Blogging at work

It is 30 minutes until my Macro class starts. I am sitting in my college boss's office at her big fancy desk, typing on her computer, eating a turkey and cheese sandwich that I'm wondering if the Miracle Whip was still safe and edible, but no matter now because 2/3 of it is in my belly right now, popping a grape or two in my face every now and then, too, which is weird because I don't really like grapes, but they sort of sounded good this morning for some reason, and while I'm doing all that, I'm successfully typing one of the longest runon sentences ever. If only I'd had a preposition to end it with.

I normally don't eat before my night class, so now that I've eaten 2/3 of a sandwich and some grapes it's a sure bet that I'm going to have to poop during class. It's Murphy's Law of the Bowel.

Today at my DHS job I got to schmooze a gal at the Social Security office. I like schmoozing. The caseworker I did the schmoozing for was impressed and called me her favorite little liar.

I had to buy a scantron for the first time in my life today. We have a test in Macro next week and we have to use scantrons to answer. For those of you not in the know, scantrons are little pieces of paper with the little circles on them that you get to fill in with a #2 pencil just like when you were in elementary school when they asked you the question about the train that left Cinncinnatti at 2:32pm and the other train that left Albuquerque at 1:54 pm and then they wanted you to figure out when the two trains would collide thus causing mass casualties and what you really did, rather than figure out when the collision would occur, you just played connect the dot with the little dots on your answer sheet or you spelled your name by coloring in the appropriate dots and oh my gosh, another runon sentence. Anyway, I bought a scantron today. Actually I bought ten. Why did I buy ten? Because the mother in me thought that there might be some young whippersnapper in the class next week who partied too hard the night before and forgot to go to the bookstore to buy their own and I will be the old married lady in class who will pass out scantrons to anyone who needs one. And possibly knitted sweaters and homemade oatmeal cookies. Gosh, I'm old.

Okay, time to go to class. Actually it's still 23 minutes away, but the class is up two flights of stairs and I need extra time before anyone else gets into the classroom so I can stop huffing and puffing. Because I'm not only old, I'm fat.

Tomorrow's my day off. I think I need it. Hopefully I can go the entire day without one runon sentence. I'll be doing Algebra, so I don't think there's a real big risk there anyway.

Why being a mom is so durn cool

Yesterday was my first Federal Holiday as a government employee. It would've been awesome had I not spent the entire day at my desk, which is something I'd have done if I was at work anyway.

I got up with Paul at 6:30 and when the kids hadn't gotten up by the time he left a little before 7, I said screw this and laid down on the couch. I faintly remember one of the kids asking if they could have donuts and meth for breakfast and I think I said yes. Or I mumbled something that they construed as yes and went for it. Nothing says breakfast like donuts and illegal street drugs. I woke up at 10:15. It's a good thing my kids are just addicted to fried pastry and drugs and are not juvenile delinquents. They know what they can and can't do and they know those rules still apply when Momma is comatose.

By 10:30 I had peed and had eaten my own donut (minus the meth, the kids had used it all apparently) and threw in Laundry Load #1. Then I sat my pajama-clad ass in my computer chair so I could tackle the ginormous task of re-writing four chapters worth of notes from my Macro class. Now, normally such a task could be completed in a few hours, but considering I had three kids in the house and a washing machine with a partially clogged drain hose, the task took all day. All freakin' day.

I'd just get settled into a good pace of tranposing my chicken scratch that comes from trying to write every single word the instructor says and I'd hear the washer start to drain, so then I'd have to run (yes I said run) out of my office, through the living room dodging my son's sleeping bag which puts Linus's blanket to shame and hurdling all 8 throw pillows from the couch that Kady had set up as an obstacle course, turn the corner into the kitchen, slip in some spilled Kool-ade then burst into the utility room right about the time the water was spilling over the drain pipe. After I'd turn off the water and let the thing drain, I could turn it back on and go back through the kitchen to mop up the spilled Kool-ade, yell at Kady to pick up those friggin' pillows, kick Sam's sleeping bag out of the way and ask him WHY he feels compelled to carry that thing up front on a daily basis, make it back to my office to start the whole thing over again.

Abby filled up the stock tank pool early in the morning, so the kids swam twice yesterday. Paul positioned the tank pool so that I can see it from my desk, thus eliminating my need to ever see the sun on the weekends. I think they fixed their own lunch yesterday. I hope the nominating committee for Mother of the Year is reading this post.

The kids each took turns on the desktop, playing at funbrain.com and Barbie.com and any other annoying .com that involves loud sounds, dialogue and the need to ask me a gazillion questions in order to get to the next level. I thought having the two computers side-by-side was a good idea until I remembered I have children.

In a moment of utter Macroeconomic euphoria delirium, I totally agreed to letting Abby invite 12 little girls to her birthday slumber party which is about one month from now. I totally will be calling my Macro instructor during that particular night and will be holding the phone so he can hear the giggles and the High School Musical soundtrack and the squealing and then I will say, "THIS? THIS? You hear this? YOU caused this!" And then I will hang up and load up all 13 girls so we can toilet paper his house.

At one point during the day Kady came in and rested her elbows on my desk, put her little chin in her hands and breathed on me until I finally said, "WHAT?" She asked, "Whatcha doon? Are you studying Psycho-wo-gee?" I sighed and answered, "No, Economics." She sighed as well and said, "I hate Ego-mo-nomics." I put down my pencil and pulled her onto my lap. I kissed her little head that smelled faintly of sunscreen and summer and said, "Me, too, Sissy. Me, too." She put her hands on my face and said, "You Algebwa is stupid, but Ego-mo-nomics is stupider."

I sure love that kid.

Doesn't everyone get drunk on Labor Day?

I was rocking along good in Algebra until tonight. Now I am ready to take my laptop and throw it out the window. It's not the laptop's fault, but it makes more sense than throwing a bed or the dishwasher out the window. If I could throw the creator of Algebra out the window I would smile. And laugh maniacally.

I am four chapters behind in rewriting my notes in Macro. Probably doesn't matter, though, because I don't get it anyway.


I haven't even begun to read the 33 pages of Lit and ponder the 8-10 questions/comments about those 33 pages.


I finally fell asleep at 4am this morning only to hear the utterly annoying sound of the alarm clock at 7. I bet I peed 9 times during the night - not because I really had to pee, but because it sure as hell beat lying in the bed trying to decide if the reason I wasn't sleeping was because I was too cold or too hot. I also ate a Little Debbie brownie - not because I was remotely hungry, but because, like Mt. Everest, it was there. It also gave me heartburn.


We didn't go to church this morning. We should've. I've said some really bad words tonight.


Earlier today I scared the piss out of my two innocent daughters who were playing on the desktop next to me when I screamed, "NO NO NOOOOO!" and threw my pencil across the room, slammed my notebook into the wall and banged my head on the desk. It had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with slopes and points and motherfucking graphs.


My husband doesn't understand why I haven't shaved my legs or any other region that was previously, up until two weeks ago, shaved. I will probably kill him before I get my degree. "You see, detective, it's like this: He said something about 'cavewoman' and I snapped."


My kids don't understand why I freaked the hell out when they wiped PopTart crumbs onto the kitchen floor this morning. I'm not entirely sure why I freaked out either. Oh yeah, wait...I remember now. Because I just mopped it for the first time in God knows when on Friday. You know, Friday? The day I don't work on so that I'll have plenty of time to catch up on schoolwork, but instead felt compelled to mop that disgusting floor that each step caused you to either crunch or stick? Yeah, that Friday. So yeah, that's why I freaked out. How silly of me to forget.


I want to quit. Quit everything. Work. School. Shaving. Wait. I've already quit that one.


I'm going to bed. Probably to not sleep. Yay.


I hear that most college Freshmen gain the "Freshman 15" when they start school. I did that last semester, so this semester I've decided to gain an addiction. Alcohol's looking like the winner at this point. Drugs are too expensive and I have to save my money to buy a new printer because lightning killed my old one last weekend.


I bet you all will be so glad when I either get comfortably drunk each and every day or else find some antidepressants. I bet I'm annoying.

What To Wear

It's time for a moment of seriousness here at Redneck diva. Sit here at Auntie Diva's knee and be still and listen, children, while I ask this question of you:

Would you wear a certified "Redneck Diva" t-shirt, complete with Certificate of Authenticity from the Franklin Mint?

(Note to self: contact Franklin Mint about getting some Certificates of Authenticity...)

Would you wear one in the house?
Would you buy one for your spouse?

Would you wear one at the store?
Would you buy one or two more?

Do you like to wear diva shirts?
Do you rhyme like I, in spurts?

Would you buy one for your brother?
Would you put one on your mother?

Would you wear one at the mall?
Would you hang one in the hall?

You should wear one to the store!
Then you will not be a bore!

Buy one, buy one, if you may.
Buy one, buy one, because if you don't I'll hunt you down and boil your pet rabbit.

Okay, all Seussing and psychopathic tendencies aside, I'm working with an amazing designer on an amazing design for some possible amazing t-shirts and before I go any further into the amazing process, I want to know if there's an actual demand for such an amazing thing. I mean, I bought a DadGoneMad t-shirt, but it's only because I secretly have a crush on Danny and don't dare tell him because his Hot Wife will kick my not hot redneck ass. So instead, I bought a t-shirt. And took a picture of myself in it and he posted it and now his wife is 100% positive she can break me clean in two.


Anyway, would y'all wear Redneck Diva t-shirts if they existed?

Nowhere is safe

Today is my first Friday off with the new schedule. Rather than begin bad habits that would be hard to break, I got up at the same time I do on the days I work. That was hard, too, because I reallllllllllly wanted to sleep more. A lot of more.

After the kids got off to school, I sat down with my coffee to watch a few minutes of the Today show before I got busy. I grabbed my sneakers because I'd like to have one day a week that my feet don't scream at me to quit standing on them continually all day long because it's just not fair that feet have that much pressure on them to perform and ya know, walk and stuff in such cute shoes.

After I put on my shoes I turned off the TV, grabbed the coffee cup and headed out here to Kollij Central where the motto is, take your pick:

All Misery, All the Time
Where Algebra is King. An evil, evil King.
t+h-i(s) = s(uc) + k - s
Your Family Supports You Even Though You Haven't Seen Them in Weeks
The Crock Pot Is Your Friend
M-O-O-N spells "Macroeconomics Ain't For Sissies"

I could go on, but I shan't. Because there really is a story here.

I ended up on the phone with The Queen of Cheese and while I was pacing my living room talking to her, I felt something in my shoe. Now, I may have enough OCD to alphabetize my canned goods, videos and books, but my shoes are a different story. I kick those puppies off in my room wherever I first stop. If it's by the dresser to take off my earrings, there the shoes will lie. If it's at the computer, well, kicky sandals live there. My shoes are a veritable explosion of sole. Now, the kids have to walk through my bedroom to go feed the animals in the morning and they are not necessarily the neatest children to walk the planet. I find dogfood in the carpet all the time. Kibbles and bits are not fun to step on in the middle of the night either, just for the record. So when I felt something rolling around in the toe of my shoe, I thought it was a kibble. Or a bit. Or maybe a cute little fish or bone shaped morsel.

I crammed the phone between my head and my shoulder and proceeded to take off my shoe. I thumped it on the ground to knock out the offending morsel and nothing came out. Now, I knew that whatever it was in my shoe was pretty big and should've rolled out onto the floor because of gravity and all that. I thumped harder. Nothing. No kibble. No bit. No dog bone.

I picked up the shoe and looked inside and

there
was
a
cricket
in
my
shoe.

A cricket. A BIG cricket.

And because my life is one big slapstick routine that rivals Jerry Lewis or Laurel and Hardy sometimes, just about the time I realized that the kibble in my shoe was not kibbel but INSECT, the cricket jumped at me. His blood-tinged fangs snapped just short of my nose as he jumped out of my shoe and at me. Now, had I not been on the phone with TQoC, I'd have screamed and likely had a heart attack, but instead I just calmly said, "Dammit. There was a cricket in my shoe," like I was commenting on the weather.

Yet my heart was beating wildly in my chest and I could feel a heart attack just right there.

So I grabbed the shoe that had moments before been filled with foot and cricket and chased his hopping ass all over my living room, all while I calmly continued my conversation with TQoC.

Kollij has taught me how to multitask. And has obviously taught me how to supress my fear of insects. Or maybe it's just the lack of sleep has dulled my ability to feel emotion. Any and all of those may apply.

Bettin' on the ponies

I walked into Kady's room to tuck her in, but instead of finding my 5 year old snuggled up in her blankets and pillows awaiting a kiss and a hug, instead I found her lying on her back, feet on the wall, both hands in her mouth, trying with all her might to pull her new loose tooth.

I said, "Kady, sweetheart, that tooth isn't ready. Daddy wiggled it, I wiggled it and that tooth isn't coming out tonight. Sorry."

And like a true princess, when she heard information she didn't want to hear, she melted down and teared up. I said, "Good grief, Kady, it's not like that tooth is going to disappear after midnight. Or turn into a pumpkin like Cinderella's coach."

"But Mawwwwwwwwwwwwwm! I want. it. OUT. I want some money!!"

"Why? Why does that tooth have to come out tonight? Can't it wait until tomorrow night? The Tooth Fairy can deliver money on a Thursday just as easily as she can on a Wednesday. Wait....is your bookie trying to collect on ya? Kady, have you been betting on the ponies again?"

And then she was all giggles. Chances are (hopefully, anyway) the child has no clue what a bookie is, but the fact that I mentioned betting on ponies obviously struck her as freakin' hilarious. We spent a few moments laughing and then I had to explain what a bookie is. I'm sure my mom will be so proud.

But because I am a stressed-out, working, student parent who tries to avoid stress at home as much as possible, I succeeded: Crisis averted. Tooth forgotten. Kindergartener successfully tucked in.

I went about my business, tucking in the other two and turning out lights in the back of the house. I was heading back to the front room when I heard Kady giggle and say, "G'night, Momma. My bookie says goodnight, too."

I don't know where she gets it.

A few bits

10 year old little girls are hilarious. I mean, freakin' hi-LAR-ious. I totally remember being 10 and 11 and my offspring is no different. Except she has cooler hair than I did at 11. Trust me on this one.

And she also has yet to wear twist beads, express a desire to wear twist beads or even know what twist beads are.

And for that, I am eternally grateful.

She has, however, expressed a heartfelt desire to have those funky feathered-back wings like Farah Faucett used to wear.

I'm not so happy about that, but they're a far cry better than twist beads.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Today we went to church for the third - count 'em THIRD - Sunday in a row. The dang Baptists are about to win me over. In fact, not once since we've started going there have I had to supress the urge to call any of them dang Baptists. I think that says a lot for the congregation as a whole.

Today one of the deacons brought the message. It was an amazing sermon and he was a wonderful speaker, but there were several times during the message that he kind of got all kinds of fired up and hollered. Loudly. Now, this doesn't bother me. I've been a Baptist all my life and am quite used to fire and brimstone and a little hellfire and damnation from time to time. I've heard my share of shoutin' preachers in my 34 years. But my children have not. In their limited church experience they've only heard two - Easter Sunday when we went to my uncle's church and today.

I hope the speaker didn't get a complex when he looked about midway back on the right side and saw two of those adorable Hoover kids with their hands over their ears.

I kept snapping my fingers at them and telling them to stop and they would for a few minutes then he'd get wound up again and there'd go their little hands. Toward the end of the sermon Kady crawled up on my lap, laid her head on my shoulder and whispered, "Oy, I have SUCH a headache!"

=-=-====-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I text messaged in church today.

Will God spank me for that when I get to the pearly gates?

I'm just wondering.

I mean, it was because the family Abby had spent the night and had gone to church with were out of church and were kind of wanting to get on with their day without dragging my little orphan child around with them. So technically, I texted because of my child.

Do I get a pass for that?

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Abby's grades were utterly horrendous last year. Bad horrendous. Tonight we went through her first official "Friday folder" and there was ONE "C" and the rest were A's and B's. I was so ecstatic over this and told her repeatedly how proud I am of her.

She lit up. I mean, lit the heck up. She fed off that praise. Now, don't think I don't praise my child, because I do, but for some reason tonight it really made her proud to hear it from me. Not once while going through last week's papers did I feel the urge to strangle her like I did so many times last year. That felt good. It's good to know that I can spend time with my child and not continually want to beat good grades into her.

=-===-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Tonight at Wal*Mart Abby picked out some individual packets of Propel that you mix into a bottle of water. Her teacher lets them keep water bottles on their desks and they can add Crystal Light or Propel or whatever to it if they want.

She was ecstatic to discover that the bottle of water she had packed in her backpack for tomorrow was the perfect amount of water for one of those packets. Of course, I did not tell her that duh, they kind of planned it that way because they obviously have researchers and marketing geniuses and stuff.

She was sitting at the dining room table, finishing up the homework she failed to tell me about on Friday night (and Saturday night when she begged to spend the night with her BFF Gabby) when she turned around and said, "Mom?"

I said, "Yeah, babe?"

"Ya know, in the last few weeks I have really seen some cool things in my life that I just know God has had a hand in."

"Oh really? Well, like what?" I was expecting some story about a personal experience or a growth in her faith or something like that.

She picked up her water bottle and the box of Propel packets and said, "Like this. I mean, God just helped me to pick out the perfect size bottle of water."

And I just nodded and said, "Isn't God just awesome?"

"You betcha." And she went back to her homework and I walked into the living room to laugh at my precious daughter that isn't quite as annoying as she was a few weeks ago.

=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-==-=-

"OhmygoshItotallyforgottotellyou!"

"What?"

"Mr. Music Teacher rides a MOTORCYCLE!"

"Wow. Is Mr. Music Teacher old or young?"

"Old. Old, old, OLLLLLLD."

"He's old and he rides a motorcycle to school?"

"Yeah, he's like 42!"

"Ummm...your dad is 44, dear."

"Oh. My bad."

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

My mom commented today that she thinks Kady is going to grow up to be a politician. Myself being a totally non-political person, I think that will require a miracle, so I asked Mom just what made her think that.

She said, "She just has this pizzazz that I think will make her a politician."

Now, last time I watched CSpan, I noticed very little pizzazz.

I'm just sayin'.

=-=-===-=-=-=-=-=-==-

We gave a baby shower for my cousin today.

One gift was a box full of nothing but gorgeous, adorable, utterly foo-foo headbands.

My uterus gave kind of a little twinge when I saw that box full of ruffles and bows and baby brain squeezing elastic.

Then it quit.

Whew.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Today while the girls and I were baby showering, Paul took Sam fishing down at the creek where he used to fish when he was a kid.

Sam was proud that he caught four and his daddy only caught three.

If you've ever seen the movie Talladega Nights, you'll know why I nearly fell out of my chair laughing when he said, "Mom! I was all over those fish like a spider monkey!"

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Algebra still sucks.

Just in case you were wondering.

But I have discovered that the people that read my blog are some of the most amazing, helpful and truly sympathetic people on the planet.

Pat yourself on the back now.

Y'all rawk.

Algebra Crisis Humor

After one week of classes and only my second week of working every day, I've realized my schedule must now change.

Instead of working four hours every day, I am now going to work five hours three days a week and four on one, thus forcing me to give up one hour a week, but dude, I am doing everything in my power not to cry daily. This will now give me all day on Friday to be my house alone, alone, alone and I will not answer the phone or eat and peeing is to be done only in an emergency. If you need to get in touch with me you will have to do it through email because I will literally be planted at my desk for the entire day.

I am just the type person that I need long stretches of time to concentrate and focus on something rather than just study a few minutes here, do a few questions there and so on. I am so high maintenance I should be put out of my misery.

Fortunately my supervisor is a doll and had no problem with the proposed schedule change. She also, like everyone else on the planet, expressed her deepest sympathy. Why Algebra is even allow to exist is beyond me - no one likes it, everyone sympathizes when they hear that someone is having to do it. That right there to me says that this is how we should fight the next war. Put away the dirty bombs, guns and tanks. Just give them Algebra problems. They'll surrender. Trust me.

------------------------------------

Yesterday, as I mentioned in my previous post, Paul and I went to the school for the monthly assembly. Of course, they've only been in school two weeks, but I guess they felt they needed to get one in for August. Anyway, 5th grade gets to host the first assembly because they are the oldest and the top dawgs, y'all. Abby got to wear an Indian outfit and they all sang Oklahoma and even added hand motions. The hand jive, Okie style.

After the 5th grade entertainment, the princpal then announced the "Star Students" for the month two weeks. Kady and Sam both got it for their classrooms. The fact that they've only been in school for two weeks and have already managed to suck up to their teachers enough to get an award, says a lot about those two. Abby, however, hasn't gotten Star Student since 2nd grade because when Abby turned 9 Abby became a non-conformist and refuses to suck up to anyone. (Well, unless it's me and I'm trying to decide if she can go hang out with her new BFF Gabby, then she is the most model child you've ever seen.) But as far as school goes, Abby just doesn't give enough of a crap about it to suck up. You either like her or you don't and she's going to roll her eyes at you either way, so like, whatever.

When I got Kady from her teacher after the assembly, she again told me how much she's enjoying having Kady in her room this year. She also said, "And humor! This child has real ability to convey humor! That is very rare for this age and she cracks us up because she can deliver a joke better than most adults." And I could not help but just absolutely glow at that comment because as winner of Best Humor Blog in Oklahoma 2006, well, I can't help but think that Kady comes by it naturally.








(Yes, that is a gratuitous plug for Okie Blogger 2007 nominations which are going on NOW.)

(Get over it. I can plug if I want to. It's my blog and I'm having a mid-life existential collegiate crisis, ya know.)

Well, so much for that

Thursday I spent an assload of time on the algebra course website working problem after problem and filling in page after page after page of letters and numbers and lots of angry scribbles from where I'd gotten stuck. Yet, I felt like I might have learned something and put my exhausted brain to bed.

Friday I had to work and it was a really, really hectic day at work. I got there early in hopes of getting off early because Paul had the day off and we wanted to have lunch together before we had to go to the school to see Abby be an Indian princess at the monthly assembly, but instead, while already running a hair late on a transport, I got cut off by a train that decided to STOP on the tracks in front of me and sat there for, kid you not, 15 minutes, which made me want to curse a lot and kick something, but I had a van full of adorable, impressionable children and while it's okay to screw up my own kids, I don't think the government would appreciate me screwing up someone else's (big breath) ............ then because the weather was horrendous and stormy and windy and rainy I knew the satellite internet would take a dive and I'd be rendered frustrated beyond belief, so since we hadn't gotten to have lunch together, Paul and I decided to go out last night which meant that around 10:30 this morning was the first time I had gotten to check the website about my classes and this has to be the world's longest and most annoying runon sentence ever. Awesome me. Some book editor is going to love me someday.

And upon logging on this morning I discovered an email from my Algebra instructor who informed me that the course code she had given us in the handout was for the spring semester and was therefore, NOT VALID. After pulling out about 8 handfuls of hair and screaming to the heavens in anguish and emotional pain, I read further into the email.

And I quote: "According to the report, you haven't got too far in to the course, so it will not be a waste of time if it will let you log in to the correct semester."

And while I'm sure she just meant, "Honey, you've only had your password for a day, so you probably only had a few minutes or so to work on the assessment and some problems," but I assumed she knew I had toiled and labored and whined and whimpered and kicked my desk and broke two pencils in OVER SIX HOURS of work and was instead saying, "Well, you're such a dumbass, it won't matter that you have to redo all that work because, honey, you need help. And a short bus."

M-O-O-N spells "algebra is stupid"

I got my password to my algebra course around 3:15 today, spent about 15 minutes getting the download all downloadedy and stuff and within about 30 seconds of taking the "evaluation" felt like I was going to have a total meltdown. I didn't know ANYTHING on that screen! I realize I haven't done algebra since I was oh....15, but still you'd think something in the back of my brain would kick in. Oh, but no, 'twas not the case.

It is now nearly 11:10pm and I am finally stopping for the night only because my brain hurts, my feet are swollen and tomorrow is my long day.

It only took me about 3 hours into the course to start actually understanding what I'm doing.

I have to say that as overwhelming as it was at first, doing it with this program is THE way to do it. I work at my own pace (started out turtley and worked up to snailish) and it gives me LOTS of chances.

Now we'll see if I remember a single thing tomorrow.

Oh yeah, haven't read the first 2 chapters in my computer class, nor have I written 8 points about being an American or something like that for my AmerLit class. Ugh, and tomorrow night is my first Macro class.

I'm thinking junior college dropout isn't a bad title to drag around the rest of my life......