have you ever had that happen to you? well, I have, and it makes me mad, sad, but happy (for her, not me) all at the same time.
i miss my friend Ms. New Orleans, but she’s off to the Gulf for a new job and some new fun with her old friends. (sigh.) And honestly, how much time am I going to have to party, anyway? School starts for me three weeks from tomorrow. If I am Gainfully Employed, I’ll start back to that school even sooner. She teaches, too, so we never have any damn time.
and then there are my kids, starting middle school, at a new school (obviously) and the third-grader, and HIS new school, and my husband, who never gets any attention. as a matter of fact, he’s patiently waiting, right over there on the couch, while I finishing type-typing away on this.
anyway. that’s all.
xo
wm
Posted by WackyMommy in Misc. |
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seriously laughing hard over here, me and Wacky Girl, over Celine Dion smacking herself in the chest, like her heart’s stopped and she has to restart it (“My Heart Will Go On” — and on and on and on…), over the promo for Vampires Suck, over Hammer’s pants (I saw Hammer live, actually, man he put on a good show) but especially over this quote:
“I like Madonna, man, she’s alright. She can drop that 50-year-old ass in my lap any day of the week. Hell, yeah! ‘Justify My Love.'” — Sir Mix-A-Lot
(my favorite songs so far: “Jeremy,” “Under the Bridge,” “Sabotage” and, of course, “Waterfalls.”) (Oh, ’90s, you weren’t that long ago, damn. But you really were a million years ago. Love you, Left Eye. R.I.P.)
Steve walked in so we had to rewind it and watch it again.
“Oooooooooooh he hates REM!” (“Losing My Religion”: “Oh Life is bigger It’s bigger than you And you are not me” and to that I say, Thank God.) “The only band he hates worse than REM,” I say, “is… the Replacements!”
Steve: “Naw, I hate U2 worse.” The hit list included “One,” the song that “made them epic!” according to one of the commentators. “I thought Bono’s ego made ’em epic,” Steve said, thoughtfully. Then informs me that (formerly) my man Bono doesn’t like to pay taxes? But he is fond of moving the do-re-mi hither and yon in off-shore accounts.
But all by himself he’s ending world poverty, hunger and bad accessorizing, so I suppose he doesn’t feel the need to pay taxes, hmm? Is any of this true? What is the Internet for, if not to spread vicious rumors about Bono and U4, as their favorite waitress calls them.
More trivia: Did you know that Alanis Morrissette wrote “You Oughta Know” about Uncle Joey from “Full House”?
Also I’d forgotten how much I love “Baby Got Back.” Finally, a ’90s song Stevie and I agree on.
They had lessons at one of the neighborhood high schools, so my mom signed me up. They wouldn’t let the parents in the building. This aggravated her. They yelled at us a lot, then they made us all go off the diving board before we were ready.
“Sink or swim!” — credo of the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s
I was terrified. So they stuck out a long metal pole and told me to hold onto it and jump. I don’t remember what happened after that. I might have drowned for all I know. Oh, wait… here I am. I might have sunk to the bottom like a stone and needed mouth-to-mouth. I might have swam like a fish and learned my side-breathing. Oh, wait… I still can’t stick my face into the water and do the side-breathing and swim laps, no, it freaks me out. I love water aerobics, cuz the ladies all wear funny swim caps and it’s good exercise. I can swim okay, but don’t try getting me near a diving board. Also my dad had a sad, horrible death that involved water and honestly? I am proud of myself for even being near water, alrighty? Alrighty!
I write this today because here is the thing you never find out about parenthood ’til it’s too late — you can really be traumatized by it. Seriously. Both of my kids are swimming great, doing their side-breathing, one of them is flinging her body off the diving board and from the end of the pool into 12-foot water with so much reckless abandon that it takes my breath away. She also got invited into Black Belt Club with taekwondo, which doesn’t mean she’s a black belt yet, but means they want her out there sparring cuz she has that certain je nais se quoi. (And yes I spelled that almost exactly right without even looking. See? Talents of my own.) My reaction to her invite was, Wow, okay, Mommy needs to have a nice stiff drink then we’ll talk about that, okay? (and I wrote out a check to the studio for her sparring gear.) (her teacher: “I’ll custom build it myself, it will rock, she’ll love it.”)
Meanwhile, I’m by the side of the pool, hyperventilating. And when they ask me, after each and every lesson, Mom, did you see that? I’m all, Yes! goodjobsweetieniceworkwhewwwww…
Seriously. Seriously!!! Everything I know about parenting you could stick on the head of a pin and still have room left over for the Pledge of Allegiance.
buh-bye.
— wm
edited later to say: Just had a little chat with my girl.
me: “Black belt does not mean weapons, you know.” (I saw the note on the board at school last night that said, Black belts purchase your swords now!)
Wacky Girl, cheerful and full of glee: “No, but it means you can have weapons.”
You know how parents always sign their kids up for camps, then tell them about it later? “You’re going to zoo camp! It’ll be fun!” etc.? My son just signed all of us up for Pokemon Camp. He’s running it. It’ll be fun!!!
Ooooooh, that Rizzo. (wiping tears from eyes.) I find that pep talk highly… peppy, whether it’s Herb Brooks giving it or Rizzo. And now, an update on grad school:
I’ve been meaning to do my grad work for… 21 years. Since I finished my undergrad work, if you want to get specific. Which I don’t, so let’s move along. I still don’t know if I have a job for next year, but I love working with kids, I love my library work, turns out teaching is a good fit for me. I like the order of it, the volatility and unpredictability of it, the way the kids blossom and grow and it’s like time-lapse photography or something, watching it. It is breath-taking. I don’t like to get into the specifics of it here because you know — it’s my students’ lives we are talking about, I’m just a bit player in their production.
But I will say this — when you can get an entire class of 7th grade boys reading, that is more than just a beautiful thing. That is exquisite, and it makes me feel like a superhero. Like a librarian superhero. And I can say, yes, this is why I’m here.
But I have been working as a classified employee (clerk) and that’s what I’ve done my whole life, pretty much. Gotten paid half as much as everyone else (except the other clerks, and man have we grumbled about it together) for doing the same work. Or sometimes for doing more work, when you run into people who want to lord it over you.
How clever, to wiggle out of work and dump it on someone who makes half as much money as you. What a smart, smart person you are to figure that one out. Yuck.
I finished my grad school application last week and mailed it Monday. Went to an information night at my institution of higher learning (as RSG, my little academic all-star friend, calls it) on Wednesday. Yesterday I took the first of many tests I will have to take on the road to becoming a certified language arts (English) teacher (for middle school/high school), a reading specialist (or English Language Learners specialist) and a media specialist (librarian). It will take me about three years to finish all of that, and I’ll be… (I don’t want to say how old) when I finish. (It’s like Dear Abby used to ask, How old are you going to be if you don’t do it?)
I passed my test. It made me feel like a huge success. This week I have my final interview, and the powers-that-be will decide if this cohort is a good fit for me, if they want me, basically. I think we’re all good, but it’s still a little nerve-wracking. Especially when I think of working part- or full-time, taking care of my own kids and my students, paying some attention to my husband (which I’m sure he would appreciate, occasionally, although he’s not a demanding type of guy), cleaning, cooking… oh, wait. I don’t do much of those last two things, anyway. I think it will be fine, but it does seem a little daunting.
But if I don’t do it? I know right now that I would regret it.
, 
.