My ADD brain is going in so many directions, it’s difficult for me to filter, and I’m regularly guilty of not paying attention to things until they directly affect me.  Suddenly when I think in terms of my own children possibly enduring any pain or struggles in life, I wake up and smell the French roast and maybe even take a stand.  I’m compelled now to pay close attention to a topic of great importance to every parent with kids in school, and to try to get you to do the same.

 
If, like me, you thought bullying wasn’t a topic that required immediate discussion in your house, watch this clip from Ellen, in which she interviews one of the families featured in the controversial film BULLY.  David and Tina Long lost their eleven year old son, Tyler, to suicide as a result of enduring four years of bullying by his peers.  The makers of this film and a great many supporters tried unsuccessfully to get the R rating it earned, due to the f-word being used to pointedly depict the violence that too often occurs while our kids are at school, changed to PG-13 so it’s target audience of middle and high school students and their parents would be more likely to see it.  The segment states that "13,000,000 of our children are bullied every day, and 3,000,000 of them end up staying home each month because they can’t face what happens at school."  

Whether you see your child as potentially one extreme or the other, or comfortably in-between --which many of us know from personal experience is an illusion that can change rapidly with the breath of a rumor about being different or weak in any way-- will you take him or her to see BULLY, despite its R rating?  How about The Hunger Games?  Did you or will you take your children or allow them to see the larger than life version of the hugely popular book that depicts children fighting for their survival to the death, in only the most PG-13 way?  Common Sense Media gives both movies the nod for age 13, and I pray that parents won’t let BULLY’s rating stop them from investing in another worthy trip to the movies when it is released, Friday, March 30.

Times are hard.  If we want to go to movies, buy great books and feed those ravenous little mouths, nasty though they may occasionally be, we parents have to work.  I might one day have to send my kid to school on the bus, or allow him to walk home from school alone where I am powerless to protect him.  Every day, I must send him out onto the playgrounds and into the school halls of the world, and I can’t be there.  I can’t be there to teach him to respect and have empathy for his peers, and I can’t be there to help him deal with it when he becomes the outlet for some Brutus’s or Lucy Van Pelt’s frustration, as happened to my son last week.  That’s likely what made me pay attention, if I’m a little late to the swing set.  And I can’t be there every moment to help him know what to do if he’s caught in the middle.

Most of the time, my family could probably be described as in that quiet little section between the bullies and the bullied, which is likely true of  the majority of us.  We may enjoy certain anonymity because we go through life being what society considers fairly normal.  Because of that, I may have deluded myself into thinking that such a topic wasn’t important to address with my child.  Or maybe I felt I could address it in the future, because until last week chances seemed good that we wouldn’t be directly affected by such a problem.  But maybe those of us in-between the victims and the bullies, those of us in the majority, are exactly the ones who need to pay attention.  There is power in numbers, and those of us in the middle are the very ones it will take to stand together and put an end to bullying in our children’s schools and in our communities.  What did they do in the old west, when a really bad guy was tormenting a town?  They gathered a posse to go after him and his gang.  Why?  Because there is strength in numbers. 

                Posse: Origin: 1575–85;  < Medieval Latin posse  power, force, noun use of L infinitive: to be able, have     power, equivalent to pot-  ( see potent) + -se  infinitive suffix

According to a study referenced here by WebMD, brutality toward one’s peers is often linked with an atmosphere of brutality or abuse at home.  I’m probably also guilty of going through life with blinders on.  Whether I’m shocked to hear about a victim acting out in violence or taking his/her own life, or absolutely floored one day when another parent tells me that my child is the potential bully, I tend to believe it couldn’t possibly happen in our school; to my child.  School administrators are in a difficult position, and have dealt with these issues for years.  But schools are changing rapidly and the rate of children with Asberger’s, ADD, ADHD, learning disabilities and even vast socioeconomic difference within one school system is rising astronomically.  These days, one in 100 kids is officially diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum.  These kids are in mainstream schools all over the country, and it is they who are most often the victims of bullying. 

These kids have a purpose, an important place in society.  According to Dr. Temple Grandin, one of the foremost authorities on autism and herself autistic, every kid, despite their particular challenges or differences, deserves the opportunity to figure out at what he or she excels, just as much as the “perfect” child does.  There is a potential for greatness in these kids, just as there is in anyone else’s.

In her talk for Ted.com, Dr. Grandin says, “The world needs all kinds of minds,” and the ones with low level forms of autism, like Asperger’s which Tyler Long had, are the future scientists, engineers, artists and visionaries of our society.  She says, “We need to help students who have unique minds to be successful,” and I couldn’t agree more.  Because there is also the potential that the once upon a time high school jock will end up delivering beer for a living. 

I often wonder if there is any hope that those who are doing the bullying might get worthwhile guidance from their parents, when bullies are often victims or observers of bullying in their own homes.  And I worry that popular media is contributing to a cruel pattern when kids see images shouting at them that it’s cool to be mean or to be like the Kardashians or the Jersey Shore characters or they have no worth.  Such repetitive images can drown out anything good their parents might have told them from the time they were young, and can create in children more feelings of entitlement and visions of grandeur, and lead them to think they are cooler and more desirable when they’re puffed up and beating down someone younger and smaller than them or worse, ganging up on another child. They might see themselves as somehow better and more deserving of a place in this world, and kids who are different don’t deserve to breathe.  It’s difficult to imagine that a child might think it’s acceptable to tell another child to hang himself, or shoot himself or believe in any reality that it would be OK for his or her parents if a child did what they’ve suggested over and over again, every day he or she goes to school.  We hear something long enough and we begin to believe it.  I’ve heard it from my grown daughters time and again, kids think their parents have to love them, and they view school as the reality of what the rest of the world until the end of time will see in them.  They can only see a future of worthlessness.   

Teaching empathy for kids who might be viewed by my son and his peers as imperfect will start in our own home, but that might not be enough.  Sadly not all parents are capable of it, and I can’t teach the neighborhood mean girl to have empathy and treat others with respect when her mean mommy blogger is leading by that unfortunate example.  I’ve been yelled at by parents on the sidelines when I’m volunteering my time to teach their children, and I’ve heard those same parents yell at children who blow a pitch or miss a catch. 

My son will be nine this week, and I will be going to see BULLY myself to determine whether it’s appropriate for his age and sensitivity level.  Either way, it will become a regular discussion point in our house.  I will strive to teach my son that there is strength in being comfortably in the middle, and that standing by is just as bad as participating.  My child must become part of the solution, to encourage others like him to band together to support the kid who is bullied, and redirect and counsel the kid doing the bullying, because as any parent knows, children’s peers do have a profound impact on them.  Prevention can be something as small as grabbing a friend by the shirt sleeve and pulling them away saying, “Man, not cool.”  And it can certainly begin with leading by example.

Being kind to someone doesn’t make us weak, it makes us powerful.  It makes us admirable.  It makes us likeable and someone who earns the right to be looked up to, not someone who is entitled to it by sheer brutality or athletic prowess.  It’s important that I set a good example and teach my child to treat others with empathy, kindness and at least respect if for no other reason than otherwise he might one day find himself sitting in a low chair across a very large desk from someone he once bullied in school.  That Sir or Madam who was once a geek or a nerd who didn’t “deserve to breathe,” might just find the strength to make use of the hardship he delivered to become the next Steve Jobs or Temple Grandin. 

I wonder in the very near future whether our changing system will leave room for programs like gym class, the arts, and something so important, so essential to our development as human beings, like empathy.  I, for one, certainly hope so, and I hope that BULLY can be the start.

And no, my spell check did not land on LOL.  Nope, not then either. 

I’ve gotten into the habit of perusing Facebook, Yahoo News and such places for writing inspiration each morning.  A very well written post from Sarah R. Callender’s blog, Inside-Out Underpants, caught my attention.  Myth talks about when to discuss The Birds and The Bees with your child, and points at the prevalence of “soft” pornographic images, namely breasts and bras, in popular media.  I have an almost nine-year-old son; good points.  “Points” I’ve covered his eyes or attempted to distract him from on more than one occasion.  And, another one of Callender’s excellent examples, we’re crazy if we think they didn’t catch the references to Weiner’s wiener all over the news.  It’s only one of an elementary aged boy’s top five favorite words.

Callender provides a link to the perfect example, a Victoria’s Secret commercial.  Even as I wonder where our probably very dusty copy of Where Did I Come From could be (Callender offers other worthy options, too), and beat myself up for the missed opportunities to speak to my son about such things, I’m distracted by the grammatical error in the first five seconds of the advertisement.  I watch it again to make sure.

Indeed, There’s 5 Ways, is quickly blazoned across the screen, while the caption below the video uses the proper grammar, “…there are 5 ways….”  Did Victoria’s ad agency really choose visual balance over proper grammar?   Did they merely shrug and accept the fact that it’s oh so wrong, or assume that their targeted demographic (frighteningly teens and twenty-somethings) wouldn’t catch it?  Have we grown so accustomed to the improper use of grammar in texting, Twitter, Facebook and other forms of short-hand communication, that we’re growing tolerant of such representations, and the fact that it’s insidiously infecting popular media? 

Nope, spell check didn’t catch “texting” either, when “sending a text” is probably more proper. 

I’m not going to pretend to know the exact grammar rules that once determined what is correct.  I don’t have a degree in journalism, communications or language arts or any degree at all, for that matter.  But my public school education prepared me well to communicate effectively into adulthood, from the time I was in early elementary school.  We learned cursive.  We wrote and we wrote some more, and the more writing we did, the better we learned grammar and punctuation, and the better our fine motor skills became. 

Here’s a shocker:  Cursive is no longer required curricula in many elementary schools.  Ahem.  If kids aren’t taught cursive, how will they learn to read cursive when Grandma sends them a card or writes them a check?  A simple Yahoo! search of “cursive no longer in curriculum,” revealed states like Indiana, Illinois and Hawaii are no longer teaching cursive.  And worse, on a national scale, this article in the Herald Review warns that at least 44 other states have adapted to such standards in response to the national standardized exam that is expected in 2014.  The article compares the future of cursive script to ancient hieroglyphics, which only a handful of archeologists can decipher.  When is the last time you met an archaeologist?  When is the last time you met a person who writes in cursive? 

Huh.  I tried curricula and curriculum in the first sentence of the last paragraph and spell check was no help with either.  I really must purchase an old fashioned dictionary.

One homeschooling mom I know here in San Diego isn’t teaching her kids keyboarding because, “the direction we’re headed is talk to type.”  She claims her kids won’t need it.   But if we are headed in that direction, they’d better learn first how to talk properly.  And guess what writing helps kids learn—language, speech, how to form ideas and get them across properly, methodically, rhythmically, in a way that is presentable and makes sense.  The very basis of everything they must do in school and out, from math to science to reading, to getting into college and later landing a job.  And as I’ve demonstrated throughout, spell check isn’t all that reliable, especially where usage and syntax is concerned.  And our kids are reading less, also essential in learning and developing language and communication skills, and playing more video games, which aren’t at all useful for much of any purpose other than entertaining your kid on a long car ride.  Say, from California to Michigan.

My mind can’t grasp the enormity that the immediate twenty years of technological growth might simply erase the prior five hundred.   Morse Code has been in use for more than 160 years, and is still being used by the military.  Why?  Because it’s reliable, it can be transmitted visually, using mirrors or lights, thereby keeping radio silence when necessary, and because if one day technology fails and survival of the fittest comes back into vogue, Morse Code and long hand may just keep you alive.   Yes, I’ve been reading The Hunger Games.  And I’m from Michigan; we’re prepared sorts.

And thanks to no child left behind, all this “progress” is government sanctioned.  Nay, soon to be government mandated, when IMO our children will be left oh so far behind.   By the way, nay is a fancy, old timey word that means no.  And IMO didn’t get flagged either.  Our kids are screwed.

Don’t even get me started on gym class and school lunches.

I am still reeling from yesterday’s blog being featured on BlogHer, and I’m feeling like a crazy person trying to “work” the momentum.  The response has been overwhelming, and leads me to think maybe I’m not so different after all.  I am monumentally grateful to all who have read, commented and shared.  One Facebook friend’s status today however was, “Over it,” and I immediately thought it was because of me (because that’s what I do, I go there).  So if my excitement over suddenly maybe being a wee bit more than a mere invisible mom is making you throw up in your mouth a little bit, I’m also monumentally sorry. 

And I’m monumentally exhausted.  I have learned so much in the last month about writing and blogging and how best to get dog vomit out of your carpet. 

After my son yelled at me to come and see what Max had done, twice, in his room, I ran back to my computer to look up how best to get it out (the lovely, brilliant yellow kind), since it had clearly been there awhile.  I’m sitting there reading through the suggestions, when I get a new e-mail from BlogHer Executive Editor, Julie Ross Godar.  And.  I.  Freak.  Dog vomit forgotten.  Oops.

And so begins a flurry of Mom is excited, the dog is excited, the boy is excited, Mom pulls up BlogHer, sure enough, there it is, front page of the home page and again, front page of News & Politics.  Mom is excited all over again, dog is excited, boy is excited, garage door comes up, dad is home, dad is excited (in his own way).  Husband is home early because I’m supposed to be getting ready to go to an author talk about how to get published at Warwick’s Books & Stationery.  So I must tear myself away from the sight of my name in proverbial lights, and ready myself to meet:

                Margaret Dilloway, “How to Be an American Housewife,” Putnam, 2010

                Caitlin Rother, “Dead Reckoning” (among others), Pinnacle True Crime, 2011

                And delightful and inspiring, Marjorie Hart (82!), “Summer at Tiffany,” a Memoir, Avon, 2007

I rush off, late of course, but with pretty good reason.  I would have been on time, but said bookstore has two entrances and my ADD brain found the one door locked and was completely blocked from thinking my way around the obstacle.  Sorry, Margaret, et al.  I couldn’t fathom a worthwhile question, my cheeks were flaming red, and she almost certainly thought I was a stalker upon seeing my frazzled state.  What I did get out of the evening, is that writers are an amazingly generous bunch.  I endeavor to be like them one day, when I too am rich and famous.  Oh wait, that’s the other thing I got out of the evening…getting published takes a really, really long time in most cases, and unless you’re Nicholas Sparks or the like, it ain’t gonna get you rich quick.

But I’m still dying to do it!

Oh yes, and once I got in the car and turned my phone back on, I had this text from my dear husband, “Hey, when the boy tells you the dog puked in his room would you pay attention.  Been cleaning for a half hour.”  Oops.  Hello, Earth.

I’m pro guns (legally, in the right hands), but I’m pro birth control.  I’m not for using guns as birth control, unless of course you count shooting the testicles off a child molester.  All for that.

I’m a feminist, who right now happens to be a misplaced stay at home mom, trying not to go crazy while her kid is in school full time.  And soon I’ll be trying not to go crazy when my kid is out of school full time for the summer.

I’m an environmentalist, who uses the crap out of plastic bags and (compostable) paper plates, but I probably recycle more than anyone else in our neighborhood.  I’m completely disillusioned about the irresponsible management of water and landscaping in said CA neighborhood; land of the environmentalists…right??

 I am grateful for the opportunity the Homestead Recovery Act gives homeowners like us, who own a home they can’t sell.  But I am completely against healthcare reform that supports giant drug conglomerates and takes away my right to choose what is right for me and my child.

I’m scared and I’m confused because I don’t think either “side” is getting it right.  The Democrats and the media seem to be trying to vilify republicans with big mouths and distract us with this “war on women” baloney.  I can't stand him either, but seriously, do they really think women are stupid enough to run scared and swing the vote without really addressing the things that matter?  And shouldn’t everyone be on the “side” of what’s actually going to heal this economy and fix unemployment and allow us to become better stewards of our planet?

For instance, how about a representation of the accounting that the general public can understand?  The budget deficit seems like a made up number that is reliant on who is doing the accounting in a given cycle.  Freeze spending?  That’s something middle class America can certainly understand, but for the government it only means freezing spending after they’ve factored in all the previously agreed upon increases that neither side wants to talk about.  Like pay increases.  For both of them.

I’m deeply concerned about my ability to determine what the truth really is and to whom I should listen.  If the Republicans are full of crap, and the Democrats are full of crap, and the media is full of crap, where in the world does the truth lie, and who the hell is shoveling it?

Anyone who follows only one doctrine to the exclusion of anything else because of a label that’s applied, in my opinion, is being foolish.  The days of ultra conservative republicans and far left democrats are numbered, with the majority of Americans falling somewhere in between such extremes.  “Vote for me because I’m a Democrat,” or, “Vote for me because I’m a Republican,” just won’t cut it anymore. 

So please, stop defining me as the only liberal you know…because I don’t have a clue what I am. 

Maybe the problem is that neither does anybody else.

My sister-in-law died two years ago today.  I honor her memory by posting the poem I wrote for her children:


A Mother’s Love…

A mother’s love will never die,

Her job is never through.

A mother never shuts Both eyes,

She’s always seeing you.


On earth perfection that she sought;

Seemed never to achieve.

No matter perfection never wrought,

At death, you Still will grieve.


Her wisdom in life; a fleeting thing,

Grows stronger when she leaves.

For Heaven gives her worlds of thought,

To comfort all your needs.


So speak to her of all your fears;

Of all your favors, too.

She Still listens with Both ears,

To what is troubling you.


Her summer’s breath will dry your tears

And make them go away,

When you think of her and know she loved

You more and Still today.


In Loving Memory of Lisa (Gane) Harrison

April 25, 1966 – March 18, 2010

By:  Kimberly J. Gane ©2010

In order to gain insight and a belief in my ability and intent to write, I have sought out the work of local authors to make it feel more human to me and thus more possible.  Here in San Diego, novelist Margaret Dilloway and non-fiction, self-help author Debbie Ford have both been of interest, and I recently read "The Red Skirt Memoirs of an Ex Nun," by Patricia O'Donnell-Gibson, from whom we bought our house in Michigan, although I never met her personally.  Through Facebook, I've also renewed friendships with those from high school who have successfully made writing their career.  My friends Kitty Broihier and Sondra Dee Garrison actually spent time honing their craft in college, whereas I have little more than an excellent high school English department to bank on (thank you, SJHS and Mrs. Nealer, much as I may have despised it at the time, and Mr. Hop, who inspired and encouraged me and so many others, including my step-daughter the year he retired), and I have always operated at my own speed, especially when it comes to believing in myself.

There's a saying by Dr. Seuss, "Why fit in when you were born to stand out?"  Well, I've spent my entire life trying and feeling as though I failed to fit in, fighting that fact and vacillating between being proud and feeling bad that I'm just different.  I have always enjoyed the spotlight, while others may shy away from it and look at me as though I'm an alien.  I was a single mom before all the celebrities were doing it.  I certainly didn't fit the mold of the corporate employee when I worked at Whirlpool.  I have enjoyed having standard poodles because of the attention they attract since people don't see them every day (and the no slobbering and no shedding parts, which kinda rock).  And I've had to relearn practically everything about parenting that was successful with our daughters, because our son is a different creature with unique needs.  And it only took me six years to make that boy; later in life when anybody my age with any sense was finished building their families.  Let's face it; times they have a'changed very much so from when we raised our girls.  Did I say I have always operated at my own speed?  There was a reason I was dubbed The Poky Puppy in Kindergarten, and I’m stubborn, too.

It isn't as though people have told me my whole life that I'm not worthy; quite the opposite, in fact.  The spotlight I enjoyed so much when I was younger came from my singing, for which I received a lot of appreciation, support and encouragement.  But it's almost as if singing was too easy.  My words were different.  They were personal, and they were my (crazy?) thoughts and feelings...things I was afraid to put out there for the world to see.  I did have teachers who encouraged me about writing, from as far back as grade school.  I can vividly remember Mrs. Schroeder telling me in fifth grade how descriptive my writing was.  And during one of the most difficult times in my life, working in corporate America and so not fitting in, a communications consultant I'd befriended told me that I had the ability to impact people someday.  College just never happened, but motherhood did, and years of keeping my words to myself made any confidence I may have once had falter.  I occasionally showed my daughters bits of my writing and they liked it, but what else could they say?  What if everybody my whole life was just humoring me?   I mean, watch American Idol auditions for five minutes and you realize there are plenty of people whose families delude them into thinking they’re great.

Well this is me.  Operating at my own speed.  In my forties, I'm finally coming to accept that maybe I don't have to be Special, I just have to be Willing.  Everything I write doesn't have to be Brilliant, it just has to be Good, and it's OK to do it just for myself.  Writing daily does seem to be having a positive effect on quieting my mind, and that's a good thing.  At some point, however, I have to be willing to risk rejection, to risk people rolling their eyes and thinking, "Who does she think she is?"  (Probably my worst fear and what has paralyzed me more than anything else over the years.)  In the meantime, if you get something from what I write, GREAT!  If not, as my very encouraging friend and “writing colleague,” Sondra Dee Garrison said, "There's plenty to go around."  There exists something out there that will resonate with you, and in turn, what I write will surely resonate with someone.  Anyone?  Hello?     

A couple of years ago, my then thirteen-year-old niece told me about the book she was reading, "The Hunger Games," by Suzanne Collins.  She absolutely loved it, and even my brother was reading it.  Still, I was a little dismissive about reading a book whose intended audience was initially middle schoolers and up.  As hungrily as both of my girls read the entire Harry Potter series and have eagerly awaited every movie, I've yet to read the books.  I believe all the hype; I'm certain they're as wonderful as everyone says they are, but I guess I'm waiting to experience them for the first time with my son.  Unfortunately he's still absorbed in the Beast Quest series, by Adam Blade, and he's not quite ready for demons and parents dieing.  Which, by the way, is a great way to get a little boy who is a reluctant reader off and running.

Flash forward to all the hype surrounding The Hunger Games series recently, and the fact that the movie is being released on March 23, and I finally got on board.  And I'm so glad I did.  I finished the first book into the am hours last night, and immediately got the second one and can't wait to begin reading it tonight.  Even though this series was conceived or at least marketed for young readers, it is so tightly written, and the story develops so well through the action, you won't feel at all like you're reading one of your kids' books. 

I always try to read a book before I see a movie, because I think the best thing about hunkering down with a truly great book is the part my own imagination plays in the experience.  And in my imagination, my amazing niece was Katniss Everdeen herself.  She is one of the strongest young ladies I know.  She's a competitive gymnast and an archer, and I could clearly see the determination she shows in her sport in every one of those pages.  I imagined Rue as a blend of my three younger nieces, and saw the admiration they have always had for their big sister in Prim.  All my nieces are feisty, fierce and admirable in their character, strength and fortitude, both on the mats and off, and I certainly wouldn't bet against any one of them in any game.  And from now on, I'll keep an open mind when they recommend a good book.

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Ugh!  It doesn't take much to put me in a tailspin.  A simple one hour time change will do it quite sufficiently.  My son and I both had a devil of a time getting out of bed this morning, and then horror of horrors, I was looking at a clock that didn't get switched and failed to pick him up at noon (never mind the itty bitty one in the corner of the computer screen I was sitting in front of)!  An ENTIRE week of half days for conferences WOULD have to coincide with Spring Forward!  Really?  This is good planning?

Am I the only mom who requires a good week to maybe a month to become accustomed to the spring time change?  I don't seem to have nearly the problem adjusting in the fall that I do in the spring.  Maybe the problem is when I lose that hour, it takes me until fall to find it.

Of course, this isn't the first time I've failed to pick up a child, and Lord help me, but it probably won't be the last either.  When my oldest daughter was young and I was working full-time, there was one day a week she didn't go to her after school program because she had Brownies.  This meant I had to collect her half an hour earlier that night than the rest of the week.  This created a bit of a problem.  I'm pretty good when I can get into a routine, but any little wrinkle and I'm trying to head off trouble at the pass.  Mind you, this was well before iPhones with alarms and calendars were invented to keep us on track.  I had only my Franklin Planner, and as brilliant as they were at the time, it didn't yell at me to go pick up my kid!  So...let's just say there were occasions when I might have arrived a few minutes late.

Snooty Mrs. Brownie Leader did not like me, and therefore she didn't like my child.  She clearly saw herself as Mrs. Perfect Mom and saw me as Single Loser Mom, when I was really more like Trying To Keep Her Car From Getting Repossessed and Keep Her Kid Alive Mom.  In the long run I failed at the first part (briefly; got it refinanced and got it back, thanks to someone who didn't look down on single moms), but must say I did pretty brilliantly at the second part because my daughter is a Purdue graduate and will marry her high school sweetheart later this year.

Anyhow, Snooty Mrs. Brownie Leader had warned me that this particular Tuesday I had to be on time because she was leaving at exactly 5:30 to go vote at the Baroda Town Hall.  Well that's like inviting a kid not to take the last jelly bean when you turn your back.  I mean, if you put it in my mind, make me fret and obsess about it all day long, chances are pretty good that it's going to be a self-fulfilling prophecy and become exactly what I do.  It's just the way I'm wired!  I don't like being wired that way, but I am.

So I drive frantically all the way from Whirlpool, which is way north of town, to Hollywood School, which is far south of town, only to find the parking lot empty and the gymnasium doors locked.  Remember that this was well before iPhones?  I didn't even have the Michael Douglas shoe phone from Wall Street!  I had to drive through my tears to a payphone at a gas station and call my brother who lived two blocks from the Baroda Town Hall.  He sprinted across the lawns in his bare feet, found her with Snooty Brownie Leader, and sprinted back to his house with her on his shoulders, giggling and delighted at the prospect of spending the unexpected time with her uncle and aunt. 

Yeah...she never went to Brownies again.  And she didn't miss it one bit.  Unfortunately, my son still has to go to school tomorrow.

That's my new mantra.

As in:

I don't want to clean my son's bathroom (ew)...put on your Big Girl Panties, your rubber gloves and a face mask and just do it, preferably right before your shower, and maybe even naked.

I don't feel like walking today...put on your Big Girl Panties, your shoes and just do it.

I don't know what to write today...put on your Big Girl Panties, sit at your computer and just start typing.

I don't care to fight with my kid about eating his broccoli...put on your Big Girl Panties, make the damn broccoli and just set a good example and eat it yourself first.

And here's a big one:

I don't have a clue where to begin to help my kid succeed in school...put on your Big Girl Panties, talk to his teacher, and be willing to go in every day, STUDY THOSE MATH FACTS every day, and give him the opportunity to rise to the high expectations he is more than capable of meeting.  In other words, make him put on his Big Girl Panties.

Self-discipline has never been something I tap into easily.  But the payoffs are magical, numerous and probably limitless (I say probably because I only just started so I don't actually know for sure yet, but I have an inkling).  For instance, you won't be embarrassed when the Potty Queen is over, however briefly and unexpectedly, and must use your bathroom.  If you just put your shoes on first thing when you change your clothes in the morning, you'll be more likely to walk, which will feel great and your dog will love you even more and won't pester you so much when you're trying to write, which could eventually lead to something delightful and unexpected even if you didn't know in advance what you were sitting down to write that day, but that probably actually came to you while you were walking. 

And best of all, the kid who cried daily about math homework and took hours to complete five problems, suddenly answers, "Actually math," was his favorite thing at school, when, "Recess," was the usual answer to the daily question.  Not only that, he approaches homework enthusiastically, and completes it in a timely manner and has time to actually play after dinner on a weeknight.

So what if he still doesn't eat his broccoli with similar enthusiasm...neither do I.  But this recipe from The Barefoot Contessa might actually rectify that situation in the future.  And here you go, in case you need your own set of Big Girl Panties.

I'm a sucker for validation.  I do need it, and when I don't get (enough of) it, I pout.

This is me.  Pouting.

Plus, I need to do more than just wash m' bits.  I need a real shower, like shaving and hair washing and blow-drying and all.  Maybe I should just give myself a wax.  Alas, no--been there, done that, and NEVER again!  This IS NOT mine, but consider it my public service announcement and a humorous little bonus for today.

And, writing every day means the dust bunnies are winning.

I've missed my Dyson Canister Vac; we need to get reacquainted.

Back tomorrow with more wisdom (I hope) and introspection.  I do some of my best thinking when I'm vacuuming...and showering...so tomorrow should really be good!