Podiatis Salivitus Disease

Otherwise known as "Open Mouth, Insert Foot".

Two nights ago, I was talking with a kid at work. He's sixteen, nice kid, works hard...I decided to pick his brain a little on the terms teens are using these days to describe themselves.

I don't write YA but hey, you never know. Information always seems to come in handy.

So he's explaining the term EMO, the current definition of punk (I pointed out that this was exactly what it meant to be punk when I was in high school...he was in deep denial over that one, let me tell you.), and then he uses the term "hard core" and pauses to see if I have any CLUE what that might mean.

Ummm, let me see...I grew up in the age of the big hair bands when AC/DC and Motley Crue were slamming it out at concerts and everyone morphed into one big mosh pit. I saw the invention of grunge leak its way out of Seattle and settle onto our radios. I graduated the year Kurt Cobain took his life. Kids wore all black or ripped and tattered clothes and refused all forms of personal hygiene (that's sticking it to the establishment! I haven't bathed and you can't make me. Ha!).

I have a vague idea what hard core can mean.

I told him this and he gave me this tiny little smile and said, "Well, that was like a century ago. It means something different now."

Huh.

I'd like to finish this story in all its gory details but my lawyer says I really shouldn't.

A Disaster in Gold Lame (la-may): Part Two

As you learned in Disaster: Part One, I now owned a gold lame thong (along with other undies in various styles, colors, and stages of use...most were new, in my Mom's defense). What you don't know is that my Mom sent not one, but TWO. Double trouble.

I packed them away in my underwear drawer and forgot all about it. (Those of you who know me well are shocked, I realize, that I didn't immediately jump on the opportunity to wear gold lame. I assure you, I have no quarrel with the fabric. It's dramatic. I love drama. It's the thought of wearing dental floss as an undergarment that throws. me. I don't wear anything that has to be surgically removed should I be unfortunate enough to bend over.)

One morning, as I woke later than usual for my teaching job. It was still dark outside as I snatched a pair of underwear and an outfit and hastily ran out the door. Yes, you guessed it, I grabbed the gold lame thong.

I was somewhat uncomfortable with my underwear choice but didn't have time to change it (besides, I was a little behind on laundry *euphamism for absolutely no other underwear clean* so my options were limited).

It wasn't until fourth period (FOUR CLASSES INTO MY DAY) that I clued in to the fact that I was wearing WHITE pants. White pants plus flashy gold and black lame thong.

That explained all the strange looks in my direction.

I didn't live that one down either.

A Public Apology

I have had a crazy week. I'm not sure how it happened but it was crazier than normal and that is saying something!

Anyway, I have several writing samples that I promised to critique just sitting in my inbox, neglected and forlorn.

To the writers: I'm sorry.

I know how it feels to send your work out to someone and then anxiously wait for their comments and feedback. I hate waiting. I like instant gratification! I've made you wait and I'm sorry. However, in the interest of giving you the best feedback possible, I want to give your work the time and attention it deserves. I will be sending out at least one critique today and more to follow.

Just a little more patience...It's coming, I promise.

A Tale of Gold Lame (pronounced la - may): Part One

All families have their little quirks. My father is the Master Packer and can get an amazing amount of stuff into any size suitcase or box using his Master Packer skills. My mother does not throw away any item of clothing, no matter what it is. Old pants? Donate them or give them to your daughter. Old sheets? Rag basket or give them to your daughter. Old underwear? Dust rags or give them to your daughter.

One day my parents' quirks came together and caused A Disaster in Gold Lame.

The Disaster ocurred before I had children. I was teaching high school English at the time. My mother wanted to send a box of Christmas presents to me. So far, so good.

Mistake #1: My mother asked my father to pack the box. He was disatisfied with the amount of space left in the box and asked her if she had anything else she could send to fill up that space.

Mistake #2: My mother had a supply of spare underwear (many with the tags still on since she is patently unable to bypass a good clearance rack)

Mistake #3: My dad used the underwear to FILL the box.

Mistake #4: My mother sent the box to my school so it wouldn't disappear off my front doorstep while I was at work.

Mistake #5: The office paged me to come get my box and when I arrived, several secretaries, teachers, and even the principal were there, all urging me to open the box and see what I got for Christmas.

Mistake #6: I opened the box.

Result: The firmly packed underwear exploded from it's cramped quarters. Pastel pink undies slid across the secretary's keyboard. Daring red bikinis landed in the trash. But worse, WORSE, was the gold lame thong that flung itself at my principal's feet.

I did not live that one down.

More on the gold lame Disaster later...

Lost in Translation

So yesterday, the bus my kids ride was an hour late coming home from school. When I asked my middle son to explain what happened, he said,

"Some kid hacked up a furball and we had to hose down the bus."

Clearly he is spending too much time with my cat.

Things I Wish I Didn't Know

Courtesy of a marathon cleaning session in my boys' room.


1. My children find it perfectly acceptable to store dirty dishes under their beds.

2. It HURTS to sit on a Ninja Turtle. (Darn that Michaelangelo and his num-chucks)

3. It also HURTS to step on a Lego. (Why do they make toys capable of impaling the human foot? Shouldn't that be illegal?)

4. The toybox doubles as a hamper and the more dirty socks you hide inside, the better.

5. Fig Newtons, left to their own devices for months, make excellent weapons.

6. Gusher Fruit Snacks, left to their own devices for months, also make excellent weapons.

7. Yogurt, left to its own devices for months, does not.

8. We have 13 shoes between my two youngest but only three pair.

9. It is NOT FUNNY to pile Legos on top of the ceiling fan and wait for Mom to unknowingly turn it on.

10. Snot, systematically wiped on a wall, is nearly impossible to remove.

And people wonder why the thought of spring cleaning makes me twitch.

The Heroic Choice

A situation that happened recently at my job is bugging me. One girl, a single mom of an adorable little girl, said horrible things to another girl, a single young girl who placed her little girl into another home through adoption at birth.

The single mom said it was a selfish, hateful act and wondered how could any mother give away their baby.

What an awful thing to say. Especially when it isn't even true.

My family is in the final stages of adopting a baby girl. She is mine in the same way my biological boys are mine. When a pregnant girl choose to give her child life and to place them in a home where they will be well-loved and cared for, she has made a courageous choice on behalf of her child.

Isn't that what mothers do?

It doesn't make her less of a mother. In fact, such an agonizing choice can only be made for the child. How unselfish is that? Most children who are placed in adopting homes are not "given away". They are given life in a way the mother, at the time, cannot give.

She is still a mother. And a heroic one at that.