Takin' out the Trash

Divorced people arguing is similar to a dog chasing it's own tail; you go round and round in circles, but never actually make any progress. Despite an amicable divorce, Oz and I can debate pretty much anything. Last month, our son had surgery. While we sat in the waiting room we watched Good Morning America. Seemed harmless enough. One of the hosts was being given a party. I thought it seemed like a baby shower since the balloons were pink, blue and white. Oz thought it was a wedding shower because of the white balloons. I noticed a gift basket being presented to her with baby bottles in it. But, Oz insisted it must be for a wedding because he watches the show and I don't and he had heard that the woman was getting married. In the end, it was revealed that she had in fact gotten married over the weekend AND had announced her pregnancy. SO we were both right.
And then…we debated the age of one of the guests Jenna Bush. I thought she looked older, Oz thought younger. I felt her make-up and hairstyle aged her. And on and on until Oz looked it up on google and revealed her age was younger than I thought.  Score one for Oz.

Next, we got into whether or not Bruno Mars was actually playing the drums live during the Super Bowl. At that point, the woman sitting next to us spoke up. The poor soul had been trapped in a tiny waiting room with us. She said, "Wow, I can't wait to see who wins this round."  OMG! I was so embarrassed for us.

The thing is no one wins. It just keeps going. I informed her that there would be no winner, but in the end one of us would leave because we are divorced. She seemed surprised. A lot of people are surprised to find that we are divorced.  She revealed to us that she wished she could get divorced too. I highly recommended it to her. Her poor husband was undergoing surgery while we discussed her running away and never looking back.

But, that is divorced fighting. Circular. The topic can be anything. The results are always the same. There is no winner. It is not much different than married fighting, except it always ends with one person leaving.

Unlike married fighting, there is nothing sacred about it. You don't have to be on your best behavior. There are no rules like "don't go to bed angry." There is nothing to protect either person from the unleashing of built up resentment and anger.  You just dump it all out and pray the other person loves your children enough to not destroy you.

It seems at first like divorce fighting is easier than married fighting because you know how it ends. But, it is actually worse.  You have to work twice as hard to resolve issues and you have more to lose because nothing ties you. There is no contract. It is null and void.  Yet, you are bound to the children you have created and their lives can and will be destroyed by your actions against either parent. So for their mental health you work it out. You resolve issues. You move the fuck on.

No matter what we fight about we have managed to smooth things over enough to have a peaceful life. No one has any extra energy to stay angry and what would be the point of it anyway? So in everyone's best interest things get let go. Rehashed several times over and over and brought up many months down the road in a conversation completely unrelated to the actual issue.  But, let go for all intents and purposes so that everyone can live daily life without being dragged down.

One thing that has not changed is that Oz takes out the trash at my house. By Divine providence, one of "his nights" with the kids also falls on "garbage night." So after the kids go to sleep he takes out the trash as he leaves. I am more than thrilled with this arrangement. Growing up the trash was always my brother's chore and when he moved out my Dad took care of it. After I got married that was Oz's job and one that I do not want to take over. The first week on my own I had to drag the trash out and I hated it. Not that I am not capable. Just don't love it. So Vincenzo took over helping out. I reminded Oz that "garbage night" was still the same and that technically his children make most of the garbage so it is really helping them when he takes it out.  Eventually after a couple weeks, Oz took over again.

It is a simple act - taking the trash out. But, the symbolism is there. Despite our differences, our inability to make forever work, there is something sacred about the family we have created. There is a stability in knowing we will do what needs to be done to ensure our children have good lives.

Only once in the past year and a half he told me to take out my own fucking garbage.  Most times the trash is quietly put out to the curb on his way out, I acknowledge it with a thank you as often as possible.

There are other times (like after one of our more heated arguments that occur monthly or every other month) I might receive a text messaged picture of my overflowing trash can. A subtle reminder from Oz.  The line is thin, tread carefully or take out your own trash! Or it can be a sign of forgiveness for something I have said or done. Or a peace offering from him for whatever I have found fault with at any given moment. Either way that blue can sitting out at the curb on Garbage Night equals Peacefulness. There is nothing more valuable to a divorced family than Peacefulness.

Queen of His Universe

As my father gears up to battle for his life again, his inspiration to live is my mother. She is his Universe. Some people wait their whole lives to glimpse Truelove up close, I was fortunate to have been raised with it right in my home. My parents met as teenagers. They were "cruising" in the local Plaza with friends. My mom was a long haired hippie chick, she knew she wasn't allowed to get in cars with boys, but my Dad was the hot guy with a muscle car and she couldn't resist. So she took a chance and got in and they never looked back. 44 years later they are still going strong! Children, grandchildren, houses, jobs, adventures, celebrations, tragedies, they have been   through it all. The thing about Truelove is that it's not perfect, but it endures.

Three years ago they faced their greatest challenge. Cancer. When my Dad was diagnosed it was like the bottom fell out of the world we all knew. What we thought was heatstroke turned out to be CNS Lymphoma in his spine and brain. It is a very aggressive type of lymphoma. But, he survived treatment after treatment and underwent radiation and went into remission. He has had nearly 2 more years of life than the doctors thought he would. He is like that, a fighter, a survivor. And there is no one he enjoys fighting for more than my mother. Lymphoma did not stand a chance, he kicked it's ass! I'm praying he will do it again.

He lives to take care of her. My mom is a strong, independent woman, but she loves him and loves letting him take care of her. So he does. He has always romanced her with extravagant gifts and dozens of flowers and songs and poems and jewelry and thoughtfulness. Sometimes we can't help but laugh at his over the top gestures. Especially since my mom is the type that would appreciate a hand picked daisy, but he will show up with 4 dozen long stemmed roses. Why 4 dozen? Why not just 1?  Because.

He fights for her. He is her champion in all things. If she wants it he will help her make it happen whatever it is.  Growing up, we knew better than to ever talk back to Mom in front of him. (Although when he wasn't home it was fair game. Sorry Nita!) He will still tell me not to talk back to her. Even now that he has lost most of his hearing, he can tell by the bitchy looks I give her when I am saying something nasty and he will tell me to knock it off. No one disrespects his Lady!

He is a Dreamer and a Hopeless Romantic. He believes in fairy tales and knights and dragons. He collects swords and believes that Camelot exists. My mother is the Queen of his Kingdom.

BC (before cancer) my Dad was a guy that looked young for his age and he was in great shape and very muscular. Women threw themselves at him shamelessly.  On more than one occasion when I was out with him and my kids at restaurants, the park, the zoo, etc., women would come up and tell me that my "husband" was so hot or sexy or how lucky I was. Then they would proceed to flirt with him right in front of me and the kids. I would be like #1- He is NOT my husband, he is my father. And #2 - Back off Bitch!  Most of the time he would be oblivious to the attention. When I would tell my mom she'd laugh.  Even after he lost all his hair and tons of weight, women are still after him. Apparently bald men are a big hit. My mom thinks its hilarious.  She has no self doubts at all because she knows she is his Universe.

When he was healthy he worked a lot, but still managed to think ahead and figure out ways to make her feel special and helped around the house. Since his "retirement," he has even more time to devote to anticipating her every need. Her tea is ready when she wakes up, her clothes are ironed for her, the car is warmed up, when he could still see enough he was driving her to and from work every day, he packs her lunch to take, while she is gone he vacuums and cleans the house, when she arrives home her dinner is waiting for her.

The Doctors told him last week that his Cancer was back in his brain and there were not many treatment options. He told the doctor to call him when they came up with something. Then he went home and started cooking meals to freeze in case he has to go into the hospital again or worse, so my mom will have food.

The part of his brain where the tumor is controls balance, sight, speech. Pretty much everything. So he started to use a cane. He basically spent this week propping himself up at the kitchen counter cooking.  One day my aunt went and helped him and he made enough sauce and meatballs for an Italian army to eat for a month. Another day it was an entire turkey dinner with all the sides. It looked like Thanksgiving in there. The freezer is full! All he cares about is that my mother will be ok.

When I talked to him about the news, he said he has lived a good life and will accept whatever comes. But, he will go down fighting and has to make sure my mom will be alright. I assured him we will take care of her. But, he knows darn well it won't be the same.

Thankfully the doctors did call and said they found one more treatment option. They said it's a 50/50 chance. He said he will take it. It's better than zero. So tomorrow the fight begins. With my mom by his side I have no doubt he will give it all he's got!

Deal Breakers

I was out with a friend when a recently divorced guy started chatting with us. Being back on the dating scene he wanted advice on what women consider deal breakers. Always willing to give our opinions we told him to bring it. (We did however remind him that there are several billion women on the planet and that contrary to popular belief - we are NOT all the same. So he may get different answers depending on who he asks.)
Here goes…
What if a guy smokes?  Deal breaker.
What if he is trying to quit?   Deal breaker. We know you will always be "trying" to quit.
What if he drinks? Social drinking is ok. Don't be sloppy!
What about drugs? Deal breaker.
What if a guy does not have a job? Deal breaker. Unless he is terminally ill or a Stay-at-Home dad.
What if he has a job, but hates it?  Grow a pair and get a new job.
What if he has children? No problem. If they have a mother to take care of them, even better.
What if he wants children? Depends on the circumstances and his answers to the questions above!
What if he is broke because his ex-wife cleaned his clock in court?  Good for your ex-wife!  Just be sure you have enough money to buy dinner and flowers occasionally. And chocolate martinis.
What if a guy walks up to you and says he wants to fuck you? You might want to work on your game.
What if the guy is into other dudes sometimes?

And end scene.
Seriously cannot make this shit up.
My next book is going to be called
Single Life: Stories from the Trenches.

The Skinny Jeans Debate

I have been asked to amend my last blog post. It was brought to my attention that "Someone" does not wear skinny jeans. They are just jeans that fit. I have been been informed that they are actually Boot Cut jeans and there is even a tag that proves it. "Someone" thinks my supposed confusion over this matter means I do not actually know as much as I think I do.     Right.
(Apparently, "Someone" forgot that the reason they even know what Boot Cut means is because I introduced Carpenter Style Jeans to them so that they would stop wearing Skinny Jeans.  Just sayin'.)

*Names have been changed to make it perfectly obvious who Someone is. Also, other nicknames I usually use to refer to Someone would not pass rigorous censoring.

*A picture was refused. Probably because it would prove without a shadow of a doubt that I was correct in my initial assessment.

The Green Chair

I feel like I have lived a lifetime since I first saw The Green Chair. It is one of the last remnants of The Ex husband, Oz's s bachelor furniture. It was in his apartment through our dating, engagement and early marriage.  Somehow it ended up making the cut of his belongings that we agreed to bring with us when we bought our house. I won't say I loved that chair.  (In fact, I won't say much of what I thought of the chair because I was only given rights to use the photo if I wasn't going to make fun of The Green Chair. )

 However, I feel The Green Chair does symbolize Oz's style.  He is retro, furniture with metal legs, Star Wars, Pink FLoyd, The Who, The Beatles, skinny jeans,  hoodies, Fluevogs, Doc Martins, Rickenbacker guitars, Apple store products.

When he first moved out he took his guitar, computer and some clothes. Over the past 18 months our house became a holding pattern~ a place I tried to survive in, Home Base for the kids and a storage unit for belongings he may want at some point like his pile of jackets and 6 foot plastic Christmas tree that I will not ever miss. After the divorce was final- slowly, but surely those things made it out.

But, The Green Chair was the last to go. This past holiday season when he moved into a new apartment it was time. When The Green Chair went out the front door, it was the end of a chapter. It had gone full circle.

I stood up that day and noticed my reflection in the mirror on my living room wall and thought to myself, "who the fuck are you?" I looked around my living room and tried to find one piece of furniture that truly symbolized who I was. I came up with nothing. Most of our mutual furniture was given to us as gifts or hand me downs or came with me from my single days. From a lifetime ago.

I used to have a pretty unique decorating style. But, after the premature birth of my babies and holding Luccio through 3 brain surgeries in his first year~ paint and patterns didn't seem so important.

But, since 2014 began I realized it is important. My children need to know I am a person with style and  love for life. I don't want them to look back and think "Who was that lady that raised us?"  It is also important that they know a man doesn't make or break me. Neither does a marriage or divorce. I don't want my little girl to grow up afraid that she will be lost if she risks everything to love. And my boys need to know that women roar loud and clear in all they do starting with their style.

So I started to take inventory of what I love as far as style goes. So far I have realized I like gold, but LOVE silver.  I LOVE purple, but sky blue is beautiful too. Ecru is actually a color and I am going to find a way to use it in my living room. I love fairies, butterflies, fairy tales, windchimes, chandeliers, and candles. I took a quiz on the Homegoods website and my style is "sassy," but I actually prefer whimsical. Thankfully after pinning a dream house on Pinterest I had some ideas to get me started with redecorating. I also had an awesome co-worker, my uncle, my nephew and his girlfriend help me with my home improvement endeavors like painting and hanging pictures. It has been fun to see this house transform. I own it, might as well make it my own now. So room by room, day by day, I am making changes and reinventing and reestablishing. Making space to live the next chapter. Hopefully, happily ever after!

Sayonara Mama

Being a single mom during the holidays sucks. Especially when you throw Fun Dad and Santa into the mix. They come along with their Elfin' energy and shiny new toys and boring Mama is up Shit's Creek without a paddle.  It isn't fun being the person that holds together a broken family. The pieces are heavy and never will fit back together like they were and yet you can't drop them because broken is so much better than shattered.

I worked like a madwoman this year trying to hold onto my house so the kids have a stable place to live and helping to start up a new school so they have a safe place to learn and thrive. And then the holidays came and pointed out every, single glaring fault of mine. The truth stared me in the face. You cannot have it all.

You can't be the person that stays and still be exciting. Fun Dad gets that role. He shows up to play a few hours a week and everyone loves him. He has no rules, if you don't want to take a bath don't. If you want popcorn for lunch, fine. Don't worry about cleaning your room because Fun Dad is picking you up and taking you out on exciting adventures. Leave your mess, your worries, your responsibilities, your nagging mother and let's have fun. Who can resist that??  I wouldn't be able to. In fact, I am jealous. I would love to leave me and my laundry piles and my nagging and go off to have fun for awhile.

In all fairness, it isn't entirely his fault. Divorce sets it up that way. It just does. The day to day has to be someone's responsibility. And it was mine when we were married. He was always Fun Dad.  Of course it won't change now. He backs up the rules and enforces them, but we all know who sets them.

Even harder than resisting is competing with it.  There is no competition. It was obvious this holiday season. When they came home on the last day of school before Christmas break, they had little handmade treasures to give as gifts. And they gave them all to their Dad. The gifts were not much, but they were all they had to give and each one had his name on them.

They went off with Fun Dad and I stayed home trying to collect myself. I had worked so much that I realized it was 3 days before Christmas Eve and I had not shopped, wrapped or sent out Christmas cards.

I tried to sop up my puddle of snot and tears long enough to pull myself together. But, to no avail. I spent more than a few hours that Saturday crying and mourning the loss of every dream I had ever had for a family and future. I pretty much gave in to every dark thought that had haunted me for the past 18 months that I had been shoving away to a remote part of my brain. But, that day it was obvious. I failed.

And to make matters lovelier Fun Dad moved into a shiny, new apartment during the holiday season. An apartment that is bigger than my house. And according to my kids it is way better than our house because it has 2 bathrooms, robotic blinds, and stairs.  I pointed out that our house has stairs too, but Luccio reminded me that "Daddy's stairs are better because they go up. Our stairs go down."

And so I had to hear about the luxury living that Fun Dad is doing and all about the new furniture getting set up, etc.  I put on my happy face and tried to listen with a loving heart. I know my babies just want to be part of his shiny, new life and it is very important that they are. I listened over and over as they told stories of the awesomeness to me and to everyone we know.

And then the final blow was dealt when Vincenzo told me that he still plans to be an engineer when he is older and buy me a big house to live in. But, he will live with Fun Dad and just visit me.  Luccio was very quick to remind us all that he is also going to live with Fun Dad like he has been saying for the past year.

Vincenzo also very generously offered that if I would like to live in Japan on the other side of the world that would be ok too, he would visit sometimes.  Thanks Buddy.  Japan?? Maybe Italy!

Thankfully, I have my beautiful baby girl. She said she would live with me. Girls with Mama and boys can go with Daddy.  Oh, Darling!! Thank you!!! The one person left on Earth that is still loyal to Mama! Those boys would leave me for a second bathroom and a set of stairs!

I had all these holiday plans and unrealistic images of us making wonderful memories of the glorious season. In the end, the kids ditched me to go sleepover Fun Dad's a couple days before and spent Christmas Eve with him. I thankfully had fun celebrating with my cousins. And I was able to have the kids home for Christmas morning to open gifts. Although that didn't go as planned either. Luccio's big gift from Santa didn't work, another failure for Mama. Our Christmas tree died and smelled like cat pee and we don't even have a cat, so it had to be moved outdoors. So our Christmas morning pics are of a pink, plastic tree Isabella set up for us. The kids were exhausted and cranky from their days of celebrating with Fun Dad. Isabella had a major meltdown and refused to wear her beautiful dress, opting instead for an orange t-shirt and blue leggings. I had a terrible sinus infection and was beyond exhausted, so let her. I even paid her a few bucks to let me brush her hair so she wouldn't look like the Crazy Cat Lady. I tried to put on a happy face, but ended up crying into my coffee.

One benefit of having Fun Dad around, is that he is fun.  And he loves those kids. So he was there on Christmas morning to make belgium waffles, which we all love! He put together all of the toys and helped everyone get set up for the day.  He kept the mood joyful. And the kids were over the moon to have us all in one place for a little while. It is good for them to know that not all traditions die with Divorce.

Later that day, it took every ounce of my being to get the kids to my parents' house. Thankfully, we went. It finally felt like the Christmas I was hoping for. My parents and brother and cousins made the day feel amazing. My parents' house is our stable place. Through the worst of times and in the best of times, my parents have been there to take care of us. The kids know it, I know it. So it feels like home. It also helped that there was a ton of food, gifts and a megaphone!

So all the cards did not get mailed, some gifts did not get bought or wrapped. My kids made new traditions without me.  But, the world didn't end. I survived it, with help from my family and a few glasses of wine.  And Isabella declared it was "the best Christmas ever!"   So I guess it wasn't a complete failure.

Twice Equal

Gender roles and equality seem to be topics of conversation amongst my little ones lately. I overheard Cenzo and Isabella playing.  Bella had just been given a new Barbie Jeep. And Cenzo wanted Ken to drive it. She told him no way was that happening. It's Barbie's car and Barbie drives it.  He said, "well when we opened the box Ken was driving."  She said, "It's my car and Barbie drives. If you want a ride, get in and put on your seatbelt." And he did.

Trying to raise 2 little men and 1 little woman is surely a challenge. I am constantly having to evaluate what I believe about life and men and women and society. To teach someone how to be be themselves is a daunting task. And they soak everything in.  Every action, every word is made note of.

I want my boys to care about taking out the trash, helping with indoor/outdoor chores, fixing all things related to cars, figuring out how to use power tools.  I also want them to know it is important to make time to be a nurturing, loving caretaker. I encourage them to read and learn as much as possible so that every door will be open to them. Education is the key to whatever future they want to have! I want them to believe in themselves and their creativity and pursue their dreams. I want them to believe that they can figure out how to make this world a better place than it is.

 I would like my daughter to know that taking care of herself is top priority. I want her to be independent and confident and know she is amazing and strong and smart and beautiful. I don't want this world to ever be able to knock her down. I want her to know that knowledge is power and she has within her all she needs to be successful. I want her to learn that being self-sufficient does not mean never needing anyone. I want to make sure she has the strength to reach her dreams. I want her to have hope and go after love without fear. But, I don't want her to change herself for anyone or to have the Earth pulled out from under her by a mere mortal.

Each gender definitely has it's own unique set of challenges and gifts. But, I don't want them to be caught up too much on what a man or woman should be. I just want to raise loving, happy people. I don't want them to feel that there is any boundary of any kind that can keep them from their fullest potential. At the end of each day I just pray that I haven't screwed them up too much. And I start all over again at the next dawn.

They take it all in and make their own assumptions and inferences about equality.

One afternoon, Luccio came running and said there was a problem in the playroom and I should get down there immediately to handle it. I reminded him that his father was sitting right there and that I was sure he could handle it just like I could. He said, "but you are twice equal Daddy and I think you need to get there right now." Out of the mouths of babes.

"Twice equal" has come up a few times.  There was another moment during the mad rush getting ready for school this week. It was toothbrushing time and Isabella was arguing that she was strong enough to get the toothpaste down from the cabinet herself. Cenzo dared to tangle with her and insisted he was stronger and taller. That tiny little lady refused to budge. She used the stool to climb up on the sink and reach the toothpaste and had quite the determined attitude as she put the toothpaste on all the brushes and handed them out with satisfaction.  Cenzo conceded that she was as strong as he was or maybe even stronger.

 I added my two cents that we are all equal. Men and women can each do things and we are equally as strong.  Cenzo said, "well that is not actually true. Women are twice equal because men can't have babies."  True my Little Man, so wise!

Hope Floats

Once upon a time, I used to believe in happily ever after. And deep, down in my jaded soul I still do. I recently taught a Fairy Tale Unit to my First Graders. We spent four weeks discussing and writing about all of the typical elements including: royalty, evil characters, good vs evil, enchantment, and of course happily ever after.

I tried to get them to think outside of the box a bit. Must every princess be locked in a tower waiting? Maybe the Princess can have her own sword and slay a few dragons on her own? Maybe the Queen Mother comes to the rescue? Maybe the Prince is the one in peril? Maybe the Prince and Princess work together to conquer evil?

They agreed to be open minded and include a few storylines that were off the beaten path. However, one thing they clung to and refused to compromise on was True Love's Kiss.  Story after story ended with The Kiss. It didn't matter if the princess had been turned into a frog, a pig, a rabbit or a statue.  It didn't matter that the Prince was buried under 10 feet of ice. Even if the witch gave up on the spell or the stepmother ran away, or the King slashed everything in his sight with a laser beam - the end of each story ended with "and then they kissed and lived happily ever after."

I didn't have the heart to tell them they have a far greater chance of having a Wicked Stepmother than of finding True Love's Kiss. Because maybe they will.  I was raised on General Hospital and Cinderella. I believe good always wins.  I mean if Robin Scorpio Drake can come back from the dead after that lab explosion, then there is hope that Jason Morgan will find his way back to Port Charles one day. Jason cannot be dead. Romance cannot be dead.

As my students edited and read their stories to each other I realized just how much I influence them.  Many of the happily ever afters included "and then we read together and had Dunkin Donuts coffee." Is that happily ever after? It is damn close.

Hope floats!

It may have taken Edward 100 years to find Bella, but he did eventually find her. A hundred years isn't so long to wait for forever.

And so I encouraged them to believe in their dreams. Maybe as Hodge said, "all the stories are true!"  Maybe they will get their happily ever afters, maybe we all will.
 In the words of  President Snow, the only thing stronger than fear is hope.  
 "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Is that in the curriculum??

Writing curriculum has me reflecting on my own school days. Like the Biology teacher that said if you get into a bad car accident, you'll probably pee and poop your pants.  To this day, when I drive I pray to make it home safely so medics don't have to rescue me with pee and poop all over myself.

While I am sure my teachers put thought into developing quality curriculum,  that is not exactly what sticks out when looking back.

I remember...
-In nursery school ( back in the day before "Pre-K" existed) I would cry every single day for 2 years when my mom would drop me off. I also remember bringing along my 4 foot tall Yosemite Sam doll.
Yep, my mom allowed that. It was before the "no toys allowed at school" rules.  I also brought my imaginary friends until my teacher told me to stop it because the real kids needed space on the playground. She was quite the memorable teacher. She couldn't stand me crying for my mom so she would sit me alone in the church hall connected to the nursery school. When I told her I was going to call my mom, she told me to "go ahead and try."  Some people you just never forget!

-In Kindergarten, I remember washing out paint brushes in the bathroom while my friend Jason was peeing. He kissed me and I thought how disgusting that was because he was the kid that ate his shoes during recess. (Not a lot of supervision happening in that classroom.)

-First Grade my teacher Ms. Sasha had one leg that was shorter than the other and she wore one really high heeled shoe. I loved her and couldn't wait to be a grown up to wear heels like her!

-Second Grade there was a boy named Nicky that would pee his pants EVERY FREAKING day! He sat in front of me and the pee would drain towards me like a river and I had to keep my feet up on the back of his chair.  And some days he would poop his pants and the teacher would spray the room with Lysol. I still get sick when I think of that Lysol/Poop/Pee stench from that year. UGH

-Third Grade I had the best teacher EVER!! Mrs. Harrison influenced my life in so many ways. She encouraged my love of writing! I wrote a 7 page story about my Cabbage Patch doll and she raved about it like it was an award winning novel.  She also encouraged my love of reading and inspired me to become a teacher!

-Third Grade was also the year I met Cheyenne. He used to babysit my Cabbage Patch doll during recess.  We lost touch during middle school.  He became known as a "bad boy." When I heard he died our Junior year of high school, my heart broke. I will always remember his sweet smile. He was an excellent dollsitter too!

-Fourth Grade my teacher was Mrs. Thereaux.  We nicknamed her Thorox the OX. She was a colossal bitch. I don't remember learning anything that year other than being frightened out of my mind that she would call on me. COULD. NOT. STAND. HER!!

Fifth Grade-we went on a field trip to a colonial village. Loved it! Started my obsession with the Revolutionary War days.

6th Grade- I had a weird teacher that I cannot remember the name of. He was older and hated music. I remember liking Top 40 music just to spite him.

7th Grade- Fell in love with Mr. Raz the science teacher. He was adorable! And he taught us to cook hot dogs using aluminum foil and the sun.

8th grade- Mr. A. the History teacher.  He told us when we were adults we would be lucky to count our true friends on one hand.  At the time I thought he was crazy. I had way more than five true friends. Over the years, I have realized he is SO right. Friends are a blessing and if we have 5- we are abundantly blessed!

High School years blend together. But, some moments stand out. Like that crazy Biology teacher and...

-In History I remember Mr. M being my favorite. I learned some stuff about U.S. History, but mostly I remember him hooking me up with my Prom Date!

A lot has changed in the educational system over the past 30 years. Some things remain the same, like students will remember the stuff that makes an impression on them. I am just hoping to inspire my students in a positive way so that some day they don't look back and mention me in a blog post that contains stories about pee and poop.