Fess Up Friday

    Since I’m back to blogging and am giving twitter another try I figure I may as well go back to my Fess Up Fridays. Confessions aren’t just for Catholics, yo.

1. When I was in kindergarten I shared the story of how our home had burnt down over the weekend. Our community at the time (we moved from there long, long ago) was a great one. By the time my Mom arrived to pick me up from school a good bit of items and money had already been donated. Yeah, that was all a made up story that an over active imagination and memories of the previous nights Rescue 911 (remember that show!?!) had produced while talking to other kids about how our weekend was. Some people would call that a lie. That just sounds so harsh. Plus I was only five. Five year olds don’t lie, they tell stories. Which I am now being introduced to as Caleb’s five year old imagination has begun to drift into the fictional tales section. Karma exists folks, karma exists. And when Ella and Emery get a few more years under their belts karma is gonna kick my ass Chuck Norris style.

 2. Exactly a month from today Jerry, the kids and I will be dragging out all of our Christmas decorations in preparation for setting them all up on the 15^th. That’s right; we decorate for Christmas on November 15^th every year. The 15^th is also my birthday so Jerry really can’t complain too much and on top of that the man is smart and knows how to pick his battles. But while you’re all shaking your head at this just remember Macy’s has had their Christmas trees and decorations up since July. That’s right, July. Those folks start preparing for Christmas as soon as the dust settles from Independence Day festivities over there.

 3. I’m trying to jump into the world of twitter. But it’s slow goings despite moving my twitter app next to my Facebook app (which is prime real estate in app land). Here’s why:

• For one I’m not witty enough to produce material for both. And I refuse to knowingly bring forth more crap material into this world. The Kardashian’s and Hiltons have the corner on that market covered already.
• I’m illtwitterate. It’s like a secret language written by Ke$ha where every single rule regarding grammar, punctuation and sentence structure is thrown out the window. Webdings symbols flying at me from every which way, @#######!!!!!!!
• I’m wordy. Too wordy for 140 characters or less.
• A lack of tweeps. It just feels too awkward to go soliciting followers.

Drama Mama

   There are times in life when a good fit is oh so appealing. Like when that certain something that you’ve been saving for sells out before you can buy it. Or when a jerky teenager wants to channel their inner Paul Walker and drive their fastest and furiousest in a 20 year old Honda next to you in rush hour traffic. On a rainy day. Or when father time himself wants to drive 20 miles an hour in a no passing zone. And customer service calls to any company, at any time, in any country? Totally fit worthy. I’d even bump that recommendation to necessary if they transfer your call to a call center located outside of whichever country you reside in. Because foreign accents are always annoying when you’ve been listening to crap music for 15 minutes while you wait to explain for the 90^th time what your issue is. Especially when the resolution to your problem is oh so obvious to everyone but the people on the other end of the phone line.

  For Ella though most things in life are fit worthy though. Can’t find her sippy cup? Time to cry. Don’t agree with waiting until after lunch to have that lollipop? Time to break out the mean muggin’. Followed by asking me every three seconds if she can have the lollipop yet. Just got the breaking news that you are no longer eligible for the lollipop because of your behavior? Cry again. Hard. Like your heart is broken, cartoons will never again air on TV and all of the malls in the world are now closed for business and there wasn’t even a going out of business sale to soften the blow. When it comes to drama girlfriend has it in spades.

  The thing is she’s always been this way. Two years of sassy attitude and going strong. We won’t count that first year of life, that’s traumatic for everyone with all those shots, teething, inability to communicate and the liquid diet followed by disgustingly bland food that rivals what your diaper will look like later. All this to say I’m raising raw talent over here folks. A talent like this must be shared. Talent scouts of America I’m talking to you. Beauty, brains, and theatrics she’s got it all. Next time your in need of an angsty toddler you’ll know just where to come. She’s got that role locked down tighter than the White House bomb shelter. Or safe room. Or teleportation machine. Whatever those folks on Capitol Hill are using these days.

From her role in Makeup, Interrupted. 

Coke, with a side of Vinegar.

As the numbers of children with childhood obesity has risen over the last decade or so, so has the controversy regarding nutrition in our children’s schools. Calls for a more balanced meal plan and the withdrawal of vending machines/soda have been heard in PTO and school board meetings around the nation. So imagine my surprise when Caleb came home from school with a can of Coke nestled into the bottom of his backpack today. Chilled, ready to drink and everything. It was a reward he said, given to him by his teacher for mastering a skill that he has been working on for the last few weeks.

  And there he stood, smiling so HUGE at both his accomplishment and his reward. And the loving Mommy in me wanted so badly to just share in this moment of excitement with him. But the protective/nutritional Mommy in me wants to call his teacher and ask why a can of soda was given to a 5 year old. What happened to good ‘ole stickers and trips to the prize box?  So now here I am stuck in limbo over deciding whether or not to call his teacher and complain. On the one hand I genuinely like the guy. He’s a great teacher, who Caleb adores and he’s also a bit quiet and shy. I almost feel like a bully for wanting to call and voice my displeasure at this “reward”. Also, I get that being a teacher in today’s society is tough. I have lots of teacher friends who feel at times that they are damned if they do and damned if they don’t. Education is increasingly becoming a fine line to walk as teacher’s lose their jobs for posting a picture on Facebook of the glass of wine that accompanied their dinner, and let’s not even begin to get into the controversies they face regarding discipline. So yes I get it, being a teacher is tough.

 But to me it seems fairly obvious that a kindergartener shouldn’t be given soda. Especially not a whole can of soda. A bit of my shock comes from the fact that my 10 year old who attends the same school has never been given soda as a reward (at least not that she’s told me). And in an increasingly liable society full of consent forms I kinda would’ve expected this to be covered on the 50 or so other pages of consent and authorization forms that we fill out at the beginning of each school year. Seems to me like this could’ve been squeezed in somewhere between food allergies and the approved lunch visitor list. Something like " May your child be given a caffeinated soda as a reward? Check yes or no. The school will not be held liable for resulting behavoir. Please be aware that consumption of the soda may increase trips to time out, the number of sticks pulled, the inability to nap during nap time and more frequent trips to the dentist may be necessary." Feel free to add that next year principals around the world. Your welcome.

 
 The other bit of shock I have comes from the fact that we only began letting Kayley have one orange soda or Sprite a week within the last year or so. So when I woke up this morning I really wasn’t expecting a Coke Controversy to be on today’s agenda of things to handle. Them’s the breaks in Mommyland, you just never know what’s waiting around the corner. In the end I’ll approach this the same way we do everything else that the kids consume which is all things in moderation and I’ll give him about half of the soda with dinner tonight. And in the meantime I’ll try to figure out whether or not I should call the teacher. And perhaps I’ll just add some vinegar to his cup so that it tastes so bad that next time he’s offered one he’ll politely refuse. Yeah, vinegar ought to do the trick.