bad mom

haikuckoo

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 18:20:00 +0000

I open my home to my good friend Jimmie and what does he do? Not just once (first on my birthday, which was really the ultimate insult) but TWICE - he beats me at the Audience Haiku Challenge at the Live Wire! Radio show.

Me trying to be a gracious loser

We both wrote to the theme "Mothers."
Jimmie's entry:
I love my mother
But she didn't breastfeed me.
That is why I'm gay.

I was tipped off that including something about boobs might get me a winner, so I went with this:
The nice moms smile sweet;
But bad ones show some cleavage.
Join the P.T.A.!

Sigh. Then my secret Live Wire! boyfriend ignored me (though my favorite writing workshop teacher Greg Robillard who does not think I'm a stalker used his back for signing my poster) and my cleavage.

But I had a delectable dinner before the show at Berlin Inn, and my delovely friend Holly & her family saved front row seats, and everything else about the evening was enjoyable.

The ~~young~~ handsome ~~young~~ talented band
The Lonely Forest from near my hometown
made up for my disappointment

I might invite Jimmie back for the December show; I'll have crutches then to beat him with if he wins again.

self-righteous do-gooder

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 05:43:00 +0000

On the heels of dreaming about becoming an ass-kicking roller derby maven, I am here to flash my Upstanding Citizen card. Call me ~~schizophrenic~~ multi-faceted.

I did wait until the last day to fill in my squares (completely with blue or black ink) but I specifically did not leave my ballot to languish on the kitchen counter, race to arrive at the polling place by 7:59, nor park and allow my car to idle in the fire lane while I dropped my ballot in the box. Not that I'm judging anyone who happened to do any of those things.

But I am thinking about practicing my checking skills on those legions of moms who leave their engines running in the school parking lot every time I pick up my kids.

Okay, I'm judging.

rollergirly

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 01:44:00 +0000

I broke away from my Cowboys game a tad early [they had achieved the healthy lead I personally requested] to go see Whip It with my bff Lisa and her fabulously fun friend Erika. I came home wanting to join a roller derby team.

I know, I'm a big pain baby prone to whining BUT I can take it if I really want to, and there are cute outfits/shoes involved. So I visited the website of our local Rose City Rollers and concocted crazy visions of myself kicking a little ass in the rink; I even checked the clock when I read that they're starting a boot camp tonight...Then I got a little scared.

For now, I am buying tickets to bouts and shopping for fan gear. Maybe soon I'll get brave enough to put skates on my Christmas wish list.

In my school colors! from Bruised Boutique

boo

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 02:17:00 +0000

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

honesty

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 17:49:00 +0000

Fellow teacher & mom Alison of Hairline Fracture bestowed upon me [long ago - sorry to be so late in acknowledging!] a gracious "Honest Scrap" award ~ either she thinks I'm brilliant in my content/design or I have encouraged her; whichever, I am pleased & honored & grateful. Now I must pass on the love and tell 10 honest things about myself. I can easily find other bloggers I love; not sure I can think of 10 things you don't already know about me...

When I started college, I had high hopes of becoming an advertising executive
I was a "50s girl" for Halloween at least 3 years in a row
I watched "Happy Days" and "Laverne & Shirley" religiously as a kid
I have never read Moby Dick, The Grapes of Wrath, or The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
I actually liked reading The Scarlet Letter
Reading notes & letters by Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, and John Lennon at the British Library made me weep
If I could go back in time, I would choose to be at Queen Elizabeth's court or in the literary circle of Mary & Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and John Keats
I have an embarrassingly stupid crush on Eminem
Biggest surprises of my life: having a daughter (I was convinced she was a boy when I was pregnant) and loving Paris (I thought it would be snotty & touristy & only marginally interesting)
Someday, I want to be a cartoon voice.

Rules to my fellows:

Say thank you and give a link to the presenter of the award
Share “10 Honest Things” about yourself
Present the award to 10* other bloggers whose blogs you find brilliant in content and/or design or to those who have encouraged you
Be sure to tell the 10* bloggers chosen that you are giving them the Honest Scrap award and provide the guidelines for them

*Or a number that you can reasonably accomplish in whatever mental/physical state you're in

My brilliant encouragers:

Mama Milton
So Not Zen
Traveling Through Time and Space
Motherscribe
Fond of Snape
Juggling Life
Don't Touch the Cactus!
Who Put Me in Charge of These People?
Yesterday, Today and Forever
katydidnot

(I like how the names of these blogs together make an odd little story...)

it's time

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 07:00:00 +0000

1. It was a dark and stormy night, when I decided to wear my polka dot boots to get groceries & videos.

2. I discovered Grocery Boy & Geeky Cute Video Expert Guy got new jobs at the library, so I offered to take the books myself.

3. Rushing out, I forgot to grab my purse.

4. No money, no lip balm, NO iBoyfriend?? ...I think I heard a howl!

5. Shhhh...Best Husband Ever saves the day.

6. Arriving at home I playfully demand, "Give me something good to eat!"

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to being less sick, tomorrow my plans include a haircut and probably more rest, and Sunday, I want to rest a little more, in front of football games on TV.

More spooktacular Friday Fill-Ins

sick day

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 20:56:00 +0000

The Teacher's Lament Haiku

Can do stuff sitting!

Thinking - I could go to school;

head spins when I stand...

I really, really hate not doing anything. And having other people do my job. But I keep telling myself staying home and resting is better than risking bodily harm [to myself & others...].

Stupid flu.

blech

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 03:23:00 +0000

I'm a terrible sick person.

First of all, I hate admitting I am sick. Second, as much as I enjoy random pampering any other time in my life, I am sheepish about accepting the loving gestures of friends & family when I actually need it most. I even get a little grouchy about continued queries into my well-being; I like to believe that's part of the being sick and not that I am simply bitchy. Whatever.

But last week our principal kindly admonished the staff to TAKE THE SICK DAY if we start to feel crummy. You might think educators would be on top of the whole "Don't spread illness" and "You can't do your best when you don't feel your best" thing, and I'd like to say it's because we're so committed to our jobs that we keep showing up (it mostly is, really). However, part of our unmotivation to call a sub is the need to write sub plans; sometimes it is just easier to tough out the day rather than try remembering to tell our replacement about all the weird little nuances of each class and/or student. As a former substitute who has delighted in brilliant notes and experienced mild anxiety over nonexistent ones, I am vigilant about writing detailed plans. And that takes a bit of time & energy, a couple of things I tend to be lacking when calling in sick.

Today, though, I had a moment during 2nd period when I felt the familiar symptoms of passing out, which would be Not Good with capital letters. After having some lunch & hydrating, I felt less like fainting but then my head started hurting. By the end of the day, every part of me was throbbing and I had lost all connection with sensible teaching skills. I drove home, fell into an alarmingly deep sleep for 20 minutes, felt okay enough to have dinner with my best friend across the street, then rallied to arrange for a sub & write up lessons.

I'll spend tomorrow dozing, trying not to worry about what I left out of my plans, in hopes of feeling better for Friday. And not just because there might be a Happy Hour gathering after school.

Guest post #?, crap, I don't remember

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 04:21:00 +0000

There are only a few songs that truly remind me of my wife. We don't really have "our song".

I always liked this song and the night I proposed to Stephanie, she gave me a compilation CD that she had bought from Nordstrom that day. We played it in my little truck before we went into dinner. She did not yet know she would be stuck with me from then on.

Our first dance at our wedding was to:

But the song that reminds me most of my wife is: (I know, I'm a pig...)

I put this as her ringtone on her new iBoyfriend when I call.

-Stu

homework

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 05:10:00 +0000

Sorry, I can't play at my blog tonight because I have some research to do with these guys. I'm watching Equilibrium in preparation for Technology class. Then writing a thank you note to the student who suggested it.

Good evening, Mrs. S
May I pour you some more wine?

Yes, it is terribly hot in here;
mind if I remove my shirt, Mrs. S?

heading to the promised land

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 05:39:00 +0000

My dad is treating us (meaning me & himself considering Stu could think of a thousand things he'd rather do than watch football) to a trip to Dallas for the Cowboys vs. Redskins game in November. I spent my Sunday trying to catch parts of the televised games while washing mountains of neglected laundry and searching for the best deals for our trip.

I am exhausted yet giddy. Thanks, Dad!

For God so loved the Cowboys fan...

iLover speaks

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 04:55:00 +0000

I am glad to be your new best friend but others are getting jealous. Blockbuster guy misses you and the boys at Whole Foods don't have any beans to feel.

Remember to share me and take me out of the house to visit your other men.

Love,
Jude

(my hilarious husband sent this to me)

welcome, weekend

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 07:00:00 +0000

1. The crickets sing, but I can never find them.

2. Be happy wherever you are.

3. I want to get far away from the madding crowd.

4. I woke up to a clean & organized house; this was a dream.

5. But as for me I choose peace (and an occasional Happy Hour for good measure).

6. This is where I come from.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to blissful after school gathering [cough*happyhour*] with colleagues, tomorrow my plans include lingerie shopping & a Broadway show, and Sunday I want to watch me some football.

Falling for Friday Fill-Ins

to the pain

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 04:13:00 +0000

Let's just get this out of the way - I am a big baby about pain. Or, more accurately, impending pain. If I am spontaneously injured, I don't freak out or even draw attention to the injury. But the prospect of having to do something that will hurt? Sends me into ulcer-inducing drama.

When I had my first child, the idea of labor & delivery made me dizzy; I could barely attend the birthing classes because it was a constant indicator of The Pain To Come. Frankly, having an emergency C-section was actually a blessing - I had no opportunity to think about it and fret beforehand. As I did when scheduling and awaiting the C-section for my daughter's birth.

Now, I've been enduring increasing discomfort from an opportunistic bunion and have tried all the easy fixes like better shoes & putting my feet up at the end of the day, to no avail. My right bunion has started to ache constantly, sometimes sending darts of agony through my whole foot, causing me to actually limp. Limp. And so I have scheduled surgery.

Basically, I am and will be for the next 52 days worrying about having my foot cut open. At this very moment, my stomach is churning and the bunion is shooting electricity up my entire leg.

The only mildly good news? By some magical karma also enjoyed by Cheri at Blog This Mom!, my podiatrist/surgeon is sweet & cute. Though I suppose that will only make it more humiliating when I start sobbing during anesthesia.

changing seasons

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 23:55:00 +0000

October 2003

October 2005

Fall for Wordless Wednesday

the air turns chilly
scarves appear; bonfires crackle
leaves fall lazily

a little medicine

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 03:12:00 +0000

I found myself on a little laughing jag today, in the midst of my midday class. It was one of those things where I started to giggle then couldn't stop - a for-real laugh, not the usual grown-up teacher chuckle then back to business stance; the situation really was funny (a couple of nearby students joined in, which is what kept me going I think) but it was also as though I opened a valve that had rusted shut. With the nonsense of my former friend/divorcing husband and many students in a state of midterm shut-down, I guess I've been more closed off & stressed out than I realized. My class was at first amused with me in a "Wow, she's really laughing! That's cool" place, then I could see them start to be like "Um, is she going to hurt us? Should we start moving toward the door?" when I began to sound like a lunatic.

I got hold of myself and told a couple of my favorite jokes:

Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?

[because it was dead]

Knock, knock.
Who's there?
Control freak.
Control fre --- THIS IS THE PART WHEN YOU SAY "CONTROL FREAK WHO?"

And all was well.

a dangerous place

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 03:32:00 +0000

Last week a student joked that I "hated" someone in the class and I, always the one to leap on a potential lesson, remarked that hating people takes a lot of energy - almost as much as loving someone, really - and I am essentially a lazy person who would rather not expend energy on negative feelings. So my relational experiences boil down to I like/love you or I don't think about you enough to care.

Cut to the end of last week when my best friend's husband, who has been afflicted with something like ~~demonic possession~~ ~~dumb-ass syndrome~~ a mid-life crisis, made more specific moves toward divorce (talking about splitting assets & dividing property). Yet the day after these announcements of finality, while a few friends & I (including bff) lounged in the yard in the late afternoon, he arrived to pick up one of his sons, jumping out of the car making little jokes about having to help a neighbor with her computer, acting all fun-loving about dropping off wine and a magazine. Insert uncomfortable silence and polite half-smiles because hello, asshole, you are leaving your wife without explanation; we could, perhaps, someday be cordial grown-ups sitting in the same vicinity but right now? We are not in jokey moods.

I did not look at him. I wasn't sure if I might weep, and it occurred to me that I refuse (now - I have previously written loving, pleading, hopeful e-mails and spoken kindly on the phone in vain attempts to show I will welcome him back; they went unnoticed, as far as I know) I refuse to exhibit any softness toward him now - because he has not acknowledged my questions & thoughts; because he is unnecessarily cold & cruel to my best friend; because he denies any of his actions might affect his sons; because he refuses to slow down and talk with a counselor; because he has said out loud that he is ready & willing to lose his closest friends. And all of this makes me think, considering my definition of hate, that I am there.

I think about this man constantly, my best friend's husband, my former good friend - we often joked that he & I were so alike, in crazy ways like spending money and having just one more cocktail and staying out another hour while Stu & Jen were the frugal, judicious, practical ones. I think about what's going on in his mind, how we can help (kidnapping?), what will we do without him in our lives. Because I loved him, and maybe because I'm starting to hate him.

crushtastic

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 05:28:00 +0000

I remember very clearly the first time I developed a crush that, well, shall we say stirred my loins. I was starting high school and somehow managed to see Class even though it was rated R. I fell hard for Andrew McCarthy (not Rob Lowe, like the rest of teenage girldom) and could not [still can't] get his sweet sensitive geekiness out of my erotic brain. I realize that the foundation of this decades-long crush is his eternal status as the underdog, the back-up guy, the cute-but-not-unattainably-gorgeous one; frankly, it's how I've done crushing ever since.

Seriously, those eyes.

Too perfect? I'm so hurt.

Sorry, Rob. This is how you do hurt.

P.S. I have specifically avoided the Mannequin & Weekend At Bernie's movies in honor of my original fantasy. So call me, Andrew; you're still my favorite wounded second stringer. I'll add you to my Potential Second Husband list posthaste.

P.P.S I believe we could trace my Cougarishness to Class. Honestly, I do remember wishing I were 20 years older than Andrew so he might want to have an affair with me, too. Moxilicious or pathetic, you decide.

wild psych session

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 23:09:00 +0000

Loved, and continue to love the book - each of my kids has a copy, and I bought another for $1 at Goodwill so I could remove the pictures and post them around my classroom. Every spare word of Where the Wild Things Are resonates in my parental mind; whenever my son launches into an astronomical fit or my daughter dissolves into a wailing puddle, I think of Max in his wolf suit making mischief of one kind and another. I take a deep breath, banish them to their rooms, whisper how I'll eat them up, I love them so. And I make sure their supper is always waiting, still hot.

The trailers for the movie version made me weepy throughout the summer, with their sweeping cinematography and giant, lovable Jim Henson costumes and funky thoughtful soundtrack. I invested my memories and connections from the book into the film with sky-high hopes and while I wasn't exactly disappointed, I left feeling dissatisfied. As Mason put it when the lights came up, "That's it? He just comes home and eats cake while his mom watches him? I don't get it." We had questions about what next?, unlike we did after finishing the book, because the bulk of the movie is spent on Max's puzzling interactions with the Wild Things but not on what Max learns from the experience. When he comes home in the original story, he has left because he wants to be "where he is loved best of all" and it is clear he realizes wild rumpuses are not, ultimately, the meaning of life. In the movie version, Max abandons the Wild Things in a bit of a shamble, physically & emotionally, before running back to his frantic mom.

Not to get too Film Student deep about it, but I felt led to believe the Wild Things were meant to represent different pieces of Max's psyche: Carol, the loud & violent but still endearing leader, was the hurt & confused reactionary 9-year old boy; Judith was the passive-aggressive bully side of him; Ira was the quiet "Watch me do a great job and we can all just get along!" child of divorce; Douglas was the smart & practical Max who knew the right thing to do, even if he didn't always do it; Alexander (physically much smaller than the others) was the sensitive, insightful one everyone ignored. KW seemed to be like Max's mom - trying to find inspiration outside the group while keeping peace within, and protecting Max when the others were out of control. And there was another creature, gigantic but silent, always hovering around but never joining in; I grew weary trying to figure out his message.

And that, in the end, was the troublesome part of watching this movie - I felt like I was supposed to be 'getting it,' that each scene should be an "Aha!" moment about Life with a capital L. Where the Wild Things really are, in the book, I could check out of my grown-up life and just let them roar their terrible roars & gnash their terrible teeth for my entertainment while also delighting in the simple presence of unconditional love.

There is definitely love in this movie, but unfortunately Jonze & Eggers tried too hard to make us see it. We already knew it would be there; they had us at "Be still!"

forward thinking

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 07:00:00 +0000

1. So are we going somewhere interesting? (Always answer 'yes')

2. Something marvelous is what's up ahead.

3. I love to boogie.

4. I could do with a little chocolate of some sort.

5. I walk a fine line, constantly.

6. Learning [and a pretend secret boyfriend] is the true elixir of life!

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I'm looking forward to a family outing to Where the Wild Things Are, tomorrow my plans include the CARRA Costume Ball, and Sunday I want to sleep a lot.

It's...It's...Friday Fill-Ins

eco lover & fighter

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Fri, 16 Oct 2009 00:43:00 +0000

It's Blog Action Day [Night] 2009. This year's focus is Climate Change, and Eco Women has asked, What are we doing about it?

I have to admit, as I do most days in my teaching job, I am not Science Girl; I don't thoroughly understand all of the details of ozone depletion & global warming. I do, however, understand that most of the things I do in my life will have some kind of impact on this world and try to act accordingly (meaning, in a responsible way).

Other than the obvious and remarkably easy - at least in our granola-oriented Pacific Northwest - recycling of paper, plastic, metal, and glass, our family tries to resuse or repurpose items as often as possible; I am easily recognized in two local Goodwills and my students always ask about "new" clothing, shoes, or classroom decor, "Garage sale or thrift store, Mrs. S?"

I also try to create a small environmental footprint by driving an efficient car [not minivan] as little as possible, or by carpooling. When in Portland, I always take advantage of the MAX trains; I know they are doing our air good, and I feel so very cosmopolitan.

And now, I have succumbed to the lure of the iPhone in the name of eco-friendliness. I no longer have to write myself dozens of sticky notes with reminders and phone numbers and e-mails, and I can surrender my paper datebook! Ah, I am feeling so much freer already...

I call my iLover Jude.
Thank you for helping me save the Earth, darling.

passion of a different fashion

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 14:40:00 +0000

My classroom, 2009

no matter my mood
opening eyes, minds, and hearts
my classroom lifts me

everything is wrong

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 02:52:00 +0000

My hair is inexplicably [unless you count the onset of menopause as a possible explanation] lifeless, even before I head out into the gale force winds that stormed in overnight.
My nose is harboring a painful pimple/cyst/boil/monster which may or may not be melanoma-related but most certainly is distractingly ugly.
I berated my freshmen no fewer than 3 times in 70 minutes. Pretty sure they believe I am morphing into an actual witch (see #2). But if I were, I'd have already put a stun spell on them.
Teeny ants are invading my classroom.
The afterschool workshop I thought was two hours was really three but I couldn't stay because my one kid was already home alone until near-dark and my other kid was being sheltered yet again by very kind people whose generosity I will not exploit. This stressed out my OCDness.
I forgot to wear a watch today.
I was too tired & blechy feeling to visit Blockbuster tonight. Plus I was wearing my slippers.
My throat hurts.
I'm still kicking myself (with the non-bunioned foot) for not at least smiling in the general direction of my secret LiveWire! boyfriend when I saw him at Wordstock. Instead I actively avoided looking directly toward him, like an idiotic junior high girl.
I had to drive Stu's car today and he does not keep a spare tube of lip balm and my lips were very dry from the incessant wind, and I forgot to get a new tube for my purse.

Good stuff I don't deserve but get anyway:

My man emptying & refilling dishwasher; my man suggesting Chinese takeout; my children not arguing for hours on end; my man getting his friend doing business in Singapore to pick up my favorite tea; best friends who offer only kindness & love when I am tired & grouchy at 6pm.

honorable mention

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 01:34:00 +0000

Today I'm on the Porch at The Women's Colony! Please visit; pretend I have warm apple cider to offer you in a funky mug.

Guest Post #3

noreply@blogger.com (stephanie (bad mom)) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 04:42:00 +0000

I was supposed to have guest posted for Bad Mom a couple times this week and was lax in my duties. While my wife is tackling every piece of clothing this family owns in the form of dirty laundry, I'm stepping back to the plate.

Normally I post something rather smarmy and sassy when asked to guest post, AKA "I am le tired, post for me", but lately the marriage of our closest friends and neighbors is on the teetering point of ending. It is times like this when you look at you own relationship and ask yourself if you are doing OK, am I going to get clobbered with "I'm done, I'm leaving you"?

With all that is transpiring, Stephanie has been giving me some sideways glances, some pointed questions, and some outright statements about our relationship. We have had some good yet teary conversations; Stephanie does not like to be ~~wrong~~ ~~corrected~~ mistaken and I load the dishwasher incorrectly, dry clothes that should be hung, and can be a bit oversexed. She is Woman and I am Man.

Now, not to suggest that I believe we too are on the rocks, if anything I think it has brought us a bit closer. I terribly miss going out as a foursome, it hurts my soul, but I really enjoy just being the two of us sometimes. Our world is not perfect, we are sometimes tired, snippy and unkind. We more often laugh, goof and support. In the end my woman is good to me and I try to be good to her, even if I can't remember to not put my coffee stirring spoon in the clean sink.

I love you Bad Mom, now let's go mess up those freshly laundered sheets. Whoops, there I go again...

-Stu