I'm back!

I'm back.

But I'm not all here.

Of course how is that different than any other day?

¡Adiós!

Fuera de respuesta de Blogger: Seré fuera de Blogger hasta Día de Partido Laborista que bebe margaritas y evita los paseos locos cargas de mi iPhone. Si usted tiene una emergencia de Blogger se siente por favor libre contactar cualquiera de las personas en mi categoría de Better Than a Blogroll. Ellos nunca fallan de divertirme. ¡Adiós!

Translation:
I'm outee b*tches! I'm off to the beaches of Mexico for a much needed vacation with my husband, friends, and NOT the kids.

Here is probably where I should ask you to send good vibes, wishes, prayers or whatever floats your boat to my my generous father-in-law who is spending the week with my kids taking care of everything. Also add my parents to the mix who have offered their house on the weekend. They're going to need it!

Wait.

Don't be sad.

I'll be back!

I promise.

And while I'm gone I thought I'd provide you will a little entertainment:

You Should Visit Mexico

You can be as comfortable as you want, eating fast food and partying with English speakers in resort town. But if you're feeling brave, venture out to Mexico City - or explore the tropical Yucatan.

What Latin American Country Should You Visit?

No really, I'm not trying to rub it in...

You Are a Lime Margarita

Realistic and grounded, you have the energy to tackle any obstacle that stands in your way. Hyper and driven, you despise lazy behavior of all kinds... especially lazy drunks too tired to dance!

What Flavor Margarita Are You?

Well...maybe a little...But it's only because:

Your Travel Personality Is: The Bonder

For you, travel is less about where you're going - but who you're going with. It's no fun to experience an amazing city or a beautiful beach without your friends. In fact, it doesn't really matter where you go... because you and your friends always figure out how to have fun!

What's Your Travel Personality?

You should go with me!

No?

Not this time?

OK.

I'll see you when I get back.

Have a great week.

Friday Frustrations: Dear Husband

Dear Husband,

When we are preparing to go on vacation just remember, there are TWO of us who can do all of the preparations.

Thank you.

Love,
Your Wife

Apparently, I Am a Member of the Okie Mafia

So I'm not one to get angry very easily. I'm what you call a slow burn. I take it. And I take it. And I take it. And I take it. And I take it.

And then...

Ba-boom!

I have the totally inappropriate blowup.

My father is that way as well. I can count on one hand the times he got angry during my childhood. Usually the anger resulted in a hole in the wall. And usually nobody was every sure what set him off.

Anger: It's not an emotion my father and I are too familiar with, and we do not handle it well.

So what's the point in me telling you all of this?

"Weeelllllll," she says shrugging her shoulders while blushing.

This week I had a little blow up. Unlike my father, however, I don't get physical. I tend to have words come out of my mouth that not even I use. And the way in which I put these words together...well all I can say it that it doesn't even really make sense, especially when I go into Okie Mafia mode.

What is Okie Mafia mode?

OK. I'm not angry right now, but I'm going to try to show you. Try to imagine this being said with a total New York housewife accent blended with Okie hick.

Yeah. I know. It doesn't even make sense. I'm almost to embarrassed to write it. But I will.

"You son of b*tch. Do you know who I am? Well you should. Because I efff'in know EVERYBODY. And eff'in EVERYBODY knows me. And I have a lot of eff'in friends, a lot of eff'in LOYAL friends. And if you, you total eff-tard, think you can mess with me or my family, you have know eff'in idea the wrath that I will bring down upon you. NO EFF'IN IDEA! You don't know when it will happen. But it will happen. And when it does, you'll know it's me. But you'll never be able to eff'in prove it, you stupid mother eff'in son of white trash piece of garbage that I wouldn't eat even if it were the last piece of food on the earth and I had been starvin' for week."

See?

It doesn't make sense.

I don't know everybody.

Everybody doesn't know me.

I don't know if I can get you back.

And quite frankly, once I'm not angry any more, I don't even really care if I ever get you back.

And I really don't know what's with the eatin' garbage bit. I wouldn't eat garbage. Though I suppose if I were really starving I might try it. But if you were the garbage I'd probably apologize first.

See? It makes no sense.

But I did it again, earlier this week. It being blowing my top. Fortunately for me I was in my own house, my kids were at school, and my husband was the only one who heard it. I should probably thank him for not bursting out in laughter at my ridiculousness as I was ranting. Though I have to say maybe he didn't laugh out of self-preservation. I mean did you hear my Mafia Okie speech? I'd be afraid if I were him.

Wordless Wednesday - Whose Big Kids Are These?

For more Wordless Wednesdays visit here and here.

Have you ever?

Have you ever received some news that you know is going to destroy your child's world, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it and there is nothing you can even think do that will be good enough to soften the blow? Here I sit, at the crack of dawn having just had a nightmare. You see I received such news yesterday, and the pain I feel for my child...

I just keep remembering this kid that I knew back in 1994. I was about to graduate from college, and I was doing my student teaching at a local school. He was this sweet, sensitive little boy, and personally I found nothing remotely wrong with him. But as I watched him in class I noticed that although there was nothing at all wrong with him, he himself lived a very lonely, isolated life. During the year, I had a parent teacher conference with a mother who informed me that her son, who had always had trouble making friends, had just had his best friend move away and that he, feeling very lonely and isolated, was really struggling in school and in life.

This child completely broke my heart and has always stayed with me. I think there was, even though I was not yet a mother, a part of me that wanted to wrap that child up in love and take away his pain. And as his teacher I offered him all that I could; I offered him my best. But I was only his teacher. What I offered I knew wasn't enough.

Now I am a mother and somewhere in me there has always been this part of me that worries that someday my child will feel the pain and isolation my student felt.

Yesterday I got some news that I fear could make my child feel such isolation. And I worry. For although I once again can try to wrap a child up in love, I know I can not take away his pain. And although I am no longer merely a teacher, I know that as his mother there is only so much I can do. I can offer him a safe place to fall, a safe place to go when it seems that the world is only out to cause him pain. I can love him; I can comfort him. As a mother, I can do my best.

And here in lies the problem. For as my child will soon discover when he receives the news that I have, sometimes your best, well it just isn't good enough. I just hope in this case, it is.

One of Many Annoying Traits

So I have this really annoying trait.

"Just one?" Da Husband inserts.

So there's this one of many annoying traits that I have. When I get into a new situation with new people, and I'm crazy nervous, I get loud.

Not just a little loud. But so loud that I think into myself, "Who is this crazy, loud woman I'm being forced to talk to? I have got to get away from her." But then I can't. You know why? That crazy, loud woman is me. It's a disaster.

And as I watch the people who I am talking to and the looks on their faces as they respond to that crazy, loud woman, rather than stopping and calming myself down, I just get louder. I can't help myself. It's a horrible train wreck that I can never seem to avoid. It's amazing that I can make new friends at all.

Oh, and you know the thing that makes my loudness even louder? Give me a beer. Yeah. It really has the opposite affect that you would think. You would think it would calm me down, I'd relax, and I'd get quieter.

But no, I get louder. It's really great. Oh, and it is usually at his point that I drop a couple of curse word bombs.

I am just that awesome.

So there I am, last Thursday night with a group of very conservative Okie Bloggers. Loud. Cursing. Offending everybody. And I can't stop myself. And when you're in a room of what you know are mostly super conservative bloggers, well, that's not so good.

Aiy yai yai, Kelly. Shut up! But I couldn't. And I didn't.

So here is when I have to apologize to the Okie women of last Thursday's gathering of Mom's Nite Out.

But mostly I should apologize to the one person I knew who I talked into going with me, Jill of All Trades.

Kelly and Jill of All Trades

Oh and guess what, I've talked her into going with me to BlogHer '09 too. She's probably regretting that decision about right now.

Friday Frustrations: Really?

So I've been blogging and social networking for years now, and one thing I've noticed about all of the different social networks is that there are these people. You know the ones. They like to get all territorial and preachy about the way they think things should be run on the social networks that they happen to be playing in. They like to create rules. They like to offer "advice" even though you haven't asked. And if they don't like the way you do things they make a big speech and get you the only way they know how, with the big scary block.

Here's the thing.

These are social networks, the key word being social. And for me social involves hanging with my friends, my peeps, or my tweeps. And it's supposed to fun.

And if you don't like the way I have fun, you don't have to follow. No really. It's OK. Not everybody has to like the way I do things. It's cool. Just block me and be done with it. I don't need to know why.

Here's a little secret for ya, shhhhhhh...I don't really care why.

Oh and one more thing, why is it that these bossy people always seem to finish their "I'm cutting you off speech" with the "I'm sorry you're offended" line.

Dude, really? Really dude? Really?

Geez. Learn how to apologize for being so bossy. Tip one: An apology never involves trying to make the person you're apologizing to feel inferior. Never.

I Think I'm Feeling 40 Already

So I got my test results back concerning the biopsy of the thing on my face.

Fortunately, I'm going to live! That's always a good thing, especially when you consider I'm turning 40 next year.

What's that I said?

I'm excited about turning 40?

Heck ya I'm excited.

Ask any one of your elders--elder being someone at least 20 years older than you--and they will tell you. The 40's are the best years of your life.

OK, OK sure. I know a lot of you are not excited about turning 40. You start to panic about the wrinkles on your face or the fact that certain parts of your body, if they haven't already, will start to fall and there's nothing you can do about it.

But dude, your 40. Who cares about the rest? Why? I'll tell you why.

40 is power.

You know stuff at 40.

Sure the little 20-somethings and 30-somethings out there think they know some stuff, but they don't know stuff.

Not like you know stuff.

And it's fantastic knowing all the stuff you know.

Knowing more stuff means you're smarter. Being smarter means you're better. And being better means you'll exude confidence. Everybody knows that smart and confident beats out dumb and pretty any day.

Any. Day.

40. It's gonna be good. I'm so glad I get to get there.

Look at me all happy and stuff with my good biopsy results. I think I'm feeling 40 already.

Karma and Joking About the Swine Flu

If you follow me on Twitter you know that well, I have been as of late making jokes about the United States' current obsession, the Swine Flu

I know, I know. It's not supposed to be called the Swine Flu any more, but I can't remember the other name so you're just going to have to deal...OK?

Anyway, Friday morning I re-tweeted a totally inappropriate, but you can't help but laugh tweet about the Swine Flu. The minute I hit enter, my phone rang.

"This is the nurse at your child's school. Little B is complaining that his whole body hurts, and he has a temperature of 101.8."

Oh awesome. I've totally jinxed my entire family have given them the Swine Flu.

Immediately I called the pediatrician and got my son an appointment after I picked him up from school where the school nurse chased us down the hall just to let us know to let her know with what disease my son had infected the school. As we walked down the hallway to the doctor's office I noticed a note on the door that told us if the patient has a cough and a fever notify the person you check in with. So as I'm paying my co-pay, I tell the secretary my son has a cough and a fever.

The next thing you know he looks like this:


Poor thing. He felt terrible and now everybody was staring at him.

So we saw the doctor, and I found her really humorous with her, "I am obligated to tell you..." that she seemed to start every sentence with.

"I am obligated to tell you about the swine flu."
"I am obligated to tell you that if your child tests positive for Flu Type A, an indicator for the swine flu, his results will be sent to the health department."
"I am obligated to tell you that your son needs to wear his mask until you get into the car."

So after a few more "I am obligated to tell you's" and a swab up the nose test, we got home and anxiously waited for the call containing the test results.

Now here is where I'm obligated to tell you that my son was feeling just a little bit worried and paranoid.

"What's the swine flu??"
"I haven't been around any pigs!"
"Am I going to die?"

And about the time the "Am I going to die" question popped up the phone rang.

Little B did NOT have the swine flu!

Applause, applause, applause.

Hearing the good news, poor Little B fell fast asleep, pleased that he wasn't going to be growing a pig nose and a curly cue tail.

The next morning the second lab test came in. He had strep, just strep. Phew. I never thought I'd be so grateful for my child to have strep.

Can you imagine the hysteria that would have followed if it had been the Swine Flu? I mean the school nurse chased me down the hallway. Chased. And she's a medical professional who is supposed to be, well, the voice of reason. I can't imagine the drama that would have occurred if my kid were the Swine Flu kid that shut the school down. The first true case in Oklahoma!

And it would all be because of my totally inappropriate but still funny tweet on Twitter.

Oh Lord.

Karma.

She sure loves to make me nervous.

Friday Frustrations: A Letter to My Family

Dear sweet family of mine,

Just because you didn't make the mess doesn't mean that you don't need to clean it up. I'm tired of you stepping over a shoe or a piece of trash that has magically appeared on the living room floor. I know it wasn't you spilled Cheerios all over creation and just walked away. I also know it wasn't you who moved the furniture in the playroom or who shoved candy wrappers into the sofa cushions.

I know you didn't take food upstairs and leave the plate there, and I know you didn't open every door in the kitchen and leave it wide open. I know you didn't spill every piece of corn under the kitchen table, leaving it there for all to squoosh. And I know you didn't spill a drink, throw a towel over it and call it good.

I know you didn't get toothpaste all over the walls, cupboards, and toilet. I also know it wasn't you who can never-ever seem to get your dirty tissues into the trash can and instead place them around the trash can. I also know that it wasn't you who left their towels all over the floor last night, or who "forgot" to flush the toilet this morning.

I know, I know.

It wasn't you.

I get it.

Not.

You.

I DON'T CARE.

Bend over. Pick it up. Put it away. Clean it up. Flush. Stop pretending it isn't there. It is. And Mom isn't the only one who can fix it.

And that reminds me. No. I don't know where your shoes are, or your soccer uniform is, or your the location of your retainer. You probably do as what you're looking for is YOURS.

Are we clear?

Good.

I still love you--well most days.
Mom

Whew!

I think I'm going to like this blog carnival.