobs weren't popping out, but I did look a bit like a breast-feeding mom. And in order to get the boobs to stay put, the dress was tighter, making the skin between the boobs and the shoulder kind of spooge out. UGH. Thank God for the wrap my sister-in-law loaned me. I played all night like I was chilly, and kept the wrap on. Oh - and I almost forgot what I lovingly call the sucky-innie pants. These are nude-colored bicycle type shorts that cover from just under your boobs to your thighs. They suck everything in. They are horribly uncomfortable, and getting them on is a little like putting on a wetsuit.
So I went to dinner, in my too-small convertible bra, with my boobs packed in tight, with a wrap to hide the spoogy arm flesh , and sucky-innie pants to make everything smooth. I am fairly certain I would have been more comfortable in a space suit. But I looked pretty good, and I guess that's what counts.
Step 4: Get undressed. First off - the sucky-innie pants didn't make it the whole night. After dinner, I went to the restroom and pulled them off, and stuck them in my purse. (Dear God don't let anyone ask me for anything that might be in my purse.) Wow - MUCH better, though. I have never been so glad to get clothes off in my life, with maybe the one exception of my wedding day, when I ran through 96 degree heat while people pelted me with birdseed, which then got stuck in the sweat between my body and another infamous support-and-structure type garment. Anyway, once home, I took off the dress and the bra. I had indentations in my skin from both for about 3 hours. Ouch.
All in all, though dinner went well. Nothing of mine popped out (not the boobs, not the sucky-innie pants from my purse), and the evening was a success.
It still surprises me what we go through to look good. And in re-reading this, it surprises me that we invent vocabulary when we look good. I'm pretty certain I've never seen "sucky-inny" pants marketed anywhere, and "spoogy" is not in the Dictionary.
Maybe it should be - most women understand 100% what "spoogy" skin is. Maybe I'll write "The Women's' Beauty Dictionary". Words like "spoogy" and "sucky-innie" could become a part of the world's everyday vocabulary! Then again...maybe I should spend that time doing something to make the spoogy stuff a little less spoogy, and decreasing the necessity of sucky-innie pants.
My Wii Active should be here today.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
I could tell you about...
I could tell you about how getting the kids their passports was every BIT the living hell I suspected it would be. Worse, actually. We showed up at 10:00 am - with kids in tow. We had our forms all filled out, we had our pictures in hand. Good - to - GO. We pulled a number - Number 76. Looked up. Thye were currently on Number 41. Ohhhhhh-Kaaayyy. So we wait. A Half hour later, they are on #46. Half Hour later - about the same. Overall, there were more than 40 people (most with small children)crammed in this 35x30 room. Two Passport agents. Then one LEAVES. Goes to lunch or whatever. WTF??? Most of the people don't have their shit together. Most have to have their pictures taken right there (which means a wait for processing.) All in all they were clearing about 11 people an hour. At that pace, we were estimating a wait of between 2 1/2 and 4 hours in addition to the hour and 15 we had already been waiting. THANK GOD Bart called the Passport office at the Pinellas County Courthouse in Clearwater. She said they had no wait. So we hop in the car, drive the 25 minutes to Clearwater, and go in. We waited 20 minutes, and then the actualy process took another 25 minutes. I still in total took us over 3 hours. And it cost us almost $400. Don't even ask me what poor people have to do if they need to leave the country or something.
Or....I could tell you about how I found myself sitting alone at a picnic table at Joe's Crab Shack in Orlando Florida. Sitting alone, on the verge of tears, with a beer and a giant cake & ice cream sundae. Sitting alone, while my bratty mean kids played blisfully on the adjoining playground. Sitting alone, pondering the whole parenting thing, and thinking about how I'm not very good at it. So many of my other friends are so much more patient, so much more supportive, so much more creative. I'm just so....well, Not.
Or...I could tell you about how - in yet another stellar example of my sub-par parenting abilities, I drove all the way back to the hotel from the Joe's Crab Shack with Jimmy Buffett blaring as loud as I could get it in order to drown out the sounds of the bickering whining children in the backseat.
Today really exemplifies the title of this blog:
"How did I get here, and where's my Margarita?"
Or....I could tell you about how I found myself sitting alone at a picnic table at Joe's Crab Shack in Orlando Florida. Sitting alone, on the verge of tears, with a beer and a giant cake & ice cream sundae. Sitting alone, while my bratty mean kids played blisfully on the adjoining playground. Sitting alone, pondering the whole parenting thing, and thinking about how I'm not very good at it. So many of my other friends are so much more patient, so much more supportive, so much more creative. I'm just so....well, Not.
Or...I could tell you about how - in yet another stellar example of my sub-par parenting abilities, I drove all the way back to the hotel from the Joe's Crab Shack with Jimmy Buffett blaring as loud as I could get it in order to drown out the sounds of the bickering whining children in the backseat.
Today really exemplifies the title of this blog:
"How did I get here, and where's my Margarita?"
Monday, June 1, 2009
WHY
WHY does the US Government make it so damned difficult to get your children passports? Say a wonderful event happens in your life - something along the lines of your in-laws calling and saying "Surprise! We're taking your whole family to Mexico to stay at a ritzy all-inclusive resort! And we're paying for the whole thing! For 5 days! And we're leaving on July 5th!" YIPEE, right? Then you go on line and see that even children need passports to go to Mexico. They take 4-6 weeks. Crap. Then you see that - hey! - they can be "expedited." For a fee, of course. So you figure that you'll suck up the fee, since it means you get to go on a free vacation. But then you see that both parents have to be present at the actual getting of the passports. Which is a problem since parent #2 (he's #2 because I'm older than he is) is in Atlanta for the week. So we lose 4 days right there. But wait! There's a form that allows parent #2 to give consent for parent #1 to get the passports. Whew! Except that THAT from has to be Notarized, and most Notaries are supposed to Notarize in the presence of the person signing the form. Which is impossible, since parent #2 is in Atlanta. So I find a friend who a) is a Notary, and b) will notarize the form without Bart being present, and c) will even do it for free. Yay! Then you find out that BOTH children actually have to be present at the getting of the passports. OK - fine. So you look up where you have to drag both children to to get the passports (there are about 15 post offices closer to your house, but - conveniently - they aren't authorized Passport offices.) I can imagine that this trip will be a little like dragging 2 children to the DMV. Maybe worse. The closest Passport office is a good 30 minutes away. OK. So you pick the Passport office that is the closest to you, and then realize they only have passport hours from 8-3. So you have to bring your children to the Passport office, but the only Passport hours are the same as school hours? WTF? WHY is it so difficult to get permission for my children to accompany me to a resort vacation in Mexico for 5 days, but hundreds of MEXICANS waltz right in to the US without permission every stinking day? UGH.
WHY am I the way that I am? When I try a new yummy treat - say, the new little 90 calorie snack bags of flavored rice cake snacks (really tasty, by the way - peanut butter, mint chocolate, caramel, etc...) - why can't I just enjoy the yummy snack? Instead of savoring the yummy 90 calories, I automatically start thinking "Hey - at only 90 calories, how many bags could I eat at once and still be OK?" WHY do I DO that?
WHY is it so damned difficult to find pajamas? All I want is a set with boxer shorts and a cotton tank top. I don't want shorty shorts or boy shorts. I don't want lace or silk or satin. (This is mainly because a) I want to be comfortable, and b) my kids are getting old enough to ask questions about stuff..) I just want something somewhat presentable that I can sleep in. WHY is this too much to ask?
WHY did the sales lady feel the need to tell me her life story today? Did I really need to know that she is s substitute teacher, and last week some kid knocked over a trash can, and when she asked him to clean it up, some parent bitched her out? I guess she was making an effort to be friendly, but lady - I just finished an unsuccessful bout of clothes shopping. Nothing fit, and I am hungry because I am starving myself in an effort to make things fit. So I'm not exactly in a chipper mood, you know? WHY can't she just be polite and cut the chit chat?
WHY did that lady in the gold Pontiac give me the finger when I rightfully and legally changed lanes? Oh wait - I know this one. Because she's a stupid bitch. That's WHY.
WHY can't we shoot whichever marketing guru decided to put freakin candy at children's eye level in the checkout lines? They wouldn't leave it there if it wasn't selling. So hey slacker Moms: WHY don't you consider not bribing your little brat with candy at the checkout?
WHY indeed.
WHY am I the way that I am? When I try a new yummy treat - say, the new little 90 calorie snack bags of flavored rice cake snacks (really tasty, by the way - peanut butter, mint chocolate, caramel, etc...) - why can't I just enjoy the yummy snack? Instead of savoring the yummy 90 calories, I automatically start thinking "Hey - at only 90 calories, how many bags could I eat at once and still be OK?" WHY do I DO that?
WHY is it so damned difficult to find pajamas? All I want is a set with boxer shorts and a cotton tank top. I don't want shorty shorts or boy shorts. I don't want lace or silk or satin. (This is mainly because a) I want to be comfortable, and b) my kids are getting old enough to ask questions about stuff..) I just want something somewhat presentable that I can sleep in. WHY is this too much to ask?
WHY did the sales lady feel the need to tell me her life story today? Did I really need to know that she is s substitute teacher, and last week some kid knocked over a trash can, and when she asked him to clean it up, some parent bitched her out? I guess she was making an effort to be friendly, but lady - I just finished an unsuccessful bout of clothes shopping. Nothing fit, and I am hungry because I am starving myself in an effort to make things fit. So I'm not exactly in a chipper mood, you know? WHY can't she just be polite and cut the chit chat?
WHY did that lady in the gold Pontiac give me the finger when I rightfully and legally changed lanes? Oh wait - I know this one. Because she's a stupid bitch. That's WHY.
WHY can't we shoot whichever marketing guru decided to put freakin candy at children's eye level in the checkout lines? They wouldn't leave it there if it wasn't selling. So hey slacker Moms: WHY don't you consider not bribing your little brat with candy at the checkout?
WHY indeed.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Parenting, and Mermaids With Garden Hoses
Ha! Betcha THAT title made you look, eh? But seriously - I AM writing a blog about Parenting and about, well, Mermaids with Garden Hoses.
Let's start off with the parenting. A story broke last week in Tampa about a 16 year-old girl who didn't wear panties to school on picture day. She ended up sitting in the front row, in a skirt, on the bleachers for a club picture. You can see where this is heading. That's right - her privates ended up on display in the yearbook. Apparently the yearbook staff didn't catch it. The yearbook publisher didn't catch it. No one noticed it until some of the yearbooks went home.
There are just sooooooooooooooo many things wrong with this. Pantyless-girl's Mom is - of course - mortified that her little girl's vajayjay is now recorded for posterity in 2000 yearbooks. (Won't THAT be a blast at the 20 year reunion?!?) Yes - the yearbook staff should have caught it. Yes - the publisher should have caught it. No - the school probably should not have distributed the yearbooks. (Word is that not all of them were out yet when all this exploded, but the school decided the damage was already done, and handed out the rest.)
The girl claims that she went commando "because she didn't want pantylines."
A) There are undergarments out there that handle pantylines. B) What on earth is she wearing TO SCHOOL that's so tight she has to even worry about pantylines? C) Why would she - knowing she had on no panties - SIT DOWN ON THE FRONT ROW OF THE BLEACHERS? A teacher friend of mine also told me that the High School in question has stairs that you can see through as you go up. The girl has been going to school there for 2 years - she KNOWS this.
So face it Mom: little Britney-to-be just ain't that innocent. That girl did that on purpose. Was it to get attention? Was it so she could have a quickie in the bathroom? Who knows. She maybe didn't realize all that would be visible in a yearbook pic, but come on.
This is where the parenting comes in. Mom is now blaming everyone - the school, the yearbook staff, the photographer, the publisher - everyone for the existence of the picture. The only person she doesn't seem to be blaming is THE GIRL WHO CHOSE NOT TO WEAR PANTIES TO SCHOOL. She has pulled her daughter out of school. She wants her little baby - who was so victimized - to be able to have a make-up date for her exams. The school said "No." Rumor has it that Mom is threatening to SUE THE SCHOOL for not letting little Miss Commando have a separate make-up date.
Where exactly is the personal responsibility in this picture? (ha - funny pun - didn't catch that until I was editing...)This is just a tiny example of what's wrong with society today. No one makes the person at fault take responsibility for their own actions. Bart and I had a lengthy discussion about this, and here's what we think we would do in this situation...
IF she survived coming home after not wearing panties (meaning if Bart didn't kill her), we'd definitely pull her from school for a few days. We would definitely try to get the yearbooks recalled. But you know what? We would make her go to school and face the embarrassment of what she did. She would take her exams at school, or get a ZERO and have to repeat the grade. But she would so be going back to school to finish the year. And you bet your sweet patootie (pun intended) that she'd lose her car, cell phone, DS, etc. for the entire summer. Or longer.
C-O-N-S-E-Q-U-E-N-C-E-S.
On a totally different note...I went to the World Famous Weeki Watchee Springs on Saturday to see the Mermaids. ("World Famous since 1947") When I got back, Bart asked "Hey - did you get to see Mermaids breathing out of garden hoses?" And I said "Yeah - actually we did!" I'm a big fan of campy little backroad Florida places. Sadly, there aren't many of them left. This one probably looks a lot like it did 40 years ago. It is every bit as cheesy as you'd expect. They have added a "water park" called Buccaneer Bay. It consists of exactly 4 waterslides, one of which was closed for renovations. If you ever lived up around Pensacola, you may remember "Styx River Water World". This was a lot like that, but not as fun. The spring was pretty, when you could get a glimpse of it through the swarm of humanity swimming in it. The little "lazy river" was fun (sit on tube, float 200 yards, haul tube out, walk back to beginning. Repeat.) The Mermaid show was pure 100% cheese. There were skinny little girls with big boobs dressed up like Mermaids and taking breaths through garden hoses. (Note: if you have a little girl and you take her here, warn her that at Weeki Watchee, Ariel is a blond, and Flounder is a turtle named Chester.)
It was fun, though. Always good to check something off the "I've-lived-in-Florida-all-but-4-years-of-my-entire-life-and-been-in-Tampa-for-almost-5-years-but-haven't-seen-it" list. We did Gasparilla this year - check. We visited the miniature railroad up in Pasco County - check. I saw Jimmy Buffett in concert - check. I went camping at Fort DeSoto park - check. Hopefully in about 4 weeks we'll add "seen a Shuttle Launch" to it.
Hard to top Mermaids with garden hoses, though. I wonder if they were wearing their panties???
Monday, May 11, 2009
Redemption & WTF?
OK. So last time I went on and on about how I am "the.worst.wife.ever." I have managed to redeem myself somewhat. Last week, I secured a babysitter and bought tickets to the opening show of "Star Trek" without Bart knowing. This - it should be noted - was really hard for me, as I am terrible at 1) lying, and 2) keeping secrets. I had his sister call claiming a broken-down car, and ask for his assistance. Then I met him where she was supposed to be. SURPRISE! He had no idea. He's a huge Star Trek fan, and he was almost literally smiling ear-to-ear the whole movie. So to my husband: "Happy Two-Weeks-After-St.-George's-Day-Day!"
The movie, by the way, was stellar (excuse the pun.) I am a lightweight Star Trek fan. I think the original TV series was hokey, but liked some of the movies. Loved the "Next Generation" TV series, and liked the "Enterprise" one with Scott Bakula too. I know enough to not be totally lost. This movie was fun, had great action, good jokes, and spectacular casting. Karl Urban, in particular, in the role of Dr. "Bones" McCoy, was dead-on. I really liked it. I liked it so much, I would go see it again (if it didn't cost is $60 to go to the movies thanks to the whole babysitter thing.)
Now onto a little rant I'm calling "WTF?" Last week was Teacher Appreciation Week. Teachers work really, really hard, and take a lot of abuse for not a lot of pay on a regular basis. Most of them are really good teachers, too. I'm all for appreciating them. But you have got to be kidding me sometimes. At my daughter's school, the principal has said that "collections" are not allowed. We cannot ask for donations of any kind and then go use that money to buy a good gift card. I am a real fan of donations. Every family gives what they can, and the teacher gets something she can actually use and enjoy. No one has to know that family A gave $40,but family B could only give $5. Instead, we get a list of things we are supposed to send in each day. One day was a hand-made card from the student. One day was a book fro the class library. One day was a cut flower. This is the day that got me. The instructions VERY CLEARLY stated a "cut flower." It could be from a store, or from your backyard - didn't matter. So - as instructed - I cut a few little plumbago flowers and a vinca, tied them together into a tiny little bouquet, and sent it in with Karlin. (This "bouquet" was hardly that - it was so small it fit in my petite 7-year old's hand.) I went in to the classroom later that day to volunteer, and what it all over the teacher's desk? Bouquets. Roses. Carnations. There were also 3 potted plants too. Great. That's just great. Way to make my daughter look crappy and make me look like a cheapy just because we did what I was supposed to do. The one-upmanship in our part of Tampa is unreal. I heard that at one area school (not ours) last Christmas, they asked each family to provide a gift card of at least a certain amount, and then they tied the little cards to a tree. The teacher walked off with something like $400 in gift cards. Are you kidding me? Not that they don't deserve it or earn it, but holy crap. What happened to making Christmas ornaments? Or giving a potted Christmas Cactus? And then there's the sheer volume of things you have to do for Christmas, Teacher Appreciation Week, and End-Of-The-Year. You have the main teacher. In pre-K, you have an assistant teacher. You have the gifted teacher. The music teacher. The art teacher. The PE Coach. The piano instructor. The riding instructor. And then you're supposed to do something nice for the admin staff too - the Principal & Asst. Principal, the Preschool Directors (there are 3 of them), the secretaries. Last week I got a note asking for a donation for the janitorial staff. So - let's say hypothetically speaking, I either donated $5 for each of those people, or I purchased something that cost $5 for each of those people. That would - with both kids at both schools - add up to a total of $85. That is a lot to fork out. And let's be realistic: you can't really buy much for $5. And most of the donation requests ask for $10 or $20. I did appreciate that this year, there seemed to be a bit more emphasis on hand-made gifts instead of hugely expensive ones. But still.
So my Teacher Appreciation gift was sub-par. WTF indeed.
The movie, by the way, was stellar (excuse the pun.) I am a lightweight Star Trek fan. I think the original TV series was hokey, but liked some of the movies. Loved the "Next Generation" TV series, and liked the "Enterprise" one with Scott Bakula too. I know enough to not be totally lost. This movie was fun, had great action, good jokes, and spectacular casting. Karl Urban, in particular, in the role of Dr. "Bones" McCoy, was dead-on. I really liked it. I liked it so much, I would go see it again (if it didn't cost is $60 to go to the movies thanks to the whole babysitter thing.)
Now onto a little rant I'm calling "WTF?" Last week was Teacher Appreciation Week. Teachers work really, really hard, and take a lot of abuse for not a lot of pay on a regular basis. Most of them are really good teachers, too. I'm all for appreciating them. But you have got to be kidding me sometimes. At my daughter's school, the principal has said that "collections" are not allowed. We cannot ask for donations of any kind and then go use that money to buy a good gift card. I am a real fan of donations. Every family gives what they can, and the teacher gets something she can actually use and enjoy. No one has to know that family A gave $40,but family B could only give $5. Instead, we get a list of things we are supposed to send in each day. One day was a hand-made card from the student. One day was a book fro the class library. One day was a cut flower. This is the day that got me. The instructions VERY CLEARLY stated a "cut flower." It could be from a store, or from your backyard - didn't matter. So - as instructed - I cut a few little plumbago flowers and a vinca, tied them together into a tiny little bouquet, and sent it in with Karlin. (This "bouquet" was hardly that - it was so small it fit in my petite 7-year old's hand.) I went in to the classroom later that day to volunteer, and what it all over the teacher's desk? Bouquets. Roses. Carnations. There were also 3 potted plants too. Great. That's just great. Way to make my daughter look crappy and make me look like a cheapy just because we did what I was supposed to do. The one-upmanship in our part of Tampa is unreal. I heard that at one area school (not ours) last Christmas, they asked each family to provide a gift card of at least a certain amount, and then they tied the little cards to a tree. The teacher walked off with something like $400 in gift cards. Are you kidding me? Not that they don't deserve it or earn it, but holy crap. What happened to making Christmas ornaments? Or giving a potted Christmas Cactus? And then there's the sheer volume of things you have to do for Christmas, Teacher Appreciation Week, and End-Of-The-Year. You have the main teacher. In pre-K, you have an assistant teacher. You have the gifted teacher. The music teacher. The art teacher. The PE Coach. The piano instructor. The riding instructor. And then you're supposed to do something nice for the admin staff too - the Principal & Asst. Principal, the Preschool Directors (there are 3 of them), the secretaries. Last week I got a note asking for a donation for the janitorial staff. So - let's say hypothetically speaking, I either donated $5 for each of those people, or I purchased something that cost $5 for each of those people. That would - with both kids at both schools - add up to a total of $85. That is a lot to fork out. And let's be realistic: you can't really buy much for $5. And most of the donation requests ask for $10 or $20. I did appreciate that this year, there seemed to be a bit more emphasis on hand-made gifts instead of hugely expensive ones. But still.
So my Teacher Appreciation gift was sub-par. WTF indeed.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Why I Am THE: Worst. Wife. Ever.
So...I could brag to you all about how brilliant I am for successfully smuggling booze onto the cruise ship. (Not so much really. I'm actually the dummy because I was the only person who even bothered to hide it - everyone else just put it in their suitcases.) I could tell you the fun story about how some poor, pathetic, newlywed bridezilla was so bitter that she felt the need to bitch me - me of the I've-just-had-40-beers fame - out for saying something about Gator football games to her dad. WTF? I could tell you how I really wanted to go outside this evening and bludgeon the teen that was riding the jacked up motor scooter around and around and around and around the block. Sounded like a two-seater plane buzzing my house every 2 minutes. I could tell you about the job I impulsively applied for, and how I am scared that I did it. I'm scared if I don't get it. I'm even more scared that I will get it. I could tell you all about how I am getting really, really worried about how I seem to be forgetting stuff lately. A LOT of stuff. Stuff that happens one a week like soccer practice. Stuff that happens every year.
But instead, I'm going to tell you why I am the worst wife ever. My husband is the best. Best father in the world. Handsome and in great shape. Utterly patient with me. Doesn't make me get a job. Doesn't seem to mind too much that I'm overweight. Lets me go on cruises - or pretty much wherever I want - whenever I want. Is sweet and fun and smart and noble. I honestly could not ask for anything more - he is the total package.
So here's how I thank him: I forget St. George's Day. (I can't get the damned link to insert, so you'll have to copy and paste the old fashioned way: http://www.ctspanish.com/festivals/stgeorge.htm) This is a little tradition he started years and years ago, while he was in Grad School. He had a classmate from Spain that told him about St. George's Day. Since Valentine's Day is Bart's birthday, he always felt I was getting a little cheated. So he started St. George's Day. Obviously, that first one 13 or 14 years ago, I didn't participate in from a giving standpoint. But every single year since then, we have surprised each other with little gifts. Usually there's a book (in the St. George's Day tradition), and sometimes more. We never, ever discuss St. George's Day. It's just always our little special thing that we do to surprise each other every year. Every year since 1996.
And I forgot.
It's in my calendar - April 23rd, in red ink. Not that I should even need a calendar - I know this date. So imagine what a complete heel I felt like when he walked in - after a 14 hour business trip, no less - and presented me with my St. George's day gift. A book. And a Vampire book at that.
I am literally crying as I type this - that's how awful and shitty I feel. He's so awesome and I suck. He does everything for me, and I can't even remember to appreciate him enough to get him a little something on our one special day.
He's probably read this and tell me how silly I am and how it doesn't really matter. But I know it does. I know it would to me if I was on the other end. So all I can say is "I'm sorry. You deserve much better. I love the book, and you too."
I gotta go get some Kleenex now - the front of my shirt is all wet.
But instead, I'm going to tell you why I am the worst wife ever. My husband is the best. Best father in the world. Handsome and in great shape. Utterly patient with me. Doesn't make me get a job. Doesn't seem to mind too much that I'm overweight. Lets me go on cruises - or pretty much wherever I want - whenever I want. Is sweet and fun and smart and noble. I honestly could not ask for anything more - he is the total package.
So here's how I thank him: I forget St. George's Day. (I can't get the damned link to insert, so you'll have to copy and paste the old fashioned way: http://www.ctspanish.com/festivals/stgeorge.htm) This is a little tradition he started years and years ago, while he was in Grad School. He had a classmate from Spain that told him about St. George's Day. Since Valentine's Day is Bart's birthday, he always felt I was getting a little cheated. So he started St. George's Day. Obviously, that first one 13 or 14 years ago, I didn't participate in from a giving standpoint. But every single year since then, we have surprised each other with little gifts. Usually there's a book (in the St. George's Day tradition), and sometimes more. We never, ever discuss St. George's Day. It's just always our little special thing that we do to surprise each other every year. Every year since 1996.
And I forgot.
It's in my calendar - April 23rd, in red ink. Not that I should even need a calendar - I know this date. So imagine what a complete heel I felt like when he walked in - after a 14 hour business trip, no less - and presented me with my St. George's day gift. A book. And a Vampire book at that.
I am literally crying as I type this - that's how awful and shitty I feel. He's so awesome and I suck. He does everything for me, and I can't even remember to appreciate him enough to get him a little something on our one special day.
He's probably read this and tell me how silly I am and how it doesn't really matter. But I know it does. I know it would to me if I was on the other end. So all I can say is "I'm sorry. You deserve much better. I love the book, and you too."
I gotta go get some Kleenex now - the front of my shirt is all wet.
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