And I don't even mention the DNC & Barack Obama's Speech

I've never discussed politics here for several reasons; the first being while I watch the news and consider myself a person who votes with knowledge, I don't know a lot about politics. The second reason is it's controversial. And I'd rather have people talking about me because of my exposed 7 year old boobies than my stance on politics. Simply for the record, I will divulge that I am a Democrat and think Hilary Rodham Clinton was robbed.
When it comes to local politics, I know even less than I do on a national level; which really is a shame because we all know it starts at home. However, when it comes to education and the way it's run in my community, I'm in the "need - to - know" category. (As in: I need to know everything.)
My child goes to a privately funded and operated charter school within the Broward County School District. I chose to send my child to a charter school for so many reasons - I cannot possibly list them all but public school here, in my opinion, is less than adequate. I was raised in public school and despite my klassy disposition and brighter than the stars intelligence (what? Stop laughing - it wasn't that funny.) , it did me no good. In addition to my own experience with public education, I've watched many of my family's and friend's children struggle and fail to thrive within the public school system.

Located just South of Broward County is Miami Dade County and their school district; the 4th largest district in the country. Miami Dade County School District's (MDCSD) superintendent is Dr. Rudy Crew. Let me tell you, Dr. Crew is in a heaping load of hot shit. Recently, the state's capital handed down educational budget cuts of historic proportions - mostly due to a "Penny Tax" which promises to lower property taxes by $200 per home over the next 10 years. These budget cuts were a serious problem for MDCSD because they were already up to their ears in debt since bringing on Dr. Crew in 2004. This week, Dr. Crew was asked by the board to balance the district's budget and come up with a plan that everyone could agree on. However, during this balance project, Dr. Crew and his team figured out that the school district was not $66 million dollars in debt as previously thought but $88 million dollars in debt. His reasoning for the astounding debt? He "over-spent" - that's what he says. Here are a few highlights from his "plan" to balance the budget:
1. Eliminated 254 teachers who are part of the bilingual programs (Spanish and Creole).
2. Eliminating 88 career specialists.
3. Cut paid Christmas recess days for teachers and staff.
4. Eliminate assistant principals for community school programs.
5. Require administrators to substitute teach one day a month.
6. Eliminate 24 audio / visual clerk positions.
7. Take 22 million dollars from the district's "Rainy Day Fund".

What he did not suggest was reducing or forfeiting his $700,000 salary. He's willing to cut hundreds of jobs in addition to the hundreds of police officers, janitors, cafeteria staff and teachers who were already cut over the summer; but he's not willing to take a pay cut for himself.
How do you propose cutting teachers who are part of the bilingual program in a county where 70 percent of the student body's first language is not English? As for cutting paid Christmas recess days for teachers and staff; I would expect Dr. Crew will be included in that plan, too. But he wont.
My biggest gripe is taking $22 million dollars from the "Rainy Day Fund". This withdraw will leave only 4 million dollars in the fund. For the entire year. For the entire county. Which is the 4th largest district in the US. When Hurricane Wilma ravaged through Broward County three years ago, Broward County School District lost $2 million dollars in food from the lunch program alone. That money was replaced by their "Rainy Day Fund". There are three tropical storms in the Atlantic as I type and we're not even half way through hurricane season yet. To say that MDCSD would be extremely venerable with a mere $4 million dollars in the fund is a gross understatement. The slightest emergency, need or unexpected funding would leave the district completely, flat broke. Living - on - the - street - begging - for - money - on - the - side - of - the - highway - broke.

Even though my child is not a victim student of MDCSD, I consider myself an advocate for equitable and decent education for all children. I'm simply blown away by the enormous insubordinate and neglect this Superintendent has shown this board, the county and poor souls who attend MDCSD.

All I have to say is: God Bless Charter Schools.

I didn't know we were a part of THAT family!

Kristen @ We Are THAT Family invites everyone to write about how their family is THAT family. This is my first official submission to this weekly and boy, it's a good one.

I've recently been telling the horrors of Brown Re-decorating episodes 1 thru a million but in order to do this story justice, I have to re-tell some points.

Because we are THAT family, I'd been using thumbtacks to hang precious family portraits on the wall. And because my husband only married into THAT family, he insisted we use spackle to cover the holes instead of say, toothpaste. He went to work, I couldn't wait and so I proceeded to apply the spackle with my gloved hands - it was not a good job. Each thumbtack hole had about half an inch of spackle and the hole wasn't even covered. He said he'd help me spackle but he took a nap first - I bet you can predict the next part - I couldn't wait. Using a .50 cent foam sanding block, I went at that spackle for five hours. By the time Danny woke up, my entire house (and by entire I really mean from one end to the other) was covered in drywall dust. This was including our brand new TV and entertainment center but was not limited to areas such as my hair.

While I was in the shower scrubbing my skin raw and washing my hair times six, I heard screaming. This is not unusual for my family. (I guess that should have been my first clue that I was part of THAT family.) Olivia runs into the bathroom like a crazed lunatic is chasing her with weaponry and with her shrieks are giggles. "What's wrong?" I said. "dfsdfjleurewiouqpc" she answered. Huh? Oh, that's all the shampoo blocking my line of hearing. "Daddy farted on me and he's going to do it again and it really stinks." Sigh. My first instinct was correct - a crazed lunatic chasing her with weaponry.

As she's escaping out the 2nd bathroom door I hear that scream - a blood curdling scream that can only come from a small child, usually a girl - when she's really hurt.

Picture this: I am in the shower with so much shampoo on my head that more of it has dripped into my eyes, nose and ears than it has cleaned my hair. I cannot see, hear or smell (thank God for the last sense lost) but my child is screaming. "WHAT'S WRONG?"

She slammed her finger into the door as she was making her big getaway from the FartDaddy.

So, friends. I admit - I did not know that we are part of THAT family but it's true. When your daughter gets hurt while running away from her father who's farted on her and threatens to do it again; there's no denying it.

Sex Ed - the 7 year old's version

Olivia: I know how you get pregnant.
Me: :::intrigued & very, very scared::: Oh? How?
Olivia: Well, first you pee on a stick, of course. Then you go to the hospital and get x-rays of your belly. Then, you go back home for a little while and go back to the hospital and the doctor takes the baby out.
Me: No, that's not really how it works.
Olivia: Oooh, something shiny! Look, Mom!

Getting on that Pop Star band wagon

When you have a 7 1/2 year old daughter who's allowed to watch Disney Channel exclusively*, it's only natural that an embarrassing amount of the family budget goes towards Hannah Montana junk.

Hannah's original ego, Miley Cyrus has a new CD coming out on July 22nd (Happy Birthday, Mom!) and her first single from that CD is "7 Things". Here's the video. Here are the lyrics.

First, Miley co-wrote the song; which for the record, I really like - it's catchy and smart. I've been bopping to it for a week. I completely relate to the lyrics (I love being 26 - makes it easier to remember being 15.) and the video is original.
Second, I feel bad for what the media has done to poor Miley. The media & her parents are to blame for that whole "Mileygate" incident. (Hm, blaming media & parents - Lindsay Lohan, anyone?) All in all, I think she's a cute girl from a cute town with a cute voice. I like her. And if you can keep your kids away from mainstream media (meaning anything NOT Disney Channel), she's an excellent role model for little girls.

Now, I'm going to pick on her a little bit. Before you read ahead, please click on the link above to see the lyrics.
Perhaps while Miles was trying on blonde wigs, she missed the part in math class where you learn to count to 12. Because that's how many things she hates about you. Not 7.
Go see the video now. Back? Ok. Seriously, what's with the "shaw"s? I don't get it. And the over exaggerated facial expressions are just killing me. I've resorted to having to watch the Sims version of the video because I cannot stop the giggling once I get to the end of the video with all the melodrama.

Please excuse me while I pre-order my daughter's copy of the cd.

*I've found Disney Channel to be the only channel with programming that my child can watch unsupervised. That doesn't mean her and her father sneak in an episode of Family Guy once a week. Good, wholesome family togetherness.

Fo' Realz

Picture a happy family of 3: a dad, a mom & a 7 1/2 year old child in a grocery store. Mom's attention is at her coupon folder, list and aisles. Dad & child are horseplaying a couple of aisles away - perhaps bickering over $1. Several minutes pass and out of the child's mouth the mother hears: "You mess with the bull, you get the horns."

Yes. That's my life; my family. Jealous?

Closing Out

Today is the last day of school for Olivia. First grade was a challenge for her; she was called out on her bullshit a lot this year, she faced challenges with friendships and grew in so many ways. It was a year of huge successes; she was on Honor Roll for all 4 quarters; learned that she couldn't always breeze through everything with great ease and finally developed an understanding of what it is to treat people how you want to be treated. This is the last year she'll have Mrs. Read to charm and next year, she's getting a much tougher teacher; one we know she won't be able to manipulate with her bright smile.
For me, this year has been a learning experience. I started the beginning of year with a new, official role as a volunteer and it literally changed my life. The lessons I've learned are possibly greater than Olivia's. I learned how to maintain my dignity in the face of true aversion. I've learned how to deal with parents on a professional and straight-forward fashion without being abrasive or rude. The relationships I've cultivated with entire families this year have been priceless and one's that I'll hold onto for a very, very long time. I made a lot of mistakes, flew by the seat of my pants and had to clean up a lot of my own shit but I raised a lot of funds, organized community events and family involvement projects. The kids have had the greatest impact on my life; working with them on a daily basis has been more fun than I thought it would be. They made it all worthwhile when, while flipping through their school scrapbooks, I found that most of them listed their favorite school memory, activity or lesson involved me.
I'm looking ahead to next year a little wiser, a lot braver and maybe with some new organizational skills. I already have a summer to-do list as issued by various teachers, administrators and myself of things to plan, organize, clean and set-up; I cannot wait.
Before that, though, I am taking a break. First, a much-needed vacation to the New England mountains. Then I'm going to come home and focus on my own life for a little while before diving back into the swing of school. I have my own closets and pantries that have been severely neglected this school year. I cannot remember the last time I cleaned my ceiling fans and really - that's just plain gross. And I'm going to spend so much quality time with my husband that he's going to be so sick of me and beg me to go back to spending umpteen hours at school.
Yup. That's the plan.

Mother's Day

Real bloggers have been doing this and it looked fun so here's my contribution.

In honor of Mother's Day, I've listed 10 things I didn't know before I became a Mother.
In no particular order:

10 - I didn't know that I would become increasingly controlling and OCD-like yet learn to let go of so much.
9 - I didn't know the highlight of my days would be spent in a classroom - where I'm not paid - and never bitch about it.
8 - I didn't know it would be so difficult to find family friends where everyone in that family likes everyone from our family.
7 - I didn't know I'd understand my own mother.
6 - I didn't know I'd spend more than one day in a kid theme hotel because of their water slide and love it.
5 - I didn't know how much a child could have so many of your bratty tendencies (and that I'd be a little proud).
4 - I didn't know that I would become "THAT" Mom. (You know what kind of Mom I'm talking about, too.)
3 - I didn't know how much a "Littlest Pet Shop" would really, really hurt when stepped upon.
2 - I didn't know girls have toilet aim just as bad as little boys (how does that happen?).
1 - I didn't know I was truly capable of loving so openly.

It's a slow start

There have been a million posts I've started to write; both on this page & in my head and just never finished.
As many people are, I'm a little (ahem) crazy. I'm probably overly-critical of myself and perhaps slightly insecure. When I'm doing something (in this case - writing) and it seems that it's just not right/good enough/lacking/(insert negative adjective here), I walk away. Sometimes I push through and come out the other end with successful results.
Except there are just so many things that I am not good enough/lacking/bad/(insert another negative adjective here) at that this blog and my writing was ignored. With the risk of sounding very much martry-ry (that's not a word - whatever), I face many challenges throughout my life and on a day-to-day basis. As a young mother, there are always stereotypes I am trying to break, judgements I'm trying to reverse and opinions I'm trying to change. Never have I been so motivated yet exhausted trying to break all the rules that aren't right.

But in an effort to save my old self, I've decided to focus on my writing. It's really something I love and would like to be good at (yeah - how's that working out for you, English grammar person?). I don't have any funny stories off the top of my head to tell at this moment but I will give a short update which will be followed by a Mother's Day post.

Adventures of Brown:
I've still been sittin' here at work 8am-2pm working for the man (actually, woman) which is quickly trimming minutes off of my life span. Tomorrow is always more stressful than today and I'm always going to struggle with that. So until The Husband has a hit record, expect me to always scream about this place.
After 2pm, however, is my passion. I've increased my responsibility with Chicken's school and actually have a "title"; one I'm exceptionally honored to hold. Volunteering brings purpose to my day (you know - aside from being a mother and wife) and I look forward to being at school.
Chicken has made honor roll for the 3rd quarter this year. In Florida, you must take a standardized government test (Thank you, "No Child Left Behind") - 1st & 2nd graders take a test and 3rd - 5th take a test called something different but with the same results (you fail the test, you fail the grade). Anyway - Chicken scored the highest score in the school with 1st & 2nd graders. We're so thrilled (and I just cannot imagine where she gets all that intelligence from) and have rewarded her with many material things and a mini-vacation (bribe much?).
The Husband continues to tour the country on the weekends chasing that big musical dream. We love him anyway.

So - that's what's happening here. Thanks to my loyal reader for anxiously waiting for this post. Sorry I've disappointed you all (err - the one of you).

Too Bizarre For a Title!

Remember when I told you that there was a strange smell in Chicken's bedroom that smelled like pee?
As it turns out, that's because it is pee.

See, what happened was:
Husband got new costumes for his music group, Spacemen and I was trying to get everything organized for the show last night so I put the old costumes & helmets in her room on Wednesday. Thursday morning, the room reeked. I thought it must have been the costumes but I repeatedly asked Chicken if she had an accident which she insisted she did not.
Fast forward to Friday (yesterday), I took the costumes out of the room and the smell didn't follow. She slept at Grammy's and when she came home, it was still a-stankin'! I asked again, she said she did not have an accident. Then she blurted this out: "I peed in a pink tin."

Come again?

Yeah. Apparently, my daughter, always the curious, decided she wanted to see what it would be like to pee in a pink tin (which about the size of a shoe box) so she did. And the pee has been rotting away for just over a week.

One day, when she is dating or perhaps even married, I will tell this strange story of when she peed in a pink tin.

Until then, we're all still peeing in pink tins from laughter of the situation. But we still can't figure out why.

My Erin Brockovich Moment

Chicken attends a very small charter school here, which houses just under 150 students in a tiny facility. Our library is shared with the kitchen, faculty bathroom, Dean's office and planning office. We're small but tight; there for one purpose: a better education.
Since 2002, our school has been trying to get the Town to approve site plans for a NEW! BIG! school which will house 18 classrooms, a cafenasium (cafeteria/gymnasium/assembly hall), real library, sports field and many other amenities that we've given up in exchange for higher education (trust me, it's proven well worth it). Last night was the final Town Hall meeting where the Mayor & his peeps would make a decision. Notices were posted all over school this week: "Please support our new school!" "Vote YES to the expansion!", etc. Everyone was given notice but we all knew who would actually show up, many of us were called by the principal, specifically asking us to speak. I was one of them. "Many parents are too intimidated to speak, I knew you wouldn't be. Please talk at the Town meeting on behalf of all the parents." she asked me. I thought, that's a pretty tall order. I'm loud, I'm opinionated and sometimes, well spoken but I can't go in front of the entire municipality, on local TV and beg them to give us the opportunity to build a new school.
Luckily, I had dinner plans. But my dinner plans were cancelled and I participated in an event that is a metamorphosis in my life.
The meeting began at exactly 6:30pm, we arrived in strong numbers, 50+ parents, many of us with our children. We're last on the long agenda. Short, stout with big frizzy hair, a former councilwoman said to us "If you're here for the charter school, you won't be heard until at least 10pm." "Well," we thought, "we have important people here. Lawyers, engineers, architects and investors. Surely, they'll see our children and let us go early." They did not. By 9pm, our number were less by more than half.
At 10:20, they called our item: 4.23 on the agenda. The lawyers spoke, the architect spoke, our principal spoke and I spoke (along with a few other parents). I made direct eye contact with the Mayor and our district councilwoman and told them I live, work, play and my daughter goes to school right here in Town. I told them the story of Chicken's early reading skills and how our puny school took her in, accommodated her skill and how she's flourished. I spoke eloquently, my voice didn't quiver (shockingly) and towards the end, I cried a little.
The Mayor voted against us, the council people voted for us and we won. Like in Erin Brockovich, we jumped out of our seats, sleeping babies and all, with screams and endless hugs.
In 5 years, my daughter will be one of the first students to enter our huge, 2 story, several acre school as a middle-school student.
And I will forever remember this day, this feeling and our powerful victory.

Just Can't. Not Today.

I had a couple of ideas rolling around in my head yesterday, a long laundry list of things I wanted to write about. Yesterday, around 11am, I sat down at my work desk to write (it's slow, what can I tell ya?). I opened the Internet to find "Breaking News". I am sorry that I clicked because it would be the start of a possibly endless feeling of sorrow and sadness.
Everyone, everywhere in the country is talking about the tragedy at VA Tech University. My favorite morning radio show dj's are discussing it and one is completely outraged by the apparent lack of communication by the school to students.
Today is going to be one day that I'll not state my own opinions. I'm not sure what my opinions are, I haven't been able to take it that far.
I know this: I'm feeling completely empty, shocked and devastated. My heart feels so full that I cannot cry, much like it did when I was a rebellious teenager with no one to confide in.
With no control over the situation, no way to reach out and touch the lives of the wounded and families of the dead. By helping them, I can comfort myself?

Until I can make my own sense and come to terms with what happened yesterday, I'm going to pray that I'll finally cry and hold my baby tight.

Pixie Power!

Chicken got all A's & 1's on her 3rd quarter report card. "What would you like to do for your reward?" I said, beaming with pride. "I want my haircut short!" she gleefully answered.

Hm. Haircut? Before we go into detail, let me bring you back. Way back.

My grandmother, overwhelmed with 4 children and a military husband, kept her only daughter's (that would be my mother) hair very. very. short. This was scarring to my poor mother who had beautiful, bright blond hair that many New Englanders envied (even during the dark winter months). I believe my grandmother forced this "hair style" (I use the quotes on style seriously) on my mother for at least 12 or 13 years.

Remember this story when I tell you what happened 15 years later.

After a long struggle to get pregnant by my father (even though they were no longer in any kind of relationship. Hm. No wonder why I'm so screwed up!), I was finally born in 1981. And I was a girl! I didn't have beautiful blond hair that would forever link me to the Snell gene but I had thick black hair and that was good enough!

So began the 16 year battle my mother and I would have over hair. She kept my hair very. very. long. When I was 7, my mom thought it would be a GREAT! idea if I had a perm (hey, it was 1988, everyone did it, don't make fun!) and clearly did not follow the beautician's advise NOT to perm my hair (she took my mother's $40 and did it anyway). I distinctly remember the beautician telling my mother that she should wait until I was 10 to treat my hair since at the ripe age of 7, I still had "baby hair" (you can imagine my horror) and the chemicals may not "take". I remember the smell of the potion clearly (a cross between ammonia and burning follicles). The perm didn't take (surely because I had "baby hair". Ugh) and I was left with a luxurious head of long, dirty blond hair so thick that you couldn't wrap a single hand around it all.

I wonder if this was the point where my mother decided she would live vicariously through my head? Because for the next 10 years, I was forbidden to do anything to my hair. Especially cut it! I vividly remember arguments (visualize hands flying very fast but no sound) that I lost every time. "When you're 18 and not living in my house, you can do what you want. Until then, you may not ever. touch. your. hair!" "But it's MY hair!" was my argument every time. (Hard to believe I didn't win with that, eh?) When I was 14, I dyed my hair blonder because my dirty blond was not bright enough! Surprisingly, she was ok with this (remember her own, very proud head of very bright blond hair) but I was reminded that I could. not. cut. my. hair!

On my 16 birthday, I realized something: "I have a car. I have a job. I can do whatever I want!" And so I drove to Kool Cuts (why the K for cool, no K for cuts? I'll never know.), Home of the $7 haircut (seriously), gave the nice lady my $7 and asked her to cut my waist-long hair to my shoulders. She tied it in a pony tail and with one swift cut, gone was my hair. She put the pony tail in a brown paper bag (in case I wanted to reattach it?) and I brought it home to my mother. She cried. And she threw things. And she cursed me. And she saved that brown bag with my hair (creepily, she still has it).

When my own daughter came to me, wanting her hair cut, I had traumatic flash backs to all of those wasted battles against my mother. I decided (against Husband's opinion-what does he know?) that she was old enough to decide how she wanted her hair to look.

After all, it is HER hair.

Spring Break Isn't What It Used To Be!

Now, I didn't go to college but I always thought of Spring Break as a time to drink too much, stay up too late and flash your boobs to Joe Francis (of Girls Gone Wild). Times, they are a-changin'!
In my quest to find a great summer/day camp program for Chicken, I chose a Spring Break program as a "trial" for summer. I chose this place because many of her classmates went there for preschool and will go there this summer and I want her to be comfortable with people she already knows.
But y'all know I'm crazy. Like restraining-order-crazy.

When Chicken was 3 and went to preschool, I was very confident about where she was going. NHA was pretentious, clean, bright and featured accredited teachers. I never shed a morning tear there. I had a "feeling" about the place that allowed me to drop her off guilt free as I went about my silly monkey job. Then something happened that needn't be detailed here but I had to abruptly remove Chicken and eventually was served with a restraining order from the administration of NHA. Then the search was on for another preschool to place Chicken during the 5 remaining months before kindergarten. I never found the "best" place and we ended up in an "ok" but not the best, program. I cried everyday for 5 months when I dropped her off. The place was safe and clean but dumbed down. I began to doubt my instincts. After all, I'd had a great feeling about NHA and for years trusted them with my precious Einstein Chicken. And see how that turned out?

We're back to square one. I've been dreading and avoiding the task of finding the best summer program. I can't bear touring schools with directors telling me only what I want to hear again. I'm still raw from the endless registration process last time. And the tears feel as fresh today as they did when I was crying them last spring. But because I am a mature and dignified parent (what?), I'm doing it we'll try this Spring Break program. For the low, low price of $150, my child can enjoy field trips, new camp shirts and swimming lessons for five days!! (Must pack bag lunch for child. Mommy's agony included free of charge.)
Chicken, however, is so excited she insisted she take the school's business card to class with her. With promises to be open and honest with me, she'll embark on a school bus (her first without me) filled with screaming 6 to12 year olds to the skating rink in a couple of weeks. A pocket full of change for the arcade, my cell phone number in her memory for emergency and a dose of Mommy's agony on the side.
Happy Spring, folks!

The Doctor

In spite of my hormone induced rage earlier in the week, I've turned a corner.

My ho-a-scope said my "luck will be changing today". That was yesterday.

-Chicken's homework is done. 4 days early. Without argument. With Husband's help.
-Today was Baby Back Ribs night @ Scruby's BBQ. SCORE!!
-I purchased two new mah-va-lous pieces of jewelry from the Q. (That's QVC, fools!)
-I remained dignified and mature during an argument with another school mom who is acting stank.
-I confirm plans with Gramma & Silly Grandpa Bobby. I love them.
-I may or may not have completed a very complex permit application for a job at work.
-I sent birthday wishes to an old friend and received a very sentimental reply. Olive You!
-We did not watch another Sopranos re-run.
-I wore a new shirt today. And I have another new shirt to wear tomorrow!
-My husband still loves me. Even though I go out for Chinese and come home with Burger King.

So what that there is a meeting at 8am that I am not prepared for? The bathroom is growing mold (again?), there are still dishes in the sink and laundry is scattered throughout. I still haven't called laid-up Vermont Aunt and there is a weird smell coming from a non-smelly room in my house. So what?

From the words of my wise homie Dr. Dre:

Today was a good day.

New Era

So. Chicken has her very first crush. Before you folks get all jacked up about her only being 6 years old, let me tell you a story.


When I was in Kindergarten, I had a boyfriend. A little black boy named Phillip. Man, I l o v e d Phillip! During boring lessons in class, Phillip and I would sneak under the desks and hold hands. He kissed me on the mouth once. Then I punched him.

Chicken's Phillip is the older brother of her (this week's) best friend. Crush is in 4th grade. I noticed something funny about a month ago. I was in her class after school doing some yearbook stuff when Best Friend wrote on the board "I love Crush" and she told Chicken "I'm going to tell Crush you wrote that". Chicken's head whipped around and she looked at me, embarrassed and a little afraid. I just smiled and continued counting money. A couple of weeks later, Chicken comes home, blushing. "Oh my gosh, Crush was wearing a red and blue striped shirt today. Isn't that so funny?" she said. I asked her if she liked Crush, she said nodded with the same embarrassment and slight fear in her face. We talked about crushes and how it's perfectly fine for her to like a boy but that she was way too young to have a boyfriend or any type of anything. She would have plenty of time to have boyfriends and hold hands, pass love notes, etc when she got bigger. We talked about boundaries and when she could have a boyfriend (high school.). I hugged her tight and thanked her for talking to me about it. I talked more about how she could always come to Daddy and me to talk about her feelings about boys, school, whatever. I squeezed her again and let her know how proud I was of her; she's becoming such a big girl in front of my very own eyes.


Then Sunday came. I pre-arranged with their mother to meet Best Friend/Crush at a local Festival on Sunday @ 1pm. Chicken woke up at 8am, ready to GO! It was the longest 5 hours of her life. Finally, we are getting ready to meet Best Friend/Crush!! Chicken disappears in her room for about an hour and finally emerges wearing a tank top with a shrug-tie wrap and the shortest shorts I've ever seen on a child. I don't know WHERE these shorts came from; she must have been hiding them for a long time, saving them for a special day exactly like this. They were a size 2T, which fits her fine in the waist but were definitely Daisy Dukes! Baby got booty!

She must have read my mind because again, with the look of embarrassment and a little bit of fear, she tuned around, came out 20 minutes later wearing capri pants. And pale pink lipstick.


I can't win them all.

Damn Cycle!

I'm very grumpy today. I think I got up on the wrong side of the bed. Of course, there is only one side to the bed as "my" side is against the wall. Perhaps that's the problem. One side of the bed. If I had two sides, then I'd have options. I like options. I need options. Must. Move. Bed.
I digress. Everyone is pissing me off. I've got a wicked look in my eye that says "Anything you say will cause me to kick you". Perhaps it's not a great idea to have 2 cups of espresso within 30 minutes of waking. And another on the way to school/work. In my defense, the espresso is good. I mean, trade-espresso-for-sex-good. In my brand-new, very fancy-shmancy, self doing coffee machine.
I feel like I'm running through a cycle that is never ending. You know, just life. Wake up, drink too much coffee, open Chicken's eyes enough to dress herself, more coffee, make lunch, check back pack, more coffee, drive to school, chit-chat a few minutes too long, race to work arriving 20 minutes late, make more coffee. Work silly monkey job, go to school, go back to silly monkey job for an hour, back to school. Home, school work (for both of us), cleaning, cooking, sports activities, continue my role as "Queen Yenta" with other non-Jewish friends. Wrestle, kiss and tickle child, threaten her with homemade cookies into the shower, bitch about and demand the toothpaste in the sink get cleaned NOW!, Chicken is in bed. I clean. I sleep. And hopefully, 5-6 hours later, I do it all over again.
See what I mean. It's just a-spinnin'. And I don't mean the records. I mean the wheels in my head.
What can I do to improve this, how can we make more money? Is she getting sick, I need to call the insurance company, must order more soccer pictures, must mail Kara's CD & Jillian's Nemo. Must call laid-up Aunt in Vermont. (If I were a cartoon, here's where the steam would come whistling out of my ears. WOOOOOOOOOOO)
This morning, in the midst of my grumpiness, I put her in the car and prepared to drive away. "I'm so lucky", I thought. This is the life I always wanted. The life I fought for and semi-maintain. Of course, the bitch inside pushed my (rare) grateful attitude aside but now that I reflect; I am lucky. Maybe not so much luck as blood, sweat and tears. Ok, mostly tears. But whatever.
When I was growing up, I dreamed of being a mom. It was all I ever wanted to be. I dreamed of June Cleaver, baking cookies, PTA meetings and cleaning toilets. I knew being a mom was hard and a lot of work and draining. I prayed for it anyway. And on mornings (days, weeks?) when I feel like there is nothing left of me, I thank God for answering prayers. For allowing me to give people the life I never had and fulfilling emptiness I grew up with.
It's everything I wished for and more.
Thank you.

Teacher's Pet

Kindergarten Field Trip - $4
Loss of weekly wages volunteering at school - $64
Pink baby clothes for very pregnant teacher - $100
Arts and craft supplies for cookie and card decorating - $20
Dinner with families at school fundraiser - $37
Being told you're her best favorite parent - Priceless

Trouble

Crap.

I volunteered to coach Chicken's soccer team this year. I played soccer for two seasons when I was 14; I sucked.


One may ask "Why, o' self-professed-bad-soccer-player, would you sign up for such a task?!" Because during a parent meeting, the director of the soccer program stood up on his golf cart and explained that there were 16 teams and they only had 9 coaches. That means any team without a coach would not be able to play soccer this season. That's horrible. What if Chicken got drafted onto a coach-less team? She would be devastated (not to mention I've already invested $150 in this sport). So I raised my hand to coach.
Chicken said "Mom, girls can't coach soccer. Only boys". Now I HAD to coach. "Girls can do anything boys can do. They can coach and be anything just as good as boys." I told her. Even if we have the worst players and lose every game, it won't matter. As long as my baby girl knows that girls can and should do anything boys can do.

Except pee standing up.


Updated 11/8/06:

We had soccer drafts tonight. I watched two grown ass men nearly come to blows over a couple of 6 year old soccer players. Twice. Of 16 teams, I am only one of two women coaches. The other mom has been coaching soccer for years and is one of the guys. We sat in a big room and chose players for our respective teams. Personally, my only request was that I didn't get any girls that I had from Cheerleading because I wasn't crazy about their parents. I was the only one without a premeditated roster. These men (and woman) knew who was "good" (Good? They're 6!!!!!!) from past seasons. They wanted to form their team with the most powerful players to win. There are no rewards for the "best" team. Everyone gets the same sized trophy. All of this nonsense is based on pure gorilla-like ego. Men can be so stupid.

The Guilt Fairy

Chicken is sleeping in my bed tonight as she is being left with a babysitter tomorrow for the very. first. time. ever. And I am so. freaking. nervous. And feeling guilty. So I've indulged her long request to "please mommy PLEASE let me sleep in your bed tonight.". "Ok, Chicken" I said.
In the past 6 years I've had a handful of nights out but she's always been left in the care of family. Or very close friends. Never a teenager.

"A TEENAGER?!" you say? Before you nominate me for Worst Mother To Ever Bore Child(ren), let me explain. There is a girl who lives in our neighborhood. A very sweet, church going, Publix working, shy, good, 17 year old girl. She lives with her slightly overprotective single mother. Rightfully overprotective. You see, our babysitter is strikingly gorgeous. And if I weren't sure Husband knew that I'd certainly get more than half (probably 3/4), I'd be a little nervous. Anyway, she lives in the neighborhood, therefore making her mother VERY close by in the case of some kind of chaos (and also ensures no boys will be coming over). She is babysitting because I'm out of back up plans.

Normally, my Mom would watch Chicken. But she has a date (and seeing as I am encouraging a slight case of gold digging, I couldn't guilt her into NOT going). Then Chicken was supposed to sleep over her friend's house (who's parents happen to be very close friends of ours) but her friend's mom had emergency surgery this week so with a part of the friend's mother intestine, there went plan B. Plan C usually consists of one of my relatives but they're all out of town camping (something I wish I was doing with them). Lastly, Plan D was foiled because of my pride. See, we have another set of parents-to-a-child-Chicken's-age friends but when I hinted to the mom that I had run out of arrangements for Olivia on Saturday, she did not offer her services. And because I hate to impose (and a little bit because I feel I'm "punishing" her), I didn't ask.
During past situations like this, I would just decide not to go out at all and stay home with the baby and bake yummy cookies and make stuff. But I need this. I need to have conversations with ADULTS. Conversations that do not include arguments about money, air conditioning, Halloween and Chicken's education. And. I need a drink. (I do not believe I've EVER said that in my entire life.) It's true, I don't drink. But I seem to have bit off a little more than my big mouth can chew and I just need to breathe. And maybe get a little tipsy. (Not so) sadly, I will end up talking about how smart and great Chicken is, what she's going to be for Halloween (a bride. Kind of creepy but I'll explain in another post), work and my love for Husband (in the form of nasty jokes and snide comments).

Such is my life. A life I chose with a great deal of thought. A life I am so proud of and grateful for. So I'm paying a beautiful 17 year old girl $50 to watch my child for a few hours so I can watch my ridiculously talented husband perform songs that were created in my bedroom.

I will definitely have toes in my nose tonight.

It's CHEETAHLICOUS!

We took Chicken to the Cheetah Girls concert this week at Large Concert/Sports Venue. Have you ever been in a giant arena with 10,000 girls between the ages of 5 and 15 year old SCREAMING in that girly shrill? No? You should try it. It's a guaranteed headache.

But we had so much fun! Chicken was singing and dancing, generally acting like a fool! (While I prayed for safety and quietly cried because the seats were frighteningly high up.) Plus, not only were the Cheetah Girls there, but HANNAH MONTANA was there too. DOUBLE THE FUN! I know I'm making fun but I shouldn't because I was dancing and singing as much as Olivia (I refuse to admit I was louder and more excited). I love those Cheetah Girls...and Hannah Montana is actually Miley Cyrus, daughter of former mullet head Billy Ray Cyrus. He doesn't have a mullet anymore and is really quite handsome. They're all very cute and promote a lot of good things for girls like girl power (growl power), independence, etc. Except that Raven is a little ghetto. But Raven only does the Cheetah Girl movies, not concerts. Anyway...you guys don't care. Most of you probably don't even know who the Cheetah Girls are. But you will...they're going to take the world by storm! (Ok, seriously...someone please take me to a grown up place.)

In more good things to say, I've come to an agreement with my current place of employment to finally work part time. I've been complaining and trying to work part time since Chicken started Kindergarten this year. As she gets older, her social and activity calendar becomes fuller and more difficult to manage. Working full time simply was not acceptable and I needed to accommodate Chicken and her growing life. But since we've already paid for after school care through October, my new 8am-2pm hours won't start until November 1st. Which is fine since cheerleading finishes next week and soccer doesn't start until the 1st week in November so things won't be so bad between now and then. But I'm so very, very happy about this.

In relation to my recent job news, please visit our very good friend, psychic medium, Robyn Z. (http://www.robynz.net/) She's been a personal friend of ours for many, many, many years and has provided support, insight and light for us. When Chicken started school this year, I was complaining (how unusual) to Robyn about how difficult it was for me to work full time and that I needed to work part time ASAP. She told me to be patient, that I would be working part time very soon and seemed to think I wouldn't have to leave my current job (which I love). She has also communicated some very important messages for me from people in the beyond. Through her, I often feel very close to my dad and others who've passed away. Seriously. She's as real as they come and so kind. Thanks Robyn, for all of your support over the years. WE LOVE YOU GUYS!

Moving on, I keep talking about the holidays. And Christmas has already consumed my thoughts. I am so freaking excited! I've started writing shopping lists in my head and am planning my tree theme and everything. It's sick. Robyn has a song called Myspace Anonymous for those addicted. Is there a Christmas Anonymous?

Husband had nasal surgery last week to repair a deviated septum (and by deviated septum, I do not mean nose job) and suck out some mucus from his sinuses. You're welcome for the graphic picture now embedded in your brain. It was outpatient surgery and aside from the fact that he's a big cry baby, he's fine. Still swollen and unable to breath but he'll live. Thank God for Afrin.

Back to Christmas, my sister is coming from New Hampshire in December right around my birthday (listen, I make no secret of my birthday, its Dec. 14th; I expect a lot of attention and mainly, gifts.)...well, she's not coming HERE, she's coming to Orlando. But all the better because not only will I be able to see my FAVORITE sister and her family, but we'll see Mickey during the holidays. It's a twofer!


Merry Christmas!