Mommy, what does “asinine” mean?

I know, I know.  Look Jess, it’s been over a month.  It’s not like I have a bajillion things to do or anything.  But I do love writing.  It’s fun and it’s a stress reliever.  I’m a mother of 5 who just sent two back to school while the ever amazing Clark Kent is traveling.  I’m not stressed.  There’s another word in between stressed and crazy … not sure what it is, but that’s where I am. 

Asinine is becoming an increasingly frequent word in my vocabulary.  So much so that Peanut asked what it meant.  Well, Peanut, that’s what the internet is for.  That and Facebook and memes. 

Definition of ASININE

1: extremely or utterly foolish <an asinine excuse>

2: of, relating to, or resembling an ass

Today that sums up the Memphis Police Department.  Or at least the part that deals with “security” at Memphis City Schools.  I bet you want to know why?  I bet you are thinking that “gee, Jess, that’s kind of harsh.” No.  It’s not.  And here’s why:

MCS knows when school starts.  They set the date.  I don’t.  I think August 6th is ENTIRELY too early for school to start school.  They know.  They know that we need crossing guards.  No shocker.  We had to call everyday last year for almost 6 weeks to get some last year.  We have three.  Or should.  So here it is day 3 of school and of course, we don’t have crossing guards.  So I call.  I’m the PTA President, after all.  It’s kind of my job to advocate for our children.  And their safety.  You know, like safety from getting HIT BY CARS. 

So I called.  Talked to a not very nice officer.  Actually she was quite snarky.  But I was calm.  10 points for me for not going ape on her for her snarkiness.  Anyhoo … she told me that the reason we didn’t have crossing guards is because no one in our zip code had applied to be a crossing guard. 

Wait.  What?  The safety of our children comes down to where employees live?  The irony?  MPD does not even require their police officers to live IN MEMPHIS to be a police officer.  I happen to know one that lives OUTSIDE city limits altogether.  But a crossing guard – a part-time, no appreciation, crappy hours job – must live in the same zip code?  Say it with me – ASININE.  That’s right folks.  Even if there are 50 people in the next zip code over (which, oh by the way there are at least 5 zip codes within a 10 miles radius of our school) who want this job, they can’t have it.  Sorry jobless person who is willing to drive over here.  You can’t have a job.  Our zip code is not acceptable for your paycheck.  Keep on being jobless.  And sorry kids.  Watch out for those speeding idiots who are texting while driving.  No one in your zip code has applied, so it’s every child for himself out there.  We don’t really care that you are crossing a 4 lane road that is a considered a major road by the MPD.  Tough noogies.  Let’s all say it again together … ASININE.  But, no sir.  It’s not about money and politics.  Kriner Cash just wants what’s “best for our children”. 

Shrinking walls …

I think the cabin fever is getting to me.  I have left the house once in almost two weeks.  I think I may be going crazy.  Evidence?

I’ve started watching terrible Canadian DIY shows on purpose.  And these crazy ladies on PBS seem like they have amazing baking ideas.  What is the world coming to?  It’s a sad time in the world when Canadian television seems good.  God help me if I start liking that whiny bald kid.  His parents need to be taken with Dora’s parents and Max & Ruby’s parents (wherever they are) and publically flogged. 

Oh yeah.  I said it.  You were all thinking it. Where the heck are those bunnies?  And where is bunny child services?  Maybe they went off with Dora and the Grumpy Old Troll threw them into Alligator Lake (because they couldn’t just walk around it … I can SEE the other side from here DORA!)

Anyway … a few more days and we’re getting out again.  Just to the doctor, but hey … it’s out.  Woohoo for Dr. W being the awesome person I’m looking forward to seeing. Cue sad looks and “such a shame” from the peanut gallery.

The best laid plans of mice and men …

So Frog is here.  Though he is more aptly named Dolphin.  Why you may ask?  Oh because he’s FLIPPER, FLIPPER, FASTER THAN LIGHTENING!  The last month was filled with ultrasound after ultrasound after ultrasound.  Yeah, yeah, I’d like to see the insurance EOB on those too. NOT!  But seriously folks … he’d be head down one day and feet down three days later.  So Doc T decides to go ahead and schedule a c-section.  Four kids … four not c-sections.  Here’s kid number five, the surprise, and SURPRISE he’s got to come a different way.  Figures.  He was marked special 10 months ago, right?  So we pick a day.  At least we can do that.  June 12th.  Special day around here.  That’s Clark Kent’s dad’s birthday.  His dad passed away in ‘95 of colon cancer (at 39 … get your screenings people, they ain’t playin’ when they tell you to get your insides cleansed and camera ready for one day.  It’s important!)  So the day is a special day already, and then we get to welcome our last (and FINAL) child that day too.  Awesome.  I feel privileged to have that as Dolphin’s birthday. 

Fast forward to the last appointment before B-Day.  He’s head down.  And has been for a week.  BOOYAH!  Looks like we will have 5 not c-sections.  I mean, Doc K even says “cancel the c-section” and “95% of babies stay head down once they get like this” and “the chances of him flipping again are very slim”.  Well, lesson learned.  We went in to the hospital for a lovely induction (I’ve done this 4 times, I can say lovely all I want.  They are great).  Nurse goes to check and we learned quickly that you don’t give Dolphin a challenge.  He likes them.  Takes them on daily.  He was feet down.  AND to top it off, a once in a lifetime thing for me – water breaks.  Oh yeah.  So we go from the slow, methodical process of preparing for an all-day event of an induction to the 150mph get ready for a c-section that no one was planning on.  Oh my goodness how fast people move when that happens.  They decided at about 10:30am that we were going for c-section.  In what seemed like slo-mo to me, we prepped, went over everything, signed the “oh yeah, we’re doing this and you may die, is that okay?” paperwork, and got ready to go to the operating room.  We get there and a poor terrified, shaking, trembling, what-the-heck-just-happened-back-there me sits as still as possible as they get my body ready to be sliced and diced.  Seems like hours.  Really, it’s just minutes.  From the time they said “oh dear, Dolphin has flipped again.” until he was out and screaming was 45 minutes.  Total.  Craziness.  Clark Kent spared me most of the details.  Like the '”uh-oh, he’s choking on fluid” worried looks of the doctors and the “that took longer than expected for him to cry” moments.  He cried, he was great, and he passed his Apgar's.  That’s what I know.  Then the nice CRNA gave me drugs.  Really, really good drugs.

I can’t tell you how we got from the OR to the recovery area.  I don’t know when I held Dolphin for the first time, though I remember holding him.  I don’t remember getting all the dressings and bindings put on, but I remember them being there the first time I needed to move.  Then we were in a regular room where I am fairly certain that these 4 nurses were trying to rip me open.  Then 3 days of recovery.  We got to stay one whole extra day because Dolphin need some photo therapy to hone his super hero powers. 

And now we are home.  Getting used to the five kids thing.  Nana was here last week.  That was a saving grace.  And Clark Kent is off work this week too.  So I am not stranded in “don’t pick anything up land” by myself.  We are doing this family thing together.  And so far it’s doable.  Which is crazy.  Didn’t think it was possible and have been telling myself we were just silly to think we could do this.  But we can.  The kids are being awesome.  Peanut is helpful, and Bean loves to hold Dolphin.  Monkey Man thinks it’s cool he’s the “biggest brother” and Bug just wakes up every morning and points and Dolphin and laughs.  It’s fun.  Of course, we’ve had to teach Bug he doesn’t need to share his toys with Dolphin just yet.    But it’s great.  Ask me again in a month and the story may have changed.  All I know is I’m thankful for science, and doctors.  They got my Dolphin here safe and sound despite a last minute turn of events.  Thanks Doc T for being amazing.  Now, where’d I put that coffee??

Zoom Zoom …

So month to month is apparently the best I can do.  School is almost out.  Tomorrow is the last day, and then I get two full months to figure out what to do with the kids.  Oh yeah, and have another kid.  I’m such a breeder.  Meanwhile I’m trying to get as much rest as possible, which is really comical when you consider there is no way to sit, lay, stand, etc. that is comfortable.  Me & Frog get checked out twice a week.  He’s growing, I’m gaining, we’re working together to get to the end date when I get to meet him.  That’s exciting.  And a relief.  Surprises must come to an end and a new beginning. 

Other than that, our house doesn’t really look like a place that’s going to have a newborn in just 3 1/2 weeks.  Not even close.  The bassinet is still in the attic.  Nothing is washed.  The car seat is put away.  So, why?  Because there are a bajillion other things going on here.  Because there are four other kids doing stuff.  Because school isn’t out and I’m getting ready for next year already.  PTA President stuff, general PTA stuff, would-you-please-get-over-yourself-and-grow-up PTA stuff, and prepping for a 5th grader and 2nd grader stuff.  It’s busy.  You know how I know?  Because I blinked and it went from April 13th to May 17th.  Because it’s almost time for Frog to be born.  Because Monkey Man turned 4 and that snuck up on me.  Because Peanut will be 10 (what?!? TEN?!? Who let that happen? Double digits friends … next thing I know it’ll be college) in a few weeks.  Holy Moly.  Someone slow things down.  100mph got passed by our family about a million miles ago, I think. 

So, it’s time to get ready for five.  Yeah, five.  Take that in.  Five kids.  What was I thinking?  Well, I could share with you how that went down, but uh … there are preschool toys present.  Or something. Yeah.   It’s going to be a wild ride.  And I’ll do my best to keep you posted.  Surely there will be pictures.  I mean, with cameras, smart phones and video, someone should get something documented. It’s a team play here with everyone pitching in to get ready.  Grandparents coming, best friends helping out, and somehow getting everyone where they need to go. 

On the bright side, I have a really cute diaper bag.  Accessories make the woman, some say.  I say “ooh that was cute and it’s a great deal at half price and I must have it because it’s awesome.”  That’s the highlight.  That and the water slide.  The kids got a water slide.  Tiny happy moments, folks.  That’s what you have to find.  The tiny happy moments.  That way the big overwhelming frustrating ones don’t eat you up. 

What had happened was …

So I’m at the doctor’s office today.  It’s a check up for the baby (let’s call him Frog, okay?).  I’m in the waiting room, with some other people.  And let me introduce the lovely couple waiting with all of us.  Let’s call them Mr. & Mrs. O (for OBNXIOUS, and because the other good name is taken).  Mrs. O is quite far along in her pregnancy.  But that is not important to our story.  She has a cell phone.  One of those with the touch screen and slide out keyboard.  And apparently it also has no volume control and is only set to “annoying beep”.  Which beeps and beeps and beeps.  In the completely quiet waiting room.  Where the rest of us have silenced our phones (per the request of the cute little sign that they put up oh, EVERYWHERE).  So I text Clark Kent:

Me: No no no annoying person with an iPhone playing a game … Please don’t cut it to silent …. That beeping noise is so pleasant. (*I later figured out it wasn’t an evil fruit product*)

Clark Kent: Passive-aggressive much?

Me: Beeep beeeeeeep BBBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP … now she’s texting. Bip bip bip bip bip … The entire waiting room is silent except her phone.  I may seriously stab her.

CK: Just start some loud and annoying show on Netflix and set it in the chair next to you.

Me: No doubt! Oh wait … I’m not a rude a-hole.

Then to make things EVEN better she got out a piece of gum, which she starts smacking, grunting – GRUM GRUM GRUM (like that hippo in Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?), and blowing bubbles.  I relay this info to Clark Kent. 

Me: And now she’s added smacking gun AND grunting while she chews and blows (and pops) bubbles … This is the first circle of hell, isn’t it?

CK: LOL

“LOL”?  I am pretty sure he’s not really laughing out loud.  He’s quietly amused at my situation with the crazy lady who can’t possibly see her rudeness.  And of course I can’t say anything.  I mean she’s not my race, she’s way pregnant, and this is Memphis.  You don’t do that.  She’d likely shove that phone up my bum.  Really.  I’d have done it to her except I KNOW HOW TO SILENCE MY PHONE.

So … we move from that waiting room.  Mr. & Mrs. O go first, so I have a few minutes of quiet before they call me back.  This is the office of things-take-forever-and-you-wait-more, so after the initial stats check you get to go into another waiting room, this one says “lobby”.  And of course WHO should still be in this one but Mr. and Mrs. O.  They are there and a couple other people and then a nice lady and her mother.  The nice lady is an older mom.  I’d say 45+ish.  Honestly, I thought she and her mother (who was 65+ish) were waiting on someone else.  I didn’t realize she was the patient.  Of course, who am I to judge?  I mean, when I’m 45 Peanut will be 23, Bean will be 20, Monkey Man will be 17, Bug will be 15 and Frog will be 14.  I can’t imagine having a newborn then.  Heck, I could be a grandma then.  G-ma.  What what?  But anyway, the nice lady, who has left and come back in the room at least twice gets called to consultation (the last in the 100 step series in the doctors office that means you are almost done).  Mrs. O has the same problem I’ve noticed in Memphis since I moved here.  People of opposite races must think that the other race cannot hear what they say, or don’t care.  I’ve had people talk about me quite obviously and rudely even if I was right there.  “I’d just never have 4 kids.  Who would do that? That’s just too many kids.” “Some people can’t make up their mind up in this store.  What’s so hard, it’s all chips?” … you get the idea.  Mrs. O was no exception.  She starts in LOUDLY to Mr. O “That woman is too old to have a baby.  It might not be nice to say, but it is what it is.  She going to ruin her life and her kid’s life.” Mr. O comes back “Yeah, it is hard to say, but it’s true.  I don’t know what she was thinking getting pregnant so old.” Mrs. O says “Yeah, it is sad.  People like that.  I don’t know what she was thinking".”  Well … who knows what she was thinking.  No idea.  I mean, it could be all kinds of things.  Maybe she was trying to get pregnant and it took 10 years.  Maybe she wasn’t trying and it was a surprise.  But to speak loudly and rudely about someone like that when someone else you don’t know is in the room.  And what if that lady came back in while they were being all rude?  Good thing they didn’t know I was there with #5.  I mean, it would have probably made Mrs. O’s head spin. For a minute.  Then that amazing piece of technology would have probably stepped in to BEEEEEPPPPP BEEEEEPPPP BEEEEPPPP. 

 

OH MY WORD.  Really?  Really, people?  Because you are breeding.  Obviously.  And that means you’ll raise more like you.  Really?  Well, hurray for it all! BBBEEEEPPPP!

Yeah, about that …

I’m pretty thick skinned.  It’s the Southern Girl way.  Let it go, say “bless your heart” and move on.  That’s how we roll.  Cut me off in the line at the store?  Okay.  I’m fine.  Pull out in front of me in traffic?  Yup.  I’ll fuss and holler and say things, but it’s okay.  Obviously you have way more important things than I do. 

It’s a little like that Trace Adkins song. You know, you can mock me, you can make fun of how I talk, and you can tell me to go shove it.  But start in with the talk about my mama and my country and well, we have problems.  Start doing things that aren’t fair, on the up and up and sketchy, and you’ll see my redneck side. 

And when you don’t like me, I don’t care.  So what.   Who are you anyway?  Just someone.  No one.  But darned if being constantly rude is appropriate.  That’s drama, it’s high school and it irks me to no end.  We’re taught in “Southern  little girl school” to always say hey to everyone, don’t matter if they are a friend or foe.  And it’s bugging me.  And all I can think to scream is ….

(source)

Okay… enough ranting.  You may return to your other blogs, which aren’t crazy people. 

Mary, Mary, quite contrary …

How does my garden grow?  Planted our garden today.  So excited to get dirty and watch the kids get excited.  Clark Kent had this whole method thing.  Maps, instructions.  He can lay out a garden like those crazy women plan out Black Friday shopping at Wal Mart. 

Hoping the garden grows.  Last year we had success and the kids loved watching and harvesting and watering.  Mostly each other, but the garden too.  And this year we have the added bonus of purple carrots.  Wait, what?  What the HECK are purple carrots you ask?  Yeah … I don’t know.  These things are rainbow (source for my picture there) I guess.  We’ll see when they grow.  Why are we growing purple carrots?  To quote Clark Kent, “because we can.”  Do purple carrots taste like orange ones?  I don’t know.  These are things I ponder. 

 

And I’ll leave you with this pondering from Bill Engvall …

When there’s a dead vulture on the side of the road, what eats it?

Humbly taking it all in …

It’s been a while.  Things have been hectic, emotional and just plain ol’ crazy around here.  I can’t even excuse the time between the entries.  But I won’t try to catch up either.  Because that’s the Christmas Card Letter Guilt.  You all have it.  Either you write a letter every year, except that one year that grandma passed away and the baby was born, and dang it you were tired.  Or you never wrote one, and this year when the kids are old enough you’re not pulling your hair out and Christmas isn’t spent in the car 8 hours one way to celebrate Christmas (which by the time you get there the last thing you want to do is smile and awe at any baby, even Baby Jesus).  Or you’re like me.  I don’t want to write one, but I have this amazing friend who sends me one every year and I relish every bit of it.  She’s great.  I’m not.  I don’t want to start one.  Hence “Christmas Card Letter Guilt” … you all have it.  You might not know it, but you do.

For 4 weeks I’ve had CCLG for this blog.  I could sit down and write a tiny thing, which I think is great and you’d all like to know about.  Just a small note, like that awesome guy at Message With a Bottle.  He’s great at it.  And perhaps from here on out, when I’ve got just that one awesome tidbit I’ll jump in and post.   Like how there are too many little boys in the house as it is, and little boys are weird and stinky and crazy but loveable.  How my Peanut and her friends trip me out all the time.  How I have the absolute best friends on the planet, and couldn’t do life without them because I’d go insane.  How Clark Kent keeps reassuring me that life is great, and we are great and, well, who’s a rock star?  I am.  Because let’s face it.  Kid #5 isn’t too far off.  But more so I went and did something that was a dream, and succeeded.

What is that insanity?  PTA President.  Oh yeah.  All year I’ve had these great ideas about how our PTA could be more efficient, more creative, and cater more to *gasp* the parents and teachers.  Thought I could do that.  And so did just enough people.  And I’m humbled.  So very, very humbled.  People, even just a few, think I could to.  That all the creative juices I’ve got can be pumped into my kids’ school.  I couldn’t be more excited, and shocked, and well … just humbled.

So today I sit at my kitchen table, the windows are open, the sun is setting, and the kids are out in the yard playing.  Life is rolling along, and for just this moment, however teeny tiny, it’s rolling well.  The hammock is up for the season, the garden is ready to plant and our family is ready to focus on being us.  And I’m preparing for next year at the school.  It’s time to start the music … it’s time to light the lights.  Fasten in boys and girls, it’s going to be a fast, hard ride, and I can’t wait to share it!

Copy and Paste

Today a friend told me that she was reading over resumes and essentially they all said the same thing.  What, you ask?  Well, they said “Copy and paste” from Google, apparently.  I mean, they all said the same thing.  In the most generalized way possible.  At no point did any of them make relevant sense to the job to which they were apply.  Nor did they even try.   Here, I will give an example, just by Googling job objective:

“Obtain a position at ABC institute where I can maximize my training experience, program development skills and my teaching abilities.“

And here again:

“Obtain a position at XYZ Company where I can maximize my management skills, quality assurance, program development, and training experience.”

And here once more (from an actual resume):

"Looking to obtain a position with a reputed company which will require me to utilize my skils, abilities, and experience." (SIC)

So, kids, what have we learned here?  That the upcoming generation knows jack about resume writing?  That Google has made us lazy?  That “well, someone already did it so I don’t have to try” is acceptable?  That mediocrity is the standard? 

It gave me a great laugh.  But it saddened me too.  Because it reminded me that the general population is not so very bright.  Not that I’m Einstein.  Far from it.  I’m just me.  My job didn’t require a resume.  I utilize my skills every dang day.  And have tons of experience.  But seriously folks … when is it going to dawn on people that everyone else googled the same thing, ergo your answer looks as lame as theirs and at no point in your answer did you actually answer anything.  Kudos to you, oh Billy Madisons of the world.  Copy and Paste on!

Bumper Sticker #15263

I’m going to make a bumper sticker for my car.  It’s going to say:

“The deceleration of this vehicle is directly proportional to your proximity to the bumper.”

People don’t get it.  I will NOT go faster, but I can go a whole LOT slower.  Really.  Really.  You’re annoying me, I’m going slower, it annoys you, which makes you get closer to me, which annoys me. It’s a vicious cycle. 

And speaking of annoying me, don’t ask me if ALL the kids are mine.  Yes.  Yes they are all mine.  And I’m having more.  Another one.  Good thing too.  I’m making sure there are enough nice people in the world to replace the jerks like you around.

 

Grr … mama bear say what??