Mocha Momma

What are you doing here?

2006-05-15T10:31:00.000-05:00

When you know I've got a new address. Don't know what it is? But...but... I thought everyone knew. Mocha's got a new site.

How Sweet It Is

2006-05-13T23:52:00.000-05:00

I finished my very last paper for Prof. Prick this evening and it really was a piece of cake. Quite frankly, I was wanting some cake when I was done. As I closed my laptop before dinner was ready I saw Ken walk in the front door with a shiny packet in his hand. Why are you brining a packet of Pop Tarts in the house? Because! Mason just went out the garage door after I was in the kitchen putting away groceries and I thought that was weird so I followed him. Was he SNEAKING POP TARTS OUT OF THE HOUSE? YES! I actually had to pat him down. We are so rocking at this parenting thing. Because I took that packet of Pop Tarts and ate them right before my dinner.

Drink, Blog & Be Merry...

2006-05-11T22:38:00.000-05:00

...for tomorrow I shall regret drunk blogging. In truth, I assumed it would be hangover blogging, but I'm just going to go with it because I'm still awake, I have a little buzz, and I'M DONE WITH MY STATISTICS FINAL. Something I've just noticed is that I'm back to using capital letters and this is important because I'M DONE WITH MY STATISTICS CLASS. I won't know my grade on the final but I can say this much: I knew more than I thought and some of the answers seemed easy to me (only because of the study guide from about 5 study sessions with class members) which, of course, made me second guess myself and wonder if they were trick questions. Most of them I decided to leave alone and just go with my gut. Speaking of guts... ...mine is aching a little. Could it be the giant daiquri I started to nurse within 3 minutes of arriving at our party destination? I pulled a what-the-heck-I'm-going-for-the-big-kahuna and ordered The Big One. Margarita's not been very nice to me lately and truly it was the prospect of whipped cream that pushed me over to that side. I didn't share the whipped cream. Nope. I didn't. Not even when Tammy leaned in and tried to steal some. Nuh-uh. Ain't happenin'. Tammy is one of my best friends and I talked into this godforsaken program so if she never speaks to me again after we're done...well. It will be all my fault. She has been privately tutoring me in statistics and made me not hate it so much. In return, I proofread all her papers. If I get questions 44-55 right on the final, then I owe it to her. She explained all that hokey stuff to me. Now, since I'm drunk blogging, I'm having trouble with my transitions, but there is some related story to this picture of Carlie who is cuter than any woman with a 2 month old baby ought to be. Not to worry, she's not nursing. But the REALLY GOOD NEWS is that she couldn't finish her daicquri and had to hand it over to Big Momma. It's clear that Big Momma is me. Transitions. Fading. Fast. This is what $155 buys at the salon. Just the hair color and style. Not the cute smile or the cell phone. OR the adorable chicky. It's only fair that I report that I, too, got highlights and a haircut today. So, really, this is what $155 buys at the salon. Two, count 'em, TWO hair appointments. My sweet husband took this picture of us when I returned from the celebration. I say returned like I had anything to do with getting home on my own, but Ken kindly acted as my designated driver. He called me halfway through Daicquri Numero Dos to check on me and then showed up probably to see how I look when I'm not cranky and studying and poking pins into the voodoo doll of Professor Prick. Thus, with a Tums and Ibuprofen and tons of water...I die. Not really. I just go to sleep and dream not of stat... I'm not even gonna finish that stupid word. On another note, Ibuprofen was really hard to spell and I'm still not sure about it.

Know What I'll Be Doing at 5:00 p.m. CST Today?

2006-05-11T12:06:00.000-05:00

Failing my final exam in statistics. Maybe I'll get a C on the test since I've already done the extra credit in anticipation. Know what I'll be doing at 8:00 p.m. CST? Going out for a LARGE GLASS OF SOMETHING ALCOHOLIC with my classmates. Know what you should anticipate in light of these facts? A hangover blog. The probability that this will occur? 100%

Remind Me Again Why I Missed Her

2006-05-09T15:14:00.000-05:00

Not only does she steal this shirt (which belonged to me in college) that is entirely inappropriate to wear WHEN YOUR PARENTS COME TO PICK YOU UP FROM COLLEGE... But she leaves me this note this morning:

Mom, are you going to leave me $ for the hair appt? Love, Mallory (I believe $100 should do it)

I'm Nice, But I'm Not To Be Messed With

2006-05-07T13:24:00.000-05:00

I'm under a little more stress than I realized. Case in point: I try not to tell off perfect strangers as a general rule of thumb. Because, for the most part, I'm NICE. But for Cinco de Mayo I had two girlfriends spend the night (do people still use that term? girlfriends? oh, well - I do) and they are the best kind of overnight guests. They call when they need a place to stay when they come to town and I don't have to clean for them. No special vaccuuming or dusting in their honor. They take me as I am. We decided to go to our favorite Mexican restaurant for great food and even better margaritas and it was CROWDED. More than I have ever seen it. It was also very noisy. The three of us stood together while Ken put in our name to get a table. But it's the crowds that got to me when some girl brushed past me. In a really mean way. "Or," I began in a very loud voice, "you could say 'Excuse me'!" It bears reminding that I'm a teacher. And I teach junior high students who are snarky, evil, and cruel in one moment and sweet, angelic dolls the next. That is to say: I'm fairly acquainted with confrontations. And she was certainly looking for one by bumping into me that way. "I did say excuse me." "Well, it's noisy in here and I didn't hear you." After that, she pointed to her ear, clearly indicating that I must be deaf. She made a face at me that I see all the time with students, though she was probably in her mid 20s. It had "duh" and "whatEVER" written all over it. Due to my educational background, I'm always wanting to teach, and what I wanted to say was, "Well, since I didn't move it is obvious that I didn't hear you. You could have said it again or tapped me on my shoulder to move out of the way for you." Instead, I heard myself yell out, "BITCH!" Ken was walking back over at this point and saw her turn and leave, unwilling to engage anymore with me. "Wow. And you haven't even had a margarita yet."

Using The F-Word For Erin

2006-05-04T22:59:00.000-05:00

Is there anything worse than starting your day with a difficult conversation with a colleague? No. I didn't think so. But let that simmer in your brain for a minute before I continue. You know what? Look at a really cute picture of me in braids while you do it. For some reason, I feel like this will amuse you. There are many reasons why I like this picture that I recently took. First, I've got on my running shoes and shorts and the only time I feel like going running is when I've seen my running shoes and shorts so I keep them in full sight at all times. Second, when I braid my hair like that I have it yanked by my husband or children in a playful way that usually results in a tickling fight. Third, Lola is staring up at me as if to ask, "Am I going on a walk? Am I? Really? Oh, goody! I love walks! Yay! I will poop in someone else's yard. Yay! Can we go now? Now? How about now? NOW?" Finally, I love it because I enjoy playing the piano and it is so pretty. It's prettier than it plays as it's a whole note below where it should be and no amount of tuning will get it back to where it needs to be. Clanging out a terrible rendition of Beethoven's Fur Elise is just about my favorite way to unwind. Especially before I run. I don't know why, but it does. Back to the difficult day story. It was one of those feet-hit-the-floor-and-start-running days where I actually forgot to eat and drink and only realized this when it was past 2:00 and I thought, "Gee. I haven't peed at work yet today." Those are life affirming moments. More importantly, it was a moment in which I realized something that about being a woman and a feminist. I chose this. I wanted it. I worked for it. But first, I had to choose it. I choose to get up and teach and chair a department and educate students and go to classes. I made choices about having children and raising them and making them lunches and sometimes making them buy their lunches from school and rewarding them when they do well in school and watching them play sports. Tonight, while I was doing a presentation in class and turning in some of my papers and taking notes and preparing for a final exam next week, I missed Mason's "Harlem Renaissance Performance" for his 8th grade culminating project. And I feel guilty. He's worked hard at it and I had to miss it. There was NO choice in that unless I wanted to reap the consequences from missing class. This is the post that brought up many of these thoughts and once again reminded me that we gals can't get our shit together long enough to support one another. Like many things I've read of late, it is about feminism and the Queen of Spain has been doing much of the writing. Be sure to read the comments and you'll spot my other favorite F-word. Some days that word flows off my tongue more than it should and I rarely use it in my own writing. However, sometimes it is the mot juste. So while Erin and many other women continue to work-at-home by raising their families I must stand up and applaud them. Every day I see students who raise themselves and a society that points a finger telling them they'd be better off if their mothers were at home. I also applaud the women who work outside the home and raise a family as well, not simply because they have to, but they also choose it. (Especially if they want those little things like HEALTHCARE and FOOD.) Erin, you make my job easier. You already love your children and are doing the best job you can do right now before you send them to me to continue their education. Thank you for that. Part of my days are filled with cleaning or playing the piano or running or tickling my kids or watching a movie with them. Those are the best parts of my day. Not just when I get to do the mothering, but when I get to be a woman. A human. I'll make it to the next event for Mason and hopefully he'll forgive me for missing this event. But I'll be damned if I'll ask for anyone else's forgiveness. Fuck that.

Why Post This One Thing?

2006-05-03T19:32:00.000-05:00

Because she's intelligent, she's pretty, she's amazing, and she's got a kick-ass sense of humor. Most of all, because she's coming home from college on Friday and this picture makes it easier to get through this hellish week.

I'm Pretty Sure My Parents Never Had This Conversation

2006-05-01T19:22:00.000-05:00

Ken: Ok. I'm in the aisle. What kind of tampons do you want? Kelly: What are my options? Where are you? Sam's Club? Ken: Yeah. Tampax has the moisture lock which is always good. Playtex has the plastic applicator. Kelly: Umm... I'm torn. Ken: Or you can go with the Pearl. Tampax Pearl plastic. What makes 'the pearl' the pearl? Kelly: Don't know. Don't care. I'm going with Playtex. Ken: Ok. Regular or super? Kelly: Super. Ken: Ok. 88 ought to do it. Kelly: Great. Ken: So, you're giving up the moisture lock for the plastic applicator. Can you live with that? Kelly: Uh-huh. I think so. Ken: Do you need any pads while I'm here? Kelly: You know what? I'm good.

Do You Need An Excuse?

2006-05-01T16:15:00.000-05:00

Really, if you're going to come here I know you expect to see something new as I'm kind of obsessive that way (read: silly and ridiculous). So, by way of offering you a litany of the growing list of things piling on my head I thought I'd send you to Belinda's place first and then from there you can click on over to Dave's place. Both are fantastic writers, both are hilarious, and both creatively talented in a way that makes me disgustingly jealous. But just in case you need a reason, I'm writing 2 ten-page papers, 3 one-page critique articles on research statistics, and I have a staff-versus-student volleyball game to stretch out for that is taking place tomorrow (a lot of stretching, yes, but have you seen my long old-lady legs?). Am I excused now? Great. I knew you'd understand. You're the best, Internet!

Is This Stealing?

2006-04-28T07:15:00.000-05:00

Should I be offended? Did they steal this from me and forget to give me proper credit? What the hell is this? Check out the second entry down. I'm, ummm... pretty sure it's MINE. Stealing is naughty. Bad. Don't. Do. It.

I'm Rejected

2006-04-27T06:50:00.000-05:00

Club Mom rejected my application to write for them in any capacity, either as a mom or a teacher. Like I had time for that shit anyway. It's funny how no matter how much writing you do it can take one rejection letter to make you question everything you put down on paper (or blog, in this case) and have you wondering just what the hell you thought you were doing applying to a professional place like that. Even this post I question.

Victoria's Keeping Another Secret

2006-04-25T16:17:00.000-05:00

Dear Vicky, Your new swimwear sounds great! It’s always been a dream of mine to maximize my boob potential, so this is what I’ve been waiting for. With all your work in clothing design, I wonder if you have any engineers on staff? Do they help you come up with these ideas or just execute them from the MBA’s you have working on how to market your merchandise? Here’s why I ask: this new swimwear called “The Miracle Bra Swimwear” says that I can wear a push-up on my bikini. You call it “push up swimwear” and promise maximum cleavage enhancement. Now, when I go in the water I can foresee a problem. Since there is buoyancy in water and my boobs end up floating anyway, will the Miracle Bra Swimwear increase the liklihood that I’ll have boobs directly under my chin when I swim? Will they detach completely with the combination of water and Miracle Bra technology so that they swim next to me? Should I teach them the breaststroke if that happens, or is this instinctual? Let me know soon. I’ll need to decide whether or not I keep my breasts close to my body. Thanks so much! Kelly p.s. Do you also make Miracle Bra floaties for the boobs that swim on their own? Just wondering.

Get Your Linkalicious Here

2006-04-23T15:23:00.000-05:00

Surely you got here from there, right? Right. If not, then go back there and don't come over here until you've read what's over there. Explicit instructions, eh? Kenny's new toy. She's soooooooo pretty. He has decided to name her Betty. So he can say such things as, "Hey, honey. I'm going to ride Betty for a while now, ok?" and be really cute and witty. Let me insert a big "HA. HA. HA." right here. And then never again. That "I'm-riding-Betty" schtick didn't last long when a bird shat on her (that's some proper grammar for you folks - and for my mother). Shall we insert another big "HA. HA. HA." here? Yes? Ok. Go for it. While waiting for the drive-in movie to begin, Morgan decided to get all cuddly and give his momma a smooch. Since I love a good cuddle and a smooch, I decided to reciprocate. But something came over me and at the last second I decided to lick his face instead. They made us go to SUV Row and tie our trunks with twine (which they provided - how thoughtful of them!) and we broke out the lawn chairs for the first time this year. Ken requests I don't wear my "colors" to the drive-in again. What's going to happen, Ponyboy? A rumble? Mason is far too cool to leave the vehicle, so had to be coaxed out. Then, he had to be coaxed to take a picture. THEN, he had to be coaxed to PLEASE TAKE ANOTHER PICTURE AND SMILE THIS TIME. Ummmm... not sure he delivered on that last one.

In My Best Princess Voice

2006-04-22T07:41:00.000-05:00

Recently I got an email from a reader who wondered about my 'silliness factor' because he (it is so incredibly important to note that he's a he) said that "girls like [me] who have all that sexiness don't need to be funny." Wow. You think I'm a girl? Writing a blog (as opposed to doing a podcast) sometimes loses something because you can't hear my voice or see my expression or watch me flip you off when you utter such asisine statements. So, in order to fully appreciate the I'm-one-girl-you-don't-want-to-mess-with vibe I'm giving you, Mark, then I want you to imagine a sympathetic, baby-talk, I-do-voice-overs-for-Disney-princesses voice when I say this: "No, honey. The funny is wrapped up in the very sexy which is also very strong from years of weight lifting and very pliable from gymnastics and tae bo whose leg would reach right up and kick your ass." I'm done addressing Mark. It makes me wonder though, has he never heard of Sarah Silverman? So much to teach. So much to teach. The next time I get a chance, I'm buying her "Jesus is Magic" movie because I nearly pissed my pants laughing. Pant-pissing is a high indicator of funny. Not so much sexy, but definitely funny. Speaking of pant-pissing, the following picture is me in all my dorkiness that is simply a way to get you over to the Queen of Spain's site to read all about my winning BlogHer tuition. To wit:Go check out this site to see what all the hoopla is about. And know this: the Queen and I are bringing these tiaras to meet one another. I'm not a bit ashamed to pack it in a suitcase and have the airport personnel open it up in front of other flyers and ask, "Ma'am? Did you plan on using it as a weapon? What are your intentions with this crown?" Because I'm both goofy and royal. This one? This is for all those people who fail to recognize that funny is sexy.

Maybe It's Gas, But...

2006-04-20T15:38:00.000-05:00

...I can't stop freaking out about this statistics class. Every Thursday afternoon it's the same thing: pain, doubling over, slightly agitated. It will be over soon. That's what I keep telling myself. When the deputy superintendent beckons you to a meeting about reading data on your district, you go to it. There's no getting out of it. Ironically, we were reading statistical data on our district and thus began my obsessing about this class that I'm naming this new gray hair for. This week has been phenomenal in terms of work and it won't let up soon as we're in the homestretch of the school year. On Monday when we returned from Spring Break one of our first-year teachers announced in the office, "Only 37 more school days left!" I used to think in those terms, but I have been teaching long enough to know that you pick your battles, and it's not the days that get you, it's something else entirely. I retorted, "That's two full moons of school left." If you work in an industry when the natives get restless during certain times during the month, you'll appreciate that sentiment. My busy time right now comes in the form of testing students on a benchmark we use for reading that gives us a correct-words-per-minute number on a 1-minute timed reading. It's time consuming, but always fun to meet students in a more intimate setting than the classroom. Even the biggest, baddest thugs in the school come to me with their heads lowered and behave well because reading level is personal. They know this. When we began telling them their level in reading there was a shift in ownership of their abilities and they became more responsive. "What? You mean I read at a fourth grade level?!" I'm never thrilled with the passages that we use, but students do try their best and I report back to their teachers about their scores. We had the lovliest volunteers today. Two church-going ladies who belong to the Red Hat Society. One of whom is a former teacher in my building, so it was a homecoming of sorts. She did fine until Bryan walked in. I tried to be available for him, but was with another student at the time, so she took him. I heard him arguing with her about the words and the other lady came over to calm him down and they surrounded him in what I can only describe as a coccoon of love and compassion. He's frustrated that he can't read well and is also quite a handful for any teacher. Even I, Kelly who believes that students should't be removed from the classroom, have removed him before when he deters others from learning. By the time I was finished with my student who was testing (under some stress with the ruckus he was causing) I looked over to see him behaving in a manner quite unlike his normal hyped-up self. And it gave me a much needed reminder about the students who cross my path every day who are difficult, unruly, without boundaries, and downright little shits on a daily basis: Remember to love the little children. It's not the queasy stomach issues, is it? It's that I need to do well to continue my work in education so I can watch what love does to the unloved, so I can refresh my compassion and get a fill-up of love for those who need it. How about a little queasy, gas-inducing mushiness now? Ok. I love Bryan today. I'll remind myself of it again tomorrow.

Best Thing I Heard All Day

2006-04-18T18:00:00.000-05:00

It was one of those days. Upon leaving the house for work I decided to apply the perfume in the car because it would also make the car smell good. I dropped the bottle of EXPENSIVE PERFUME on the front porch where it cracked and spilled all over the place. The bad news is that IT IS EXPENSIVE PERFUME. The good news is that it hit my feet and since I was wearing what I call Smelly Sandals it made my feet smell really good, but it was too much and it gave me a headache. After a long day of meetings I ran into a friend in the parking lot of my final meeting place and we chatted for 45 minutes. After we left the parking lot in our cars she caught up to me at a stoplight and rolled down to window to say, "Look at your calendar and come up with a date for Game Night. It's been too long." I was nodding my head in agreement and before I could answer her she shouted, "Because I crave you." Thanks, Lisa. That was a nice way to spend time sitting at a stoplight.

That Reminds Me...

2006-04-16T19:53:00.000-05:00

There have been some strange events of late that I have to write down before I forget them. First of all, whenever I put on mascara (this is not a picture of me putting on mascara) and I get to my left eye, I sneeze three times in a row. It messes up the mascara and so now I touch my eye in that spot before I put on the makeup. It helps. In a totally unrelated topic, isn't my pumpkin cute? She's back at school now studying to be an interior designer so she can do my whole house. Thank God. That will save me a ton of money. Because private school is expensive. That reminds me: Sasha is studying the same thing. Isn't that right? The first time I went out shooting in the woods with my friend Brent (we shoot while our spouses fish because we reallly don't like fishing and they really don't like shooting) I was following him out in the middle of NOWHERE when I blurted out, "You know, my cityfolk family would just die if they knew I was following a man out in the woods with a bunch of guns that I don't know how to shoot." Fortunately, he laughed. Then he taught me how to shoot and I'm addicted. That reminds me: The only person who ever seemed interested in this is Tom. Can you tell what kind of gun this is? Another strange thing is that there are all these new songs on my iPod that I didn't put on there. My guess is that one of my children is borrowing it when I'm not using it and then putting it back. Since I'm running again I have made a playlist called "Run Your Ass Off" and that inspires me to work up to the 10k I'd like to run this summer. The weirdest song that I listen to that makes me run faster is "Drop It Like It's Hot" by Snoop Dogg. While I'm blasting it and running on the treadmill I try not to mouth the lyrics so people don't think I'm a freak. (That's a picture of me just listening to my iPod. No running involved here.) That reminds me: I'll never be as good as Erica, but I'd love to know the strange songs that get her to run faster. My children respond to the many-sized sticky notes that I put all over the house. For instance, "NO TV" was on there each morning of our Easter Break so they wouldn't overload on the shit that's on there corrupting their little minds when that's clearly my job. When my friends come over they laugh at them because I leave them up for a long time. My favorite way to send a message comes from my friend Monica who wrote this for her son: It's a note I would write AND LAUGH AT THE WHOLE TIME I WAS DOING IT. It's all those boys I have. That reminds me: Jess from Drowning In Kids could benefit from this someday. What do you think, Jess? When Ken first met me he thought it was cool and sexy that I had a tattoo, but now he cringes when I mention getting another one. Last summer 3 girlfriends and I took a vacation in Wisconsin and dared each other (maybe drinking was involved) to get another one. We went to a tattoo parlor and took so long to decide what we wanted that none of us ended up with one. A neighbor girl, Sarah (pictured below) decided to get one after a mission trip to Africa and came over expressly to show me because she know I'd say, "Awwwww, cool!" unlike her mother who would scream her head off. I also told her to please pull her pants out of her ass because it was really bothering me. That reminds me: I wonder if my friend Aafrica, who helps me name appliances and such, would ever get a tattoo. Would you? By far the weirdest thing to happen of late involves my current taste in clothing. It wasn't until recently that I've begun to not only purchase t-shirts with sayings on them, but wearing them as well. The last time that happened was in college when I wore a shirt that said "fuck" in every conceivable way every time my mom came to visit. My friend Roy played rugby and I stole his team shirt that they made on their own (they named themselves the "Leper Whores"), but my own college-aged daughter has recently stolen it from me. Morgan brought me my "Reading Is Sexy" t-shirt the other day and told me to wear it because he heard his father call me sexy. A little weird, yes. That reminds me: I don't know if you've seen Paige's t-shirts, but she's awfully creative with them. I wonder if she carries them in my size and would do a "Blogging Is Sexy" version for me? How about it, Miss Domestic? According to the great and powerful GingaJoy, if I trick people into thinking this was a real post and not a meme, then I've only got one more step to master before becoming a Jedi. Because I just pulled that whole Jedi Mind Trick shit on you. This is a meme and you are considered tagged if you are referenced in this post (except GingaJoy who's already done it). Move along now. These are not the droids you're looking for. Thanks, Elizabeth, for tagging me for the 6 Weird Things.

I'm One Hip Mommy. And I Blog. And I Contradict.

2006-04-14T07:42:00.000-05:00

My lurrrrvely daughter is home from college for Easter and we do everything fast and furious when she's here. A record 5 minutes passed before all three children and I hopped in the mom-mobile (which, I'm proud to say is no longer a mini-van, but a cool, earth-friendly, mini-SUV that gets way better gas mileage) and headed for dinner and the video store. Since the boys don't get to talk to Mallory that much now that she's living in another state, the contest to see who can use 30,000 words in one-sitting is on. Thus, she uses the phrase, "Take a breath, guys. Geez." or she utters the uber-cool lingo of, "Oh, my God. Shut up." (though, to please me, I know she slurs that hard "d" at the end and it comes out "Oh, my Goooaaahhhh.) This is what happens when you save up months of details of your life and try to squeeze it in with your super-cool sister. My boys believe that Mallory is so wonderful that glitter shoots out her ass and that she sleeps with fairies who make her pretty all night long and then she wakes up looking just that amazing. The glitter part is the only thing that's true. Late last night we were both doin' our thang on our respective laptops and I updated her on my blog stuff (though she reads it periodically) and she updated me on her Facebook stuff. "Mom, do you know what BFN is?" "No." "Ha. Uh-huhhhhhhh." Oh, the smugness. The I'm-more-computer-literate-that-you-are. The underlying coolness factor that was coming in to play here. "Oh. Ok. Do you know what G-M-T-A is? No? How about I-M-H-O? Yeah, ok. How about BITE ME? Do you know what that means?" "Ooooookkkkaaaayyyyyyyy, mom." Mom: 1 Mallory: 0 Then, of course, I showed her my newly designed look here on Blogger after having screwed it up all by myself, thank you very much (or TYVM). I've got to stop deconstructing myself in this manner. A very nice person gave me some advice about no longer hand-coding my blogroll and I thought it was a great idea. And then I accidentally deleted that e-mail. And then I decided to write about how hip I am when it comes to all things computer. Again with the deconstruction. So, help me out, dear blogging friends. Because you do not want me to go crazy. Or do you?

Master Morgan Teaches Momma

2006-04-13T09:11:00.000-05:00

Normally my youngest child doesn't try to take advantage of me. But there are some things we've known about this boy since birth. He will be the one who eats us out of house and home. He will be the one who argues with us and tries to get in the last word, even if it is at his own peril. And he will be the one who has the kegger at our house, thus beginning me on my gray-haired journey. Earlier events of this week have proved that I needed to spend some time with my boys in whatever way they needed. For Mason it came in the form of attending his basketball games ("And take lots of pictures, Mom, ok?"). For Morgan it came in the form of taking pictures with my old camera while I took pictures with the new one. I'm fairly embarrassed to tell you which belong to me and which belong to him. Here is the Old State Capitol in downtown Springfield. I love the color of this building and it's no longer a drugstore, but a hoity toity hair salon. It's an Aveda concept salon and I go in there just to inhale the mesmerizing scents it puts off. Across the street is the old law office where Abraham Lincoln practiced. This is, perhaps, the coolest Lincoln picture I've ever seen. It's done on pieces of bread that are wrapped in foil and torched. Finally, a coating of polyurethane goes over the top and then it's adhered with a silicon base. It was done by a high school art student. How cool is that? Then, it was off to the fields and I'm pretty sure you can guess I didn't take this one of myself. Ok, now guess which is mine and which is Morgan's (no cheating scrolling over the pictures and seeing the titles!): I know! It's hard to tell. Especially when we're both getting up close and personal with flowers. He needed a few pointers here and was forced to get them from his very inexperienced mother, but he learned some things which he is now dictating to me to write here:

1. Never shoot into the sun. 2. Get close. It takes a better picture. 3. Go ahead and lay down if you need to. Don't worry. You can wash your clothes later.

I couldn't resist watching him take pictures for the first time with something other than a disposable camera. Or pointing out that my son still doesn't give a crap that his clothes don't match. Part of our time was spent on the golf course and here is where he told me my pants were yellow from the dandelions. It's ok. He says I can wash them later. It was worth it and even fun to roll around in the weeds. But this? This is my reason for living. My grand flower amongst the weeds of life. My Morgan.

When I Screw Up It's Big. Really Big.

2006-04-13T00:21:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure if you felt it, but there was an electricity in the air. The earth's core cracked. There was a definite disturbance in the force, Luke. When it read, "Are you sure you want to make a holy mess and lose all your links and buttons and sink this ship?" I foolishly pushed the button that read "Yes! Screw me over in the most fantastic way possible!" Or something like that. So comments from haloscan.com are gone, but I've reapplied (like what? like lipstick?) and put that back on for the many people who comment without blogger accounts. Then, I tried to recreate (like what? another baby?) my links to the blogs I read. If I've left you off inadvertantly it's because it's past midnight and I'm still sitting here messing around. Let me know, ok? Finally, I screamed aloud, lit a black candle, danced around in my underwear, chanted something unintelligible, flew backwards around the earth (like what? like Superman?) and pleaded, "Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobe. You're my only hope." And now I'm here.

2006-04-12T23:06:00.000-05:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Ummmmm... shit.

2006-04-12T18:41:00.000-05:00

That's not what I meant to do. Damn.

A Pretty Good Day For Me...

2006-04-12T10:10:00.000-05:00

waking up with the windows open and smelling Spring air
having Morgan make me breakfast in bed (thank God for Betty Crocker just-add-water muffins - which you can see he left on the table because actually throwing it away would be silly when mom can do that later)
having my cuppa filled with that nectar from the gods
reading the independant newspaper for some good writing
getting my honey baked ham delivered in time for Easter
and then... finding a present on Jayne

When Morgan took Lola for a walk this morning (while I was cleaning up his grand mess in the kitchen) he picked me some flowers and set them on my laptop knowing I'd probably look there soon. It's a good vacation so far.

Beginning Picture-Taking 101

2006-04-11T08:36:00.000-05:00

My new camera, named Fei (pronounced Fay) by my friend Aafrica, has been good to me so far. I still don't know all Fei can do, but she's patiently letting me push all her buttons and mouth "Whaaaa...?" when something happens. I'm trying my very best to read directions, but I make no promises. When Dennis said to sleep with your camera, I took him seriously. Every night before bed I take her out while sitting in bed and try to learn something new. Now, stop that dirty thought in your mind and look how cute my little Lola is sitting on this luxurious blue blanket which I kick her off of every night. And now, for a profile view. As you may be able to tell, I'm watching Arsenic and Old Lace on the television. And in other news, there were strong winds again this weekend which knocked a branch off one of our huge trees out back. It's kind of hard to see, but there's a missing chunk there. This is an open invitation for our boys to go outside and help dad with the chainsaw. I use the term "help" in the loosest way possible. Most of it was spent with Ken sending them on errands so they'd get away from him. Just in case you can't get a sense of how big this limb is, both of my boys are in the next picture and Mason, my 14 year old, is 6 feet tall. We grow 'em big in the Midwest. 6 feet tall and no damn calf muscles. Geez. Since trees is the theme here, I thought it would be nice to take a picture of these great trees out in the country, but feel like I didn't really capture what I wanted. I was hoping a close-up view would please me, but I'm still not so sure. What is the trick to taking good pictures of all these baby trees? If you have any advice (on cameras and photography only, thank you very much) please share. My children are concerned about my penchant for stopping the car along the road these days to capture pictures (is this some new kind of crazy? sign me up.) but this purple field was just so pretty. Now, the difference you see here is before and after using iPhoto to "enhance" the photograph. It really pops in the second one. I'm certain I got too much sky in this one, but I'm learning. It's another beautiful day in the midwest and we're taking our vacation seriously. This means sleeping late, eating decadent brunches, and going on walks. We'll see what today's walk brings in the way of photography. So stay tuned for more mediocre pictures. Oh. Sleeping with the camera? It's kind of painful when you roll over on it. Get it a bed for itself. Or a camera bag. Duh. edited to add: If you want to see a really cool picture, go visit my friend Jess and check out her flower photo. It's pretty amazing.

Hey, Wind. Catch This.

2006-04-07T16:47:00.000-05:00

I just can't leave well enough alone. Sure, I've posted already today, but I don't want that ranting to be the thing that defines me today. It turned out to be a great day. Three classmates sent encouraging messages to me, the news station came over and did an impromptu interview with me (though my hair looked like a hot mess), and the best of all, I had a phone call from AUSTRALIA wishing me a happy birthday. A friend with whom I've chatted online with for over a year left me a message and it was the best thing I could have come home to today. Thank you Justin and Yvonne for letting me hear your lovely voices (I giggled hearing your cute accents!) and surprising me. I never would have imagined getting that message. It also never occured to me that I'd be so emotionally caught up with your great family just through e-mails and chats and that one time we tried out our microphones. Not to mention that Joe, my darling friend from Amsterdam, sent me an e-card that made me tear up. I adore you, Joe. Adore. So, because my day is getting better, I'm throwing caution to the wind and going out with The Girls. Ok. Just one girl (Becky), but we're meeting a friend that some of you may know. Her name is Margarita and she comes with a sideshot of tequila. Do you know her? Well, we're about to be intimately acquainted as I kick off my vacation the right way.

Feeling Blue. Feeling Dumb.

2006-04-07T08:07:00.000-05:00

So that blogging from a widget thing? Yeah. I'm doing that today. But it will be a sad pathetic post. You are free to leave now. I won't even check my statistics to see if you came by. Really. I won't. It won't hurt my feelings. An Open Letter To Professor Prick: Well, you did it. You made me cry. And you just have no idea how much I hate that. Hate it. You have frustrated me to my breaking point and let me just say: refusing to answer my question last night? You are officially voted off the island. Hell. You are under the island. It's not been a fun thing to obsess about, but I do. I need to feel smart. I need to feel accomplished because there are far too many screw ups I've experienced in my life to fail miserably at this. I know I'm supposed to feel better that my extra credit now gives me a C on that horrid, explosive-diarrhea inducing midterm. But if the final builds on it, then I'm starting out in the hole. No foundation. For the record, when a student asks you to clarify, then you should do that. Don't give me the spiel about thinking about statistics in order to understand it. Teach me. What are you, Professor Harold Hill? Am I supposed to THINK the minuet in G? Will that help me pass? "Mediocrity in education". Huh. That's what we get accused of constantly in the public schools. If I responded the way you did to me last night, I would be fired. Fired. Everyone else in class could see that I looked dubious and, while I don't blame them for not speaking up, I will. But you didn't bother to hear me. That's it. I could go on and on. You suck.

A Family of Firsts

2006-04-05T09:35:00.000-05:00

This may be the first time I've had trouble loading some photos onto Blogger and I hope, for my sake, that I can remedy this soon because most of my ranting and raving at MSN has been because they don't host the photos themselves. It's all about firsts today. NursePam has tagged me (first time she's done that to me) to do my firsts list and I'll get to that in a minute. Right now, I'm reflecting on other "firsts" I've recently experienced. They all happened on Monday and revolved around my birthday since I don't talk to my family on a regular basis (there's no sordid tale there, it's just the way it is). Family conversations:

With my father who called my cell phone four times and left messages like this: "Hey, darlin'. Where are you? I've been calling and... I'm not leaving a message." The one right after that was similiar with a lot of sighing and grunting on his part with, "Ugh.. look..... now I need to talk to you... I'm not leaving a message." Ok, daddy. You've not left me four messages today. Finally, when I talked to him he told me that he and my sister sent me a honey baked ham (which we order every year for Easter) and he chastised me because it hadn't arrived yet. He did remember my birthday, so that was good enough. However, it was the first time I wanted his cable to go out so he doesn't keep watching the Weather Channel and call me 18 times a day to see if I've been hit by a tornado. Geez, Daddy!
With my sister, Erin, who ordered the ham on the credit card that had expired and no one realized this until right before they mailed the ham and put a stop order on it. She called for birthday wishes and said, "Please, tell daddy that the ham arrived tomorrow even if it doesn't. I just can't hear his mouth anymore." I guess he gave her a hard time for that. That first sentence was a first, but the second one she utters all the time.
With my sister, Tracy, who called right before I got in bed and we agreed that a happy birthday was enough and we just didn't want to talk to each other. We were tired. That was a first because she, like me, can talk forever.
With my mother who has been written up at her sucky job for the first time ever. She works for the most ridiculous people and they make her life hell. Who wants to give an administrative assistant a job, eh? I'll post her fabulous resume if I have to. I want her to move closer to me anyway. Now that is the first time in 35 years I've ever uttered those words. Her first for me, however, was that she's noticed a lot of cuss words in my writing. Cuss words. I'm 35 years old, and my wild and crazy, tattooed and nose-pierced, living in full arrested development mode mother thinks I cuss too much. Dig that.

"Firsts"

1. Who was your first prom date? Eric. He had taken my sister to prom the year before. We dated for three years 2. Who were your first roommate(s)? That would be Mallory when I moved a crib into my room after having her. She was my roommate for the remainder of my high school years and then came along with me to college where the two of us lived in the married housing section. It was just the two of us until I met Ken and we moved in together. 3. What alcoholic beverage did you drink the first time you got drunk? Let’s just say that nothing ever good came of this phrase: “You know what will get you f*cked up? Jaggermeister. That sh*t is good.” Suffice to say, it is not. Though I do like it mixed with Red Bull now. But just one glass of it. 4. What was your first job? I worked for my parents who each owned their own printing businesses. We got to run some of the smaller machines, collate, and shrink wrap the paper to be shipped. 5. What was your first car? A 1978 Saab. It was a beauty and a gift, yes a gift from Eric. See why I dated him for three years? 6. When did you go to your first funeral? I was very young, perhaps age7 when Mrs. Martin, the old lady next door died. She had calla lillies around the casket that I thought were beautiful. But to this day, the smell of them make me think of death. I hate them. 7. How old were you when you first moved away from your hometown? 18. I left for college and never went home again, not even for the summer months. 8. Who was your first grade teacher? Sister Geraldine. 9. Where did you go on your first ride on an airplane? From St. Louis to Houston, Texas. 10. When did you sneak out of your house for the first time, who was it with? I refuse to speak his name other than calling him Richard Cranium, but he got me pregnant with Mallory. Let this be a cautionary tale to young girls. 11. Who was your first Best Friend and are you still friends with them? Tess. I am still friends with her and when we speak on the phone it’s like we’re 10 again. Immediate laughter and non-stop talking. It’s pretty fabulous to have that. 12. Where did you live the first time you moved out of your parents' house? After my parents divorced and one of my sisters went to live with my father, my mother took my other sister and moved into a friend’s home until we found a place. At that time, I moved in with a family friends, the Fizers. 13. Who is the first person you call when you have a bad day? My husband, my best friend. 14. Who's wedding were you in the first time you were a bridesmaid/groomsman? Monica, a friend I’ve known for about 10 years asked me to stand up for her when she got married two years ago. I was waiting forever for someone to ask me. I’m sad it took until my 30s to be asked. 15. What is the first thing you do in the morning? Brush my teeth. I refuse to talk until that’s done. Everyone’s grateful, too. 16. What was the first concert you ever went to? Wham! with my mother and aunt. It was an outdoor concert and I was on a high just from the excitement of it all. 17. First tattoo or piercing? Age 19 I got an ankh on my shoulder blade. When I called my mom to tell her (I was terrified) she replied with, “WHAT? I wanted one first!” 18. First celebrity crush? George Michael. Can I pick ‘em or what? 19. Age of first kiss? 11. I had to be forcibly pushed into the kiss by friends, but it was with Chad. I feel crushed that he never liked kissing girls again. He’s gay now. Can I pick ‘em or what? 20. First crush? Kelvin Something-or-other. He liked my sister and I did walkovers and splits on the front lawn to get his attention. It didn’t work. Have you seen my sister? 21. First time you did drugs? I was probably 17 when I smoked from a pipe. Didn’t last long as I can count on one hand how many other times that happened. Can I just tag any new reader? Is that allowed? Will someone flog me for it? Let me know if you do it. The first one to do so gets added to my blogroll.

He Shoots! He SCORES! She Shoots!

2006-04-02T23:51:00.000-05:00

subtitle: Kenny Takes the Hints and Buys Me A Birthday Camera

It's been a long and fabulous weekend. And while I can go on and on about various things (rest assured, I will) I'm just going to mention that my husband ROCKS. To wit: I do believe she is the prettiest camera in the world. Yes. The world. I've had my hands on her all day. Darling husband that I have, he gave me my birthday present early Sunday morning. After that, he gave me the camera. We had lunch with our friends at my favorite Chinese restaurant and then spent the rest of the day in the park taking lots of pictures. We spent some time at the home of some of our friends and I just can't resist Monica's beautiful raspberry wall. It's the only raspberry wall in the room filled with her photographs. She will be my new photography tutor and she'll be cheap. Actually, she'd say she's an amateur, but I learned a lot from her in a short time already. What girl can resist the beauty of a daffodil? (Please, I'm no horticulturalist. It's a daffodil, right?) Or the arches in the park? (Arches, right? I'm mostly familiar with the Golden Arches of McDonald's) Now I know that this is a statue. Just don't ask me who it's supposed to represent. Kenny, my snookums, my cherished husband gave me an amazing gift of spending the day with me and surrounding me by friends and food and laughter. C'mon. You know the new camera is secondary.

The Halftime Update

2006-04-01T17:52:00.000-06:00

Keeping everyone updated (because you are, after all, glued to your seats, right?) about the state of the husband in Operation Remember To Buy A Present, I thought you'd like to know that Ken has left the house exactly once today. It was for two-and-a-half hours. A long time. He had his own debit card with him and he always keeps the checkbook with him (after the Kelly-Can't-Possibly-Pay-Bills-And-Keep-A-Clean-House Fiasco of 2002). That's great news if he's going to purchase something for my birthday. Except... I was with him the entire time. We worked out at the gym, ate lunch with our boys, and filled up my gas tank. On the plus side.... I've been taking pictures and fooling around with things like...

exposure compensation
picture quality
white balance
ISO speed
exposure metering
color mode
focus zone

...and this is what I've come up with. I'm especially pleased with myself because I remembered to enhance the photos and got the lighting I wanted. It's not Ansel Adams worthy, but the results pleased me. Then, I decided to play with tungsten (and define it, and read about it, and it comes down to this: just choose it as a setting and see what you get). A nice blue-hue on the white wall in the background and different undertones in the skin color and hair color. Again, the light was really fun to play with and I'm kicking myself for never figuring this out until now. Update over. Go play with your tungsten.

Subtlety. Not My Bag.

2006-03-31T17:51:00.000-06:00

I've been accused of many things. Half of them are true, the other half help keep the mysterious factor going for me and I'm ok with that. For instance:

I have an average voice. But you don't want me singing karoke unless the evening begins with shots of tequila. Then, I'm really good.
My height is 5'11 and I have a large frame. The truth is I have big bones and big meat wrapped around them bones.
Pantyhose are a bit of an addiction to me and I buy them by the bulk. But I keep the ones with holes around JUST IN CASE.
If it's in my head is is soon to be out of my mouth. Though I couch difficult things with, "Well.......perhaps it's true that...."

Ken and I took a parenting class several years ago that made us do a Love Language test and while we were reporting out our first 2 choices I noticed that all the other women said things like "Words of Encouragement" and "Quality Time." In an effort not to be labeled the Whore of Babylon I lied and said those same things when it was my turn.

Obligatory head nods and smiles all around. The truth? I thought they were imbiciles with the depth of a paper towel but I desperately wanted to fit into this group.

When we got home I burst into a rendition of Yes, My Wife Is Bonkers and spilled my secret to Ken.

"I didn't want to say this but mine were Receiving Gifts and Physical Touch. JUST LIKE THE MEN. They all chose Physical Touch! I like touch! I like presents! BUT THOSE BITCHES WERE SITTING THERE JUDGING ME AND I DIDN'T WANT TO GIVE THEM ANY MORE AMMUNITION."

Ken, for reasons crucial to the sustaining of our marriage, is a patient man whose gifts were Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service. Since the time when I allowed my mouth to puke all of these pieces of information to him I've been honest. Sometimes brutally so, but he always knows where I stand as does anyone within a 40 mile radius.

This might be too loud or construed as whoring myself out or just being greedy, but my birthday is Monday and I'm going to be a number that looks far better after other people's names. Not mine.

Dear Kenny,

You may get me a camera or some jewelry or something electronic and cool/hip. You may not wait until Monday night to say, "Let's go shopping. What do you want?" You must think about all of the clues I've given you, search all of the catalogs lying around the house, or just call my sisters. But you will not screw this up.

I love you, snookums.

Kelly

My Love Affair With Q-Tips

2006-03-30T09:55:00.000-06:00

The last time my husband went to the store (he's in training to be a better househusband and is doing a fabulous job) he bought the cheap brand of cotton swabs. Can you say UNACCEPTABLE? We've all been complaining about how much they suck and how we really need to get to the store to get the name brand. There's a certain crankiness in the air at my house and I do believe it all stems from having ears that aren't properly cleaned. Ear cleaning is an event at our house. Hell, it's an event when we're away from our house. Why is it that every time we go on vacation or to my dad's house for a visit there is an uncontrollable urge to clean our ears? I feel like a crack addict when this happens and I get all jittery and start trying to find a Q-tip immediately. Hence, we've learned to take them with us. Recently, Ken bought The Good Stuff and came downstairs where I was reading my homework and just thrust 2 Q-Tips at me. Thinking they were the crappy kind I just looked at him and raised my eyebrows. "What?" I asked annoyed. "Here. I bought the real ones. Need any?" Perhaps I didn't have to throw the book across the room, but there was some force involved as I grabbed greedily for the Good Stuff and cleaned my ears (whether they needed it or not) and began to moan and sigh. "Hmmmmmm.....ooooohhhhhhh.....aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh. YES." He was walking away but came back to watch this spectacle I was making of myself. "No, no. Keep walking, Ken. I'd like to be alone for a while."

Of Tattoos, Parades, and Hair

2006-03-28T14:37:00.000-06:00

Pay no attention to the zit on his leg, but you may not want to look directly into the eye of Betty, the hot chick displayed in this tattoo. Ten extra credit points for knowing where this is from (prior to further reading). Why would I begin a photo essay with a tattoo on a hairy leg, you ask? Because, it begins the freakish tale I will tell that concluded with a St. Patrick's Day Parade that took place 8 days late due to tornadoes and winter storms in the Springtime. The Midwest is fun, no? Ken and I attended a going away party for Dave and Mary and didn't know anyone there besides....well, Dave and Mary. However, this tattoo made for a great ice breaker. As I was discussing the state of education with a lovely gal named Penny, Ken beckoned me to the kitchen with his jaw open and his eyes wide to say, "Hey, Kelly! Come look at this!" Sometimes, that's followed by someone mooning me, but this was a pleasant surprise. This guy (whose name escapes me because I was so fascinated by ogling his bare leg) was such a fan of The X-Files that he had this forever imprinted on his leg. That was pretty much the highlight of this party, except for the fact that Mary offered to sell me her treadmill and Ken got my hopes up to buy it and then waited until the next day to say we didn't have any room for it. He insists we keep Mallory's room for her even though she lives in it for barely 2 months out of the year. (Dear God, please don't let her read that.) Then we went to the St. Patrick's Day Parade that was so cold IT MADE ME DROP AT LEAST 12 F-BOMBS IN COMPLAINTS. I did get a kick out of this gal who really decked out her golf cart and zoomed through the parade, not stopping to throw beads or candy or anything. Granny had someplace to go. Oh, yeah. This was my adorable hair (not done by me) prior to the parade. I like the hair. I hate the forehead. Officially, this is the First Good Hair Day of 2006. Kind of pathetic it took until March to happen. Luckily, we ran into an old friend of Ken's (Seriously. We ran. It was cold.) and had a blast chatting with him and catching up with the theme of Where Has The Time Gone. Joe was three sheets to the wind by the time we saw him. He got that way from the Pub On Wheels that was the most popular float in all the parade. Can you see it behind him? Here. This is a better picture of it. My hands were nearly frozen and I dropped another F-bomb here: I should at least mention why we go to this parade. Mason plays trumpet for his school band. First chair, too. Think he cares? Not a bit. Doesn't even practice. He's so good it's annoying. For some reason, after a few Guiness, these guys were HILARIOUS. ("Is the plural of Guiness 'Guinessessssess?" note: not the best question to ask when drunk early on a Saturday morning.) By the end, I was beaded up, all cussed out, and my hair was straight. STRAIGHT. And still with the forehead. Geez. But the highlights, they look good, no?

I Thought It Was Funny

2006-03-26T19:48:00.000-06:00

This mutually beneficial relationship I have with my husband is of no use if he doesn't get my funny jokes. This symbiotic affair just won't work if I must explain things to him. He's really cute, though. Sunday's requisite nap was much needed after a depressing weekend of failed exams and too much work to do. Upon waking I reached for my glasses while Ken walked into the bedroom to see if I was up yet. He jumped on the bed and I missed putting them on my face. Instead, they landed directly on my chest and I looked at him sullenly (much as I could 'look' with my terrible eyes) and said, "HA! Look! The hills have eyes." Nothing. Not a snicker. Not even a glance at the glasses sitting on my boobs. Nothing. "Hello? The hills? They have eyes?" Nothing. "It's a movie. In theatres right now?" Nothing. For at least 5 seconds. Then a very lame, "Yeah." It loses something in the translation when I have to tell him it was funny.

Sex Ed Conversations

2006-03-25T10:00:00.000-06:00

I am not to be blamed for the types of conversations that go on in my office, but let me qualify all statements herein: I share an office with two men. Sam and Pat (How ambiguous are those names? You wouldn't know they were men unless I said so.) have their moments where they do some whispering and laughing in that quiet way that says, "Ssshhhhh. Don't let Kelly know what we're talking about." But they include me in the really good conversations and love me forever for introducing them to the sports-bra-bounce-factor video.

As far as relationships go, Pat is happily married and Sam is a recently divorced father of two. See how cute his little boy is? Everytime he comes into the office my face hurts from smiling at him and my ovaries feel a bit pinched in that "Just one more baby" kind of way. I usually come home and ask Ken if we can have one more. He looks at me and dryly asks, "Whose baby did you just sniff?" However, Sam mostly talks to me about the women he dates and asks pertinent questions about what to do in certain situations. Like the latest gal who dumped him in an e-mail. We discussed it and decided Sam needed to take the High Road ("I'm sorry you feel that way... it's too bad... I wish you the best." kind of crap that he didn't really believe, but wanted to look like the good guy here.) When she responded back she felt bad and wanted him back and then HE STARTED TO CAVE.

"Sam! Don't do this! You already said she was just like your ex-wife. C'mon. This is an easy one to figure out, man." "Yeah, but I do like her. We had fun together." "Don't be that guy. Don't shoplift the pootie." "WHAT? I don't think I even know what that means. What does it mean?" "You haven't seen Jerry Maguire? Geez. Do I have to explain everything?" Whereupon, I do explain everything and then Pat walks in mid graphic conversation. Surely Sam and I looked up sheepishly like children caught cussing for the first time and trying out the bad words in various phrases. On another note, Morgan asked me last night about what the term 'rape' means. I couldn't come up with anything that was satisfying his inquisitive albeit immature mind and he kept pressing me. Finally I just tried, "Forcing someone to have sex against their will" and he pushed even further about how you can force sex and when I was just about to answer he switched up on me. "Wait! You know what I want to know?" I begin to pray silently that he wonders how peanut butter is made or how many keys there are on a piano. Something I can be really creative in explaining. "Do all blue sperm have tails, Mommy?" "Blue sperm? OH! You mean a blue sperm whale?" (Thank God! He wants to talk marine biology!) "Well, the blue sperm they always show on our sex ed videos? And are they really blue? And where do they go? What happens to them? I'm talking about sex, Mom. Why are you bringing ocean animals into this?" This is what sex has wrought. I suppose that somehow, in a twisted turn of events of the cosmic universe and the earth spinning off it's axis, I deserve this.

I'll Do Anything For Free Coffee

2006-03-23T21:35:00.000-06:00

Dennis (who is helping me decipher the hidden language of cameras) did a nice thing. A really nice thing. Actually, that's plural, but I won't go into the lurid details. Mostly because it will just gnaw at you NOT to know what those other things are. He referred me to Boca Java to help earn some free coffee and gain more exposure (ummmm... the good kind). Go here to see the sweet things he said about me. It can neither be confirmed nor denied if I blushed upon reading it. But I did so at work just before my officemate Sam walked by my desk after teaching a class. He wanted to show me his new website for his DJ company and we "talked shop" about music for a bit. Where this nostalgia's come from, I don't know, but I've been in the mood for some 80's Rap. So many people complain about music from the 80's, but I have my weakness for it since it's My Era. Lately, I've been listening to Run DMC, Sugar Hill Gang and Eric B and Rakim. When I mentioned a song we'd sing a few lines or he'd find it on his iTunes and play it in the office. Kelly: Oh! You know what I want to hear? I'm in the mood for "If I Ruled the World". Do you know that song? Sam: Kind of. Who sang it? Kelly: Kurtis Blow. Wait... I'm older than you are - do you even know who that is? (Silently hoping he says yes so I don't feel so old.) Sam: Not really. I'm not so much down with C. Blow. (This is him trying to sound cool, a common occurrence.) Kelly: I figured as much. Know how I know this? BECAUSE IT'S K. BLOW. The student has become the master.

Memes All Around

2006-03-21T17:30:00.000-06:00

Tagged by the inimitable and well-read Zeldafitz (who I'm having a blast reading, so check her out) as well as the incredible, boisterous Belinda (who is going to maul me at the BlogHer conference - this is already agreed upon and even encouraged) I must oblige these incredible writers who make a great read. But... ...and this is a big butt, much like my own. They must do mine as well. Are we all set ladies? Wonderful. I Would, If I Could... 3 things you wish for (just for you)

A sabbatical from teaching while in another country. Preferably Portugal.
Substantial-sized, well-decorated loft in a progressive city.
Get my work published on my book on Allen.

3 things you would do to / for youself (if there was no one there to judge you)

Travel the world with my children while I taught them from my own curriculum.
Get hair extensions. Obscenely long.
Take dance lessons again.

3 bad habits you have

Taking advantage of that time of the month.
Making fun of the weddings in Sunday's paper. Every week.
Cracking my knuckles.

3 insecurities you feel

That extra flab I keep around to protect my size 2 body - I don't want it to get scratched. I'm protecting it.
My gummy smile on my crummy face. (Have you seen the size of my forehead? Geez.)
I keep wondering when everyone is going to realize I'm not as smart as I pretend to be.

3 talents / skills you wish you had

Organization and time management.
Playing an instrument like a violin or cello. God, the cello.
The ability to keep my mouth shut at crucial times.

3 things you would do if you had more time

Travel the world, one country per month.
Live on healthy foods, but damnit, it takes time to cut up all those vegetables. I want my diets easy. Like my men.
Take piano lessons again.

3 things that bring you peace / relaxation

Meditation.
Having my hair combed or played with.
Bubble baths with a glass of wine - all at Becky's mansion in her McFabulous bathroom.

3 things that spark your creativity

Other creative people who are ok fulfilling the ideas I come up with; I need the do-ers around me to make them a reality.
Music that is of the utmost original. (Mostly classics or things with intense lyrics.)
Walking through an art gallery or art museum.

I'm tagging anyone with a birthday in the months January through December. Don't let me down, you October people. I'm counting on you.

I've Been Challenged

2006-03-20T17:48:00.000-06:00

My dear sweet Morgan, who is all of 11 and full of himself, has challenged me to a rematch on last night's tickle fight. Morgan: Mom. You think you man enough to take me? Me: What? Are you crazy? I'm like... the TICKLE QUEEN. You want a piece of me? Morgan: No. I want the whole thing. Excuse me. There is some serious tickling that needs to be done. Somebody needs to learn a lesson.

Take That!

2006-03-19T00:42:00.000-06:00

All previous comments are gone, but there is a new system in place. Hopefully, everyone can leave comments, but be nice! I'm tracking your IP address.

2006-03-19T00:15:00.000-06:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

Survey Says!

2006-03-18T17:53:00.000-06:00

In managing two blogs, one dog, one husband, two sons, two teenagers, two college classes, 17 language arts teachers, two master's degrees, 93 close girlfriends, and one burgeoning zit on my chin, I need some feedback. But only on the blog situation. If you point out my zit, I may end up in tears. Here is a question: is anyone reading me who came over from the MSN space I keep? If so, are you able to leave messages here without a Blogger account? A few people are answering over there for the posts here and I tried to set it up so anyone can comment. Here is another question: are there new readers here and can you tell me how you found me here? I'm wondering if Blogger has things like MSN does when it comes to searching for blogs in one place. I'm totally showing how much of a neophyte I am. Maybe if I get enough responses to this little survey, I can determine what to do. Do I leave MSN altogether? (albeit with a forwarding address) Normally, I'm quite decisive about such things, but that zit that's forming is making me second guess myself.

Ooohhh. Even Better.

2006-03-17T12:28:00.000-06:00

mt cutie sent this to me. She so rocks. It's not even funny.

Hooray for Kenny

2006-03-16T21:37:00.000-06:00

He found the link to the Will Smith video for number 10 (see previous post). We're off to boogie in the kitchen now.

The Reluctant Meme

2006-03-16T19:11:00.000-06:00

What better thing to do when starting a new site than to do a meme, right? Right. I thought you'd say that. And just who tagged me? Well, I did, of course. Why are you being so silly about this? So here's my thought: I've done musical memes before because they are, invariably, on every one that I read. I like me some music, but I'm also leery to have anyone know just what I listen to for fear they won't believe me to be quite the refined woman I purport to be. We just can't have that. Put this way, I wouldn't want my Granny listening to me sing the lyrics and shaking my groove thang to these songs. Here is my own made-up meme: Songs I'm Reluctant To Admit Listening To 1. “Encore” by Eminem In my defense, it’s because of a line that resonates with me. It also speaks to race issues and teaching ‘angry teenagers’ has helped me value this song. “Spoke to a generation of angry teenagers whom if it wasn’t for rap to bridge the gap may be raised to be racists. Who may have never got to see our faces grace the cover of Rolling Stone pages . Broke down barries of languages of races.” 2. “Bring Em Out” by T.I. I helped a friend who is a Poms coach and heard this so much that I just started listening to it on my own. Once, when I was running in a developing neighborhood I was jamming to this and looked around to see if any of the construction workers were watching me. I stopped running to dance in the middle of the street. My family’s gonna commit me soon. 3. "Disco Inferno" by 50 Cent Seriously. I know it's got misogynistic overtones. But when he says, "Little mama show me how you move it" there's something in me that tries to show him. 4. "Girlfight" by Brooke Valentine. Should I need to get into an ass-whooping contest someday (yeah, at MY age), I'm going to channel Brooke. Right after my earrings and shoes come off. Uh huh. I'm a Southside Chicago girl now living in the boonies. The 'burbs roll like that once in a while. Straight outta Springfield, yo. 5. "Dirt Off Your Shoulder/Lying From You" by Jay-Z & Linkin Park Let me explain. This appeals to me on many levels. First, because Mason got me into Linkin Park and the lyrics are so sad. When Jay-Z teamed up with them and his "Dirt Off Your Shoulder", well, let's just say the head-banging hard rock and explicit rap appeals to both the black and white parts of me. Even though I never sing the "n" word in the song, I always recite the beginning: "I ordered a frappuccino. Where's my fucking frappuccino?" 6. "I Like To Move It" by Erick Morillo & Sacha Baron Cohen Know why this embarrasses me? Because it's the version from the movie Madagascar. 7. "I'm Not Wearing Underwear Today" sung by Jordan Gelber and Ann Harada It's a 27 second short song from Avenue Q. And most of the time, I sing it directly to Ken. Is it any wonder why he adores me? 8. "Song for the Dumped" by Ben Folds Five Ummmm....I just couldn't sing the lyrics in front of Granny. I just couldn't. 9. "Tyrone" by Erykah Badu Again with the lyrics. But I sent it to my mom on a cd and she thought it was hilarious. And soooooo true. 10. "Apache" by The Sugarhill Gang Can I just tell you that Ken and I dance around the house to this song? On a regular basis? Acting like we're in the music video? If you've seen Will Smith and Alfonso Ribeiro dance to this on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, you'll know exactly how we dance. Your image of me is now shattered. *As always, I don't "tag", but I highly recommend. Especially if you ever want me to do the "Apache" dance in front of you someday. I won't do it unless you do The Reluctant Meme. I'm just that spiteful. Let me know if you do.

You Hungry Yet?

2006-03-15T18:09:00.000-06:00

I learned something new this year. There's a certain date in January that is considered The Worst Day Of The Year. It's at the end of January and they gave three reasons for this:

Christmas Bills finally come in. (Hence, people are depressed.)
There's generally no good weather anywhere in the United States. (Can't see the sun? That's pretty depressing.)
Many people who made New Year's Resolutions to lose weight have given up on them by this time. (DEEE-PRESS-ING)

My diet is going strong. Meaning that I'm still having the same hunger pains I always have and feeding all my stress-related items with a giant cookie or a handful of cocoa puffs. It's time for a change. That change will come in the form of looking at this picture every day until at least 20 pounds are gone. I'll be thin by July. I can just feel it.

You Can Take The Girl Out of the City

2006-03-15T13:46:00.000-06:00

Morgan wanted to know if everything was safe in our house while we were gone during the power outage. Him: "Will people leave our stuff alone, Mommy?" Me: "Of course. They wouldn't dare mess with it. Why do you ask, honey?" Him: "Because. I don't want anyone there." Me: "Sweetheart. You know Mommy would protect you, right?" Him: "Yeah." Me: "And you know that all the evil people know how big and bad your mommy is, right?" Him: "Yeah. That's true. Our stuff is fine." Just in case, however, he questioned how my shot is. I told him it's fine. This is mommying at its very best.

Professor Ken's Lootin' 101

2006-03-14T08:13:00.000-06:00

After posting Sunday night's blog entry (on MSN) I barely pressed the button to “publish” when Morgan said, “Mom. There’s a tornado warning on the tv.” I know enough about them to know a watch just means that conditions are favorable for a tornado and a warning means THERE IS A TORNADO. I turned off the computer, grabbed the phone, the dog, and Morgan and flew into the laundry room where we are to take shelter. It was awfully bad and to make matters worse, Ken and Mason were out in that weather at Mason’s basketball practice. I hate being alone with an ADHD dog and a hyper child. (Scratch that. Reverse it.) Morgan likes to talk a lot anyway, but when you add the fun of a tornado, it makes it worse. Tenfold. I sang him “Chicken Soup with Rice” and other songs that were story-like (they hold his attention and he’s quiet) until it was over. It went on for a solid 45 minutes of lightening, strong winds, and hail. When we were all home and safe and accounted for, we found candles, kerosene lanterns, flashlights and started busying ourselves but Ken wanted to hear the news so he sat in the car listening. It hit in front of one of the Wal-Mart stores and near Best Buy. He said there was produce everywhere, power lines down, and a general wreck in front of those stores. “Hey. Wanna go lootin’?” I joked. “Don’t think I didn’t consider getting one of those flat-screens we were looking at yesterday.” “Uh uh. I want a new digital camera!” I whined. “There’re cops everywhere in front of Best Buy,” he replied. “You couldn’t get a tv out anyway. Too big. I want the Canon Digital Rebel XT or the D70 by Nikon,” I continued joking. “You can’t be specific when you’re stealing, Kelly. You really don’t know how this looting works.”

Leaving Love Notes

2006-03-12T17:46:00.000-06:00

Poor Ken. He's been sick for a week and I'm convinced it's a case of mono so I've badgered him enough to get tested for it tomorrow. In the meantime, some things concerning one Miss Angelina Jolie have been occurring in my house. Much to my detriment. It's my own fault, too. I've talked about her, read about her (spent a lot of time in waiting rooms with magazines this week), and downloaded her episode on Inside the Actor's Studio. In short: she's my new obsession. Joking with Ken I reminded him that he is never, and I mean NEVER to see that gorgeous babe in Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Since Mallory is home and wishes to join in my suffering of living in a world that would create such a creature as Angelina, she rented it at the video store for him to watch WHILE HE WAS HOME SICK. I took matters into my own hands before leaving for work and left these messages for my darling husband, the one whom has promised to cherish me until death parts us. (Because, after that, you know, it's useless.) My intention was to be creative in my pursuit to get him not to watch it. I'm also addicted to Post-It notes. For the most part it worked. He slept all day Friday and didn't have the energy to make it downstairs to watch it. When I came home from work he got up, had something to eat and then began to feel better. Just better enough to watch the movie in front of me while I was home. I have a serious case of Middle Child Syndrome and it reared it's ugly head after listening to THE ENTIRE FAMILY HAVING A GREAT TIME WATCHING THAT MOVIE. While I could blame just about any one of them, I blamed Mallory the most for renting the very movie I said not to rent. It just so happened that I didn't eat lunch on Friday from working too hard and overscheduling myself. I was awfully hungry. I mean super hungry. In the fridge I found this: The pad thai with chicken was delicious. All of my limbs are still intact.

Thinking and Speaking

2006-03-11T12:00:00.000-06:00

At the Mocha household we are all getting quite a kick out of Cheerleader Girl, and it just gets funnier and funnier. It's the petty side of me that can't quite contain itself when I'm being silly and pre-menstrual all at once. This morning, while watching VH-1's Best Week Ever (which I never miss because I simply don't have time to watch the real news) we saw it YET AGAIN. We hope her "week" ends soon because I just can't take the looks my children are giving me while continuing to make fun of the whole thing. Except, it's nice when they say something stupid from time to time. Mason shook his head and looked incredulously at the screen and said, "They said that like 5 cheerleaders every year die from accidents like this and you don't see them interviewing them." We are so proud. After Ken and I exchanged "huh" glances, we questioned whether or not Mason had fallen on his head one too many times as a baby.

15 Minutes of Flop

2006-03-08T15:40:00.000-06:00

I'm not one to be bitchy. Ok. Yes, I am. But more than that, I'm one to tell it like it is when other people just aren't getting it right. My daughter went to high school with the gal who landed on her head during the SIU basketball game from a 15-foot pyramid the other day. We were shocked to see the footage, and when Mallory came home for her college Spring Break yesterday we kind of laughed about how weird it was that we knew this girl. Our local paper began one of the sentences in the story devoted to her this way, "Always the team player..." I asked Mallory if this was the same gal on her Pom Squad in high school who got kicked off for failing to do what was asked of her. "Uhhhh.... yeah!" "And wasn't she the one who wouldn't dress in her uniform and do the spirit sales with us for the City Tournament? Didn't she get taken off the team and pulled to the side for her lack of team spirit?" "Yep. That would be the one." I'm just saying. I like the set the record straight is all. Of course, if she were really hurt, I wouldn't be so petty about the whole thing. Glad you're doing well, Kristi! Really, I am. If you could see me, I'm doing a whole routine and everything for you.

This Is Why Ken Loves Me

2006-03-06T19:31:00.000-06:00

We had a holiday from school today. It's Casmir Pulaski Day, but if you quizzed me I'd surely fail as I only know he was Polish. Maybe a general in a war. I suck as a teacher, but we downstate Illinoisans attribute the day off to the people in Chicago. He meant something to them as Pulaski is also the name of a street up there. I'm not quite off the hook here, though. I did grow up in Chicago. The day was spent reading articles for class, cleaning up, watching Inside the Actor's Studio (Morgan Freeman and Angelina Jolie) and napping. Obligatory blog-surfing is a given as I do that every day and found something hilarious over at Melissa's place. I'm so seriously in love with Melissa's writing that I created a TypePad account to leave comments. She's a breath of fresh air. Her post was about men who blog, specifically dads, but I was astounded by this. In fact, I'm not going to say what I did, but I'll admit this: when Ken came home from work, he did THE SAME EXACT THING. There's no need to explain, but if you go there I almost guarantee you'll do it, too. I'm convinced that our taste for the inane is what will make the marriage last.

Chapping My Ass

2006-03-05T16:25:00.000-06:00

First, Crap on the Radio Recently, on my other blog, I've addressed Nelly and his foolish influence on the very students I teach, but where before I was simply 'irked', today it is totally chapping my ass. The uber-ridiculous piece of drivel currently playing on the radio "I'm N Luv (Wit a Stripper)" by T-Pain and Mike Jones makes me wanna holler. What is this asinine competition women face? However, I can help but feel duped by it because it's set against the backdrop of ballad music that would normally make me sway a bit if I heard it while trying on a new pair of shoes in some hip shop. Matters of the prurient nature often appeal to the masses, but really... this? Who can compete with a stripper or a porn star, for that matter? What woman needs another comparison? Measuring ourselves against the Kegal Bar wasn't enough with the introduction of the MILF? Then, The Writing I don't suppose I would posit myself with the term I hear often lately, 'mommyblogging.' It's not that I don't write about my children. I do. I also write about education and the wonderful women friends I have and my marriage. Can I just say that I write? There are women, mothers specifically, who write. They write. That's what they do. They're also doing the most important job they will ever have. A radical political statement? Not at all. But some people, are attempting to align them all together so that they can point at them with critical, gnarly fingers simply to say, "Look at these stupid women. Always competing. Always trying to win." Rebecca Eckler calls it "competitive parenting." Cue the fantasy in my head: It's a dreary day in Toronto. Rebecca is gazing lovingly at the photo of her daughter. She's biting her nails in anticipation of what her next story will be. In walks her editor, handing her a scrap of paper with the scribbled words "mommy blogger" on it. Rebecca sighs, knowing if she doesn't produce a tartly delivered entry on it, she won't be asked to do the Big Assignments again. Oh, Rebecca. Get out there and don't just read the writing from these women. Appreciate them. Support them. Your job is safe from them. They want to work from home and they're doing that quite nicely, thank you very much. You're safe, girlfriend. Ok. Now You've Gone Too Far. Tonight's Academy Awards have some excellent smaller, independent films up for their props, but what does my Sunday newspaper insert have on the cover? All the women. None of the men. We want some good old fashioned Girl Fight Bitchiness, right? There's nothing like a Girl Fight!

"One of these five actresses will hoist an Academy Award tonight. (And who would you pick?)"

Where are the men? Oh, that's right. Joaquin Phoenix got the in-depth interview on the inside. The article that people take seriously. That front cover is merely there so when the camera pans the audience and we see them in their gowns we can look past the craft these women hone in their art and check for their claws underneath their clenched purses. We'll remember we saw these competitive women on the cover and say, "You know who I want to see in the mud? Reese and Charlize. That would be hott." Well, only if you're a strip club connoisseur. Or a hipster journalist. Or if your father owns a hotel empire. But only those.

I Love Widgets. That's Not a Dirty Thought, Either.

2006-03-04T23:22:00.000-06:00

They tell me I can blog from my dashboard widgets on my laptop. I'm not sure I believe this, so I'm testing it out with this very post. We'll see just how much love Jayne will be getting from me if this works. Of course, this is going to make blogging much easier since I have my widgets opened in a matter of seconds. There's no wait time for a browser to open (side note: Safari sucks for this, but Firefox is my new best friend), to sign in, and to click any other buttons. Does this make me a blogger-widget-publishing dilettante?

This Could Ruin The Friendship

2006-03-04T22:49:00.000-06:00

Because she's much cuter than I want her to be. Carmen, you are henceforth ordered to stop being so photogenic. Otherwise, I won't be able to hang out with you. Ummm...see any pictures of me from Becky's party? I think not. Actually, you are a party waiting to happen. All the time. Quite frankly, you make me tired.

Putting On My Big Girl Panties

2006-03-04T07:22:00.000-06:00

All I was trying to do was support my friend. That's it. Just support her. Send her a lovely little comment. Then they go and ask me for an account. It's important for me to leave this comment, so I signed up for one. The next thing I know, there's a whole new blog created for me. LIKE I NEEDED ONE MORE. It's time to work on that one. It's time to put on my big girl panties and get on with it.