11 More and Counting

With the official start of high school only days away, I can only say HAHAHAHAHA!!!
Really.
Well, not really.
Yesterday, Monkeyboy had to go to school to pick up his books. He also had to pick up a new copy of his schedule? Why, you ask? BECAUSE HE ALREADY LOST THE ONE THEY GAVE HIM.
I am not making that up.
Already.
So, I dropped him off and told him he was on his own and well, that he needed to be more organized. I figured it would take him about two hours to get a new copy of his schedule and stand in line for his books. Maybe he would even get a lecture for losing his schedule. I do believe he looked so pitiful some poor unsuspecting school employee felt sorry for him and didn't give him the lecture I was hoping for. At all. He even managed to get a new copy of his schedule and his books in under an hour. This I considered to be a small miracle and murphy messing with my head.
Then last night, we had to attend the school's open house. They do this whole attend each of your child's classes for 10 minutes, get the quick version of the class overview and if your lucky, and we were in 6 out of 7 classes, the supply list, and then it is on to the next class. Which, by the way, you have five minutes to get to. For students in grades 10-12, this is not a problem. But for the new 9th graders, it is a bit chaotic. And did I mention that all 9-12 grade classes were there with their parents?
Ummm...yeah, I was feeling a little like a sardine, thanks for asking.
Seriously, I kind of liked the idea of open house before all the chaos of school starts. Especially for those of us with multiple children, in more than one school and trying to work around everyone's schedule. This was way easier. I just didn't like all the people and the confusion. However, I did realize several things about high school and the Monkeyboy.
First, the boy cannot read a map to save his life.  Before we got to the school, I handed him his school map and his schedule and had him map our course on the way to the open house. This was not as effective as I had hoped. Many a time, we walked back and forth as the Monkeyboy tried to figure out where we were going. If I was like 20 and had not been up since 5:30 am this would not have been a problem. However, since I am 39 and  overweight, my short, stubby legs do not move all that quickly anymore. Especially not when moving in a herd-know what I'm saying? The only thing that saved us was his math teacher was not at the open house so we had an extra 10 minutes to find his Biology class. AND let me tell you, that was a good thing or we would have missed the Biology class introduction entirely.
Another thing I realized is that I will have to school-ha, ha, get it, school?-my son in the art of organization. This is a skill we have been working on since middle school and the time has come for him to actually utilize those skills. So, Monkeyboy decided on a planner, properly marking his folders, binders and notebooks and promised to actually put his papers in the appropriate spot. Was he placating me? Most definitely, but as long as I provide the tools, he already has the skills, now the time has come to apply them. Not my problem-my job is done.
Please say a prayer for me him now.
Because after sitting in his classes and listening to his teachers discuss the courses and all the projects and assignments the kids would be required to do, I was a little overwhelmed-yes, I-about the workload. And then the most brilliant thought popped into my head.
They. were. not. my. classes.
And I chuckled.
I already did my time.
I think it was when we were walking in circles and almost late to Biology, even though we had an extra 10 minutes to get there (yep, saying it again), that I mentioned to the Monkeyboy the possibility of roller skates or learning how to teleport himself from class to class.
Or Map Reading 101.
He laughed.
I was not joking.
The thing is, I went to high school and I clearly remember having more than 5 minutes to get from class to class. I think it was like 10 minutes because I always had time to chat with my friends and never got a detention for being late.
Apparently, times have changed.
Being a 9th grader, Monkeyboy has gym this year. They have this weird rotation schedule where they drop a class and add another-it's a bit confusing. So some days, Monkeyboy will have gym mixed into his day and every once in a while, as the last period of the day.
I am not looking forward to this at all. Mainly due to the fact we live in South Florida and it is Africa-like hot here all the time, well except from December to February. Thus, the stink factor comes into play and well, I gotta ride home in the car with him. I am not all that down with that. I am thinking some Lysol and Febreeze will be needed for the car ride home on those days. I may also need to invest in some nose plugs.
Just sayin'. 
Sooooo, after spending two hours running all around the Monkeyboy's new high school, I was exhausted. It's been 22 years since I graduated from high school and had to run to get to my classes. Heck, even in college I built nap time into my schedule so there was no rushing to get to class. Just a slow mosey.
The good news is I only have 11 more high school open houses to attend in the next ten years when all three of my children will be graduated. Somewhere along the line, I may need to acquire one of those electric carts and a handicap sticker because let's face it, I am not getting any younger and those stairs kicked my butt.

And So It Begins

Monkeyboy begins his high school career tomorrow.
Sort of.
He has to go to get orientated.
The school calls it "Freshman Camp" but really, it is a somewhat creative way of saying orientation so the kids and the parents don't blow it off. For Monkeyboy, that's code to check out the girls, mingle a bit and check out where the lunchroom is.
It is so weird to say that I am the mom of a high schooler. I do believe I was just cruising with my friends, listening to the Beastie Boys and going to football games.
Really, like last week.
Last year.
Or maybe it was 23 years ago.
Last week, last year, 23 years ago-math was never my strongest subject.
In case you were wondering.
I'm kinda nervous about tomorrow. I had such a hard time in high school. I was shy, a chorus geek and  not all that cool. Monkeyboy is a lot like me. Hopefully, this is where the qualities he has like Mike will suddenly pop out and make him way more cool than I was.
He, however, is unfazed.
It's a mom thing I guess.
The downside is they do not give them their schedules until next week.  This does not make a whole lot of sense to me since they will be the only group at the school and it would be easier to get them acclimated before all the other kids are there and are adding to the chaos.
Know what I'm saying?
Incidentally, the same day he picks up his schedule, he picks ups his books. This also happens to be the same day as the open house for the parents. Well, and the kids. They get to come with us, find their classes and meet their teachers. I can hardly wait.
And so begins a pivotal school year for the Monkeyboy and another year of schlepping the kids to and from school for me.
Truthfully, I am not ready to let go of summer yet. I love having the kids home, enjoy the relaxing pajama-filled days of summer when we have nowhere to go and no homework to do and the sleeping in.  For the last eight years we have been spoiled. All through elementary and middle school, we enjoyed a late start to the school day. Now that the Monkeyboy starts at the crack of o'dark thirty, his days, and most importantly, MY days are going to begin way earlier than I care for them to. I am thinking I may have to invest in one of those medication pumps that hook to an IV so I can fill it with Diet Coke and start my caffeine drip before my feet touch the floor. 
What do you think?

Passion Quest Part 2

On my birthday last year, I wrote about how I would be “true” to myself and not so fearful. I wrote about passion and how I was on a quest to find my passion or whatever that meant. I wasn’t sure how to go about finding that passion and spent many months obsessing about it. I read self-help books, meditated, mulled and grappled with so many thoughts and feelings that at times, I felt as if my head would explode. Frustrated, I stopped blogging, became more irritable and more than a little depressed. It seemed that everyone around me KNEW what they wanted to do and I was still floundering.
In January, I started journaling to pass the time during my daughter’s weekly tutoring session. Although only once a week, it seemed that during that hour, I had a lot to say. I wrote page after page and was always surprised when the hour ended. In those entries, I complained, I whined, I ranted, I raved and surprisingly, I opened up. I gave myself permission to just write. In those first few entries, the writing was stream-of-conscious, very ADD-like and riddled with fear. As I forced myself to write, I noticed that the voices in my head were not so loud and obnoxious. At times, they were actually controllable and did not enable what I like to refer to as “the resistance.” Fear and the voices were powerful forces, yet I was able to block them out and keep writing.
At the advice of my friend, Crafty Mama, I continued reading, writing and began taking some art and writing classes to jumpstart my creativity. It was both overwhelming and exhilarating. My art class paralyzed me because the students had real artistic talent. My skills leaned towards collaging with paint, pictures, and writing.
Artistic?
Yes, but not exactly the same thing as painting a portrait or a landscape. And even though my skills were not in line with those in the class, I learned so much about the process of creating art.
In my writing classes, many of the students were writers of fiction whereas, I was a writer of nonfiction and a blogger. My skill was in the facts and presenting those facts as humorously as possible. Reading the assignments others posted made me feel insecure about my fiction writing ability, or lack thereof. I decided to stick with what I knew, blogging and nonfiction, and work on my fiction skills when I was not so overwhelmed. Nonetheless, I submitted my writing assignments even if they were always a bit different. I also went to my art class even though I knew that I was seriously out of my element. Still, I kept writing in my notebook and essentially flipped off my inner critic. Channeling my inner child, my favorite mantra became “La, la, la, la, la I can’t hear you.” And each day, I discovered more and more about myself that I had forgotten, or just conveniently buried for another time that I never quite found the time to deal with.
About three weeks ago, while writing in my notebook at the park, I realized that the passion I was searching for had been there all along, waiting patiently for me to acknowledge it. Instead, I had ignored it, thinking that it had to be so much greater than what I was seeing, when in fact, it was there in all its greatness, just waiting for me to wake up. My passion has always been people and connecting to those people whether they were strangers, family or friends. Deep within me, is this need to connect on some level with other people and I am most happy when I am writing or when I am teaching. I have a love of books, of learning and of information. I want to know why and how things work. And I love passing along the information I find in any way I can.
I think this is where my journey really begins. It seems as if my quest to find my passion has changed from one of searching to utilizing. For now, I must find a way to creatively use my writing and teaching skills to connect and share with others through my experiences and my love of learning. Not to share it would be like suffocating. And I am grateful that you, my readers, have been patient and are here on this ride with me because really, we have this one life and this one chance to live this life and I don’t want either of us to miss it.

Obama Kick Ass Song

Found this video while surfing the internet and thought it was freakin' hilarious. Because really, would you expect anything less from me?
Just sayin'.
Enjoy!

My life-a drama-filled Spanish novella

Okay, so lately, I have totally been in a rut. I want need to write and I just cannot. I'm stifled by my fear. Fear of what others will think or say. I feel like I should be this happy, go-lucky person all the time, but the reality is, I'm not.
At least not lately.
My life has been a drama-filled Spanish novella for the last couple of years and frankly, I can no longer hold it in. Maybe someone out in cyberspace will understand. Maybe not. Maybe I am going crazy. I'm sure that is the most likely scenario, however, I would rather just ignore that  fact because ya know ignorance? It can be bliss, or so I am told. I'm not there on that one yet. And I feel like I have to tell my story because I am just trying to avoid going totally over the proverbial edge, and by telling it, maybe, just maybe, I won't need to pop any Xanax, as I don't do medication well. Hell, I like my rose-colored glasses and all, but my reality is way more interestingish. I just can't make this stuff up. And if writing prevents me from taking any doctor prescribed Xanax, than well, so be it.  Consider yourself warned and feel free to click away if the need arises. And just so you know, I don't do haters, so if you are gonna leave a hater comment, I'll probably censor it because hey, it's my blog. And haters suck.
So, last Monday, the day after Mother's Day, my daughter, Panda, was in the hospital. She had pneumonia. It was such a scary thing to happen to my family. To know that there are times in life when no matter what you do, you or your children may be at the mercy of someone else and that you have to trust. Have faith. And being a bit of a control freak, this is not something I am very good at.
Really.
And that Monday, it seems God was fucking with me. To see if my faith in him would waver or if I would hold strong. That day, the shit star was shinning so bright that my shades couldn't shield my eyes. It reminded me of the words from the Foreigner song, "Double Vision."
Anyway.
I had gone home to shower, change my clothes and get some stuff together for the boys before my parents took them for the night. Mike and I share a car and of course, with Panda in the hospital, I pretty much stayed with her the whole time. Mike was working, so sometimes the logistics of the car were a bit arduous at best. Thankfully, my mom came to stay with Panda for a bit so I could go home. My girlfriend came to pick me up and as I am leaving the room, my mom imparts this message-"Don't dilly-dally, because I have things to do."
OK, really? Like what could I possibly be doing? Going to lunch with the girls while my eight year old daughter is in the hospital? Shopping at the mall for the latest in granny underwear? Really. Now, in defense of my mom, I know she means well, but sometimes the words that escape her lips are not well thought out. And this was definitely one of those times. And having had very little sleep in the three days prior, I was a little pissy when I left. Although, I did manage to bit my tongue. Well, if muttering to myself can be considered biting my tongue, than I did it.
So, I run errands and yes, I did stop at the mall, but only to purchase the chocolate chip cookies from the Mrs. Fields cookie place that my daughter requested. I made it home, showered, changed and gathered up the things the boys would need for the night and the following day. I raced to pick up Mini Me from school, came home and took Monkeyboy to the library to pick up his book that had reached the last day of the hold. As we reached the house, I reached into the ashtray to retrieve my house keys that Monkeyboy had placed when he locked the front door and they were gone. I told Monkeyboy to check the floor to see if he had accidentally dropped them. By this time, we were about to pull in the driveway and I was praying that he left the keys in the front door when he was locking it.
Just so you know, I cannot be that lucky.
This is where I started to freak out because I cannot get back into my house, it was 4pm and I had to get back to the hospital. We searched the car and Monkeyboy said that he thought the keys fell in the hole next to the ashtray. Yes, I did say hole. Remember my piece of crap Chrysler Pacifica that I inherited?
Yeah, that one.
Well, Chrysler makes crappy cars and for the first time in my life, evah, pieces of my car randomly break off.
***By the way, don't buy a Chrysler. ***
Next to my ashtray, there was a hole that was about the size of a Hershey's snack bar that my keys fell down. Only in my life does shit like this happen. I called Mike and he told me that his keys were in the center console because he had forgotten to bring them into work with him. Never mind the fact that I pray daily for this car to be stolen so we can be free and that him leaving his keys in the car opens us up to potential thieves breaking in, finding the keys and stealing all the clutter from my house. And my computer. Nevermind that, really.
But still thinking, I made Monekyboy use Mike's keys, unlock the door and find me a screwdriver so I can take apart the side compartment where my keys fell. And yes, there is a side compartment that opens up because one day, I placed my debit card in the ashtray and unbeknownst to me, there was a slot the exact width of a credit card and my card got sucked into it. That time, I had to take my front compartment apart and get all yucky dirty to retrieve my debit card. So, yeah, I've had experiences with this car.
More on that later.
But I digress.
I took apart the compartments on both the passenger and driver's side, but no keys. Of course, the whole time I was yelling at Monkeyboy because didn't he see that the ashtray was full of stuff, like my cellphone, and that maybe he could have used a little thing called common sense. Hey, the pot was calling the kettle black, but really, really, in my mind, that was just a technicality.
HE SHOULD JUST KNOW.
Oh, and really, I was not all that logical thinking about now.
Exasperated, I gave up, had Monkeyboy lock the front door and we got ready to leave to swap the car with Mike so I could get back to the hospital, as my little jaunt to the house that was supposed to last no more than 2 hours, turned into 4 1/2.
Yeah.
Can you say dilly-dallying? 
Hmrph... OK, back to the story.
I turned the key in the ignition and I'm sure you know where this is going, right?
Yep. Car won't start. It makes this tick-tick-ticking sound.
I totally freaked out.
And I am not talking the yelling kind. I am talking the full-blown meltdown-the overtired, overwhelmed and hysterical crying of a mom who has just completely come unglued.
And what do I do? I call my mom to send my dad to come jump my car. Hysterical crying and completely irrational. Because you know I have been dilly-dallying and this just goes to prove it. OK, so she didn't say that. The voices in my head were singing that tune.
Then I hung up and called my friend, Crafty Momma. And when she answered she only knew it was me by the caller id because I was so freaking hysterical. And she was so calm and really trying to make me feel all better and she was trying to figure out where I was and where the kids were, what happened and I told her EVERYTHING. And then I confessed that I sent Monkeyboy back into the house and I was sitting in my car having a meltdown. At that exact moment, Monkeyboy came out of the house with our house phone and is like Mom, Wachovia, is on the phone.
Really. Because at that exact moment, I didn't have enough on my plate, I was thinking my account had been hacked, which really wouldn't have been all that bad because there was nothing in it anyway. I took the phone and said hello. The chirpiest, freaking squeaky voiced lady on crack started off the conversation by saying that my account was fine and that she just wanted to call and tell me that my FRIENDLY TELLER LADY at my local branch thought I should be recognized as a long time customer and blah, blah, blah...
I started laughing. Really. What else would a person so close to the edge have done?
I. just. laughed. maniacally.
And that chirpy lady, must have thought I was off my rocker. I seriously made myself stop laughing and told her that she had made my day and I, being quite unstable at this point, unloaded all of my personal drama on this poor unsuspecting woman.
Yeppers. ALL. OF. IT.
And she said she was sorry and that she hoped my day would get better. And I am sure she was sorry-that she called. Because really, did she need to hear all that? Apparently, in my not so clear thinking head, I thought she did.
And my day? 
It got better. I guess God realized I was strong but not all that mentally stable and figured he would bestow some sort of mercy upon me. Really, I think he knew it was almost time for the men with the straitjackets to come and collect me and that it was time to intervene.
Kind of like a Survivor/Jerry Springer gone bad-know what I mean?
Anyway.

My dad jumped my car, I got a new battery the next day and my mechanic was able to use a magnet and retrieve my keys as well. Have I mentioned how much I love my mechanic lately? Oh and best of all, Panda was released from the hospital.
So, yeah, it got better-it just was way more intense then I felt it needed to be. 
And me? I mulled over that conversation with that Wachovia representative because I realized how funny her call truly was.
Ironic in fact. And as I sat in the hospital with Panda, I started laughing at being referred to as a great customer because really, that bank, has made more off of me in insufficient fund fees for the last 2 years as I rob Peter to pay Paul. Seriously.  And really in the last month I have spent over $1,000 on doctor visits and prescriptions because Mike's nudie bar job does not quite offer health insurance and we pay out of pocket and we are still robbing Peter to pay Paul, and really, it totally sucks. And each medication my children are prescribed is no less than $100 each. Which is total highway robbery, by the way. Even if the pharmaceutical companies do all that research and sometimes make crappy medications that cause serious side effects and are then subjected to class action lawsuits that they have to pay out  the ass for. Am I sounding all that sympathetic yet? Yeah, thought so.
And so I laughed maniacally at the thought of how many fees I have paid that would label me a good customer. Riighht. They make money off of my novella life that I try to coordinate as best as I can, so of course I can be labeled a great customer. Am I the only one that sees the irony here?
And all of this would be funny if it was happening to someone else. But it's not. And really there must be something that God was trying to teach me here. I'm just not all that clear on what it was. Because really, I am not enjoying this Jerry Springer ride and if there are cameras secretly filming me, I hope they are making me look skinny, because then, all this drama would so totally be worth it.
Know what I'm sayin'?
I know you do.

DQ Blizzards Rock!

Hey, just wanted to give all the ice cream fans out there a heads up. This week at Dairy Queen they have a terrific special on their blizzards-buy one at regular price and get the second one for $.25. Pretty awesome if you ask me. Last night, the kids and I schlepped to Dairy Queen and we bought four blizzards for $7.29. Excellent price and they were delicious. You can find a location near you at the Dairy Queen website. Check it out!!!
****Disclaimer****This was purely an FYI about Dairy Queen. I was not paid in any way or given free blizzards to post this information. Just felt the need to spread the DQ love! :)

Anxiously awaiting Monday

I must say that I am glad tomorrow is Monday.
Kinda sorta.
Last week was so not a good week here and the weekend was a little crazy too. With the passing of Fatboy, we have all been pretty bummed. The kids decided that they wanted another cat and we spent Friday looking for another kitty to love. The kids found 2 kittens that they really fell in love with and we are awaiting approval. I'm sure this won't earn me any brownie points, but really, some of these rescue places are really extreme.
I mean really extreme.
They run searches to see if you actually own your home, call and interrogate your references and your vet and then decide if you are worthy enough to take home one of their kittens and pay their fee.
Are you kidding me?
In my head I know that they just want to find a forever home for their animals, but really, really, the interrogation process to adopt a cat is worse than buying a house or taking out a loan. And these people have no clue that the animals that come to my house, win the lottery of life because suffice it to say, they are way spoiled. I mean, they eat better than we do and they get their vaccinations in a timely manner. Well, mostly. Which is way more than I can say for my kids because really now, it is much simpler to place the kitty in the carrier than carry Panda and Mini Me kicking and screaming into the doctor's office. Know what I'm saying? Plus, they get toys, treats and the run of the house. What furry wouldn't love it at my house? Just ask Tinkerbell, Chewy and Smokey!!! They freak every time we put them into the car and breathe a sigh of relief when we get back home and they are safely ensconced in the house. Because at home, they are in charge.
Really. 
Saturday, we had a memorial service for Fatboy and planted a little plant in his honor. The animal hospital that put him down was so great-they made a little paw print and gave us some of us fur in a little bag as a keepsake. The kids really loved the paw print. And they picked out a little plant and Mike was actually off so we were able to get it planted in the ground. The only not so great thing about Fatboy's memorial was that we didn't have a lot of pictures of him. We all agreed to take more of the day-to-day and silly pictures of the animals and their antics. And trust me when I say there are lots of photo moments that occur in our house. And lucky people that you are, you will have a front row seat to all our adventures with the furries.
Won't that be fun?
Err...something like that.
Sigh.
It is still so weird not to have Fatboy racing through the house, or jumping in the shower with us, but we are making the best of it. Smokey keeps meowing everywhere and looking for his buddy. Even the canine furries are not happy.Chewy keeps walking around and they all come running whenever someone comes in the door. It is so sad.
Today Panda, Monkeyboy and I took the furries to Pet Supermarket to update their rabies shots. This was the first time I had ever done that since we usually go to our vet for that, but it went pretty smoothly. At least until Tinkerbell puked in the back seat of my car on both the backseat and Monkeyboy. Smart mommy that I am, I grabbed a couple of towels before we left the house because it was raining and I figured I would need to dry them off before they got back into the car. And lucky for Monkeyboy, I didn't feed them before we left, which was purely accidental because we were in such a hurry to get out the door and the animals were all in such an uproar that I completely forgot. Yep. It worked out because had they been fed, that puke would have been way grosser than it truly was. In fact, I think Monkeyboy should thank me for that oversight as he could have been covered in not-quite-digested-dog-food.
Uh huh.
That's why I'm the mommy.
But really? Eww!!!
The kids are so excited about the new furries, but all weekend I felt like I was bursting their bubbles by telling them that we don't get the animals unless we are approved and not to get their hopes up. Not that we won't get approved, but really, I don't want them to be disappointed. It breaks my heart to see the kids so anxious but I am hoping that it all works out and Monday will bring the good news that we are approved and we will be able to take our new furry babies home.
We will be saying lots of prayers and crossing all the body parts we can while we are waiting. We'll keep ya posted.