Rumble at the choral concert

I finally feel calm enough to write about the "incident" I have been referring to in my past couple posts, plus, most of my friends and co-workers have helped ease my conscience considerably (they're telling me that I am not an evil person.) I am going to try to keep this short, but we shall see…

Last Wednesday was my daughter’s 6th grade choral concert (I found out Monday that her black shoes were too tight and her black Capri pants were a little too short but that’s another story entirely.)

Anyway, we were all dressed and ready to go about 45 minutes ahead of schedule, which is rare, so we thought we should take advantage of this and get to the school early. (The choral concert also includes the band and jazz band performances, and because there are so many kids in the 5th and 6th grades, they do each grades' concert on separate days.)

As we were walking through the parking lot, we passed a sweet mother daughter moment where the mom was giving her daughter a quick hug before the girl ran into the school. But you know the proverb, "Never judge a book by its cover?" Well, this saying played out about five minutes later inside the auditorium.

My husband and I walked into the auditorium and I noticed that we weren’t as early as I thought-there was quite a crowd already seated and as my husband ushered my daughter out towards the music room, he gestured over at some empty seats about three rows from the front on the right side of the room (my daughter assured us that she would be standing on the risers facing this section of the room.)

I walked up to two people on the end of the row and asked if any of the seats next to them were taken. Since they answered "No" I quickly glanced down the row-there were three women sitting at the other end but quite a few empty seats in the middle, so I took my son’s hand and started walking in.

I was just putting my things down when a woman walked up to me and said in a terse tone,

"How many seats do you need?"

Without looking up (I was taking off my son’s coat at the time) I told her I only needed three seats. Her reply was that she needed four but I really wasn’t paying attention to her to realize that she was not happy. Irritated she said,


"Well this isn’t going to work,"

and her tone of voice finally caught my attention and I turned to look at her. Guess who I saw glaring at me? Yep, you guessed it-that same loving woman I saw only five minutes earlier in the parking lot.

I was more than a little startled because I didn’t understand why this woman was still talking to me and why she was angry-the only thing I can say is that it had been a hectic day at work and I had quite a few things on my mind, so the obvious wasn’t obvious. I shrugged my shoulders and started to sit down and that’s when the full fury of this woman was unleashed. She started screaming at me at the top of her lungs saying a lot of things like

"How dare you!" and "Don’t you know that I got here first?" 

and insinuating that I had no moral character whatsoever. (I also want to add that this woman was huge both in height and girth and she was towering over me as she screamed. She also tried to get everyone else to notice my apparent insensibility by addressing the people in the rows around us and wildly waving her arms.)

At this point I looked to my left and noticed that there were only three available seats and the whole scope of this situation hit me at last-this woman was accusing me of stealing seats. A lot started going on in my head at that moment-a part of me wished madly for my husband to get back, a part thought I should get up and get the heck away from this woman, and the other part (the one I am totally baffled by) decided to just stay seated. You see, I am not one to draw attention to myself, and my friends and co-workers all know me as the "peace maker"-I try to get along with everybody. (Okay, I might still argue with my husband but that doesn’t count.)

I anxiously looked over at my son who was staring at this woman open-mouthed, and once again I told myself to get out of there, that any decent mother would leave, but I couldn’t move. I guess I was silently protesting, just sitting staring straight ahead until this woman either hit me (and I really thought she would), we would be asked to leave, or she gave up.

Thankfully she decided to move on, and would you believe that she found four seats together in the front row-right in front of me? She turned around shouting (just like she was on stage),

"Now here are four seats together and these people have no problem with my family sitting here."

She stopped rather abruptly and sat down and I looked to see why-my husband was making his way down the row towards me. He started asking what was going on and I whispered back that apparently I am a seat thief and for him to just sit down. He did so but not without shouting, "Is it that big mouth there?" Let’s just say that if I could have sunk into the floor I would have, and after giving him my death stare he sat down.

I had to watch this woman be-bopping her head during the entire concert, and when my daughter took the stage, I couldn’t see her because this woman’s daughter decided to stand fully turned to face the audience! She smiled at her mother while her mother sang along (I am not exaggerating), and I just hoped for an end to this evening.

My daughter saw my face after the concert and asked what was bothering me, and let’s just say I never walked as fast as I did that night-I just wanted out of there! As we headed for home, I gave a slimmed down version of the "incident"while my husband laughed-he still thinks it’s funny and is now referring to me as "the bruiser." I also covertly asked whether my daughter was friends with the girl who stood in front of her-her response (thankfully) was no, so I am hoping that I will never meet this woman again (at least not until next year’s concert-wish me luck…)

Bad Chi

Have you ever heard someone referring to his or her "chi?" Well, essentially this is the word for life energy, and Chinese philosophy states there is a life force in all things, and it is essential to have a balance of both negative and positive in the body to have good health. You have probably heard of chi, but just don't realize it. In Japan it’s ki, in India it’s Prana, in ancient Egypt it was known as ka, the ancient Greeks called it Puma, Native Americans name it the Great Spirit, Christians call it the Holy Spirit, in Africa it’s known as ashe, and Hawaiians call it mana. Anyway, the Chinese say that if anything affects that balance, you will suffer in terms of health problems and discomfort in your environment.

So why am I quoting Chinese philosophy tonight? Well, I am convinced, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am suffering from the effects of "bad chi." Alright, now I can picture the looks on your faces right now, and a few of you are probably rolling your eyes as you read this-I have not gone off my rocker on this one, and I can prove it.

It all started with a fateful misstep (or two) when I went down to my basement laundry room on July 16. I am thinking that a normal person (a person with a large amount of good chi I’m guessing), would have carried the empty laundry basket with one hand, and grabbed the handrail with the other. Oh, and did I happen to mention that flip-flops, well known for their slippage ability, were also worn that day? And don’t forget the fact that this was the day before we were to leave for vacation… And what about the end result-my Peroneus longus tendon (yes, this name is for real-it's the tendon that runs from the ankle to the side of the foot) was damaged so badly that it tore a piece of my anklebone off. One broken bone plus a badly damaged tendon is equal to wearing a boot until the middle of October, several weeks of physical therapy, and the inability to wear cute shoes or heels! Those of you taller than five feet one (and a half) wouldn’t understand my pain.

And speaking of pain, now I understand why some people say it would have actually been better if I had just broken my anklebone. I still can’t lay my foot on it’s side or place the top of my foot flush with a surface when I kneel down, not to mention the pain from walking, and the doctor said it would be a year before my foot gets back to business as usual-UGH! I need to go shopping for some comfortable, but still hot, flats-is there such a thing? I refuse to wear anything with orthopedic in the name-heck, I don’t plan to wear anything with orthopedic in the name when I’m orthopedic!

Now I know what you’re thinking-this is just one isolated incident, and you are wrong! Like I said, I just got into sort of "regular" shoes a few weeks back, and things were looking good chi wise that is, until the incident of October 24. It was a beautiful Sunday with temperatures in the high 70’s, and we were outside the whole day working on our pumpkins. I had just sat down in a lawn chair and I was enjoying a glass of iced tea when the kids decided to play a game of hide and seek-so far so good, until my husband decided to join in. We had the dog outside with us on a really long lead, and my husband walked over to me and looped the lead around my left wrist-he didn’t want the dog following him as he ran around to the front of the house. The next few moments are still sort of a blur-I remember lifting the glass to my lips as my husband ran off, and then without notice the dog took off running. He pulled my left wrist down onto the arm of the chair, and shattered my iced tea glass.

I vaguely remember my daughter and husband calling out to me, but I just grabbed my wrist and started making my way to the house-I was in that much pain. And since I’m a full-blooded wimp, the tears came down in buckets as my family hovered around me, and then I started laughing-I mean, what the heck was going on here? With a lot of ice and an ace bandage I felt a little better by that evening, and I decided on a wait and see approach before going back to the doctor because frankly this was just a little embarrassing. Things were decidedly worse on Monday, so Tuesday I was back in the doctor’s office at 8:15 AM and scheduled for x-rays.

Well, my good chi and bad chi must be doing battle, because I didn’t break any bones but I still had a nasty wrist sprain-I mean I couldn’t move it up or down or twist it back and forth, so driving was real fun that day. The result of sitting in a lawn chair that wonderful Sunday afternoon-a beautiful wrist splint that I have to wear for two weeks. I have a tentative appointment for a recheck November 10, but already the swelling has gone down and I have been taking the splint off periodically as instructed, and movement is improving. My husband says only I can get injured while sitting in a chair, and he yells, "Don’t hurt yourself," every time I leave the house.

Turkey vultures watching me after the doctors visit

Now those have been my health issues, but what about that "discomfort in my environment" symptom I mentioned earlier? Things at work and the home front are spinning out of control. The kids in my classes have been especially unruly the past few weeks, and I have had to make office referrals for issues relating to immaturity and how many of my students don’t seem to know what is acceptable behavior in the classroom. Were talking incidents involving pretty crude humor that I can’t even write about. All I can say is that my student’s response has been, "I didn't do anything that bad…" And my own kids?  My son is getting reprimanded for calling out and not listening to the teacher, while my daughter is only showing us her good schoolwork-the rest she keeps to herself.

And then there are the daily agitations that seem like bigger problems when they are lumped with all the others. Last night I hit an all time low when I went to the bathroom and saw this after I finished doing you-know-what! I had to carefully tear small bits and hope for the best as I ventured out in the hallway where our linen closet is, and our toilet paper supply…

So here I sit, worried that I still haven’t balanced all my positive and negative parts, and hoping that a co-worker who is experiencing some bad chi right now doesn’t send it back my way-I mean, how much worse can it get? Uh oh, if I knock on fake wood does it still count?

Aw heck, he still loves me...

I promised you a story, so a story is just what you’re going to get. This story takes place on September 7th, Labor Day-we were tackling all those fun jobs that we didn’t get done during the week (laundry, grocery shopping, etc.) I just finished putting the groceries away and I washed my hands in the kitchen sink. I had my engagement ring on and my ruby ring that wraps around my engagement ring (this is what I had requested instead of a regular wedding band), and I was wearing my mother’s ring on the other hand. (These are usually all I wear when it comes to jewelry because they mean the most to me.) Well I hate when I have water trapped under my rings, so I usually take them all off and put them in one of several ring boxes I have scattered around the house, but for some reason I just tucked them in my pants pocket thinking that since I was heading to my bedroom with some laundry, I would just put them away in there. I never made it to my bedroom…My kids started fighting so I broke up the quarrel, sent them both outside, then I headed to the couch for about 20 minutes of R and R-I forgot all about the precious cargo I had tucked away in my pants pocket.

The evening came all to quickly with dinner preparations, showers for the kids, getting ready for school the next day, and our evening story time and there wasn’t any time to think of anything else. Then after the kids finally got to bed, I grabbed my usual seat in front of the computer to check on my favorite blogs and tweet giveaways, still unaware of three very special rings taking up residence in my pants pocket.

I decided to go to bed early that night, but I got caught up in bloggyland, and it was after 10 when I finally got to the bathroom to get ready for bed. I heard a tinkle of metal as I was changing out of my pants, and startled, I reached my fingers into my right pants pocket and pulled out two rings-my engagement ring and my mother’s ring. The pocket is one of those half-pocket deals and I couldn’t put my whole hand in, so I jabbed some more with a few of my fingers but I couldn’t find anything.

I was getting a little worried by now and I was trying to remember if I had actually worn all three rings-maybe I had left the wrap in my jewelry box? I tiptoed into my bedroom because my husband had turned in about twenty minutes earlier, and I started rummaging through my box-no ring. Now I was getting frantic-when had I put those rings in my pocket? I remembered my nap earlier that day and I ran for the sofa-I started stripping all the cushions off and began digging my hands down into the box springs but still no ring. I then grabbed a flashlight and looked under, in, and around the sofa, even pulling it out from the wall as far as I could, but still nothing.

I started to quiver-could I have lost it in the bathroom? I headed back to the bathroom with my flashlight and getting down on my hands and knees I searched through the towel basket, near the garbage can (and in the garbage can), then the floor, and then I stopped and stared at the toilet. Oh no! I couldn’t have…could I?

I ran to the computer and started looking up how to retrieve a ring that gets flushed down the toilet, and there was some hope-if the ring was heavy enough, it just might have gotten caught in the toilet itself, so that was the first place to look. I headed back to my bedroom and touched my husband’s arm and he woke with a start-he might have been sleeping a little more soundly than I thought. There was no easy way to say it so I just came right out and said, "I think I flushed my wedding ring down the toilet." I can’t remember my husband’s exact words, but I do know that the mood was anything but cheery. (By this time it was nearly 11:30 and I had been searching for the ring for over an hour-did I mention that I get up at 5:30 AM and my husband gets up at 6:20 AM?)

Searching a toilet is no easy task-my husband had to disconnect it from the floor, sacrificing the wax seal and bolts that hold it in place, and we had to empty out quite a bit of very murky water that was a color I wish I could forget. And since I was the suspected "dropper" I had to reach my hand up inside the toilet to see if the ring was somewhere inside-let’s just say I wanted to boil my hand and forearm after I was done! But sadly there was no ring, and both of us knew that if the ring had made it out of the toilet, I would never see it again.


My husband wasn’t convinced that I flushed the ring so he too took the flashlight and searched the couch, the kitchen, and then got on his hands and knees in the bathroom. Then he picked up my pants, those dreaded pants without real pockets, and he started feeling around-I assured him that the ring wasn’t there because I searched those pants at least three times. Just then my husband starts poking at the pockets seam. "What’s this?" and he holds up MY RING! The dang thing got pushed down into a space in the pockets seam probably from all my poking, and I started to cry, or maybe wail is the appropriate term, and I grabbed my ring and my husband!

All this time I had been telling myself that we could just get another ring-maybe a plain gold band this time that I could wear without my engagement ring-and everything would be all right. But I got that ring on my wedding day, in a church, in front of 125 people-it was more than just a ring, it was a symbol and a memory that I didn’t want to be without.

The toilet was back together and leaking (of course) by about 12:30 Tuesday morning, and my husband’s emotional response to finding the ring was a mixture of relief and annoyance. In fact, he had to replace the wax ring, the bolts, and the flusher unit, and tighten things up several times over the course of a week to stop the leaking. He and I have also relayed this story to the people we work with-to the women my husband is a hero, but the men all think he was crazy to be messing with a toilet at midnight. My husband is still a little annoyed about the whole thing, but he smiles when he brings it up. And me, well, my knight and shinning armor may not have rode in on a white horse that night, but he saved the day when he chose to straddle a white toilet for the one he loved. I love you honey…
(Oh, and by the way, these pictures are not of my husband, but I thought it was hilarious that this plumber is smiling as he works on a toilet. I wonder what my husband will think?)

Virginia Beach with a Twist: The Accident

This post was supposed to be a review of Virginia Beach, but I decided to break things up a bit and tell you what happened July 16, the day before we were scheduled to leave. My husband was officially off that day to help pack up our van, but he needed to attend a last minute meeting. The kids wanted to get some spending money for our trip so my husband decided they could go with him and I could finish packing the suitcases. And as they were filing out the door, my husband turned to me and said, "This way you can be all alone," and my reply seems somewhat prophetic now-I remember saying that I didn’t want to be alone, and I still wonder why I said that. Now I am convinced that it was a premonition of what would soon follow…

I knew I didn’t have a lot of time, so I was foolishly doing several things at once-packing, laundry, and looking for a receipt (not sure why I was doing this one)-and things were okay until I heard the washing machine shut off. I quickly headed down our basement steps only to charge back up to get a laundry basket. (I usually keep an empty one down there, hmm...) I wanted to hang a few things outside that I wanted to take on our trip, and since it was such a hot day I knew they would dry quickly. Back down the stairs I went carrying the empty laundry basket, but when I mistakenly reached what I thought was the floor, I took a step out in mid air-I went up over the last step of the staircase and down on my left ankle and I eventually ended up on my hands and knees straddling the laundry basket.

Hot pain shot through my foot but since I didn’t hear a crack I didn’t think it was broken. I dumbly sat there on the basement floor trying to rub the pain away, and then reality started to set in-how was I going to get back upstairs? I couldn’t put any weight on my foot and my right knee was missing a teensy bit of skin, so I went up backwards, butt first, then crawled, hopped, and dragged my way around the house in search of my cell phone. I couldn’t get through to my husband’s meeting, so when I finally reached one of the secretaries, I broke down. I’m surprised she could understand me through all my crying and I don’t exactly recall what I did say to her, but she promised to get a message to my husband, and I was still crying when he finally called.

I made myself calm down so I could think about where I last saw my old crutches (um, I had broken this same ankle about 14 years ago on the same staircase, but I was trying to shoo the cat down the stairs when I fell-I hate stairs!) I remembered seeing them in the garage, so I crawled, dragged, then hopped again(there was no way I was going to crawl on that garage floor if I could help it!) until I found the crutches. With these I was at least able to get ready to meet my husband when he got home.

I ended up going to the OSS (Orthopedic and Spine Specialists) because a co-worker of my husband said it would be much faster than the ER at the hospital. Heck, I was checked in, examined, x-rayed, and fitted with a new pair of crutches in exactly an hour-fast service! I saw the emergency care physician and unfortunately she was only looking at my ankle and not my foot. She said it wasn’t broken, just a really bad sprain, and that it would be about four or five days before I could put weight on it. Well, a week and a half later my foot was still swollen and I couldn’t put weight on it. More x-rays Monday revealed a small bone in my foot was broken off when my ligaments in my ankle put pressure there during my fall, so now I'm in a space aged boot for the next four weeks-isn’t it pretty?


My husband wanted to cancel our trip, but I was determined to get to the beach this summer (plus we would lose a pretty hefty deposit!) We decided to rent a wheel chair when we were down there, and since it’s past my bedtime and my foot is throbbing, you will have to wait for that story in a couple days…

Update 7/28:  I am trying to catch up on everyone's blogs a little at a time.  See, I can't sit for very long and my smart phone makes me feel stupid!  Can't wait to catch up!

Date Night Disasters

Why is it that dating my husband is so much harder and involves much more mishap than it was during our pre-marriage days? I’m not saying that our pre-marriage dates were always fantastic because many times they just involved dinner and a movie, but dating my husband takes an extreme amount of effort. You have to decide on the day, arrange for a sitter, plan the outing so that you are not completely exhausted the next day, and the date never seems to live up to all the hype-although it does make for a good blog post…

When my kids were smaller, we didn’t try to go out-with both of us working, the guilt of not being near our kids during our off time was just too much too bear, and we did everything together as a family. Then as our family grew and the kids got older, the stresses of family life and the workday naturally increased so my husband and I tried to incorporate little “breaks” from the kids a few times a year. Yes, you read that right-we still had trouble leaving the kids. We are more relaxed about things now, but both kids are in school so it makes things much easier. Besides, they both cheer when they hear we are leaving them with a sitter.

But while we overcame the leaving part, the actual dating part has, well, been interesting. At first, I chalked up our dating experience as just a case of bad luck-I mean, sometimes things go wrong no matter how much you plan. But then I started noticing a pattern and realized that we must be the ill fated victims of some type of tribal curse that affects only married couples, and we are destined, like in the movie Ground Hog Day, to suffer continued dating disasters.

For instance, let’s look back at when the dates started going sour-my husband and I decided to get a nice dinner and finish our Christmas shopping. I was so looking forward to this but as the date grew closer, and money spent on Christmas gifts started flying through our fingertips, we decided on a sandwich joint instead-we used the fact that we would have more time to shop as a way of softening the disappointment. Things started off well because we were able to get most of what was on our list, but then it was time to eat. We stopped off at a favorite hang out of ours-one we have been to a thousand times-and we ordered our usual choices. But things took a bad turn after I had finished my last bite-I had a peculiar feeling in my stomach. I had eaten more than I usually do so I just thought I was overly full, but oh how wrong I was!

I remember that we were in the car and my husband was relating some story involving something at work, but all my concentration was on the sick feeling in my stomach. I mentioned that I wasn’t feeling very well and may have to use a bathroom, so my husband nonchalantly said I could go at the sitters. That seemed plausible enough until my hands and feet started to itch, and we're not talking a little itch here-I’m saying that if I could have scratched my skin off, I would have done so that night!

I turned the dash light on-I had monster hands and feet, all red and swollen and I had blotches on my face. I remember my husband uttering “whoa” when he snuck a peek at me-I was that hideous. Then the nausea increased and I begged my husband to get me to the nearest bathroom. One of the county parks was nearby so he pulled up close to the public bathrooms, but it was getting dark and the bathroom had no electric lights, so my husband kept his headlights on so that I could find my way to a stall. Let me tell you that these facilities were only one step up from a porta-potty, and the stench alone could have made me wretch, and wretch I did do, several times in a scope of about 20 minutes. By this time my husband’s headlights went out and I had to endure my miserable state in pitch black, but then I heard voices. The parks close and lock their gates at dark, so a park ranger had come by to see what was up, and to make matters worse, we both knew the guy!

After completely emptying my stomach of all of its contents, I tried to feel my way out the door and walk nonchalantly to the car, but the ranger shined his light (he shouldn’t have) before I could crawl back in. We made it to the sitters but my husband went in alone to get the kids. We figured that the restaurant had added something new to the dish and that I had a nasty allergic reaction to whatever it was. A little Benadryl and a good nights rest set everything right again, but like I said before, that one date was the start of a trend!

Now I would be lying if I said that every outing where I was alone with my husband ended badly, because there were a few times this year when both of us were off but the kids had school, and those couple days were wonderful. But these were spontaneous outings, with no planning involved, so they ended much better than anything we ever planned. So I decided to compile a list of all the bad luck that has happened on our dates of late to prove my curse theory:

·At a recent outing, we were forced to entertain a co-worker’s drunken husband.

·We attended an evening wedding that left us wiped out that night and for the rest of the weekend, and I became the designated driver...

·We decided on a new restaurant but had to wait 45 minutes for a table, 30 minutes for our food, and 20 minutes for the check. There were no happy thoughts on the way home.

·I was so excited about meeting my husband at a nearby restaurant-of course traffic was terrible and I was running late. I glanced at a nearby eatery but didn’t see the car in front of me slam on their breaks-I totaled our 6 month old van and got a ticket! My husband met me at the crash site instead and dinner was, um, canceled.

·Before another date my husband and I got into an argument about whether we were going to a movie or just out to eat. Well, we had a bad meal, no movie, and we barely talked the entire time.

So you see, we are cursed and it seems the only sure way to have a good date is to make sure that the date isn’t planned. But with two kids, sports practices, and work, this is next to impossible-were talking the earth-moon-sun angle needs to be 180 degrees with a full moon at midnight… But tell me, has this same blight affected you, or have you mastered “date night” at your house? I sure hope this malady isn’t contagious…

I've got a new hobby

Ah hello world, glad to be back. I know my post tonight is long overdue but I have reasons, good reasons. I injured my hand at work (I’ll save this for when I think it’s funny-it’s not funny yet) so typing has been difficult, although not impossible, and any extra time I may have had in the evenings has been committed to a newfound activity.

This is an actual picture of products from SmartKnit Kids

Things started out so innocently, fueled mainly out of curiosity-Tesa over at 2 Wired 2 Tired had a few unique giveaways this past fall that I took an interest in. One was for socks without seams offered by SmartKnit Kids, for kids who can’t stand seams on their socks, and my daughter is one such kid. (I finally gave up battling her about wearing her socks inside out because she was at least wearing socks!)

Actual Product picture from Healthy Kids

The other giveaway was for a musical hand-washing timer from Healthy Hands, and since everyone was worried about having to battle the big N1H1 virus, I thought this might get my kids washing their hands more often, and better yet, keep all of us from getting sick. I won both giveaways and fortunately (unfortunately?) the products were a hit-my daughter started wearing socks and both kids (and mom) enjoyed boogying down to the musical rendition of Real Gone from the Cars movie every time we washed our hands.

The products were so distinctive that I was hooked-I was just like Pavlov’s dogs, maybe not quite salivating, but just as thrilled at the prospect of winning more and more “stuff.” There was a giveaway for greener cleaning products and everyone needs to be more environmentally conscious so I entered. There was a giveaway for new age defying lotions and creams, and since I need to stop Father Time from marching all over my face, I entered. My closet of late is looking pretty sad since I haven’t added any new spring fashions, so why not enter a few giveaways that not only promise to outfit me in attire that will set me apart, but will also give me a coupon for future purchases? The chore of cooking will become the joy of cooking once I win that new cast iron pan, non-stick skillet, or Le Creuset Cookware. And maybe I would spend more time cleaning if I had the help of new vacuum cleaners or state of the art mops.

I entered over and over again, because at first I wanted more stuff, but now I need more stuff, my kids need more stuff, and my whole family could use more stuff. I mean that’s what makes America great-you can accumulate as much stuff as you want and everyone is ok with it, right? There is no way my sister can live without a stone teething necklace for her daughter, so I must win one for her. And to keep my dog from being the laughing stock of the dog park I just have to enter to win that dog grooming starter kit. Then there are the bellybands that promise you can still wear your normal clothes even if you are five months pregnant-my friend at work undeniably needs this and I am sure she wouldn’t be offended if I won it for her.

But I haven't won anything lately.  My husband claims I have become addicted, but if that’s the case, I am not alone. I googled “addicted to blog giveaways” and blog after blog popped up with blog names claiming the same thing! There are the giveaway addicted blogs, and addicted mommies, then there are other addicts like the yoga addicted blogs, the wrestling addicted, and the lip balm and crazy quilting addicted blogs-a bit bizarre but to each his own.

But an addiction isn’t a good thing-Merriam Webster defines addiction in this way, “to devote or surrender oneself to something habitually or obsessively.” Now while I think I have become somewhat obsessive, I can pass up a giveaway or two, especially if they involve putting my kids in some pretty ugly footwear. And I do recognize the fact that I really don’t need $50 worth of lip balm or a crazy quilt to be happy, even though it may be free. I just need to reign in some of my excitement at actually winning something-I know I must have won something else during my adult life, but the only other thing I can remember winning was a drawing contest in the third grade. So I promise not to live or die based on the latest giveaway, no matter how tempting, and I won’t enter another unless it’s something that will truly make my life easier. (The t-shirt giveaway I entered tonight doesn’t count…)

Lucky Number 7

If you are like the majority of people, there are numbers that mean certain things to you, good or bad, and people have been making these associations since the beginning of time. As I said in an earlier post many people (including me) do not like the number 13-in fact, businesses skip over this number when counting the floors in their building, and I can’t remember when the number 13 adorned a racecar. But the number 7 is a very different story.

If you’re a mathematician, you might like 7 because it is a prime number (a number only divisible by itself and 1) or because you can link a hexagon together 7 different ways. If you’re a chemist, you may relate to 7 as the atomic number of Nitrogen or for the fact that there are 7 rows in the periodic table. If you are into computers, you know that there are 7 layers in the OSI model, and if you are a Christian or Buddhist you relate the number 7 to the 7 virtues that everyone should strive to pattern their lives after. There are also 7 continents, 7 wonders of the world, often 7 spots decorating a ladybug, and for the artist in all of us-7 colors in a rainbow.

I could go on and on listing the significance of this number, but I wouldn’t have room in this one post. Numerology experts’ say that certain numbers follow us through life and are often associated with important dates and events. The reason why I’m bringing the number 7 up in the first place is so that I may tell you how it has a special meaning to me- I was married in the 7th month of the year, on the 27th, and both my kids share the same birth date on the 7th. In everything that I do and will do in the future, these three associations mean the most to me, my two children will always be my greatest achievements, and the number 7 is without a doubt my lucky number.

Nancy at if evolution really works, recently presented me with an award, and even though Nancy didn’t require me to do anything in return, since the number 7 is involved, I couldn’t help myself. The recipient of this award is supposed to list 7 personality traits, so here are mine:

Optimistic: I like to think of myself as a “half-full” type of person, meaning if I see a glass with some liquid refreshment inside (for some reason wine is popping into my head-it was a tough week), I look at that glass as being half full instead of half empty. My husband will say I’m the opposite, but that’s only because he hears me rant and rave about work problems and kid problems, and problems in general.

 Indecisive: I tend to over analyze everything. If I have a problem, I rewind things inside my head over and over again while I try to find a solution, and this need to see every angle often causes added stress and a lack of sleep.

Bossy: I asked my daughter how she would describe me to a friend, and she said that I act like the queen of the house. Well, when it comes to decisions about the kids, I like to think that my husband and I work together, but I think I do lay down the law when it comes to taking care of our house-no one else around here seems to care like I do, but that’s for another post. (*Note to self: never ask your tween daughter for a personality trait after you tell her she can’t do something…)

Extremist: I don’t do anything half way not matter what it is, and this is both a blessing and a curse. Even though I know it would be much simpler to stop at a bakery and order something for my daughter’s Halloween party at school, somehow I find myself in the kitchen after a long day at work rolling out dough to make ghosts-and they can’t be just plain sugar cookie ghosts, they have to be decorated. Let’s just say I worked on them for two days and didn’t get to bed before 11 both nights…

Direct: I am honest almost to a fault-I can’t lie because when I do my left eye twitches! No one else can see it, but I know it’s happening, and although this might seem like a good thing to some, it can cause problems. There is also a thing called “diplomacy” that I often lack. I often tell someone straight out when something is bothering me and I often appreciate when someone does the same, but sometimes a situation is better handled delicately, and I realize this when it’s too late.

Imaginative: I pride myself on having a good imagination because I can visualize the end result, although sometimes I don’t know how I am going to get there.

Unique: This one is from my daughter as well-she’s trying to butter me up now so she can get on my computer, but I’ll take this one anyway. I would like to think that even though there may be someone who resembles me somewhere else in this vast world of ours, there will never be a person who laughs at corny jokes as I do, sneaks up on my daughter to tickle her only when she “least expects it,” and looks at things in the same way. In other words, there will never be another me, and my husband says thank God for that!

Now I am supposed to pass this one off to 7 other people but I'm a little tired right now, and my daughter is bugging me, so I'll save that for later. I hope this gets you thinking about your strengths as well.

Unlucky No. 13

I don’t remember ever having any particular fondness for one number over another, but having the 13th fall on a Friday certainly gives me the willies, and I can blame some of my superstitions about this number from my family. (The Irish are extremely superstitious-I remember my mother running towards me in an intense panic when I opened up an umbrella in the house, and she was near tears when my sister dropped and broke a compact mirror!) Now while I don’t have paraskavedekatriaphobia (phew)-a morose, unreasonable terror of Friday the 13th that about 21 million people in the United States alone are afflicted with, I am not without my qualms when this day is approaching.

No one knows how or why the fear of Friday and the number 13 converged. The Norsemen and Hindus thought it was unlucky for 13 people to gather together, and in Christianity Christ had 13 disciples until one betrayed him. And Friday has been considered unlucky for religious reasons as well-the great flood happened on a Friday, pagan Rome carried out their executions on Friday, and Christ was crucified on Friday. Then there are the unexplainable things that happen on this day, like when a British hospital does a study and finds that admissions to the hospital on Friday the 13th are 52% higher than on any other day. If you put two and two together, you get double the dose of bad luck with Friday the 13th.

According to some, both bad and good happens every day, so if you’re looking for something bad to happen on Friday the 13th, you won’t be disappointed. Well, I had one heck of a Friday the 13th, and be it chance or not, I have just recently calmed down about it thanks in part to having a pretty good day today. Now don’t panic because my family or I did not come to any bodily harm on Friday, but there were more than just a few disconcerting events that took place.

As some of you know, I teach high school, and a day filled with teenagers can be stressful at times, but it isn’t usually normal for an entire class to go bonkers! I had been nervous most of the day, and by 8th period, I seemed to be home free, but then I met with the last class of the day-my broadcasting class. We were finishing the curriculum on interviewing, and I asked the class to write a formal thank you letter to the teacher they interviewed. They were to write a rough draft, then type the letter according to my specifications (I had a layout displayed on my smart board), print it out and give it to me by the end of the period. It was if I had asked them for the world, but I only wanted two lousy paragraphs! I also found out rather quickly that most did not know how to write a formal letter, let alone a formal thank you letter. (I did this when I was in 5th grade!)

They were arguing about why they were to use a colon in the salutation instead of a comma, why they couldn’t indent their paragraphs, and why they had to do this in the first place-because it was the right thing to do didn’t convince them, but because I said so and this is being graded did. I wasn't happy with the final results though-there were many finished papers that still had sincerely on the right side of the page, some didn’t center the letter at all, and there were more than a few that signed their name under their typed name! There is no way I am going to give these to the teachers, so on Monday and Tuesday, much to their delight I’m sure, I am going to teach this bunch how to write both a formal letter and formal thank you letter properly. One step forward, two steps back...

I was glad it was the end of the day and I started getting excited about the weekend-I had rented two movies for my kids this weekend (I did it online at Red Box), and I couldn’t wait to surprise them. I hurried home and waited in our van for their bus-and I waited… The normally prompt bus was almost 10 minutes late, but I didn’t let that phase my mood, especially since my children were running towards me with big smiles on their faces-that is until they stepped into the van! In fact, I could see the scowl start to spread across my daughter’s face the instant she got into her seat.

I immediately gushed about the movies we were picking up, but only my son was as excited as me. My known-to-be-overly-dramatic daughter’s bottom lip started to quiver because she didn’t like either of my movie picks-she wanted that second (and I hope I won’t offend any of you) stupid Tinkerbelle movie. We had seen the first in I guess what is now a series, and I could feel my brain cells drying up as I watched! And the thing is, our movies for movie nights are supposed to appeal to everyone, and watching Tinkerbelle is not something my son wants to do either.

I think I gave some sort of speech about being grateful that I even did things like this and how disappointed I was at her behavior as we drove down the road. My son tried to back me up which led to my daughters yelling at my son and me yelling at her for yelling at him and then telling my son I could handle things. We arrived at the Red Box at our local Walgreen’s, and as I was entering my information into the machine I didn’t notice where my daughter was standing-right smack against the area the movies slide out! I looked up to see one movie trying to come out but her shoulder was blocking it. I quickly moved her away and retrieved the first movie, but the other refused to come out, and the machine wouldn’t take my debit card any more! We had a line forming behind us as I waited for customer service to take my call. The verdict was that the other movie was stuck-Ice Age III, the movie my son has been trying to rent for a few weeks now-and I wouldn’t be charged. Gee, thanks lady.

I looked over and saw my son’s face start to crinkle up, so I told him we would try the grocery store on the way home-and I was bracing myself for a possible ugly scene. Thankfully “his” movie was there, so we rented it quickly, and I decided to head to the deli to pick something out for dinner because I was not going to cook. They say that all’s well that ends well, but as I opened up the right rear door to our van I noticed two huge scrapes from the back bumper all the way to the front-someone or something had scraped the van. I was almost sick because the van is only a couple years old and we had already repaired a ding in the back bumper when I ran into something in the garage!

I got the kids in their seats and they immediately started arguing about I-don’t-no-what, when a call from my husband came in. Do you remember that commercial about Calgon bath beads back in the 80’s? There was a hectic mom about ready to lose it and she says,

“Calgon, take me away.”

The next thing you know she’s in a luxurious bubble bath and there are no kids, no phone, just a tub and millions of bubbles, and this is what I wanted right now.

The evening did get better-the kids stopped fighting, my daughter enjoyed my movie choice, and my husband is pretty sure a grocery cart scraped our van, but unfortunately we didn’t see anything and I’m not even sure it happened on Friday since I hardly ever open up both rear doors. But whether you believe in bad luck being brought on by the evils of Friday the 13th or not, it is Saturday, the 14th, and everything is well. I hope all is well with you too. Goodnight everyone.