Tag: parenting

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We should all be so well edited.

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No one questioned the published writing of the other 9-YO with whom I worked. Seriously, you can’t just be happy for the boy?

Here are the facts:
1) I showed him spell check.
2) He conducted interviews and used the interviewee’s words in paraphrasing.
3) Your favorite author could be a dictater.
4) Multiple drafts were involved.
5) There is an editor on the other end who is trying to foster good writing in kids and at the same time has a responsibility to the reading public.
6) Yes, the 9-YO boy wrote the article.
7) You can kiss my ass.

The editor has deleted the exciting conclusion of this blog because she’s pretty sure I can’t threaten to kill people.

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These are the days, my friends…

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I should start at the top of the morning. The 9-YO boy debuted his mad skillz as a photojournalist. He’s got reporting in his blood from Gramp-A-Long and a fair amount of language ability from both Gigi and Grammanina. Also, as he reported to KOLD, his mom is always at school and I guess his boredom with that or my insistence that he entertain himself inspired him. The story was written one morning after a Borton Community Garden meeting and during the time I take the girl’s class into the garden. Use the link since my scanned copy, well you can see the problem with it.


Then the Friday routine hit with the BELL coffee cart (donations welcome), frequent readers help (the 6-YO made a book mark and earned two books to reward her, er, frequent reading), work for pay, then help the newly single mechanic watch himself and his kid on television (Did you hear that girls? I have a single male friend who can fix stuff AND be daddy about school). Around lunch, I came home to find gently used shorts for the boy and these freshly picked goodies.


These oranges are HUGEMONGOUS! That’s one of the largest bowls we have and you can see the oranges dwarf it. I need a new descriptor for my friends because they are beyond “awesome” and “generous” to the degree of “intergalactic” and “magnanimous” or something like that. OH! I needn’t neglect reporting the glorious package from the artiste in Oklahoma with 50 YO heirloom 4 o’clock and lemon basil seeds, pet rocks, a pep talk, a totem for the chicks, and an indication that my pal also loves credit unions.


Oh, but that’s not the end of the day. The librarian sent to the planet to make my life wonderful set up a little RR viewing on the big screen. Robyn, point out to your mother that one of her hand sewn dresses made it onto national television. If you look carefully, I’m person in the crowd 1, person in the crowd 2, person in the crowd 3 ….


Hawt Mz was mas bella tan siempre (I’m trying to learn Spanish again), if a bit touchy at being the center of the universe for all of 3 minutes. HM, I know you love math, so how about this equation? 15-3= 12 more minutes of fame to account for. What’s next?

I hope it never ends.

Incognito on Rachael Ray

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The episode of Rachael Ray featuring the hard work of Hawt Mz. Molly and crew will be aired on March 6th. If you follow the link, there are two pictures of yours truly in a flash format, so I couldn’t easily steal them. Now do you think that’s fair? Neither do I, so I learned how to poach images. BTW, I’m not saying Ultimate taught me how to do that photo stealing trick, but you know, if you need some computer work done he knows his shiznit. If they threaten me, I’ll tear the photos down asap (or as soon as possible, Brett, whichever comes first) so look quickly.


Photo 1. ‘Member my pal who teaches me how to fix my car? ‘Member the guy who taught me how to use power tools? Well, he and I totally built this farm stand. By “he and I” I mean he did the work while preventing me from circular sawing off my oppositional thumb (it’s like the rest of me). I am not clearly in this photo, but my work is. Unclearly, I am in the back ground in the jeans and whiteish shirt next to my pal Lori who didn’t sign a release and loudly cursed while proclaiming her judgeship. She did sign a release later, but she claimed it was bullshit. Judges get to talk like that.


Photo 2. I’m way more clearly in this photo. See me? Behind the kale? I cropped (oh, an unintentional, but awesome garden pun) out the rest of the photo, but you can follow the link to see the whole thing.

If this is going to be the most highly rated Rachael Ray show of all time, you need to tune in on March 6th and watch it. If for some reason, they air me not in obscurity, there is an antidote. Rubbing sand in your eyes will rid you of this vision.

Rockin’ the Sweatshop

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Look at this. Look at it because I can’t stop. Honestly! She’s sewing in rose colored glasses. We agreed to help some sister Daisy Girl Scouts by sewing patches on their tunics as a project to break in her new sewing machine from Grammanina. At the same time, she had homework to make a hat for National Hat Day. She’s wearing the mock-up of her hat in this photo. I was never, nevernevernever, as complex as this young lady.
We freed her machine from its Styrofoam prison and she loaded up orange thread to contrast the blue fleece of her hat.

Then she wound the bobbin and snipped the thread. My machine winds the bobbin in a totally different manner, so this was a learning experience for both of us. George then threaded the machine for sewing.
And after a few mangled stitches, she asked if we could go back to my machine. So we did because I’m not about frustrating the kiddos. Well, not at this particular time anyway. Sew, sew, sew.
Lift pressure foot and turn.
Sew, sew, sew.
Sew, sew, sew.
And so! Three Daisy tunics all patched up and after a quick thread change, one hat seamed up and accented in orange. She makes sewing cool. YAY Baby Girl! You rock my world.

Still Not Fine in Aught Nine

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Leggings McGillicuddy and her ununiformed daughter infringed upon my daughter’s cookie selling territory yesterday. I was close to making a stink just to be shitty, but restricted myself to flashing the stink eye. THIS is why I didn’t want to do Girl Scouts. THIS is why I didn’t want to do PTO*. It makes people like me small. Next thing you know, I’ll be scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head. Kill me now. Send me to hell so the hounds can pick apart my cold black heart.

To emphasize my capacity for smallness, consider my “teaching time” in the 8 YO boy’s class as we discussed social justice and taking action. I discriminated against half the class by denying them a gew gaw that I gave the other half of the class. “Is this fair?” I asked. “Yes, because maybe you didn’t have enough for all of us,” said one do-gooder smarty pants. “We can share,” offered another. “No, no, no, no, no! We we don’t share! There is no sharing!” You know what it was? The gew gaw was STUPID. I should have given half the kids a Wii and then asked if that was fair.

My dear sweet hubster, who knows the darkness deep within my soul and is terrified by it, uhm, I mean who clearly loves me dearly, brought me the most perfect cup of coffee last night about 9 p.m. After a long, busy day, I had just returned home from my last Vestry meeting as a member of that body. I went out approving a deficit budget. What a spirit crusher that was! The deficit budget capped off a fine day of looming dark clouds between my ears.

Back to the coffee – I am currently involved in a project or two. One such effort is a series of on-line computer classes to help me with the Internets and Web site stuff to keep me employable. The hubster fed and put to bed the anklebiters and presented me a quiet environment in which to pursue my learning. The perfectly prepared and snuggly warm coffee by my side was intended to feul me through xHTML Because You are Old 101. Instead, I wasted that time doing, uh… social networking? E-mail? Stalking Whiskey. Whatever. But at 2 a.m., I decided to get some shut eye. At 3 a.m. the eyes still weren’t shut. Shortly thereafter the 6 YO girl crawled into bed with me. Shortly thereafter the alarm went off. I’m tired and hungry and small. So, I’m just saying, maybe, if you see me, you can find some charity for me that I’m quite sure I wouldn’t recriprocate.

* Just to clarify, I love the PTA and all their good work. I just can’t do the PTA.

Not Selling Girl Scout Cookies Online

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Let me start off by saying we are not selling Girl Scout Cookies on-line. No, we are not. We are not because that is clearly against the rules. GSUSA prohibits internet sales of Girl Scout Cookies. This includes on-line auctions, broadcast e-mail messages, and/or council Web sites. Got that? Are we clear? Let’s face it, even if it were allowed, we’d never get to the post office to mail your order to you.

Now that we have covered how we are not selling GSCs on-line, I’d like to point out that many of you who adore the 6 YO girl and do live in Tucson may need of a source for GSCs. Consider contacting her since her personal sales goal is 185 boxes, approximately 1/4th of the goal for her entire troop. Think big baby girl!

GSCs claim no trans fats, but they do have partially hydrogenated oils in them anyway. Perhaps that would be inappropriate ingesta for you, but you would still like to help a sista out. Our church, Grace St. Paul’s, has a food ministry called Joseph’s Pantry. It is an agency of the Tucson Community Food Bank and Association of Arizona Food Banks. George and a Daisy GS sister of hers are taking donations of boxes of cookies to the pantry for their “Gift of Caring”. You could also talk to her about how to donate cookies toward that project.

Yes, I did just return from a GS meeting. At that meeting I picked up two uniforms in need of patch sewing. Some of you may know that in the process of sewing the 6YOs uni, a needle broke and flew at my face so quickly I heard a tiny sonic boom. OUCH! Sewing? Cookie sales? What the? And if you remember correctly I joined the PTO at my son’s school for a t-shirt discount. I drive, and love, a minivan with easy listening on the radio. I’m forcing my kids to eat carrots to help them poo. Fundamental shifts have occurred in my whoaminess. Where are my old lady jeans and hair scrunchies?

These Gifts Knocked My Socks Off

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Every so often someone surprises me with a gift so special that I can’t possibly express my gratitude. After I was presented a Molly Pitcher award, which is unquestionably the highest honor I’ve ever received and an embarrassment of riches I did not deserve, my father-in-law enlisted my sister-in-law’s help to purchase sheet music to the Molly Pitcher song he sang as a child. It wasn’t the sheet music that was touching, but what it represented. Acceptance from in-laws doesn’t come easy. That’s one thing you can’t buy at the Walmarts.

I can appreciate an expensive gift as easily as an affordable one if the thought is there. My parents and brother gave me a necklace one pearl at a time over 20 years to commemorate big days in my life. Last year Mom strung my pearls in a gold cup pattern (that’s like a tin cup only instead of singles, the pearls are in groups of two and three). I did earn this gift and it was presented to me over time by three people who know virtually every rotten thing I’ve ever done in life and politely don’t mention them. I don’t know if I’ve seen anything so beautiful EVER as my necklace and my kids had better not let it go in a tag sale upon my death.

I am again the lucky recipient of yet another gift to remember for the rest of my days. Today, my daughter’s teacher, who was also my daughter’s teacher last year and my son’s for the two years prior to that, gave me a pair of socks. These are the most fantastic socks I have ever or will ever own. They are colorful and comfortable and hand knitted by a woman so committed to children, families, and community that it’s folly for her to waste time on me. She used Japanese wool that she had been saving for a special project. As she knitted, loop by loop, she thought of me and the cold weather I encounter when going home for Christmas.


The teacher shared the socks with her students at “Tree Talk”, her version of show and tell. After school, my daughter joined her teacher to witness the giving. As I waited for my surprise, I tried to pry the secret from my daughter who was looking up at me with her sparkling eyes and an expression of pride. She would not tell, but the silly grin on her mug showed that she was excited.

Here again, the thought and meaning behind a gift launches it into the forever of my memory and teaches me about being more engaged in giving. The socks are indeed warm, gorgeous, and fit just right. The socks represent that another person in this world sees me and thinks of me when I’m not around. The gift of these socks elevated me in my daughter’s eyes. How could I ever express my appreciation to a woman who is already such a part of so much of what is good with my children? The woman who got my son through his father’s deployment, the woman who welcomed my daughter into her class before she was even a student, the woman who lets me into her class and share in the breakthroughs of her students. It’s impossible.

Thank you.

It Was the Milk!

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Not the cookies, not the chocolate, not the cup cakes, not the chips, not the fries, not the pizza, not the soda, not the candy – NO! The 8 YO boy filled the bathroom sink with vomit because of the milk. I should have known.

She’s Got Eyes for This Shirt

I’ve been wondering what sort of t-shirt I could paint for my niece. I thought I might use freezer paper to paint “Steve” across the side of a shirt for her after hearing Obama say he was going to change his name to Steve. I thought that would be hilarious. Then I thought maybe I’d do these reverse applique eyeballs I saw on Creative Kismet. That would give my niece, who is frequently the target of some critical eyes, the opportunity to say all sorts of cornball things like, “Why do I always feel like someone is watching me?” or “I have my eyes on YOU!” But, unlike her aunt, she’s probably way too cool to reveal the inside joke.

I can’t give my niece some crappy gift though, so I had to do a test run first. What’s great about this project is that the 6YO girl and I got to do it together. We pretty much followed the tutorial with a few exceptions. I used acrylics instead of fabric paints because that’s what I have. Also, I painted then cut where CK cut then painted. So, you know, we made it totally our own.

Directions:
* First we got an arm pit-y white shirt from my drawers (the girl strictly forbade the raiding of her father’s drawers) and a stained hand-me-down from her brother.
* Then we both painted the eyes on the pit-y shirt.
* Next the girl cut out the eyeballs and told me where to pin them to the inside-out, hand-me-down shirt.
* We changed the needle and thread and bobbin on the machine to match the colored shirt.
* When it was time to begin sewing, the girl raised and lowered the presser foot and cut the strings (any ideas on how to set things up so that she can reach the foot pedal?).
* Finally, we turned the shirt right side out and used a seam ripper to start cutting out the eyeball shapes from the hand-me-down shirt to reveal our eyeballs.

What I learned:
* The girl is ready for bigger and better crafts.
* We should have been more careful about how we placed the eye and/or where we painted the eye sparkle, because on the front of the shirt where we have multiple eyes, the glint inexplicably comes from multiple light sources.
* I need more practice sewing jersey.