Heptadecagon

161. Fragrant peach sangria. 162. Cards Against Humanity . 163. Laughing so hard tears stream down your face and you almost wet your pants. 164. Peggy, Nikki, Yiota, Tara, Kelsey, Penny, Barbara, Megan, Sandra, Gine 165. Chocolate Mousse Cake made by a friend. 166. Reading aloud The Tale of Despereaux . 167. From-scratch chocolate frosting. 168. Writing with a roller-ball pen. 169. The creaking of the spine of a brand-new journal. 170. The sweet bloom of raspberry sorbet against my taste buds.

This weekend, Tara and Ava stopped in for a visit. As most of you know, Tara and I (and Gina) had one of the craziest summers ever. Somehow, I'm still amazed that the summer is over when we actually never made any progress with "the situation." However, that's not the reason I'm writing today. I'm writing to inform you all that I have, indeed, gone off the deep end. For Friday night, I sat at my computer and suddenly said to Tara, Hey, you know what would be funny? If we prank-call mom and ask her if she knows where her car is. Yes, I said that. Daughter of the year, I am not. But Tara found my comment rather amusing.

Many times, I've looked at another person and thought, In another life, I hope I'm just like her . It's not that she has more money, or better looks, or a cushy job. It's that she might be living out loud, as they say. Her pores exude happiness, or her persona is calm and peaceful. Perhaps she seems so comfortable in her own skin or her confidence shines from within. Whatever she possesses is something I'd like to have, someday. But I got to thinking about my statement and realized that it's really better for me to look at the situation differently. I should be aspiring to be that person today . There's no guarantee that I'll be getting another life.

Twenty-four second graders vs. Mrs. C. And who won? Some of you know already who won. I did. (Nanna-nanna-boo-boo!) But my victory came with a price: my sanity. I never really thought that anyone listened more poorly than Aaron does, but what I found out yesterday is that by some stroke of dumb luck (or by design, you pick), Mr. B. placed 24 even worse listeners into one classroom. Yes, my friends, these little hellions had no care in the world for anything I had to say. Excuse me? I'd say. Nothing. Friends? I'd say. Nothing. Eyes on me and ears open? I'd say. Nothing. Do you treat your own teacher this way? I'd say. Well yes . At least they were honest. At least they let their colors shine. At least they felt they could be themselves with me around. Themselves my ass. I almost blurted out a few expletives at one point, but then it was time to take them to art and I had one hour of blissful peace to myself. I always said I could do anything for one

It's been a long while since I've told you how I really felt . Okay, that might not be true, considering I'm pretty up front about everything and in this blog, I'm telling you how I feel. Obviously. But it has been a long while since I used that title. So what's bothering me today? It's the Ashley Madison news. I'm not here to judge or to say what I think about those people who have affairs (I'm not for it, but people make mistakes). I'm not here to tell you I'm surprised that something like Ashley Madison exists, because I'm not surprised in the least. But I am surprised--and I shouldn't be--at the stupidity of many people. Because sex is something you can find for free, just about anywhere. And the people who signed up for the account should know that in this day and age, saying someone is anonymous is laughable. The hackers just proved that point very well. Short, sweet, to the point. Try not to be stupid, people.

Today begins the crazy life. (What? You thought my life already was crazy, right? I mean at the top of this blog it claims that every day is crazy in this household. And it is, it really is. But today, we've got more on Momma's plate than ever before...) Class starts at 8 a.m., so I'm out the door by 7:15 at the latest. Tomorrow I sub. Thursday I'm back in my own classroom. Friday I sub again. Add in soccer and choir and acting class, grocery shopping, laundry, running, cleaning, sleeping, weeding (ha!), and drinking (yes, you bet I will), and you can see how crazy it might be. In fact, it might sound very similar to your life in your own house. Will I find time to write? I can't be sure. But I refuse to give up my goal of blogging almost every day. (Considering we're 237 days into 2015 and I have blogged 232 of those, it would be a true shame to give that goal up now, don't you think?) However, I can't guarantee how post-worthy the writing will be

Early Saturday morning in our house went a little like this: Aaron: Mom, I need to tell you something... Me: Okay. Tell me. Aaron: I've figured something out. I think there are kids who have electrical powers. They can zap people. There are seventeen of them. They've been captured. Me: Uh... [ Sweet bacon crackers, what is wrong with this kid? ] Aaron: And now, there are fifteen. Me: [ He's worse than I thought... ] What did you figure this out for? Aaron: Oh, this book I'm reading. If you know anything about Aaron, you'll know that for a moment I was more than a bit worried. He has quite the active imagination (all the kids do, really). I could easily have seen him go on about how he really thought kids have electrical powers. He would have backed his statement up with convincing evidence, too. But alas, he was speaking about the first book in the Michael Vey series. What a relief.

On Friday, I subbed for my second time, but my first time for a music teacher. I admit, I'm no music teacher, but I can do almost anything for a half day. I stood my ground against two classes of second graders and a class of first graders, even when technology let me down. (The iPod didn't work properly, so we had to take out the drums and talk about beats instead of listening to and singing Ready to Learn. Yes, there really is a song called Ready to Learn.) The funniest part of my day came when the first graders--my last class--strolled in and I introduced myself. But before I get to what occurred after that, I need to give you a tiny bit of what happened in the morning, before I actually went to school. I usually shower and shampoo in the evening and clip my hair on top of my head when I sleep. This routine simply helps keep the hair more manageable the next day. Not sure how or when I discovered the trick, but I still do it. Every single night. Well Friday morning, I wo

See, forgiveness doesn't happen all at once. It's not an event--it's a process. Forgiveness happens while you're asleep, while you're dreaming, while you're in line at the coffee shop, while you're showering, eating, farting, jerking off. It happens in the back of your mind, and then one day you realize that you don't hate the person anymore, that your anger has gone away somewhere. And you understand. You've forgiven them. You don't know how or why. It sneaked up on you. It happened in the small spaces between thoughts and in the seconds between ideas and blinks. That's where forgiveness happens. Because anger and hatred, when left unfed, bleed away like air from a punctured tire, over time and days and years. Forgiveness is stealth. At least, that's what I hope. ~Barry Lyga, Boy Toy

Warning! Disclaimer! Red alert! I curse in this post.  (Gasp!) Okay, now carry on. I wake up today with only two thoughts in my brain: 1. I am 42 years old, so Happy Birthday to me. 2. Good riddance to that fucking 41st year. Those of you who have been tagging along for this roller coaster of a year lovely adventure of mine probably don't need to be reminded of what the last 365 days have been like. However, I might need to help you recall how the whole year started... One year ago, on a rainy day in 2014 , I planned for the visit of two people to my home. I knew they wouldn't stay the night, but I had been told they'd have dinner. With me. With the kids. (Remember this now?) In the end, they stayed all of 27 minutes and didn't even wait for the kids to come home from school. In the end, I was hurt. So I took my wounded feelings, wrapped them up with no room to breathe, and tried to push them to the back of my closet. And I wrote about the experience, hop

I gravitate toward certain sayings like a moth to a flame. This one tickled me in the right spot: "Friends come and go, like the waves of the ocean, but the true ones stay, like an octopus on your face." True fact: I once had a small octopus stuck to my arm. It left suction marks and everything.

Dear Dad, I know I said in the last letter that I was done with anything and everything that had to do with you and Mom and Alzheimer's and moving, and that I would be walking away from the situation. But something ties me to you, and here I am writing, AGAIN. I'm beginning to think that I should start every letter to you in the same way--apologizing for writing. Because I KNOW you're probably tired of hearing from me. In fact, you might be rolling your eyes right now by the mere mention of the words, Dear Dad . But I don't think you even read this blog, so actually, you're probably not rolling your eyes at all. At least not at me. (I know you've rolled your eyes at Mom. And I get it, I really do.) As I sit here in the quiet of my own home, I wonder what you're doing and what you plan to do today. I can't imagine being retired and having the entire day stretch out before me like a cat. Maybe you're standing in the kitchen cutting an early mornin

The kids and I were gone over the weekend. During that time, Tim had some fun taking photos of the kitties. I knew I wasn't the only one who liked these feline friends. Now, we have proof.

(She asks for a rebuttal, and yet, she should know better. Because if there's something Tara knows about me, it's that I have words at the ready. Good or bad, asshat or not, when she throws the challenge I'll be there to accept it. The question is, What should I say? What do you need to know about that spider? I can think of so many ways to fill this page. Word upon word of description, nonsense, filler.  But I am the one who reports the truth. In as few words as possible. Gina might have brushed off the beast onto the concrete and crushed it of all life, but there was no need.) The only thing you need to know is: Itsy-bitsy .

Remember those cute kitties we have? The animals I keep posting pictures of, the beasts who still like to curl up on the kids' laps? Those kitties aren't so cute when they're climbing the curtains at 5:34 in the morning. And I can't even blame anyone but myself for bringing these lads into our lives. I admit, it's not the best photo, but you can catch my drift.

It seems like just yesterday I blogged about being an idiot when it comes to my car keys . Apparently, though, it's been almost two years since I goofed. Where has the time gone? I have no idea. You'll be glad to know that I no longer leave my purse in the car, even overnight, and I have tried very hard to make sure the extra set of car keys is in the drawer in the house instead of in the car . So even if the regular car keys do get locked in the car, I have a way of getting into said car and driving said car. Yesterday morning, I was getting ready to leave for the Honda dealership. I'd received a notice that a recall is out for the driver's side airbag, and I had scheduled a 9:00 a.m. appointment. But when I got to the dealership... Me: Hi. I have an appointment. Matt: Great, let's get you started. Me: Thank you. Matt: Did you get a phone call saying the parts were in? Me: No. Matt: When did you make the appointment? Me: August 3. And I've had two

I stayed off Facebook for much of the day yesterday because... I could not stand seeing one more back to school picture. NOT ONE MORE, I TELL YOU. Yes, I just admitted to not wanting to show the love to my friends. And maybe I'm a little sorry, but not much. Because as you know, in this forum, I am very honest, sometimes even brutal. It's not that I don't love you or your children, because I do. I really do. (Especially you, Barbara!) But yesterday's glut of pictures felt like an assault to my senses. I found myself trying to "Like" so many pictures in such a short span of time that I decided instead to just give up. In one word, I was overwhelmed. Again, it's me. Not you. (I do hope that everyone's first day back was incredible, because I know how important starting off on the right foot can be.)

We've been doing a lot of back-to-school things lately. And that's because school starts today. TODAY. I know, I can barely believe it either. Two nights ago, as we stood in the office supply section of the local Meijer store, Zoe and Talia informed me that even though they'd said that they didn't want to decorate the insides of their lockers, both of them had changed their minds. Zoe: Can we buy some locker decorations while we're here? Me: Well, okay. You can choose one each. Talia: All right then. They're over here. We walked over to the locker accessory section. Thankfully, they looked past the chandelier ( so sixth grade) and the wallpaper and focused on the magnets. Zoe: Hmm. We could get magnets and hang something up. Talia: Yeah, that would be okay. Zoe: But what should we hang up? Me: Well what about some Hetalia pictures? At this point, you might be asking yourself what in the heck I was talking about. (Obviously, if you click on the link,

Over at Writing Journal , Bethany House posts writing prompts from time to time. All of them--some words, some pictures--are very good and should spark a writer's imagination. Yesterday , she decided to pull the first line from page 73 of the book closest to her. The book? The Everything Health Guide to Arthritis . The quote? "Most people don't comply with what they don't understand." Well holy cats! The reason why my parents aren't complying? They just don't understand Alzheimer's and what it's all about. It's a plausible theory, isn't it? And we as humans tend to shy away, dare I say fear , that which we don't understand, right? You don't have to say it. I know I'm right. The question is, how to help them get past that fear, how to help them understand so that they can comply. When I feel like delving back into their lives, I at least (sort of) know where to start. (By the way, Bethany posts a lot of good stuff, so feel

Is this how it feels for everyone? Something I cannot identify tightens around my chest like a corset gone rogue. My peripheral vision turns hazy and a voice inside my head screams at me to stop. To turn around and run. As if I could bolt away and dodge whatever it is that's trying to get me. My head feels heavy. My heart feels heavy. Sleep cannot come too soon. As I stand in the grocery store, I fantasize about the cool darkness of my bedroom. I see the wine red curtains, glowing against the late morning sun, trapping the heat inside the cotton fibers so that the room itself remains temperate. I envision myself lying on the bed, back to the silky sheets, eyelids closed. I must get there , I chant to myself. Or, I must work through this. These episodes don't show up often, but when they do I'm usually taken aback by them. I always thought I had escaped the curse of depression that seems genetically programmed into several family members. But then a day drifts in

"Unfortunately, some family members are so psychotic that no matter how hard you try to forge a healthy relationship, nothing will help. Now that you're an adult, take refuge in the fact that some things are beyond your control. You owe it to yourself to steer clear of people who are harmful to your health." ~Andrea Lavinthal, Your So-Called Life: A Guide to Boys, Body Issues, and Other Big-Girl Drama You Thought You Would Have Figured Out by Now

I'm betting a few people are aghast at the letter to Dad that I posted yesterday . In that letter, I'm flippant, irreverent, and really, not all that nice to my father with what I have to say. I'm sure some of you rolled your eyes, or wondered where in the world the apparent hate had come from. The thing you have to remember is that my Dad is not all that nice to us at times (not that it has to be an eye for an eye or anything) and that I'm tired of not calling the situation the way I see it. Dad is an adult. I will respect him as such, however, I also have the right to get out my anger and frustration. Writing has always been cathartic for me, and therefore I choose that route to vent. In case you're wondering, though, I'll let you in on a little secret: when I speak to him in person, or via the phone, I try to be as respectful of my elder as he raised me to be. He is my Dad, after all.

Dear Dad, Yep, it's me again. AGAIN. I know, I'm like the mold that grows in a dark basement. So difficult to get rid of, aren't I? Well, it's been a while since I've written , and based on our most recent conversations, I thought it would be best for me to express myself in writing. Maybe that way, you'll actually hear what I have to say. Let me recap what's happened over the last few months. You fell. You went to the hospital. You went to rehab. You checked yourself out of rehab AMA (which, by the way, is against medical advice). You recovered (thanks to your three selfless daughters, one of whom is not against self-promotion). Because of all the medical issues going on with your body, we convinced Mom that you needed to be seen by a senior health specialist and that she should go, too. Mom visited the doctor first and was ultimately diagnosed with moderate Alzheimer's. You're doing okay, but you also have mild cognitive impairment as expected

I often wonder how Reenie Ann Mackler accomplished as much as she did, coming from a place like Agency, Missouri, where the last census recorded only 683 people, one of whom died the next day. (His death topped the Darwin awards that year.) I've watched her for years now through Facebook-posted pictures of her three beautiful and well-mannered children. Short pig-tails still on one while the other two, identical twins, sport chestnut brown hair down to their bums. And in the back of those photos? One exceptionally considerate, and very hot (I might add), husband. I've never met him in person, but you can tell from his posture--how he leans in to hug the girls or brushes their hair--that he's a keeper. Reenie won the lottery with him, lucky girl. But Reenie also works full-time, in a position that takes up much of her days and evenings and weekends, and sometimes requires travel. One time last year, she flew to Indonesia for three weeks, posting her complaint on Facebook,

I know it's not Tuesday, but I like this picture and I have yet to figure out how Benedict manages to sit this way. (Plus, I have two very long posts on the back burner, and I need time to work on them. Stay tuned.)

This happened yesterday: Yes, despite the fact that she's seven years old, her FIRST tooth came out yesterday. And poof. Just like that, we're on our way...

Yesterday, Taye Diggs followed me on Twitter. I got the email notification at 10:04 a.m. You fellow Twitter users know the one I'm talking about-- Taye Diggs ( @TayeDiggs ) is now following you on Twitter . I said to myself, "It can't be the REAL Taye Diggs. What would he want with me?" Apparently, nothing. I quickly Googled "Taye Diggs Twitter" and found out that Mr. Diggs follows a ton of people. And he's been doing so for a while now. (Do I feel cheated that it took this long to find me? Not so much.) In fact, back in June 2014, Taye Diggs told the Today show the entire story of why he started following so many people. Truth be told, I found the story somewhat amusing. But his follow got me wondering. How did he find me (or how did his assistant find me, because I'm not sure he's the one actually in charge of his Twitter follows), and is there something I can do for Mr. Diggs? Is there some part of my life that he might find interesting a

Here's a headline I found over at People the other day. (Yes, I check that website from time to time. If I can't be spectacular at remembering geography or history facts, than I might as well fill my head with the facts that I can remember: random celebrity nonsense.) Anyway, back to the headline. It proclaimed: Khloé Kardashian Reveals She's Lost 35 Lbs. from Intense Exercise Regimen. KK herself, image found over at Life and Style . Honest to goodness, I thought the headline was written by staff over at The Onion . My gut response was made up of two parts: 1. Who the heck cares if KK has lost weight? That fact is really none of our business. (But I guess that most of what is reported at that site falls into that category.) 2. Well, duh! Usually, if you follow an intense exercise regimen, you will lose weight. So why the headline? I'm not sure. I think it's time I stop reading that crap. I'll be moving on to bigger and better things, using my time wise

Melina and I headed out to Goodwill the other day, in search of some pants for work. Those of you who read this blog religiously--this is NOT a shopping for pants moment . I really need some new (or used) pants since I'll be teaching at the community college and subbing in the school district come fall. I love our local Goodwill; I usually find some great finds there. My favorite pants have come from that store and so has one of Melina's most-worn dresses (and she did the wearing). But pants aren't all I need. Sometimes (not always or even often) I like to wear a dress or skirt. So I thought, Sure...let's see what they have . I found a couple skirts, added them to my stack, and walked into the dressing room. Once inside the box, Melina became the best helper ever. She took the hanger off the article of clothing, handed me the item, and then stood back and watched until she gave me a thumbs up or a thumbs down. We made it through the two shirts and three pairs of pan