There's 2 for Every 1

Bullying.  It's a constant worry of mine.  I don't ever want my kids to be on the receiving end of a bully.  Obviously I don't want my kids to be the bully either.

My daughter has had an issue in the past with a girl in the past.  The girl pulled away my daughter's friend and told my daughter she couldn't play with them.  Yes, my girl was hurt by this, but at the same time, she was able to move on.  I hate the term "popular", but at times it seems to fit.  If someone doesn't want to play with GG she finds another friend to play with.  And quick.  Older, younger, green, purple, boy girl - it doesn't matter.


Earlier this week, there were Talent Show auditions for the fourth and fifth graders at my kids' school.  I'm not sure why elementary kids need to "try out" for a talent show, but that's another story for another day.

This same day, I had a Macaroni Kid event to work at a local restaurant.  Since there is construction everywhere I turn, I wanted to make sure we left by a certain time to avoid being late.  Very unprofessional.

As we were waiting for my daughter to perform her dance routine with a friend, I asked when they were scheduled to go on.  I was told last.  Glancing at the clock, I asked GG to ask if she could perform a tad earlier in the line up.  She confidently walked into the gym to ask the teachers in charge.  When she returned to the hallway, I saw it.  Proof that for every 1 bully, there are at least 2 good kids.

GG walked out into the hallway, head down, and was instantly surrounded by every kid in the hallway.  Most were in fifth grade.  Some were in sixth grade, there helping younger siblings.  I didn't recognize any of those kids as her friends or siblings of her friends, but there they were, comforting my daughter.

GG said the teachers wouldn't listen to her.  She misunderstood me and thought we had to leave "right now". She wasn't going to be able to try out for the show.  I reassured her we still had plenty of time.  As I explained this, one boy explained that he plays an instrument.  Dance routines always try out before instruments.  Another girl, I believe from the middle school, came up and hugged my daughter.

Lately I have seen more and more kids being disrespectful to their friends as well as their parents.  I have seen kids clearly misbehaving in front of their parents, who do nothing to correct the poor behavior.  This group of kids, showing support and encouragement to a younger girl, made me forget all about that.  There were no parents around to encourage them to show their support.  There were no kids laughing or pointing at my daughter for crying.  There was no sense of competition that they would do better than a girl who was upset.  These kids were just there.  They were there for my daughter.

I wish I could personally thank all of those parents and let them know that there kid is proof that good kids far outnumber the bad.

I understand, but stop

If nothing else, I have learned that after school pick-up is a great place to gather blogging material. And since I'm too nice of a person to actually say "Shut the fuck up" to some one's face, I turn to this lovely blog.

Dear mother of my daughter's friend,

I understand your frustrations. I went through the same thing last school year with my daughter. I know that you are not exaggerating when you say it took hours to rid your own daughter's hair of lice. And then you had to do the same with your 2 other children, also in school. It's a long process. It's gross. I understand where you are coming from. But I have to draw the line somewhere.

Yesterday you informed me that 2 of your 3 had lice again. Perhaps you didn't get it all on the first round or maybe the child your got it from wasn't properly treated. I'll never know. Marching up to me and saying you are not bringing your kids back to this "fucking school" until "every child has been fucking checked"- that is where I draw the line. There's frustrated (rightfully so) and inappropriate.

I guess you didn't notice that most of the elementary kids were running past you as you were dropping F-bombs left and right. Other parents waiting for their kids could also hear you. Not only could a child run home and drop the F-bomb for their parents, but you may very well have started a panic. Parents panicked and unnecessarily treated their kids earlier in the year. Hearing your rant is going to make this possible panic all that much worse.

I'm frustrated as well, and trust me, there will be hell raised if one of my children come home with lice, but right now, I am not the person you need to go off on. For the sake of avoiding mass hysteria, I really hope you take my advice and talk to the proper people, ie. not me. The principal, the school board, the superintendent, I don't care. Just not me.

Sincerely,

The mom of your daughter's friend who is fucking sick of bugs in the school, but can't do much beyond keeping them away from her own kids.

Check out Shell at Things I Can't Say for more info

Safe, but at what cost?

My oldest recently turned 10, but even when she was a toddler, I knew I didn't want to be a parent like my dad was. Don't get me wrong, my father was a great man and a great parent, but we definitely had our moments. One thing him and I disagreed on was a certain friend of mine. Her and I formed our bond in third grade. As high school approached, she had numerous piercings and watched shows like 90210 and Melrose Place. He deemed her a bad influence.

I never wanted to be a parent like that where I told my children who they could or couldn't be friends with. In light of recent events, I fear this may have to happen.

A few Fridays ago, GG's friend called asking her to join her at a high school football game. It had been a while since the two girls hung out so I helped GG bundle up, shoved a few bills in her pocket, and sent her on her way. Little Dude was upset he couldn't join the girls. It had been a long day and I just wasn't up for dealing with the noise of the game along with the chilly Fall weather. I didn't realize until later in the evening that this game was the last of the season.

Little did I know that our high school football team would win that last game and make it the playoffs. The following Friday, GG's friend called once again inviting her to the game. Once again I bundled her up, shoved a few bills in her pocket, and sent her on her way.

Immediately after I turned to Little Dude and told him to bundle up as we were going to the game as well. When Little Dude and I arrived at the stadium, I asked him to pick a seat. We would try to find his sister, but that didn't mean we would sit with her and her friend. It's a struggle for me, but I am trying to give my daughter more independence.

We spotted GG and her friend a few sections over. We made our way over to let her know we were there. As I sat down, I began to look for her friend's father. I assumed he had gone to the concession stand for treats or hot chocolate. Perhaps he even went up the hill behind the bleachers where you are allowed to smoke. As the first quarter of the game came to a close, the friend's father had yet to show.

This was when I made the realization that he had dropped the two then 9 year old girls at the stadium by themselves. This was also the time I began to freak out.

We have been to our high school's football games in the past. It is a very family friendly environment and being a small community, most people know each other. Regardless, "you never know who is out there" and "it only takes a second" kept running through my head. Especially when the girls went off the play with friends behind the end zone where it's not as well lit. I know our team won the game and I did see some of the big plays, but for the most part I was keeping an eye on the girls.


I know this family has been through a lot over the past few years. This friend and her sister lost their mom to cancer. It is now just the girls and their dad. But that doesn't make it right to let them have free reign to do as they please, without the supervision of a responsible adult.

Sadly, because of other things I hear these girls are permitted to do, I don't feel that talking to their dad would make much of a difference. Right now I feel my only option is to limit where my daughter is allowed to go with her friend. My daughter, at 10, still sees the world as a perfect place. Yes, she knows there are bad people out there, but she has yet to understand how serious and how devastating it can be to run into those people.


I only want to keep her safe, but I do not like some of the decisions I have to make to ensure that.

How do you supervise?

Supervise - to oversee during execution or performance; superintend; have the oversight and direction of. Also, to watch over as to maintain order.

from dictionary.com


According to this definition, supervise means more than just watching over something. It also means keeping things in order and in line. I'm pretty sure, after what happened last week, that I need to show this to the PTA at my kids' school so they can paste it on any and all permission forms. Let me explain...


This elementary school, in particular, the PTA, does a lot for the students. We have a Halloween Dance, Ornament decorating night, and family bingo. This year the officers decided to add a monthly family movie night.

The month of October held the first family movie night. There were a few bumps during the evening, but being the first of such events, it was almost expected. Last week was our 2nd movie night - Cars 2.

Both of my kids were so excited to see this movie, but especially my son. Every student in his class won 2 free tickets for being the class who brought in the most Box Tops. I dug out of popcorn bowls, my son grabbed one of his favorite blankets, and off we went.

The first half of the movie went off without a hitch, but during the second half, all hell broke loose. Some of the younger kids (Kindergarten and 1st grade) were growing restless and began to run around the gym where the movie was being shown. A few thought it was funny to stick their hands in front of the projector to block the movie. One boy was having a grand time smashing a candy necklace all over the floor. Where were his parents? Neither myself or the 2 women in charge ever figured that out.

In the back of the gym, another boy was running back and forth screaming. This boy is a first or second grader. He was also trying to scale the walls and when he was bored with that activity, eh began to smash Pop Rocks on the floor because "he liked the sound they made". Where was his mom? Again, not sure. She got up and walked out at one point. It was assumed she had to use the ladies room or stepped outside to smoke. She was no where to be found. Until 30 minutes later when she returned. Stumbling through the door, slurring her speech.

I could see by their faces that I was not the only parent annoyed with the children in the front of the room causing a disruption. With some of those troublesome kids, their parents did nothing but watch them bounce to and fro. Or look on as another student told them not to touch something, like the projector.

Regarding the boy in the back of the gym, 2 families spoke to the women in charge. They felt this child was causing too much of a disruption and they had decided to go home because of him.

It clearly states on the permission form that parental supervision is required. I guess the exact definition of supervision needs to be made clearer.

I have mostly enjoyed the first 2 movie nights, but if situations like this continue, I fear movie nights won't last long. It would be a damn shame if a large group of children have to miss out on something fun because of a handful of troublemakers.

Can't You See?

I don't always understand those around me and the decisions they make, but I make it a point to learn, empathize, or hopefully begin to understand. Lately, I have run into more people that I care to count who can't seem to look past their noses. They assume I, and my loved ones, would do things the way they would. They assume that we will side with them and turn against flesh and blood. I do not understand those who can't see around themselves. No matter how hard I try, I don't think I ever will.


I will never understand my aunt's claims to be the victim. No matter what she says, she will never make me believe. She is not the victim. She is the controller. She is the one who drives people away. Playing victim to those too kind to tell her the truth will never be acceptable to me.


I will never understand those who think I can drop everything to cater to them. My family and I were invited to a wedding. My mother-in-law planned for months the outfits she would buy my children only to find out last minute they are not invited. Upon my mother-in-law's request, or demand depending on your point of view, we opted out of attending this wedding. Because of those I failed to mail back my RSVP. My MIL, who has been avoiding their calls out of hurt for a week, finally caved and picked up the phone. She explained to the bride's grandmother my family and I cannot go to the wedding because no one is available to watch our children. The grandmother asked if my mother could watch them for the night.

How lovely it would be to have my mother, or anyone, available at the drop of a hat so I can have a much needed night out with adults. But that is not my life and she shouldn't assume that it is.


I will never understand those who believe a charitable donation should only be given to a certain group of people.

My borough is small, yet at the elementary level, it is divided in two. My children's school tries every year to raise money for a local family in need. It is a game for the students. A game they greatly enjoy. And they are all made aware of what they are doing - helping those in need. The family we are helping this year lives on the other side of the borough. How crass of someone, a teacher, to say we should help a family on our side of the borough instead. To me, that is like saying we should only support troops overseas who come from our town.


Quite often I judge and I do so too fast. I keep those opinions to myself so I can open my ears, not my mouth. My judgements may be wrong, but I will never know unless I give the time to learn more about those around me. But no matter how hard I listen, some people I will never understand.

The meaning behind

We would stay to the left while walking up the stairwell, afraid they would fall on us. When the warmer weather, came they would gather in corners. Hundreds upon hundreds.

There are many things I learned while at my first college, but the meaning behind my first tattoo is one I will never forget.

Sophomore year. My roommate, she was a rebel. A rebel with tattoos. Wanting to add to her collection, she convinced a mutual friend and I we needed one, too. I scrounged up sixty dollars. A lot for a poor college girl. We drove to a shop in the middle of nowhere. All I could afford was a small tattoo. Flipping through the artist's portfolio, I saw a ladybug and it took me back to that stairwell, where hundreds gathered in the corners.





My ladybug has since faded, but the memories are strong. I have added to my collection. The ladybug wasn't alone in that stairwell, and it won't be alone on me.

My green dragon flying free. Somewhere I'd like to think that they do exist.



My flowers for my children, who continue to grow like weeds. Each flower represents the month of their birth.




Finally my flowers. A safe place for my ladybug to land. A reminder that I must continue to grow as I age.



My body is a temple. A temple to worship, protect, and decorate. I often wonder what will be next and what meaning it will hold.




Write a piece in which a tattoo figures prominently. Word count - 300. I have 246.
My apologies for the poor picture quality. It's not easy to take pictures of your own body!

Concrit welcome. As well as tattoo ideas!

Mean girls

I worked in the child care field for many years, with numerous age groups. While the job can be extremely frustrating, it did not lessen my love for children. As it is with my own 2 children, I will always love them. But that doesn't mean I always have to like them.

Over the years I have learned that children, who are such little beings, can be mean. Very mean. Especially girls. This is something we are currently dealing with in my house.


My daughter is a little social butterfly. She will play with anyone and everyone. She has always been that way. Over the past year or so I have noticed cliques forming within her classmates. I knew it was a matter of time, but I had hoped she would be the girl that everyone likes. The girl who can float from clique to clique without upsetting anyone.

My hopes are nothing more that hope, slowing fading away.

Two girls that my daughter has played with for years are suddenly ignoring her, at least when the two girls in question are together. My daughter asks to be on their team for one activity or another. She asks to play with them at recess. Every time she asks, some excuse is made to not include her, if they don't completely ignore her all together.


At the tender age of 9, I've already had a talk with my daughter about what a real friend is. Still believing she can be friends with everyone, I know this will take some time to sink in. Because it will take time, I know there will be more heartaches.

I need my girl to understand that she is special. She is a good person with a big heart. Others who pick and choose when they can be friends are not worth her time. I don't care if she is the most popular girl in school. I don't care if she becomes head cheerleader. What I do care about is making sure she surrounds herself with true friends. Girls, and maybe boys, someday, who treat her right. Friends who aren't afraid to say they are her friend. Friends who will stick with her through thick and thin. Friends who will listen to her secrets and keep them close to their hearts.

Mean girls are a part of life's lessons. I know this is only the beginning. I hope my daughter realizes sooner rather than later that she can rise above that. She has good friends. True friends. She is too good of a person to be ignored.

Which way to turn?

When I first became a mom, I never thought of it as a difficult task.

I was 10 when my brother was born. I was old enough to help feed him and by 11 I could cloth diaper a baby like nobody's business. I was not required to do these things, but I did like to help. I was also old enough to remember the steps my parents took when my baby brother was sick.

A few years after he was born I began to babysit. Not only my brother, my other children in the neighborhood. After high school, I spent 2 summers working in day care. After college, I spent many more years working in day care full time.

These years of experience taught me how to care for children. Day care cannot prepare you for those middle of the night feedings, but I felt well prepared to handle the rest.

I was not one to call the doctor for every sniffle or fever. I may have called for advice, but I would not press for my child to be seen unless they still were not better after 2 days of over the counter medications. I panicked when my daughter had her first asthma attack, but having watched my brother go through similar experiences, I still knew what to do. Having my mom with me that day didn't hurt either.

My children are now older, and I still am not one to fuss over every little thing. I do not jump and run when they fall. I let them climb every slide at the playground, as well as the surrounding trees. I know what to do at home when my daughter has asthma issues. I also know when to call the doctor for her asthma.


I am not one to worry, but this is beginning to change.


For quite a few days, my son, who is 6, has been complaining of a belly ache. Mostly in the mornings before school. I have talked to him many times asking if something is going on at school. He can tell me and I won't be mad. I can't fix it if I don't know. His only reply is his belly hurts.

Since he has no other symptoms and is usually fine by the end of the day, unless I mention his tender belly, I send him to school. The papers he brings home are full of check marks and stars. He always tells me who he played with and sometimes, if I'm lucky, what he learned in class.

I thought about emailing his teacher or sending a note asking for a conference. My brother pulled this stunt on my mom more times than I can count. I don't want my child to not want to go to school.

The husband was out of town and perhaps that was related. I decided to keep an eye on my boy to see if his belly ache continues. But now he has another symptom to add to the list. His head.

When sitting in the back of the class, his head hurt when he touched it. I asked where. Behind his ear. Did he bump it? Did he fall? No, he answered.

Perhaps he needs glasses. I know that's inevitable. But why would his head hurt when he touched it?

I am at a loss. I don't know which way to turn. Do I talk with his teacher? Perhaps something in class is causing him grief. Do I call the doctor and hope they don't brush me away because of a silly belly ache?

Scrubbing desks

I have a secret.

One that I keep to myself
when away from immediate family.

I am not ashamed. In fact, I am quite proud.

I keep my secret to myself because of how it makes others feel.


My daughter is smart. Very smart. I am not saying this just because she is my daughter. I am not saying this so I can write a "my kid is better than yours" post. That's how she is.

She has always excelled in school. Homework has always been a breeze. A few teachers have told me she does things above her grade level.


I realize my daughter is different when I talk about these things to friends. Their child may struggle with certain subjects. Homework may take hours. I don't meant to compare our children. I don't mean to make them feel disappointed. But that is what happens.

Their child may get in trouble for not doing their work. My child gets in trouble for finishing her work too fast and drawing on her desk because she is bored.

I am incredibly proud of my daughter. I will continue to challenge her and push her to her full potential. I will try to work with her teacher so we can avoid future punishments.

But sometimes guilt makes me keep my proud secret to myself.

Friends don't let friends...

Do each other's hair.

I recently read a blog post about bad hair. My hair is nothing short of a hot mess! I'm sure it wouldn't be so bad if I got a haircut more than once a year. Add that to this crushing heat and humidity and it's a nightmare. Even a ponytail doesn't help!

stupid baby fine curls that aren't long enough to be pulled back


Anyway, this blog post reminded me of a time I was stupid enough to let a friend fix my fair. I'm not sure if fix is the right word, but I'll stick with it for now. It's too damn hot to think straight!


I was in fifth grade I believe and sleeping over a best friend's house. It was your typical grade school girl sleepover. We watched a scary movie that made us want to stay up all night. Stupid Carrie! Since we couldn't sleep, she asked if she could do my hair. My hair was always long and I rarely did anything with it. I agreed. Even after she pulled out the hot rollers.

We turned on a lamp, not only so she could see but to most likely keep hands from punching through the floor. Again, thank you Carrie!

My friend sat in an arm chair and I on the floor between her legs. With a roller in one hand, my friend gently grabbed a piece of my hair and rolled it. And rolled it. And rolled it. She kept rolling until I could no longer feel my head. Damn those things hurt!

As those rollers were working their magic in my already wavy hair, we chatted about boys, our favorite band (NKOTB, thank you very much), and whatever happened to be the latest gossip among our class.


It was finally time to pull those suckers out of my hair (thank god!). After each one came out, I thought I heard a chuckle coming from her. I wrote it off as my mind playing tricks on me from watching the movie. After the last roller came out, my friend grabbed a pick and began to separate each curl. Her laughter grew louder as she continued to pick away at my hair. I finally asked for a mirror.


Have you ever watched a dog show? Random, I know, but bear with me.

Sometimes they have poodles in those shows. Of course each and every one of the dogs in those shows are groomed. I always thought the poodles looked the most ridiculous. Most of them were shaved, but only in certain places. The rest of their bodies had big poof balls of fur - at the tips of their tails, tips of their ears, around the mid-section (what the hell?!).

What my friend did to my hair put those dogs to shame. If I was in those dog shows with my new 'do, I would have won hands down in the grooming category. On either side of my head were giant dirty blond poof balls of hair. I looked like Princess Leia, but with poof balls, not braids.

This, my friends, is why I no longer let friends "fix' my hair.

My child

Is not autistic.

I am not in denial. I am merely pointing out facts.

I'm not even sure if he even knows what autistic means, even though he's been surrounded by it 4 days a week for the past month, as well as throughout last school year.


Last year my children's school added a new classroom - the autism resource room. This autism room has a half dozen students of Kindergarten age. Throughout the school year, the "normal" (I hate that word!) Kindergartens would include the autism class in as many activities as they could.

This summer a new program was created. The autistic students would team up with their "non-disabled peers" (school wording, not mine- I think that's a little fucked up) for a 4-week summer camp. The plan was to have all the students, total of 10 work together, interact, and hopefully learn from each other.

This summer camp is now coming to a close. I believe is was a huge success. Every morning I would watch all of the students bounce into the school. After a few hours I would watch them all return to their parents, smiles on every single face. My son would tell me all about the games he played and who he played with, which was almost everyone in the camp, autistic and not.

I am so grateful that he was granted this opportunity. I want my children to be involved with others who are not like them instead of seeing them as inferior.

Every morning my boy was so excited to go to camp. He was so happy. Except...


Yes, there is a downfall. My boy seems to have picked up some bad habits. He has been screaming. In the house, in the car, and anywhere else we go. After a few days I finally thought to ask him why he was screaming all the time. His answer, because T screams at camp.

T, one of the autistic children, is the sweetest boy. Almost every day he would show me his bright red tennis shoes. How they still look brand new is beyond me. My boy's shoes look like they've been to hell and back. Twice. As sweet as T is, he is definitely a screamer. He can also be somewhat defiant, which now makes me look at my own child in a different light. Defiant doesn't begin to describe how he's been this past week.


Today is the last day of summer camp. I am hoping by next week, my boy's behavior returns to how he was before. Still stubborn, but not as defiant. And definitely not screaming. If it doesn't, I don't know what I'm going to do.

The trip where I left my mark

School trips. We all go on them. I know I certainly did!

I could share about my many adventures through France and Italy. I did give a sneak peak here after all. Even though that trip may turn out to be a once in a lifetime adventure, there is one school trip that will forever stand out in my mind.

Washington D.C.


Midway through high school, my Computer Arts teacher put together a little trip for his 50 or so students. Looking back I have no idea how our trip to D.C. related to the class, but I won't complain. It was one of the first trips the husband (then boyfriend) and I took together.


We visited all of the popular tourist attraction.

Outside and inside the Capitol Building

We rubbed our fingers over the names on the Vietnam Wall, desperately wishing someone had thought to bring paper.


We toured the Holocaust Museum. Tears fell from our eyes as we walked the bridge over hundreds of tiny shoes. All from children who were taken too soon. We read stories and letters of love that was not permitted to bloom. Our tears echoed as they hit the cold, grey floor.


We drove our tour bus through Arlington National Cemetery.

A silent prayer was said for John F. Kennedy and we stood at attention before the Unknown soldier. The sky was filled with gray. Sadness was all around.

Not all of our time in our country's capitol was spent in mourning.

Every time I go through a metal detector, my memories of the White House come flooding back. My friend set them off numerous times. We assumed it was her earrings. After all, she had more metal than skin in her ears. Turns out it the under wire in her bra!

As we circled the Smithsonian, but never went in, we watched gray squirrels dart to and fro. If we bent down ever so slowly, one would run and eat crumbs from our hands.

Our very last day we stopped at the zoo. A zoo always makes me feel like a child, no matter what city I'm in. I vaguely remember there were Pandas, which we didn't have at our zoo back home. I also remember losing my lunch by those Pandas. And probably by a few other exhibits as well. I thought it was the rain from Arlington that made me sick. After all, didn't our mothers say you'll get sick if you go out in the rain?

Even though that trip was one I would never forget, I was as happy as a sick person could be to get back on the bus and go home. Most of the students slept in the big comfy seats on the ride back north. My friends and I sat in the back, rehashing our trip. Except for one who was hiding in the bathroom. I can only imagine what he was doing in there. I'm not sure I'll ever know because I made him get out. The last words I heard said to me from that trip were "Hey, you just puked on my shoe!".


My family and I have plans to return to D.C. in August. The husband and I are quite anxious to return. We know our kids will always remember it. Let's just hope no one gets their shoes puked on!





I would like to point out that our teacher rocked then and he rocks now. Have you ever heard of the country band, The Stickers? My former teacher is their drummer!

Those were the days. Maybe?

Liz at a belle, a bean, & a chicago dog is doing a meme of sorts. We all remember how incredibly awesome we looked in high school - crazy clothes, wild hair. Ya, good times!

I love sharing old pictures because sometimes they're good for a laugh. I had to get in touch with a friend of mine. She is the queen of all picture circa the high school days. Also? My mom can't seem to find my actual senior pictures. I even went through her boxes of old pictures myself. If I didn't know any better, I'd say my brother is loved more than me. Thanks, mom! (love you)



I would love to lie and tell you that this is my senior prom picture because I think it's a great picture. Other than the "hold you date just so" pose, of course.

But my actual senior prom photo is this....

We looked so thrilled, don't we? And yes, that is a tie-dye shirt my boyfriend (now husband) has on under his jacket. It wouldn't have looked so bad if he wore a tie that didn't have some nature scene on it. Owls, I think.

I'm still not sure why, but I was hell bent on wearing one of my mom's old dresses. I loved the color. I loved the way it felt on me. What I did not love was how I stood out compared to my friend's dresses!

No one told me short was the *the* style in '97!

Before you start wondering what kind of crazy looking hotel our dance was in, we were on a boat.


I went through a lot of different looks in those four years. My freshman year started with crazy patterns accompanied by sky-high ponytails held in place with a scrunchie and teased bangs.

The middle years were full of ponytails held back with the first thing I could grab in the morning, rock hard bangs curled under, only covering half of my forehead, and clothes any color that resembled black.

In my senior year, my mom jumped for joy when I slashed her grocery bill by abandoning hair spray. But the black clothing? That stayed with me for many more years.

My year book picture.

Looking at some of these pictures, I'm not sure if I miss how I looked in those days or not.

L'eau minerale

Like sand through the hourglass. Or in my case, sand through the bottle.


This week's RemembeRED prompt is sand.




When I think of sand, of course I think of the beach. The hot, dry sand that creeps into your shoes as you trek across, trying to find the perfect spot to sit. Or the wet, sloppy sand that envelopes your toes as you walk the edge of the ocean. But the best sand is the sand that I most likely won't ever touch again.


It was the summer before my senior year of high school. The time had come for me and my friends to take our trip with the rest of the French club. We landed in Paris, a city that created many stories, but none of which relate to sand. From Paris we traveled southward to Nice.

Our teacher believed that my group of three was mature enough to travel the city alone. I'm not sure I agreed, but I surely wasn't going to argue. We had heard that nude beaches were a popular thing in that part of the world. Having never been to one, we just had to go. This is not a decision that should be made without proper planning. Some things you can never un-see.

As the three of us were walking towards the beach, chatting away, we decided to stop in a deli to buy bottles of water. The day was cool and cloudy, but those bottles would provide storage for sand as a souvenir. Again, we should have planned ahead of time. Carbonated water, tall and blue, were all we could find. It was not a pleasant experience attempting to guzzle that down.

We climbed the boulders to reach the sand. Standing atop, we gazed out at the view. Gray sand stretched to the left and right as far as we could see. The steel colored water lapped at the shore. There were only a few scarcely dressed people roaming the beach on that crisp summer day. Modesty is key when dressing in France. Just not at the beach.

Once across the small mountain reed, we removed our shoes. Our toes were not met by the hot, dry sand. Nor were they met by wet, slimy sand. The shells jabbed our toes while the gritty sand tore at our heels. We emptied our bottles, soothing our feet as we wondered how such sand would fit in our narrow topped bottles.

It was not the sandy beach we had expected, but knowing we might never stand there again, we had to take some of it home. We cupped our hands and slowly began to fill our bottles with sand and pebbles. When our loads reached the top of the long necks, we screwed on the tops as tight as we could.





That bottle rests on my dresser, hiding between jewelry and music boxes. The sand has settled and the dust has gathered on the lid. I often look at that bottle and smile. The stories of my trip come flooding back. Perhaps someday I can return to top off that bottle.

What to be when I grow up

Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I wanted to be a teacher.

Quite often you would find my in the living room. My Cabbage Patch Dolls were lined up along the couch, with a few stuffed animals in between. I would pull the piano bench the the middle of the floor in front of the couch. This was my desk. I would teach my students to count, color, and sing. Those years of piano lessons did come in handy at times.


When I was a senior in high school, I began to look at colleges. I wanted to live on campus, but still close enough to come home on weekends should I choose. I found a school 2 hours away. I was still able to come home, but I was far enough away to have some freedom. That freedom eventually got the best of me. My grades begin to slip and after 2 years I realized that I was a little too far from home. I moved back home and transferred to a college in the city, 15 minutes away.

My grades continued to improve and I was moving into my education classes. I loved my classes and my professors. I made some new friends and discovered some old ones went to that same school as well. In my last year at this school, I started second guessing my major of Elementary Education. Psychology classes were some of my required classes, and I excelled in those. I began to contemplate changing to Child Psychology as my major. Or at the very least, adding it as a minor.

What held me back from making the switch was timing. I was already in my last year. If I switched, it would be taking a step backwards. Grants and loans also came into play. I wasn't sure if I could get anymore assistance if I went to school longer than I already had at this point.

While the wheels were turning in my head, someone else finally made my decision for me. My boyfriend, now husband, and I found out we were expecting. There was no way I could go to school and care for a newborn. I won't deny that I tried. I started my student teaching, but it just wasn't working out. I took a few months off and when I returned to school, I took a few classes to accrue the credits I needed to graduate.


This was 9 years ago. I have had various jobs with kids, and today I am a stay-at-home mom. I am happy where I am, but sometimes I still wonder, what if.

Occasionally I will hear a commercial for a school or see an ad. Sometimes I think about going back for some sort of psychology degree. But then I see a sign that proves I am where I need to be.



If you saw this picture next to an ad explaining you can get your social worker degree in as little as a year, would you choose this school?



Obviously this child is upset. Having a degree in social work would mean you could hopefully help this child to smile, not cry.



This picture? The itch to go back to school has been scratched, thank you very much! If I want to see a psycho child, I'll rent the Exorcist, k?