Remember the time Mr.4444 helped save that guy's life? Always at the ready, he recently had another opportunity to come to someone's rescue.
The groom, his groomsmen, and the prospective fathers-in-law to-be were gathered in the designated room in the church, just killing time. Proud Dad checked his watch; 30 minutes to "show time." Nervous but excited that he was finally going to marry the joy of his life, Brandon wore a huge smile. Feeling a little giddy and confident, he decided to "let one rip."
"Ewww! That didn't sound so good," said the looks on the faces of the other guys, who burst into laughter when Brandon's facial expression confirmed their suspicions.
"Oh, Man-I just sharted!!"
And that is why, on one's wedding day, one should always have a back-up pair of underwear and some wipes; or at least hold the wedding near a K-mart, so a friend like Mr.4444 can cover your ass.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A True-Life Campfire Tale
Andrew Scott Turner is a published author whose blog I recently stumbled upon and found to be a delight. Andrew writes with such "voice" that you can picture everything he's talking about and find yourself touched, amused, and wanting more. Andrew has a post called This Dog Don't Hunt that reminded me of a great story we heard from Mr.4444's cousin Derek a while back. The incident happened to Derek's BIL, Steve, so I called Steve to refresh myself of the details. Steve was happy to share the story of the camping incident that he will never forget.
Warning: If you have a camping trip planned for this summer, you might not want to read this. (Don't say I didn't warn you.)
Steve was a college sophomore living in Washington State. He was attending summer school there, because he loved the natural beauty of the state's many, many breathtaking hiking trails. Steve had friends who also enjoyed hiking, but he always looked forward to solo hiking (Well, solo, except for his canine companion, Golden Retriever, Jackson.) This particular story took place during a 10-day solo hiking trip. The Pacific Crest Trailhead, near Mt. Baker, was so remote that after a friend dropped him off with his backpacking gear, Steve and Jackson had to hike six hours to get to the start.
Steve loved the solitude of backpacking; the peace and quiet of "God's country." To him, there was nothing more peaceful and safe than being in the woods. He'd hike during the day and camp at night in a tent just big enough to fit himself and Jackson inside. The first week of this trip fulfilled every need Steve had for gorgeous views and relaxation. Each day, he hiked until late in the day, made himself and Jackson some supper, and hit the hay as the sun went down, starting again in the morning. Each day, he would come upon a hiker or two, but for the great majority of the trip, he enjoyed feeling like he was the only man on earth. On the 8th night of this trip, Steve bedded down with Jackson and fell into a very satisfying sleep.
An hour later, Steve awoke with a start; a deep, menacing growl from Jackson filled his ears. Now, if you know Goldens, you know that they are not the growling type; this was strange behavior. Steve jumped up in his sleeping bag and cocked his ears, commanding the dog to be quiet.
Dead silence.
Jackson stood at attention facing the tent zipper, listening, too. Steve did not hear a peep, but he waited, heart racing, mind searching for what could have caused Jackson to growl like that: A cougar? Bear? Raccoons? After 30 minutes of listening and not hearing a sound, Steve figured it was a fluke and settled back down to sleep.
He lurched up in his bag again a little while later. This time, Jackson's growl was even more intense; this was not a fluke. Steve was now scared. He fumbled around in the tent for some type of weapon, knowing full-well that he had none. The closest things he had were a few 6-inch, light-weight tent stakes. He sat, motionless, hearing nothing but Jackson's low growl, wondering again what could be bothering him so much. Again, Steve sat stock-still, waiting to hear the cause of Jackson's behavior.
Now, if you know anything about backpacking tents, you know they are very small. When sitting up straight in one, a man's head and shoulders are quite close to the sides and top of the tent. Listening intently, tent stakes in hand, Steve continued to wait, and suddenly, he heard a very quiet, slow, man's whisper, about two feet from his head,
"Can you hear this?"
WTF?! Adrenalin shot through Steve's veins as Jackson went crazy, trying to go after the source of the whisper. He grabbed the dog and held him, paralyzed with fear, trapped and defenseless. He thought about going outside but reasoned that he was probably safer inside than out, without a weapon (let alone a flashlight) to confront the unknown. Heart racing, he listened....and listened. All he heard was silence.
For the next four hours, Steve and Jackson sat in that tent, wide awake and feeling like sitting ducks. At sunrise, Steve cautiously opened the tent zipper and let the dog out. Jackson sniffed around but neither he nor Steve found anything suspicious or anything that would explain the late-night stranger.
Steve says he didn't eat breakfast that morning; just packed and "booked out," hiking quickly, with purpose and little regard to the beauty that surrounded him. That evening, he reached the rendezvous point that he and a friend had previously set up to share the last night on the trail. He shared his story, feeling relieved to have a friend joining him. That night, Steve got very little sleep and was almost relieved to be heading back to civilization the next morning.
Steve says he'll never forget that night and has not gotten over it, even though it was years ago. He tried solo hiking again, figuring he should "shake it off" and get back to doing what he loved, but no matter how he tried, he could not sleep more than 30 minutes at a time whenever he tried. After he got married, he tried backpacking with his wife, but that made it almost worse; he worried about his own safety, and now, that of his wife; the stress was just too great. He does get more sleep when hiking with groups of friends these days but has never felt completely comfortable going alone since that particular fear-filled night.
To this day, Steve has no idea what really happened that night. His wife suggested that the voice was that of a ghost. He guesses that maybe it was just "some wacko" who gets his "kicks" scaring the crap out of hikers. Regardless, that night robbed Steve of one of his favorite joys and instead left him feeling upended, scarred by the experience. On the bright side, though, it also made him appreciate his canine companion even more. Steve credits him with possibly saving his life that night. Jackson (who turns 15 this year) is living proof that a dog can really be "a man's best friend."
Warning: If you have a camping trip planned for this summer, you might not want to read this. (Don't say I didn't warn you.)
Steve was a college sophomore living in Washington State. He was attending summer school there, because he loved the natural beauty of the state's many, many breathtaking hiking trails. Steve had friends who also enjoyed hiking, but he always looked forward to solo hiking (Well, solo, except for his canine companion, Golden Retriever, Jackson.) This particular story took place during a 10-day solo hiking trip. The Pacific Crest Trailhead, near Mt. Baker, was so remote that after a friend dropped him off with his backpacking gear, Steve and Jackson had to hike six hours to get to the start.
Steve loved the solitude of backpacking; the peace and quiet of "God's country." To him, there was nothing more peaceful and safe than being in the woods. He'd hike during the day and camp at night in a tent just big enough to fit himself and Jackson inside. The first week of this trip fulfilled every need Steve had for gorgeous views and relaxation. Each day, he hiked until late in the day, made himself and Jackson some supper, and hit the hay as the sun went down, starting again in the morning. Each day, he would come upon a hiker or two, but for the great majority of the trip, he enjoyed feeling like he was the only man on earth. On the 8th night of this trip, Steve bedded down with Jackson and fell into a very satisfying sleep.
An hour later, Steve awoke with a start; a deep, menacing growl from Jackson filled his ears. Now, if you know Goldens, you know that they are not the growling type; this was strange behavior. Steve jumped up in his sleeping bag and cocked his ears, commanding the dog to be quiet.
Dead silence.
Jackson stood at attention facing the tent zipper, listening, too. Steve did not hear a peep, but he waited, heart racing, mind searching for what could have caused Jackson to growl like that: A cougar? Bear? Raccoons? After 30 minutes of listening and not hearing a sound, Steve figured it was a fluke and settled back down to sleep.
He lurched up in his bag again a little while later. This time, Jackson's growl was even more intense; this was not a fluke. Steve was now scared. He fumbled around in the tent for some type of weapon, knowing full-well that he had none. The closest things he had were a few 6-inch, light-weight tent stakes. He sat, motionless, hearing nothing but Jackson's low growl, wondering again what could be bothering him so much. Again, Steve sat stock-still, waiting to hear the cause of Jackson's behavior.
Now, if you know anything about backpacking tents, you know they are very small. When sitting up straight in one, a man's head and shoulders are quite close to the sides and top of the tent. Listening intently, tent stakes in hand, Steve continued to wait, and suddenly, he heard a very quiet, slow, man's whisper, about two feet from his head,
"Can you hear this?"
WTF?! Adrenalin shot through Steve's veins as Jackson went crazy, trying to go after the source of the whisper. He grabbed the dog and held him, paralyzed with fear, trapped and defenseless. He thought about going outside but reasoned that he was probably safer inside than out, without a weapon (let alone a flashlight) to confront the unknown. Heart racing, he listened....and listened. All he heard was silence.
For the next four hours, Steve and Jackson sat in that tent, wide awake and feeling like sitting ducks. At sunrise, Steve cautiously opened the tent zipper and let the dog out. Jackson sniffed around but neither he nor Steve found anything suspicious or anything that would explain the late-night stranger.
Steve says he didn't eat breakfast that morning; just packed and "booked out," hiking quickly, with purpose and little regard to the beauty that surrounded him. That evening, he reached the rendezvous point that he and a friend had previously set up to share the last night on the trail. He shared his story, feeling relieved to have a friend joining him. That night, Steve got very little sleep and was almost relieved to be heading back to civilization the next morning.
Steve says he'll never forget that night and has not gotten over it, even though it was years ago. He tried solo hiking again, figuring he should "shake it off" and get back to doing what he loved, but no matter how he tried, he could not sleep more than 30 minutes at a time whenever he tried. After he got married, he tried backpacking with his wife, but that made it almost worse; he worried about his own safety, and now, that of his wife; the stress was just too great. He does get more sleep when hiking with groups of friends these days but has never felt completely comfortable going alone since that particular fear-filled night.
To this day, Steve has no idea what really happened that night. His wife suggested that the voice was that of a ghost. He guesses that maybe it was just "some wacko" who gets his "kicks" scaring the crap out of hikers. Regardless, that night robbed Steve of one of his favorite joys and instead left him feeling upended, scarred by the experience. On the bright side, though, it also made him appreciate his canine companion even more. Steve credits him with possibly saving his life that night. Jackson (who turns 15 this year) is living proof that a dog can really be "a man's best friend."
Friday, May 29, 2009
Friday Fragments
I always look forward to Friday Fragments, and so can anyone with ADD, because the posts are filled with usually-short bits and pieces of our weeks; collections of thoughts, "heard" items, and miscellaneous entertainment. See if you don't agree...[If you're a first timer, please click on the button above to learn more.]
***Six and a half days of school left....(Thank you, Lord.)
***Three hour drive tomorrow to a high school graduation. Should be fun, but what will I possibly do in a car without my Internet?! (Only kidding; I'm sure I'll survive.)
***Choosing a Favorite Friday Fragmenter last week was tough.
I decided to choose two:"At the Dublin Airport, as we were getting ready to get out flight to the Isle of Man, my mother decided to pop into the single handicapped bathroom to use the bathroom. She thought she had locked the door, until a rather large gentleman opened the door as she was just standing up. He backed up, and closed the door. When my mother came out of the bathroom she walked over to him to say she was sorry (or something along those lines) and the gentleman said to her, "You have nothing to be embarrassed about, you look adorable in your underpants!" The Goat
Joseph played outside by himself for 5 minutes straight this morning while I unloaded groceries. HEAVEN! During that five minutes, he emptied our bird feeder, sucked on Brian's BBQ tools, and broke a glass. I didn't even care- it was SOOO worth it! It's Spelled C-a-i-t-l-i-n
Ladies, enjoy your moment in the Fragmented spotlight :)
***She made us wait for two long months, but my dear sister Michelle has finally posted again. It's a heartwarming (brief) true-life drama that also offers suspense and a neatly-wrapped ending. Check out Home Tweet Home. And this just in! TWO posts in the same month?! Check out Lessons in ASStronomy, too.
***Ryan's brother, Brandon, is getting married tonight. (Mr.4444 and I will be there.) It's the family's first wedding. (Ryan would have been standing up, of course.) Gonna be a tough one for Molly and her family; I'm really glad we'll be there to support them.
***Check out this AWESOME gift idea, made by my very creative SIL, Karen. She made it for my SIL Mary Sue (a.k.a. Merry Sue), who had a certain milestone birthday last weekend:
In case you can't make it out, it's an old golf bag with flowers planted in every pocket. (Karen left a few clubs in it for accents.) Isn't it adorable?!***Yaya needs your thoughts and prayers. She and her husband are hoping to be given the gift of becoming adoptive parents for these sibling kiddos:
All positive thoughts and/or prayers are welcome!Looking for a way to purge your miscellaneous thoughts? Why not join us? Here's Mr.Linky for your linking pleasure (Friday Fragments posts only, please) :
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Thousand Words Thursday
Please, please, please will you pet me, Aunt Michelle???For more TWT gems, visit Jen, at Cheaper Than Therapy.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Almost-Wordless Wednesday
When a student tells me, "Someone stole my sweatshirt," or "Some had to have taken it!" in response to a missing pair of sneakers, jacket, hat, gym shorts, or _____________, I just roll my eyes. Because I have seen this....
Middle School Lost-and-Found counter, May 26, 2009
(And this is small, compared to what it was before Christmas.) Funny thing, the "stolen" homework assignments (yes, I get that one all the time) never seem to make it to the Lost-and-Found table. Go figure!
Middle School Lost-and-Found counter, May 26, 2009(And this is small, compared to what it was before Christmas.) Funny thing, the "stolen" homework assignments (yes, I get that one all the time) never seem to make it to the Lost-and-Found table. Go figure!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
One Man's Trash...
Mr.4444's dad, God rest his soul, was a pack rat. The man could not throw a thing away. To illustrate this point, I'll tell you that after he died, Grandma 4444 called Waste Management and ordered a dumpster. It got filled and emptied three times before everything was purged (and that's just what was in the basement and crawl space.)
On the bright side, whenever you needed something (anything, really) Bob had it. In fact, he usually had two or three. The impressive part, too, was that he usually knew exactly where he had put it, too. Over the years, though, his wife was not impressed. She constantly threatened to "throw that shit out" and begged him to get rid of some of it.
One year, Bob decided to get his wife off his back and have his first-ever garage sale. The night before, he painstakingly set up his display areas and prepared for the sale. Grandma 4444 was so excited! She tells me that although he had consented, he refused to let her get involved in any way. If she'd make a suggestion, he'd reject it. As she tells it, he said, "This is my thing. You're not going to be putting stuff out here that I don't want to sell. She stayed in the house and let him do his own thing.
The next morning, the "Early Birds" arrived as per usual and began looking over Bob's "valuables." How much is this? a little old lady asked about an old phone. He told her a dollar. She asked, "Will you take a quarter?" What?! Bob was not a haggler; he had no idea people would nickel and dime him to death at his garage sale. Nonetheless, she didn't look like she had much, so Bob just gave it to her. This happened several times with other shoppers, as well.
An antique dealer mentioned that she admired the beautiful bassinet that had been Bob's as a baby. She said, "I suppose you want a fortune for that. You know, you could get a lot for that on consignment in my shop." Really?? Bob decided the bassinet must really be worth a fortune, so back in the house it went!
The more and more interested customers appeared, the more and more uncomfortable Bob became with selling it. The minute someone showed an interest in something remotely valuable, Bob would say, "That's not for sale." and take it into the house. When it was all over, Bob closed the garage and told Pat, "If you ever bring the garage sale idea up again, so help me...." Everything left went back into the basement,
which is where we found his Playboy magazine collection after he died.
And sold it on Ebay for $100.
I think he would have been proud.
On the bright side, whenever you needed something (anything, really) Bob had it. In fact, he usually had two or three. The impressive part, too, was that he usually knew exactly where he had put it, too. Over the years, though, his wife was not impressed. She constantly threatened to "throw that shit out" and begged him to get rid of some of it.
One year, Bob decided to get his wife off his back and have his first-ever garage sale. The night before, he painstakingly set up his display areas and prepared for the sale. Grandma 4444 was so excited! She tells me that although he had consented, he refused to let her get involved in any way. If she'd make a suggestion, he'd reject it. As she tells it, he said, "This is my thing. You're not going to be putting stuff out here that I don't want to sell. She stayed in the house and let him do his own thing.
The next morning, the "Early Birds" arrived as per usual and began looking over Bob's "valuables." How much is this? a little old lady asked about an old phone. He told her a dollar. She asked, "Will you take a quarter?" What?! Bob was not a haggler; he had no idea people would nickel and dime him to death at his garage sale. Nonetheless, she didn't look like she had much, so Bob just gave it to her. This happened several times with other shoppers, as well.
An antique dealer mentioned that she admired the beautiful bassinet that had been Bob's as a baby. She said, "I suppose you want a fortune for that. You know, you could get a lot for that on consignment in my shop." Really?? Bob decided the bassinet must really be worth a fortune, so back in the house it went!
The more and more interested customers appeared, the more and more uncomfortable Bob became with selling it. The minute someone showed an interest in something remotely valuable, Bob would say, "That's not for sale." and take it into the house. When it was all over, Bob closed the garage and told Pat, "If you ever bring the garage sale idea up again, so help me...." Everything left went back into the basement,
which is where we found his Playboy magazine collection after he died.
And sold it on Ebay for $100.
I think he would have been proud.
Monday, May 25, 2009
I Love a Parade (Sort of)
I have never been a big fan of parades. I think it comes from Mom making us get up every holiday morning and drag ourselves down to the TV to watch the annual Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Tournament of Roses Parade, etc. Call me un-American, but there is just nothing entertaining to me about watching a parade on TV. I ooh'd and aah'd at the parades on TV to make Mom happy. (Not surprisingly, she loves them.)
For the kids' sakes, we do go to local parades, and they enjoy them. Kyle's high school marching band, in fact, marched in the Tournament of Roses parade a few years back. (It was in California, so we weren't able to join him, but we watched his part on TV.) I've marched as a parent volunteer in parades (smile on my face) with Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, and to help keep the marching band kids from fainting in the heat. The fire trucks are cool, I admit. The politicians in their classic cars? I could live without them. The floats of wobbly dancers/singers? Mildly entertaining, to me, but hardly worth sitting in the scorching heat for.
As much as I don't live for parades, there is a part of each one that gets my attention and makes me swell with pride and choke back tears (every time); the moment that groups of soldiers in uniform (old and young) pass by.
Because to me, in the midst of the candy throwing, clown car racing, and polka music, those men and women serve as a visual reminder that if not for them, we would not have the freedom to sit on streets lined with maple trees and lawn chairs instead of tanks and burnt-out buildings. It's because of them (and those before them) that we wake up every morning; free to go to school, to drive to work, to play at local parks...
...or attend parades.
So, here's to those who march today (and yesterday),
in parades, or onto battlefields; especially those who gave their lives...
in the name of freedom.
In recognition of Memorial Day, 2009
For the kids' sakes, we do go to local parades, and they enjoy them. Kyle's high school marching band, in fact, marched in the Tournament of Roses parade a few years back. (It was in California, so we weren't able to join him, but we watched his part on TV.) I've marched as a parent volunteer in parades (smile on my face) with Girl Scouts, Boy Scouts, and to help keep the marching band kids from fainting in the heat. The fire trucks are cool, I admit. The politicians in their classic cars? I could live without them. The floats of wobbly dancers/singers? Mildly entertaining, to me, but hardly worth sitting in the scorching heat for.
As much as I don't live for parades, there is a part of each one that gets my attention and makes me swell with pride and choke back tears (every time); the moment that groups of soldiers in uniform (old and young) pass by.
Because to me, in the midst of the candy throwing, clown car racing, and polka music, those men and women serve as a visual reminder that if not for them, we would not have the freedom to sit on streets lined with maple trees and lawn chairs instead of tanks and burnt-out buildings. It's because of them (and those before them) that we wake up every morning; free to go to school, to drive to work, to play at local parks...
...or attend parades.
So, here's to those who march today (and yesterday),
in parades, or onto battlefields; especially those who gave their lives...
in the name of freedom.
In recognition of Memorial Day, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Weekly Winners
When I arrived at work on Friday and suddenly noticed this gorgeous tree in the front of school, I felt compelled to go outside and check it out. Just standing in front of it filled me with joy and forced me to smile [Okay, it was Friday, too, and that had something to do with my happy mood, but I swear it was more than that.] Her fragrance beckoned me, and I almost felt like thanking this Adirondack Crabapple for sharing her beauty. Isn't she incredible? 
For more Weekly Winners, visit Lotus at Sarcastic Mom.Saturday, May 23, 2009
Can I Get a Third Opinion?
I've got this "thing" that appeared on my face a few months ago and has gradually grown a little. It's raised, and I constantly want to pick at it, because it just doesn't belong there. I saw a Physician's Assistant, who told me that it's "just a mole." Not satisfied, and concerned that it might be skin cancer, I made an appointment with a dermatologist. My appointment was Thursday.
I'm happy to say it's not cancer.
But now I have a new worry; it's called "Seborrheic Keratoses." You've seen it before....
....on your grandma's face.
WTH?!
P.S. Please do not Google Seborrheic Keratoses, as the photos you will see are absolutely disgusting, and what I have is SO minor comparatively speaking. I should thank my lucky stars that mine is very small and barely noticeable. (But I can't, because old people are crotchety like that.)
I'm happy to say it's not cancer.
But now I have a new worry; it's called "Seborrheic Keratoses." You've seen it before....
....on your grandma's face.
WTH?!
P.S. Please do not Google Seborrheic Keratoses, as the photos you will see are absolutely disgusting, and what I have is SO minor comparatively speaking. I should thank my lucky stars that mine is very small and barely noticeable. (But I can't, because old people are crotchety like that.)
Friday, May 22, 2009
Friday Fragments
Welcome to Friday Fragments, the way to pay homage to your favorite observations from the week that weren't long enough to stand alone as posts but just couldn't be tossed either. Keep a little notebook to record thoughts, observations, quotes, or mini-rants to unload on Fridays. Then come here to link them up to Mr. Linky and invite others to read your randomness :) (If you've never read the rules, please click on the button above.) And now, without further ado.....***Don't know how, but I forgot to mention my Mother's Day Gift. I had told Mr.4444 that the only gift I wanted was a clean house. So...while I was gone the night before MD, he and the kids cleaned like crazy! The result was fantastic. The kids were apparently on their hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor (wish I had a picture of that!) They even cleaned their bedrooms. Best gift EVER. (Best husband/kids ever!) Ask me what it looks like now...
***Not to be mean or anything, but I really do not appreciate automated responses to comments I leave on other blogs. I just don't think it's proper; if you can't send a personal message (which is fine, really; it's not a big deal), don't send something generic and impersonal. It does more harm than good, really.
***A shy hummingbird keeps debating whether or not to get a drink from the feeder just 3 feet from me (on the livingroom window.) When you feel like you're running around like a chicken with your head cut off (busy), take a gander at a hummingbird; it will make you feel slow.
***Molly is doing great! She went straight from ICU to her mom's house, where she is getting plenty of TLC and is already weaning herself off of the pain medication. Her doctors/nurses said she's recovering better than anyone they've seen go through the procedure, most likely because she is in great overall physical shape. (Must be nice.) Thanks for all of your prayers; they have made a difference, for sure.
***Up for some summer recipes? I've posted three recently at Mrs.4444 Cooks: Paula Deen's Red Potato Salad With Bacon, Beer Dip, and Black Bean Watchamahoosit. When you get there, don't worry; you haven't landed on someone else's beautiful blog; it's really mine. I'm just showcasing another one of Lena's FREE blog templates. It's Simply Fabulous!
***Here's my Favorite Friday Fragment from last week. It comes from Smellyann, who shared a comment made by her little girl:
Sophie to Chloë, after Jack went pee: "He can't wipe, because he has a penis in the way. He needs a vagina."
That, right there, is precious. So, Smellyann, the award goes to you this week. Nicely done.
***I agree with John Stossel; people whose own stupidity causes them to require emergency services should be required to pay for those services. Here's one example.***Can I just say that Dairy Queen ice cream cakes are the bomb?! (Certainly a gut-bomb when I don't take my Lactaid first, but WOW! Soooooo good.)
Here's Mr. Linky for your FRIDAY FRAGMENTS linking pleasure. Be sure to visit other fragmenters, too, please :)
| 1. SmoochieFrog 2. Yaya 3. Adopting ME 4. melissaz 5. Mandy @ ...life's about a dream 6. Harriet 7. Smellyann 8. tmc @ Return to Rural 9. Lori @ Soccer Mom Says... | 10. Kristin -The Goat 11. won 12. Dawn (Bee and Rose) 13. Jo@ Under the Influence 14. Stepha @ Star&Wish 15. Mrs. Ski 16. Juls 17. Becky 18. Semi-Slacker Mom | 19. Caitlin 20. Yaya 21. Karen MEG 22. Mommy Jamie 23. Angie 24. Mel @ Fraase Family 25. Kori 26. Jamie |
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Thursday, May 21, 2009
Thousand Words Thursday
Thousand Words Thursday is the brainchild of Jen of Cheaper Than Therapy. 
Although this photo itself may not appear to say a "thousand" words, there are at least 100 words in its capture (most of which I won't get into.) I will say, though, that the dark spot in the background is a very angry dog who did not appreciate my early morning stop in front of his house. I couldn't help it; the sun was really working her magic on these tulips.And speaking of magic, because I couldn't get that danged dog to show up in the photo, I decided to poke around in Picnik, and I thought I would share with you the amazing stuff you can do with a simple photo and Picnik. Here's the same photo with the Orton effect:
And with one of my favorites effects, Smudge....
More smudging....
Most smudging....
I'm not a scrapbooker, but I can really see potential for scrapbookers with these and other effects. Here's Neon:
And my very favorite, Crystallize....
Pretty cool, huh? I may not have painting talent, but I enjoy pretending. If you want to see the real thing (real painting talent), visit Charrette; she doesn't cheat.
And I'm pretty sure she doesn't bite. :)
Pretty cool, huh? I may not have painting talent, but I enjoy pretending. If you want to see the real thing (real painting talent), visit Charrette; she doesn't cheat.And I'm pretty sure she doesn't bite. :)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Gone, But Not Forgotten
Mr.4444's dad (whose birthday was this week) was one-of-a-kind. A kid could not ask for a better grandpa. Both our kids loved him, of course, but and he and Kyle shared a special bond, probably because they shared typical "guy" interests like collecting rocks, going fishing, and tinkering in the woodshop. When Kyle carried a "walking stick" around all weekend after finding it in the woods (camping) and cried when it broke, it was Grandpa Bob who took it home and found a way to incorporate it into a new and improved walking stick, hand-made from a larger stick and lacquered to a gloriously-shiny finish. He was the grandpa who "helped" build the Pinewood Derby cars, fed the dog from the dinner table, and made a baby cradle and rocking horse for the first grandchild. He always had several projects going on at once, including a deluxe dollhouse kit in his woodshop waiting to be constructed for Kendall. (I had joked that he would probably finish it in time to give it to her for her wedding gift, but the intention was there.) Bob adored all of his grandkids and had a special place in his heart for each of them.
Six years ago, when Kendall was eight years old and Kyle was eleven, we lost Grandpa Bob to a massive heart attack. It was a shock that pulled the rug out from under all of us and left a hole in our family that is yet to be filled. Four years later, out of the blue one day, Kendall said to me,
"I miss Grandpa."
"Me, too. He was a great grandpa."
She reflected, "I know Kyle thought I didn't miss Grandpa as much as he did when he died, but I did. "
"I know, Honey."
She continued, "Grandpa gave me some sand from Hawaii once, and I put a little bit of glitter in it."
"Is that the sand I saw on your dresser when I painted your room last week?"
She nodded, "And I know I shouldn't have done this, but after Grandpa died, every night before I went to sleep, I took a little pinch of that sand and sprinkled it around my room, so I would feel like Grandpa was with me when I was sleeping."
I got a little choked up. "Grandpa would have loved that, Honey,"
And I know he does.
Happy Birthday, Grandpa Bob. We miss you.
Six years ago, when Kendall was eight years old and Kyle was eleven, we lost Grandpa Bob to a massive heart attack. It was a shock that pulled the rug out from under all of us and left a hole in our family that is yet to be filled. Four years later, out of the blue one day, Kendall said to me,
"I miss Grandpa."
"Me, too. He was a great grandpa."
She reflected, "I know Kyle thought I didn't miss Grandpa as much as he did when he died, but I did. "
"I know, Honey."
She continued, "Grandpa gave me some sand from Hawaii once, and I put a little bit of glitter in it."
"Is that the sand I saw on your dresser when I painted your room last week?"
She nodded, "And I know I shouldn't have done this, but after Grandpa died, every night before I went to sleep, I took a little pinch of that sand and sprinkled it around my room, so I would feel like Grandpa was with me when I was sleeping."
I got a little choked up. "Grandpa would have loved that, Honey,"
And I know he does.
Happy Birthday, Grandpa Bob. We miss you.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
The Agony of Defeat
I'm in the thick of it; 14 days of school left, three IEP's (Individualized Education Plans for Sped Ed kids) and spent three hours at an high school awards ceremony tonight, only to find that Kyle did not win the coveted award that he wanted; Student Council Student of the Year. He's an outstanding leader (many, many people in the past several years have gone out of their way to tell us so), but to him, taking second place didn't cut it tonight. It reminded me of a big competition I was once in, in which I "only" took 3rd place and was heartbroken. I learned a life lesson in the process, and I'll write about it one day (but not tonight).
We all have stories of times we didn't win; Spelling Bees, sporting events, "losing" that coveted guy/girl, etc. What's yours?
We all have stories of times we didn't win; Spelling Bees, sporting events, "losing" that coveted guy/girl, etc. What's yours?
Monday, May 18, 2009
A "Hopeless" Case?
Every now and then, I hear people say that some of my students with emotional-behavioral disabilities "don't have a chance," because of the parents they live with or the circumstances they have found themselves in. Jason was such a student.
I knew him for a year; I got him as a freshman in my U.S. History class at another school district, years ago. He was dirty, very hyperactive, and very annoying; always out of his desk and talking incessantly. He wore ragged clothing, a jagged haircut, and a crooked smile. He was intelligent, but very few knew it, because he almost never did his work, and was constantly getting kicked out of classes. None of his peers respected him or considered him a friend, but Jason seemed most comfortable alienating them anyway.
I began calling Child Protective (CP) about Jason in the fall. The first time was to tell them that he was always hungry and was obviously not well-cared for at home; he always wore the same, filthy blue flannel shirt with jeans that he'd obviously had since before the last year's growth spurt and shoes that wouldn't even make it into a garage sale. He didn't have a coat. The report was not investigated. We bought Jason some clothes and a coat.
The next time I called, I repeated the previous info and I added that Jason's was extremely hyperactive and had been prescribed medication, but his parents inconsistently provided it. When he had his meds, he was a model student, focusing, participating, and attending to his work. Without it, he was a mess. He was failing most of his classes. It was heartbreaking to see how well he could do, but knowing he had didn't have the tools needed to achieve success. Following that call to CP, I received another letter from them, telling me that they had decided not to investigate.
So, I continued to do my job; teaching social studies to students with emotional-behavioral disabilities and trying my best to keep Jason in class. We had some good moments; he was a charmer, and I often got a glimpse of his potential, but more often than not, Jason was disconnected and sometimes very disrespectful. I called home a few times, but didn't get much help there; his mom just talked about how terrible he was at home, too, and how she didn't "know what to do with him" herself.
Jason continually disrupted class, and I tried hard to work with him, knowing it wasn't completely his fault, but often times, I still had to send him out of my room. In January, he began coming to school reeking of cat urine. (It was horrible; an hour after he left my social studies class, the whole room would still reek.) As you can imagine, this did nothing for his acceptance from peers; Jason had not a friend in the world. He had no explanation whatsoever about the smell. I called Child Protective again. Nothing was done.
An idealist, I found myself very discouraged about a system that didn't seem to care about Jason. I continued to struggle to help this troubled teen, who obviously had bigger issues to deal with than social studies, and I continued to call Child Protective to file reports. In April, I called again to tell them that Jason said he was not allowed to eat with his family; that his parents punished him by making him live by himself in an empty apartment on the second floor of their house; he said they locked him up there every day after school and only occasionally let him come down for dinner, where he was not allowed to sit at the table, but had to eat at the counter while his family ate at the table. Jason said his quarters had no food and that all he had to sleep on was a bare mattress. He also still reeked of cat urine. Not confident that anything would be done, but with still a little hope, I called CP again.
Two weeks later, I got word that someone was in the office to see me. I went downstairs to see a stranger there. She introduced herself as being a worker from Child Protective. We stepped into an office, and she said, "Barb, I just wanted to tell you that we went to Jason's house to investigate your last report. The conditions were some of the worst I've seen; he will definitely not be going back there." She did not give details, except to say that what Jason had told me was true; he was locked upstairs every night and forced to sleep on a bare mattress on the floor; a mattress soaked in cat urine and surrounded by cat feces. The refrigerator and cupboards were bare.
This boy, whose actions had screamed and screamed "Help me!" for months, had finally been heard by the people who had the power to save him.
I never saw Jason again. I'd heard he'd been placed in foster care in another county, and I was a little sad, but mostly really happy that someone had finally investigated this boy's home life. It confirmed for me that to call once is not enough; one has to be persistent. it's a lesson I haven't forgotten.
It's been seven years since I taught at that school and had Jason in class. Since then, I've poked around the Internet for him (as recently as a few weeks ago, in fact), but did not find him on Facebook or MySpace. I didn't want to meet him or anything; I just wanted to know if he was okay.
Today, following up on a report about a student, a Child Protective worker called. A moment into our conversation, she said, "Your name sounds familiar. Have you always worked in Tinytown?" I told her no, and at that moment, we realized that we had met that day, so long ago, regarding Jason. I told her that I have wondered about Jason many times over the years. She told me she had an update for me...
Jason entered foster care. He found a family, with which he remained until he turned eighteen.
He graduated from high school. [insert lump in the throat here]
He got his driver's license.
He volunteers for the local fire department, alongside his foster dad.
This single story makes all of my efforts for every "Jason" I have ever had worth it. Every kid has a chance.
Weeks ago, I looked Jason up in the on-line public court records and found that he still lives in the same county. Unfortunately, he has had several run-ins with the law....
over not wearing a seatbelt.
He never did like to stay in his seat.
I knew him for a year; I got him as a freshman in my U.S. History class at another school district, years ago. He was dirty, very hyperactive, and very annoying; always out of his desk and talking incessantly. He wore ragged clothing, a jagged haircut, and a crooked smile. He was intelligent, but very few knew it, because he almost never did his work, and was constantly getting kicked out of classes. None of his peers respected him or considered him a friend, but Jason seemed most comfortable alienating them anyway.
I began calling Child Protective (CP) about Jason in the fall. The first time was to tell them that he was always hungry and was obviously not well-cared for at home; he always wore the same, filthy blue flannel shirt with jeans that he'd obviously had since before the last year's growth spurt and shoes that wouldn't even make it into a garage sale. He didn't have a coat. The report was not investigated. We bought Jason some clothes and a coat.
The next time I called, I repeated the previous info and I added that Jason's was extremely hyperactive and had been prescribed medication, but his parents inconsistently provided it. When he had his meds, he was a model student, focusing, participating, and attending to his work. Without it, he was a mess. He was failing most of his classes. It was heartbreaking to see how well he could do, but knowing he had didn't have the tools needed to achieve success. Following that call to CP, I received another letter from them, telling me that they had decided not to investigate.
So, I continued to do my job; teaching social studies to students with emotional-behavioral disabilities and trying my best to keep Jason in class. We had some good moments; he was a charmer, and I often got a glimpse of his potential, but more often than not, Jason was disconnected and sometimes very disrespectful. I called home a few times, but didn't get much help there; his mom just talked about how terrible he was at home, too, and how she didn't "know what to do with him" herself.
Jason continually disrupted class, and I tried hard to work with him, knowing it wasn't completely his fault, but often times, I still had to send him out of my room. In January, he began coming to school reeking of cat urine. (It was horrible; an hour after he left my social studies class, the whole room would still reek.) As you can imagine, this did nothing for his acceptance from peers; Jason had not a friend in the world. He had no explanation whatsoever about the smell. I called Child Protective again. Nothing was done.
An idealist, I found myself very discouraged about a system that didn't seem to care about Jason. I continued to struggle to help this troubled teen, who obviously had bigger issues to deal with than social studies, and I continued to call Child Protective to file reports. In April, I called again to tell them that Jason said he was not allowed to eat with his family; that his parents punished him by making him live by himself in an empty apartment on the second floor of their house; he said they locked him up there every day after school and only occasionally let him come down for dinner, where he was not allowed to sit at the table, but had to eat at the counter while his family ate at the table. Jason said his quarters had no food and that all he had to sleep on was a bare mattress. He also still reeked of cat urine. Not confident that anything would be done, but with still a little hope, I called CP again.
Two weeks later, I got word that someone was in the office to see me. I went downstairs to see a stranger there. She introduced herself as being a worker from Child Protective. We stepped into an office, and she said, "Barb, I just wanted to tell you that we went to Jason's house to investigate your last report. The conditions were some of the worst I've seen; he will definitely not be going back there." She did not give details, except to say that what Jason had told me was true; he was locked upstairs every night and forced to sleep on a bare mattress on the floor; a mattress soaked in cat urine and surrounded by cat feces. The refrigerator and cupboards were bare.
This boy, whose actions had screamed and screamed "Help me!" for months, had finally been heard by the people who had the power to save him.
I never saw Jason again. I'd heard he'd been placed in foster care in another county, and I was a little sad, but mostly really happy that someone had finally investigated this boy's home life. It confirmed for me that to call once is not enough; one has to be persistent. it's a lesson I haven't forgotten.
It's been seven years since I taught at that school and had Jason in class. Since then, I've poked around the Internet for him (as recently as a few weeks ago, in fact), but did not find him on Facebook or MySpace. I didn't want to meet him or anything; I just wanted to know if he was okay.
Today, following up on a report about a student, a Child Protective worker called. A moment into our conversation, she said, "Your name sounds familiar. Have you always worked in Tinytown?" I told her no, and at that moment, we realized that we had met that day, so long ago, regarding Jason. I told her that I have wondered about Jason many times over the years. She told me she had an update for me...
Jason entered foster care. He found a family, with which he remained until he turned eighteen.
He graduated from high school. [insert lump in the throat here]
He got his driver's license.
He volunteers for the local fire department, alongside his foster dad.
This single story makes all of my efforts for every "Jason" I have ever had worth it. Every kid has a chance.
Weeks ago, I looked Jason up in the on-line public court records and found that he still lives in the same county. Unfortunately, he has had several run-ins with the law....
over not wearing a seatbelt.
He never did like to stay in his seat.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sunday Smattering
Don't know what else to call it; sorry. Sunday Fragments didn't sound quite right, but that's what it is.
***First, the GoGirl Giveaway results! If you missed it, it's too late for the prize, but not too late to laugh really hard. Read the post here. The names were drawn the old-fashioned way, by an impartial teenage boy, sitting at the campfire in the back yard (Thanks, Nate!) And now, without further ado, the winners (2) are....
Mrs. Ski and Gayla! Congratulations, Ladies. Tom, you are the runner-up, should either of these ladies not claim her prize. (That would be really funny...)
***Molly is in the hospital; problems with her lung again. In order to get that stinkin' lung to stay filled, they have literally "scrubbed" her chest cavity, in order to create scar tissue for the lung to eventually adhere to (and thus, be less likely to collapse again.) The surgeon and anesthesiologist referred to the procedure as "one of, if not the most, painful surgeries there is." She's in ICU, hopefully just for a couple more days, but when the epidural wears off, she is in for some incredible pain. On the bright side, she was able to send an email to let us know what's been happening, and she still has her sense of humor. You know what I'm going to say, but here it is anyway: Please pray for Molly.
***Okay, so now, to switch to something to warm your now-cringing heart, check this out:
We could be in such trouble with this one... Thankfully, though, she's got a great head on her shoulders in more ways than one! :)
***I feel humbled that you would choose to spend any part of your valuable time here. Thank you so much for stopping by. Have a great week!
***First, the GoGirl Giveaway results! If you missed it, it's too late for the prize, but not too late to laugh really hard. Read the post here. The names were drawn the old-fashioned way, by an impartial teenage boy, sitting at the campfire in the back yard (Thanks, Nate!) And now, without further ado, the winners (2) are....
Mrs. Ski and Gayla! Congratulations, Ladies. Tom, you are the runner-up, should either of these ladies not claim her prize. (That would be really funny...)
***Molly is in the hospital; problems with her lung again. In order to get that stinkin' lung to stay filled, they have literally "scrubbed" her chest cavity, in order to create scar tissue for the lung to eventually adhere to (and thus, be less likely to collapse again.) The surgeon and anesthesiologist referred to the procedure as "one of, if not the most, painful surgeries there is." She's in ICU, hopefully just for a couple more days, but when the epidural wears off, she is in for some incredible pain. On the bright side, she was able to send an email to let us know what's been happening, and she still has her sense of humor. You know what I'm going to say, but here it is anyway: Please pray for Molly.
***Okay, so now, to switch to something to warm your now-cringing heart, check this out:
We could be in such trouble with this one... Thankfully, though, she's got a great head on her shoulders in more ways than one! :)***I feel humbled that you would choose to spend any part of your valuable time here. Thank you so much for stopping by. Have a great week!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Why My Heart Sang Tonight
In January, I wrote a post called Small Victories, about a poem that one of my students ("Joe") wrote...
I Believe
By Joe Student
I believe the bible is fake.
I believe god is not real.
I believe that clowns are evil.
I believe you can live without girls.
I believe foster care sucks.
I believe [this tiny town) is boring.
I believe school is boring.
I believe winter is cold.
I believe Mrs.4444 is decent.
I believe everyone is mean.
Joe, who is part of my "crew," fancies himself as a tough guy, and compared to other kids in our school, he might be, but his foster mom and I like to believe that it's all a front. Joe wrote that "foster care sucks," but I will tell you unequivocally that this boy is in a far better place today than he has ever been in his life, and he might even admit that (on a good day). He is with a family that is strong on structure and discipline, but also loving and giving him the chance others would never even consider.
Tonight, Joe, whose idea of a good time in his past might have been doing something illegal, attended the 8th Grade Dance. He'd tell you he was only going to get out of the house (he doesn't get out much, because of his behaviors). I was just glad he chose to come. He came with the plan of meeting up with a friend, but the friend did not show up. This young man, who fancies himself a social outcast, found himself at a dance in which he had none of his "usual" friends; I wasn't sure how he would react.
After a brief moment of grumbling about the friend who stood him up, Joe entered the gym and sat at a table alone. It wasn't long at all, though, before he was mingling a little with kids he knows a little bit from the lunchroom or from his regular-education classes. I was so relieved! After a little while, seeing that he was feeling a little awkward (he kept coming over to talk to me), I gave Joe my camera and suggested that he take some pictures, and off he went (there's nothing like having a camera at a middle school dance to help you gain instant popularity.) For the next couple of hours, we spoke a few times over the photos he was taking, but other than that, Joe blended in like everyone else and clearly was less a "fish out of water" and more a "bird of a feather," so much so, that this "tough guy," this wannabe "thug," who normally behaves the "rebel," surprised me....
by doing The Chicken Dance.
The next time Joe decides to act like a tough guy in class, I just might say, "Nana nana nana na, Nana nana nana na!"
...and dare him not to smile.
I Believe
By Joe Student
I believe the bible is fake.
I believe god is not real.
I believe that clowns are evil.
I believe you can live without girls.
I believe foster care sucks.
I believe [this tiny town) is boring.
I believe school is boring.
I believe winter is cold.
I believe Mrs.4444 is decent.
I believe everyone is mean.
Joe, who is part of my "crew," fancies himself as a tough guy, and compared to other kids in our school, he might be, but his foster mom and I like to believe that it's all a front. Joe wrote that "foster care sucks," but I will tell you unequivocally that this boy is in a far better place today than he has ever been in his life, and he might even admit that (on a good day). He is with a family that is strong on structure and discipline, but also loving and giving him the chance others would never even consider.
Tonight, Joe, whose idea of a good time in his past might have been doing something illegal, attended the 8th Grade Dance. He'd tell you he was only going to get out of the house (he doesn't get out much, because of his behaviors). I was just glad he chose to come. He came with the plan of meeting up with a friend, but the friend did not show up. This young man, who fancies himself a social outcast, found himself at a dance in which he had none of his "usual" friends; I wasn't sure how he would react.
After a brief moment of grumbling about the friend who stood him up, Joe entered the gym and sat at a table alone. It wasn't long at all, though, before he was mingling a little with kids he knows a little bit from the lunchroom or from his regular-education classes. I was so relieved! After a little while, seeing that he was feeling a little awkward (he kept coming over to talk to me), I gave Joe my camera and suggested that he take some pictures, and off he went (there's nothing like having a camera at a middle school dance to help you gain instant popularity.) For the next couple of hours, we spoke a few times over the photos he was taking, but other than that, Joe blended in like everyone else and clearly was less a "fish out of water" and more a "bird of a feather," so much so, that this "tough guy," this wannabe "thug," who normally behaves the "rebel," surprised me....
by doing The Chicken Dance.
The next time Joe decides to act like a tough guy in class, I just might say, "Nana nana nana na, Nana nana nana na!"
...and dare him not to smile.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday Fragments
Welcome to Friday Fragments! Home of one of the most satisfying posts you can share; just unload all of your random thoughts from throughout the week; the ones you just couldn't part with but were not quite entire posts. Thanks for joining us this week. [For more information about the P's and Q's of FF, click on the button above.]***HAPPY 17TH BIRTHDAY, KYLE!! I could not dream of a son to be more proud of. Love you...
***I failed to award the Favorite Friday Fragmenter award last week. It's probably because there were so many great fragments to choose from! I've finally narrowed it down to two (since I'm behind.)From Sparkette: Went to the doctor for my annual big girl appointment (as said by Lula). I was kind of feeling spicy it being my birthday week and all. Yes I am that obbsessed. Soooo, when the nurse was asking my medical history it went down like this...
Nurse: blah, blah, blah...any history of STD's?
Me: No way...but sometimes I call my ex-husband one.
Nurse: (insert cricket noise here)
Me: Oh, sorry you must be dating him.
Nurse: Any history of breast cancer?
Seriously people I don't make this stuff up!
SmellyAnn shared this one: Rob was telling a disappointed Jack, "You can say 'darn' or 'aw, man!' once, but don't keep complaining!" Sophie (age 3) spoke up, "Or you can say 'shit'!" We about died laughing.
So, Ladies, enjoy your award :)
***As part of her entry in my GoGirl Giveaway (Saturday is your last chance to enter), Karen, at Food, Glorious Food and Life in General sent me a link to this post, in which (if you scroll to the bottom) will find a hilarious story about her first experience with an American toilet. It's very funny, and it earned her two extra entries in the Giveaway. If you did not get to read my post about the GoGirl Giveaway, which includes a priceless demo video, I highly recommend you go there, too, because I think that's going to go down as my favorite post ever. (You won't be sorry.)***A student complained today, "Why do old people get to drive those nice Cadillac cars? It's not like there's anyone to impress anymore when you're that old." I'm not making that up; it came from an 8th grade girl (who isn't even in spec ed.) We teachers didn't need to say much; her peers were up in arms over the comment and took it from there.
***Yesterday, someone in the lunchroom told my student (Shawn) to pull up his pants. His response was to pull them down. That, right there, is the essence of Shawn. Can you say "contrary"? Sixteen more days....
Here is Mr.Linky for your linking pleasure. [ONLY FF POSTS WILL BE ALLOWED, sorry.] Thanks for visiting other fragmenters, too :)
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Thousand Words Thursday
Jen, at Cheaper Than Therapy is once again hosting Thousand Words Thursday. Here's my entry this week, entitled "Pirate Wenches" (Think Brownie Girl Scout Theater badge). Aren't they cute? (That's Kendall on the left.)
These girls are now 14. Kinda funny, when you think of the looks on their faces...
Visit Jen's blog for more TWT posts.
These girls are now 14. Kinda funny, when you think of the looks on their faces...Visit Jen's blog for more TWT posts.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Almost-Wordless Wednesday
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
You Go, Girl!
I don't know about you, but I have some pretty remarkable stories related to, well....peeing in public places. For one, to make a very long story short, I was once rushed to a hospital (7 months pregnant) in an ambulance, only to find out that the contractions were mostly caused by a full bladder, which I was unable to relieve because of drugs I was on to stop contractions. (Read more about that wild ride here.)
Since then, I have had other moments of intense-need-to-pee-but-finding-myself-in-places-that-were-not-conducive-to-doing-so. For example, I once peed in a diaper, inside a mini-van, on the top floor of a parking garage, in a strange city, on the 4th of July. Yup, really; I did. (And let me tell you-- toddler-sized diapers were not designed to hold adult quantities of urine!)
Another time, we were stranded (parked actually) on I-294 in Chicago when the urge hit me so badly that I ended up having to pee in a large, empty, McDonald's coffee cup. I'm sorry!! What would you have done?! It was an EMERGENCY! (And remember, I am an expert on peeing emergencies!)
Believe it or not, there are other stories even worse than these, but I don't want you to think any worse of me than you already do now, so I'll quit there on that part, but I'm really excited, because I was poking around the internet recently and came upon a product so revolutionary that I asked if I could do a review and Giveaway! The answer was YES.
The GoGirl is a "female urinary device" (a.k.a. "FUD") that allows women to pee under circumstances they might not otherwise be able to. (Congratulations, Lilu, for guessing! :) Ever been in a nasty bathroom with a toilet that you're afraid to sit on? (What? You've never been to my house?! JK) How about on a boat for hours, miles from a bathroom and too wimpy to jump in the water? Or in a tent in the middle of the night with pouring rain outside and an urgent need to hike to the outhouse a half mile away? In a line of 20 women to a filthy porta-potty? On an impossibly long road trip? It cracks me up to write this, but there is a solution! Check it out:
I was amused by this idea, but I am impressed by the GoGirl. First of all, it's an American-made product; the brainchild of Sarah Dillon, a soccer mom who lives in Minneapolis! Introduced only just last January, the GoGirl's packaging is fun and functional, fitting easily into my purse. One Go-Girl is only $5.99 plus $2.39 for shipping, and you can save two dollars by buying three. (If you're not sqeemish about reusing it; it's also hand-washable.)
Here's a video of me demonstrating the product....(dont' worry; it's quick, and definitely worth
watching.)
I did use my GoGirl (for research purposes only, actually) and found that it was nearly impossible to pee standing up, with pants on, but I was able to use it facing the "normal way" and squatting, as in the "hover" method in a bathroom so nasty you wouldn't dare sit on the toilet. If you do this, do be a dear and wipe the seat if you drip on it (I HATE it when women who are freaked out about toilet seats hover, drip, and walk away! Disgusting!! If you're going to pee like a guy, lift the seat like a guy (or most guys, hopefully.) I really look forward to taking this baby on the next trip through Chicago!
What do you have to lose by taking a look at the GoGirl website? (You know you're curious.) It's actually kind of entertaining, and they have a quarterly GoGirl Sweepstakes, in which 20 winners can choose up to $500 in prizes, like mountain bikes, camping equipment, and gift cards!
As part of this product review, I am giving away "GoGirl" samples to two lucky winners. All you have to do is leave a comment. Link to my Giveaway in a post (about your own "bladder confessions," perhaps? to earn two more entries (leave the link in a separate comment, please). The deadline to enter is Sunday at 12am.
What are you waiting for? Go, Girl! (or Boy!)
Since then, I have had other moments of intense-need-to-pee-but-finding-myself-in-places-that-were-not-conducive-to-doing-so. For example, I once peed in a diaper, inside a mini-van, on the top floor of a parking garage, in a strange city, on the 4th of July. Yup, really; I did. (And let me tell you-- toddler-sized diapers were not designed to hold adult quantities of urine!)
Another time, we were stranded (parked actually) on I-294 in Chicago when the urge hit me so badly that I ended up having to pee in a large, empty, McDonald's coffee cup. I'm sorry!! What would you have done?! It was an EMERGENCY! (And remember, I am an expert on peeing emergencies!)
Believe it or not, there are other stories even worse than these, but I don't want you to think any worse of me than you already do now, so I'll quit there on that part, but I'm really excited, because I was poking around the internet recently and came upon a product so revolutionary that I asked if I could do a review and Giveaway! The answer was YES.
The GoGirl is a "female urinary device" (a.k.a. "FUD") that allows women to pee under circumstances they might not otherwise be able to. (Congratulations, Lilu, for guessing! :) Ever been in a nasty bathroom with a toilet that you're afraid to sit on? (What? You've never been to my house?! JK) How about on a boat for hours, miles from a bathroom and too wimpy to jump in the water? Or in a tent in the middle of the night with pouring rain outside and an urgent need to hike to the outhouse a half mile away? In a line of 20 women to a filthy porta-potty? On an impossibly long road trip? It cracks me up to write this, but there is a solution! Check it out:
I was amused by this idea, but I am impressed by the GoGirl. First of all, it's an American-made product; the brainchild of Sarah Dillon, a soccer mom who lives in Minneapolis! Introduced only just last January, the GoGirl's packaging is fun and functional, fitting easily into my purse. One Go-Girl is only $5.99 plus $2.39 for shipping, and you can save two dollars by buying three. (If you're not sqeemish about reusing it; it's also hand-washable.)Here's a video of me demonstrating the product....(dont' worry; it's quick, and definitely worth
watching.)
I did use my GoGirl (for research purposes only, actually) and found that it was nearly impossible to pee standing up, with pants on, but I was able to use it facing the "normal way" and squatting, as in the "hover" method in a bathroom so nasty you wouldn't dare sit on the toilet. If you do this, do be a dear and wipe the seat if you drip on it (I HATE it when women who are freaked out about toilet seats hover, drip, and walk away! Disgusting!! If you're going to pee like a guy, lift the seat like a guy (or most guys, hopefully.) I really look forward to taking this baby on the next trip through Chicago!
What do you have to lose by taking a look at the GoGirl website? (You know you're curious.) It's actually kind of entertaining, and they have a quarterly GoGirl Sweepstakes, in which 20 winners can choose up to $500 in prizes, like mountain bikes, camping equipment, and gift cards!
As part of this product review, I am giving away "GoGirl" samples to two lucky winners. All you have to do is leave a comment. Link to my Giveaway in a post (about your own "bladder confessions," perhaps? to earn two more entries (leave the link in a separate comment, please). The deadline to enter is Sunday at 12am.
What are you waiting for? Go, Girl! (or Boy!)
Monday, May 11, 2009
When Ya Gotta Go....
I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in my third trimester and had been dealing with preterm labor for months. I was on bedrest and was only allowed to take a shower once per day and use the restroom. I had been in and out of the hospital six or seven times for unexplained, too-early early labor. During this particular visit, they put me on a smooth muscle relaxant called magnesium sulfate and started pumping me with fluids. It wasn't as effective as they'd hoped, so they decided to transport me via ambulance to another nearby hospital, which had a neonatal intensive care unit, just in case. Great.
As we readied to leave, I told them I needed to "go." (From here on out, I'm just going to say "pee," because I'm not really the fancy type.) Because they didn't want me up walking around, the nurse told me that I needed to use a bedpan. Hmmm. This was a new experience for me, but I had to go, so I complied. It took 15 minutes for me to relax enough. They readied the equipment and such, and we prepared to leave. I soon found myself having to pee again, but it was too late to wait for me again, so they put me in the ambulance and again placed a bedpan beneath me.
If you've never been in ambulance before, it might come as a surprise to you to know that when you are lying in one, you can see right out the back window, right into the windshields of nosey truckers who might be following you! Plus, you are surrounded by medical people (I think there were two in this one, one of whom told me to "pick a focal point," in response to my cries of pain. What?! That's what they say in delivery rooms!! I was freaking out, not just because I had to pee (and couldn't) but because I thought I was going to deliver my son far too early. I was in excruciating pain from the contractions and uncomfortable beyond measure for having to pee. Grasping at straws, I said, "I've heard that if you stick someone's hand in warm water when they're sleeping, it makes them pee. Can we try that? Please?!" And that sweet ambulance man went along with me, God bless him! However, it didn't work; I still had to pee BAD and was out of my mind in pain.
Mr.4444, meanwhile, had gone ahead to the hospital to meet us. His story is that when the ambulance arrived and they wheeled me in, I was "screaming." I'm certain that while I was probably loud, it was actually moaning. Regardless, I made a grand entrance. They wheeled me into a room, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by about ten people in scrubs, hooking up monitors and whatnot.
Working her way through the masses, an angel of God (it seemed) approached me and called through the melee, "Where does it hurt?" I wailed, "I have to peeeeeeeeeee!" The next thing I knew, she had catheterized me, and I began to sing, "Oh, my God! Oh my God! This is even better than sex! It's better than sex! Thankyouthankyouthankyou." [Yes, Mr.4444 remembers it fondly.] If you've ever had to pee really bad and can remember the feeling of relief you get when you finally do so, take that feeling and mulitply it by 100, and that's how I felt in those moments.
I can illustrate the magnitude of this crisis with one final fact: they drained 1000 cc's of urine from me in the next several minutes. That's a QUART, people! As soon as they did, the contractions stopped, and I was sent upstairs to spend the night in observation. Then next morning, the first nurse who stopped in said, "Oh, you're the one with all the urine last night, huh?"
So, yeah. I'm famous at Albany Medical Center. I probably have the record for Most Pee in a Single Catheterization. (I'm sure there's a plaque up there somewhere.)
And just so you know, all of this is leading somewhere....I'm having a Giveway soon. I'll bet you can't guess what it's for.
As we readied to leave, I told them I needed to "go." (From here on out, I'm just going to say "pee," because I'm not really the fancy type.) Because they didn't want me up walking around, the nurse told me that I needed to use a bedpan. Hmmm. This was a new experience for me, but I had to go, so I complied. It took 15 minutes for me to relax enough. They readied the equipment and such, and we prepared to leave. I soon found myself having to pee again, but it was too late to wait for me again, so they put me in the ambulance and again placed a bedpan beneath me.
If you've never been in ambulance before, it might come as a surprise to you to know that when you are lying in one, you can see right out the back window, right into the windshields of nosey truckers who might be following you! Plus, you are surrounded by medical people (I think there were two in this one, one of whom told me to "pick a focal point," in response to my cries of pain. What?! That's what they say in delivery rooms!! I was freaking out, not just because I had to pee (and couldn't) but because I thought I was going to deliver my son far too early. I was in excruciating pain from the contractions and uncomfortable beyond measure for having to pee. Grasping at straws, I said, "I've heard that if you stick someone's hand in warm water when they're sleeping, it makes them pee. Can we try that? Please?!" And that sweet ambulance man went along with me, God bless him! However, it didn't work; I still had to pee BAD and was out of my mind in pain.
Mr.4444, meanwhile, had gone ahead to the hospital to meet us. His story is that when the ambulance arrived and they wheeled me in, I was "screaming." I'm certain that while I was probably loud, it was actually moaning. Regardless, I made a grand entrance. They wheeled me into a room, and I suddenly found myself surrounded by about ten people in scrubs, hooking up monitors and whatnot.
Working her way through the masses, an angel of God (it seemed) approached me and called through the melee, "Where does it hurt?" I wailed, "I have to peeeeeeeeeee!" The next thing I knew, she had catheterized me, and I began to sing, "Oh, my God! Oh my God! This is even better than sex! It's better than sex! Thankyouthankyouthankyou." [Yes, Mr.4444 remembers it fondly.] If you've ever had to pee really bad and can remember the feeling of relief you get when you finally do so, take that feeling and mulitply it by 100, and that's how I felt in those moments.
I can illustrate the magnitude of this crisis with one final fact: they drained 1000 cc's of urine from me in the next several minutes. That's a QUART, people! As soon as they did, the contractions stopped, and I was sent upstairs to spend the night in observation. Then next morning, the first nurse who stopped in said, "Oh, you're the one with all the urine last night, huh?"
So, yeah. I'm famous at Albany Medical Center. I probably have the record for Most Pee in a Single Catheterization. (I'm sure there's a plaque up there somewhere.)
And just so you know, all of this is leading somewhere....I'm having a Giveway soon. I'll bet you can't guess what it's for.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Mothers Day Humor
Mom has an excellent sense of humor, but at 80 years of age (next month), not the memory of old, so today, she pulled her notes from her wallet and told this joke.
A Catholic priest, a Baptist minister, and a Jewish rabbi want to see who's best at his job. So they each go into the woods, find a bear, and attempt to convert it. Later, they get together. The priest begins:
"When I found the bear, I read to him from the Catechism and sprinkled him with holy water. Next week is his First Communion!"
"I found a bear by the stream," says the minister, "and preached God's holy word. The bear was so mesmerized that he let me baptize him!"
The both look down at the rabbi, who is lying on a gurney in a body cast. "Looking back," he says, "maybe I shouldn't have started with the circumcision."
Mom said that the first time she heard this joke, she laughed until she cried. May we all still have our senses of humor when we are 80 years old!
P.S. This joke came from from Reader's Digest Magazine (submitted by Mitchell Hauser).
A Catholic priest, a Baptist minister, and a Jewish rabbi want to see who's best at his job. So they each go into the woods, find a bear, and attempt to convert it. Later, they get together. The priest begins:
"When I found the bear, I read to him from the Catechism and sprinkled him with holy water. Next week is his First Communion!"
"I found a bear by the stream," says the minister, "and preached God's holy word. The bear was so mesmerized that he let me baptize him!"
The both look down at the rabbi, who is lying on a gurney in a body cast. "Looking back," he says, "maybe I shouldn't have started with the circumcision."
Mom said that the first time she heard this joke, she laughed until she cried. May we all still have our senses of humor when we are 80 years old!
P.S. This joke came from from Reader's Digest Magazine (submitted by Mitchell Hauser).
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Dear John (Taco John)
I am very, very sorry to be writing this letter; I would rather be talking to you personally, but to "add insult to injury" tonight, you did not answer your phone when I just called, and I am hopping mad! John, when I got food poisoning from Taco Bell years ago, I said goodbye and never looked back. The doctor had told me that loose meat sitting in warmers all day is more likely to develop ecoli than frozen patties, so I decided to avoid fast-food "Mexican." You charmed me, though, John, when you moved to town and I tasted your delicious Potato Ole's. We've been an item ever since. My Honda knows your drive-thru lane like the back of her sport scoop, and I think she whimpered a little when I parked her tonight to go inside and order from the counter. (I had to powder my nose.)
John, Kyle and I walked into your fast foodheaven hell about an hour ago. As we approached the counter, we observed your not-so-busy and a bit sloppy-looking friend (we'll call him "Jim") in the food prep area, texting on his cellphone. The first thing I thought was, "Yikes. I hope he's not making our food." But alas, when the counter person took our order, Jim stuffed his phone in his pocket, stepped up to the taco prep area, and began making our order, with his bare hands. Alarmed, I said, "Um, those better not be my tacos! He was just texting on his phone, and now he's making my food? That's gross. Wait. Maybe those are his?" (I was giving him the benefit of the doubt; it was dinner time. Maybe he was on his break?)
The counter person went back to Jim and said something to him. He slumped off. Returning to us, she assured me, "Yes. Those were for him." A different worker (a teenage girl, also with bare hands) began preparing our order.
I winced, "Wait a second. You don't wear gloves to prepare the food here?!?" She replied,"I know. I thought that was kind of weird too at first, but we have plenty of hand sanitizer back there; we're constantly washing our hands." (Except the guy with the cellphone, apparently.)
At this point, I saw the girl pick up the tacos that Jim had made and prepare to assemble Kyle's Taco Bravo.
"Wait! Wait! She's using the tacos he made! I'm sorry, but that's disgusting! If those were his, why did he leave them there?!" Counter Lady goes back to her and says, "Stop. Make new ones." "Why?" asks the girl, confused.
I'd had enough. "You know what? I'm done. I can't do this. I don't want the food anymore," I said, but Counter Lady placated me, assuring me that, "It's fine. It's fine. She's starting over." Uncharacteristically, I caved, took our order, and left. At least my delicious Potato Ole's were cooked in boiling hot grease and too hot to handle. I was sad about eating my last meal from your place, Taco John, but I knew I couldn't eat there any more after tonight.
Halfway home, I noticed the bag was open. I said to Kyle, "Close the bag; I don't want my Potato Ole's to get cold." He leaned over and looked inside the bag. Guess what?
No Potato Oles.
That was the final hit to our pinata, John. We're through.
Very, Very Sadly,
Mrs.4444
[Update: Here's the response I got from my complaint letter to the Health Department:
John, Kyle and I walked into your fast food
The counter person went back to Jim and said something to him. He slumped off. Returning to us, she assured me, "Yes. Those were for him." A different worker (a teenage girl, also with bare hands) began preparing our order.
I winced, "Wait a second. You don't wear gloves to prepare the food here?!?" She replied,"I know. I thought that was kind of weird too at first, but we have plenty of hand sanitizer back there; we're constantly washing our hands." (Except the guy with the cellphone, apparently.)
At this point, I saw the girl pick up the tacos that Jim had made and prepare to assemble Kyle's Taco Bravo.
"Wait! Wait! She's using the tacos he made! I'm sorry, but that's disgusting! If those were his, why did he leave them there?!" Counter Lady goes back to her and says, "Stop. Make new ones." "Why?" asks the girl, confused.
I'd had enough. "You know what? I'm done. I can't do this. I don't want the food anymore," I said, but Counter Lady placated me, assuring me that, "It's fine. It's fine. She's starting over." Uncharacteristically, I caved, took our order, and left. At least my delicious Potato Ole's were cooked in boiling hot grease and too hot to handle. I was sad about eating my last meal from your place, Taco John, but I knew I couldn't eat there any more after tonight.
Halfway home, I noticed the bag was open. I said to Kyle, "Close the bag; I don't want my Potato Ole's to get cold." He leaned over and looked inside the bag. Guess what?
No Potato Oles.
That was the final hit to our pinata, John. We're through.
Very, Very Sadly,
Mrs.4444
[Update: Here's the response I got from my complaint letter to the Health Department:
Hello Barb,
Thanks for contacting the Brown County Health Department. Food service employees must wear gloves while actually touching ready to eat foods. If they are using utensils, tissues, wrappings etc, they do not need to use gloves. It sounds in this case they should have been using gloves. I will talk to them about this issue.
Once again, thanks for the info.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Friday Fragments
***I had almost 1000 unread posts in my reader on Monday, and I had to just bite the bullet and wipe the slate clean. Now, I'm worried that I will have missed an important post of yours. Please send me a link if you wrote a post recently that is special to you, because I'd really like to read it.***We read a story today about a cognitively disabled man who had a crush from afar on a woman who worked across the street from where he ate breakfast every morning. A student interjected with an epiphany, "So, in other words, disabled people can fall in love, too?" Wow. The light really turned on for that kid, and he's 14. How cool is that?!
***Every time I pass the (busy) intersection of Oneida Street and Marvelle Lane, I am taken back to the hot summer day on which my younger cousin, Beth, reached out and yanked my toob-top down, exposing my boobs to the many passersby. I slapped her across the face. That's all I remember about that. (I'd love to hear more about what compelled her to do that.)
***Coughing and sneezing does a number on the spinal column and muscles of the back. I highly, highly recommend chiropractic adjustment for this.
***There's nothing like coughing and sneezing to remind you of the value of Kegel exercises. There's no chiropractic adjustment for that, I'm pretty sure. (Unless you're married to one, maybe.)
***Unless otherwise inspired, there will be no plogging on Sunday. I'm making the most of my Mothers Day :) Happy Mothers Day to all of you mothers out there, and to those whose Mothers Days are not so happy (for whatever reason), you are in my prayers.
***I can't even finish reading this post for the tears in my eyes, the lump in my throat, and the fact that I have to leave for school, but Charette has written a very moving piece (that's what you call them when they are beyond words), and I highly recommend that you read it. Thank you so much for bringing it to my attention, Charette. You're amazing.
***You may have an old FF link attached to my FF button. Just in case, please make sure your button links to this updated post, please. Love ya!
Got a Friday Fragments post to share? Link up here, and don't forget to visit other fragmenters, too.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Thousand Words Thursday
Every week, Jen offers up a cornucopia of pictures that "speak a thousand words." Here's my offering this week:
I like this photo because it's a contradiction; playful outfit (assembly today) vs. some tough math homework.Twenty-three days left....
Visit Jen for more Thousand Words Thursday pics :)
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Why Mr.4444 often asks me, "What's so funny?"
Lately, I have been very amused by The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks, which posts random signs found in public places. Each sign demonstrates the inappropriate use of quotations marks, and Bethany's commentary consistently cracks me up. (Click on the pics to take you to the posts.)
Which piece of punctuation, when misused, drives you crazy? Bethany also provides links to other blogs that expose the ills of society when it comes to signage. One of my favorites is Passive-Aggressive Notes.
[And I'm sorry for all of my unnecessary exclamation points that I use regularly, but I really am that cheerful, honestly!! (That explains all of my smiley faces, too :) ]
Which piece of punctuation, when misused, drives you crazy? Bethany also provides links to other blogs that expose the ills of society when it comes to signage. One of my favorites is Passive-Aggressive Notes.[And I'm sorry for all of my unnecessary exclamation points that I use regularly, but I really am that cheerful, honestly!! (That explains all of my smiley faces, too :) ]
Monday, May 4, 2009
Money Matters II
I recently posted about the vocabulary of economics and how many of my students know a lot about living in poverty. I identify with these kids, because my family didn't have a lot of money. I did know that we were poor, but I didn't think much of it; it just was what it was.
We bought non-sugared cereal and ate a lot of oatmeal and Cream-of-Wheat for breakfast. Was that so terrible? We drank a powdered milk and a lot of Kool-Aid. We got free lunch at school; I loved it. (Red Velvet cake was my favorite dessert!) For supper, we ate a lot of Hamburger Helper, potatoes, pork chops, homemade pizza, and chicken (all of the parts; not just the breasts that spoiled kids get today (LOL). I still love the occasional HH (Beef Stroganoff is my favorite.) Mom always made sure we ate our vegetables; every dinner table had "something green" on it! :) When I ran away from home one day, the butter and sugar sandwiches I made suited me just fine. [Yes, I was home by dark. Somehow, Mom saying, "Don't forget your toothbrush!" took the wind out of my sails.]
Taking a family to the movies today costs an arm and a leg, but as I recall, movies were much cheaper back in the 70's. We always took a huge paper grocery bag full of popcorn in with us, freshly popped at home. (Ahh....those were the days.) We also enjoyed going to the public library at least a couple of times per week, and we wore out many a Monopoly board playing board games at home. "Michigan Rummy" or "Rummy Royal" was a BIG hit at our house. At the risk of sounding like an old biddy, I'll remind you that kids played together back then; not just side by side, facing a screen. And I believe we learned some life skills while doing so!
All of my clothes (unless I bought them myself) were hand-me-downs or sewn lovingly by Mom. When socks got holes, we sewed them. Lose a button? Here's a needle and thread! See these two little girls wearing summer dresses in Wisconsin, in December?
Do they look any less happy or even aware that other little girls their ages were wearing long sleeved velvet gowns that Christmas? I think not.
I bought my first pair of Levis as a high school junior, having gotten my first real job. I remember feeling very proud to be wearing the fruits of my own labors.
We didn't take family vacations, but I did get to go to Summer Camp (on "scholarship") one year, and we were always welcome to work and save our own money for the things we wanted. (In high school, I earned enough babysitting money to pay for a trip to Alaska to visit my sister, Geri!) I also paid for my first car and for my college education.
My point is that even though we were poor; I really don't think it hurt me, and in fact, I think it built character (there I go, sounding like an old lady again) and made me more appreciate what I have today. If I could go back, I would not have it any other way.
Would you? What was your family's money situation growing up? Is it different for you today? Feel free to offer a link if you've written about this on your own blog.
We bought non-sugared cereal and ate a lot of oatmeal and Cream-of-Wheat for breakfast. Was that so terrible? We drank a powdered milk and a lot of Kool-Aid. We got free lunch at school; I loved it. (Red Velvet cake was my favorite dessert!) For supper, we ate a lot of Hamburger Helper, potatoes, pork chops, homemade pizza, and chicken (all of the parts; not just the breasts that spoiled kids get today (LOL). I still love the occasional HH (Beef Stroganoff is my favorite.) Mom always made sure we ate our vegetables; every dinner table had "something green" on it! :) When I ran away from home one day, the butter and sugar sandwiches I made suited me just fine. [Yes, I was home by dark. Somehow, Mom saying, "Don't forget your toothbrush!" took the wind out of my sails.]
Taking a family to the movies today costs an arm and a leg, but as I recall, movies were much cheaper back in the 70's. We always took a huge paper grocery bag full of popcorn in with us, freshly popped at home. (Ahh....those were the days.) We also enjoyed going to the public library at least a couple of times per week, and we wore out many a Monopoly board playing board games at home. "Michigan Rummy" or "Rummy Royal" was a BIG hit at our house. At the risk of sounding like an old biddy, I'll remind you that kids played together back then; not just side by side, facing a screen. And I believe we learned some life skills while doing so!
All of my clothes (unless I bought them myself) were hand-me-downs or sewn lovingly by Mom. When socks got holes, we sewed them. Lose a button? Here's a needle and thread! See these two little girls wearing summer dresses in Wisconsin, in December?
Do they look any less happy or even aware that other little girls their ages were wearing long sleeved velvet gowns that Christmas? I think not.I bought my first pair of Levis as a high school junior, having gotten my first real job. I remember feeling very proud to be wearing the fruits of my own labors.
We didn't take family vacations, but I did get to go to Summer Camp (on "scholarship") one year, and we were always welcome to work and save our own money for the things we wanted. (In high school, I earned enough babysitting money to pay for a trip to Alaska to visit my sister, Geri!) I also paid for my first car and for my college education.
My point is that even though we were poor; I really don't think it hurt me, and in fact, I think it built character (there I go, sounding like an old lady again) and made me more appreciate what I have today. If I could go back, I would not have it any other way.
Would you? What was your family's money situation growing up? Is it different for you today? Feel free to offer a link if you've written about this on your own blog.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Weekly Winners: Musical Style
Kendall played Mrs. MacAfee in her middle school's production of Bye Bye Birdie this weekend. Here she is with "Mama," played by a very talented young lady who stole the show with her hilarious and enthusiastic portrayal of a mother/martyr who constantly meddles in her son's life.
The MacAfee family....
Isn't our set design crew incredible? This is from "The Telephone Hour" song.
Caden and Logan came to support their favorite cousin.
And finally, remember the "Reely Big Shew?!" (you have to be old enough). I can't say the name of it, because I don't want someone Googling it and finding this post, because I pirated this video. Shhhh!) In the musical, Mr. MacAfee idolizes the host of this show, and in this clip, the family sings about their good fortune; being guests on an upcoming show. (Kendall is the alto voice.)Here's hoping your weekend was musical :)
For more Weekly Winners, visit Lotus, at Sarcastic Mom.
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