Children’s Cautionary Tales: Part I

February 28, 2007

TD’s best friend Katie (my BFF Paige‘s daughter, cooincidentally) rocked the hizzouse with her science fair project this year. After we watched the video I was all, “See, kids?! DO YOU SEE?! THAT’S how you do a science fair project! Good times for ALL!” Of course, now they’re all jazzed up to produce their OWN videos, and will likely give me no rest until I help write, film, and produce them, so thanks a WHOLE LOT, Katie! GOSH!

Oh, I kid. Totally kidding! Kid, kid, kid! I’m a kidder. It’s what I do. So it’s all good.

Anyhoos… Katie’s hypothesis? Well, why don’t I just let her tell you herself… (Gives me time to finish my American Idol recap. SHUT! UP! I can’t help myself! It’s a sickness.)

“This girl ain’t going to be nobody’s bitch…you better recognize!”

February 23, 2007

Gosh. You let down your guard and watch ONE STINKING EPISODE of American Idol (Ladies’ Night! Rock on, my sistahs!) Good LORD those gals can sing… blow it out da box, if you will.

Honestly. Just when I think I’m out, they pull me back in.

Damn it! It’s like I can’t stay away! Or something! Plus, my momma threatened to disown me if I didn’t start recapping the show, so what’cha gonna do?


And so it begins. Yo, yo, yo, dawgs! Bring it ON, America. Bring it ON, Simon Cowell. Bring it ON, my wee Ry-Ry who totally missed his opportunity when he didn’t pick me for the Red Carpet Challenge (your loss, Ryan Seacrest!)


(I’m so ashamed.)


February 22, 2007

When I am sitting under the buzzing fluorescent lights that illuminate my desk in my cramped little cubicle—lights that are just bright enough to light the office without any alleged global warming repercussions, but do absolutely nothing for my complexion, I assure you—my concentration slips away from me, coiled in foggy tendrils of twisty thoughts and worries and wants, and I find myself scooting my chair just a smidge to the left so I can peek my head out of my cubicle and peer through the large window at the end of the long aisle of too many other pasty-faced, fluorescently-lit, cubicle-bound employees.

A small patch of barren trees and grayish blue sky, that’s all I can see—a distant conglomeration of earthy browns and murky oranges and purples—yet it is enough to clear my head and steal my breath because it is just… so real…so genuine… it is!… and mine, that tiny patch of scenery is mine at that very moment, a reservoir of beauty and balmy light to fight the murkiness that clouds my mind. And even though my chest tightens and my breathing shallows, the tendrils of fog loosen and fall away, and right then, right that second, everything seems bright and shiny. Clear. Exhilarating.

I struggle to capture the moment, paint it indelibly in my mind and heart, because deep down I know this is only an ephemeral exhilaration, a momentary thing, and once I look away it will be gone, and I can never get the moment back—not really—because I can never see it exactly the same way again. And even though it was never mine in the first place, it was never mine to take… still, I feel the loss. But it’s worth it, always worth it, because I know that the earth and trees and sky are out there, genuine… beautiful… real… waiting… and if I just hang on a bit longer, I’ll be out there, too.

Lately as the days speed by me in a whirl of obligations and restlessness, and my family time fades into a blur of distant voices and disconnected conversations, I realize I can’t slow down, can’t make time stand still for just… one… second… can’t catch my breath, and I am MISSING THINGS… things like decorating Valentine cookies and training gerbils to run in the hamster ball without leaving poops all over the house and cuddling up in bed with the kiddos to read ghost stories or watch cartoons. And I feel that loss, too.

And while twisty thoughts and worries and wants seem to be clouding my view, I have to believe that the window I am searching for is out there, and that the exhilarating glimpse of clarity I crave is just a scoot away. So I keep looking.

I’ll never stop looking.

Tell me what to do now, ’cause I want you back.

February 20, 2007

Well, this is certainly disheartening… I seem to have misplaced my mad blogging mojo.

Whither hast thou gone, oh mighty mojo o’ bloggafictorious? Whither?

I blame current events.

Honestly. K-Fed ain’t lookin’ so bad now, eh, family courts? Eh?

In other news, I’m pretty sure Friday Night Lights is quickly becoming my latest television obsession. And not just because of Coach Taylor –Hot Bomb Guy! Blown to smithereens! Which totally ruined pink lemonade for me! (AKA: Kyle Chandler)– and his pretty pretty hair, either. Nope. FNL is keeping it real, dawgs. That’s right, y’all. You better recognize.

But whatever. I miss my mojo. 

Kids say the damnedest things…

February 13, 2007

At the end of this last grading quarter, as a treat for good behavior (and to give the teachers extra time to slap together some grades, of course), Hannah’s third-grade class was allowed to watch the movie The Indian in the Cupboard. Her teacher was apparently surprised– and a little embarrassed– to discover that the movie version of the book contained the words “hell” and “damn.”

“Well, the movie was obviously rated PG, wasn’t it?” Ms. H told her giggling class after the movie.

Hannah piped up from her desk, “Oh, that’s okay. My dad is PG-13!”

Next Page »