September 29, 2004
September 28, 2004
If I Could Smoke, I Would
This is a post in which I tell you that I want a cigarette so freaking bad.
October 4th is coming up. Some three months later, and if I didn't know smoking one could cause an immediate and dire consequence to my immediate and dire health, I would light one up in a nanosecond. That's right all you fine friends who cheered me on, I am here to tell you that I spent today tossing truths and dares bewtween my two ears, and in the end, the very end, which was approximately 30 seconds ago, I came down on the side of: I sure would smoke if I could. I sure would light one up and love it and smoke it and love it all over its fine tobbaco self.
You just don't understand. I miss it so much.
I noticed the other day that I now smell cigarette smoke when its coming from the lady inside the sedan THREE CARS AHEAD OF ME! What's with that? I'm minding my own business, and my sniffer says--hey, I smell smoke! And I look all around. Then I see her tan arm, so cool, thin, freckled, hanging out the window, tapping the ashes off her cigarette.
I'm embarrassed. I've wandered so far from my beloved habit that it now assaults me from three car lengths.
I need to be glad about this.
I can't be.
I believe I've gained approximately 850 pounds from the combination of starting hormones for a little issue I'm dealing with at the same time as stopping smoking.
The fuck with all of it! I'm thinking of tossing the dice on the table--stopping all medicines EXCEPT cigarettes, and let the cards fall where they may.
Well, you know.
I'm all blustery.
I won't do it.
Except in pixels.
It feels so good to toy with it.
I really wish I could.
I still miss it every day.
That's just wrong.
October 4th is coming up. Some three months later, and if I didn't know smoking one could cause an immediate and dire consequence to my immediate and dire health, I would light one up in a nanosecond. That's right all you fine friends who cheered me on, I am here to tell you that I spent today tossing truths and dares bewtween my two ears, and in the end, the very end, which was approximately 30 seconds ago, I came down on the side of: I sure would smoke if I could. I sure would light one up and love it and smoke it and love it all over its fine tobbaco self.
You just don't understand. I miss it so much.
I noticed the other day that I now smell cigarette smoke when its coming from the lady inside the sedan THREE CARS AHEAD OF ME! What's with that? I'm minding my own business, and my sniffer says--hey, I smell smoke! And I look all around. Then I see her tan arm, so cool, thin, freckled, hanging out the window, tapping the ashes off her cigarette.
I'm embarrassed. I've wandered so far from my beloved habit that it now assaults me from three car lengths.
I need to be glad about this.
I can't be.
I believe I've gained approximately 850 pounds from the combination of starting hormones for a little issue I'm dealing with at the same time as stopping smoking.
The fuck with all of it! I'm thinking of tossing the dice on the table--stopping all medicines EXCEPT cigarettes, and let the cards fall where they may.
Well, you know.
I'm all blustery.
I won't do it.
Except in pixels.
It feels so good to toy with it.
I really wish I could.
I still miss it every day.
That's just wrong.
September 27, 2004
Heya Jeb!
Sorry ya'll hadta tho away yo niggalist.
It's not like God's not trying down there in Florida. Jeb just won't get under the right tree.
The decision [to scrap the purge list] means that 28,000 Democrats who might have been banned from voting can cast their vote in November. By comparison, the list contained only 9,500 registered Republicans.
It's not like God's not trying down there in Florida. Jeb just won't get under the right tree.
Get Your IM On
Karsh is killin' me again.
Cartoonist needed. I'll by a shirt--first one gets it done.
Karsh: Damn, I almost got mowed down in the hall
Karsh: They bought pizza for the department
Karsh: and i was coming back from the vending machine
Karsh: swarm of folks
Kia: damn
Kia: did you get some?
Karsh: nope
Kia: why?
Kia: oh you can't eat cheese
Karsh: they gave us lunch in the financial planning meeting
Kia: so!
Karsh: i got like six sammiches
Kia: it's still free
Kia: *dead*
Kia: you nigga
Karsh: shit, my tupperware only hold so much
Karsh: shit
Karsh: LMAO
Karsh: you know i bought some tupperware FOR work yesterday?
Karsh: ain't that some shit?
Kia: you aint shit
Kia: nan.bit.
Cartoonist needed. I'll by a shirt--first one gets it done.
Not so small, not so tall
"Hey Jenna, are you the tallest girl in your class or are there some taller?"
"I'm medium. I'm actually the mediumest one in my class."
"I'm medium. I'm actually the mediumest one in my class."
Ivana new school
A quick update from the hurricane backwash city of Atlanta, Georgia.
It appears that Ivan (and perhaps the 20 years of mismanagement and poor maintanence of the facility) have combined to make our child's school uninhabitable.
Imagine, if you will, driving happily to carpool Friday afternoon to pick up your little cherub only to discover, from a note stuffed in her backpack, that the school has been having some "water intrusion" (terror alert orange!) and "air quality" problems from the hurricane we borrowed, and the Powers Who Be (plus the guys in hazmet suits) decided to close the school today so the children would not be vaporized as we all wait with baited breath for lab results.
Okay. I can do that. No school Monday. That's cool. Don't want to send her into a poison factory. Wondering now. What the hell is really going on? Thinking. Thinking about how sick she's been these last two years. Starting to watch my blood pressure rise. Trying to keep it cool.
Pick up the phone yesterday (that would be Sunday) and there's a message from "calling post", which apparently lets you leave voice mails for a group of people you REALLY don't want to speak to in person because they'd chew your ass off.
The message was from the Principal who had met with the board (this is a privatized public school, if you remember), and possibly the landlord (the building's leased), and decided to close the school all of this week, and, well, possibly forever.
Wow. Okay. How 'bout that. Huh.
As they "aggressively seek" an alternate location for the school, I decided to drive by there today. I saw the cafeteria windows had been sealed up with terrorist-proof plastic sheeting, each sheet with a big billowing hole in the middle, puffing air to the outside. No one was inside. No one was working on it. It was deserted.
WHAT THE FUCK IS INSIDE THAT SCHOOL?!?!
All the crap they've given me for her sick days and asthma last year and already this year--and you mean to tell me there's something toxic enough inside those walls to have scared all human activity away?
Okay. Not going postal. Not yet.
Wait and see. Could be a simple explanation.
Waiting.
Seeing.
Seething.
Anyone who's been through something remotely similar or has ideas, please share.
Thanks.
It appears that Ivan (and perhaps the 20 years of mismanagement and poor maintanence of the facility) have combined to make our child's school uninhabitable.
Imagine, if you will, driving happily to carpool Friday afternoon to pick up your little cherub only to discover, from a note stuffed in her backpack, that the school has been having some "water intrusion" (terror alert orange!) and "air quality" problems from the hurricane we borrowed, and the Powers Who Be (plus the guys in hazmet suits) decided to close the school today so the children would not be vaporized as we all wait with baited breath for lab results.
Okay. I can do that. No school Monday. That's cool. Don't want to send her into a poison factory. Wondering now. What the hell is really going on? Thinking. Thinking about how sick she's been these last two years. Starting to watch my blood pressure rise. Trying to keep it cool.
Pick up the phone yesterday (that would be Sunday) and there's a message from "calling post", which apparently lets you leave voice mails for a group of people you REALLY don't want to speak to in person because they'd chew your ass off.
The message was from the Principal who had met with the board (this is a privatized public school, if you remember), and possibly the landlord (the building's leased), and decided to close the school all of this week, and, well, possibly forever.
Wow. Okay. How 'bout that. Huh.
As they "aggressively seek" an alternate location for the school, I decided to drive by there today. I saw the cafeteria windows had been sealed up with terrorist-proof plastic sheeting, each sheet with a big billowing hole in the middle, puffing air to the outside. No one was inside. No one was working on it. It was deserted.
WHAT THE FUCK IS INSIDE THAT SCHOOL?!?!
All the crap they've given me for her sick days and asthma last year and already this year--and you mean to tell me there's something toxic enough inside those walls to have scared all human activity away?
Okay. Not going postal. Not yet.
Wait and see. Could be a simple explanation.
Waiting.
Seeing.
Seething.
Anyone who's been through something remotely similar or has ideas, please share.
Thanks.
Do you really think your vote counts?
Carter fears Florida vote trouble
[[my subtitle: This election will turn bloody.]]
Full text of article:
Voting arrangements in Florida do not meet "basic international requirements" and could undermine the US election, former US President Jimmy Carter says. He said a repeat of the irregularities of the much-disputed 2000 election - which gave President George W Bush the narrowest of wins - "seems likely".
Mr Carter, a veteran observer of polls worldwide, also accused Florida's top election official of "bias".
His remarks come ahead of the first TV debate between Mr Bush and John Kerry.
They are expected to discuss the war on Iraq and homeland security during the programme on Thursday.
Both men have cut back on their campaign touring to go behind closed doors and rehearse the arguments and techniques they will need during a series of three debates to be held over two weeks.
Each has held mock debates with aides standing in for their opponent.
Tens of millions of television viewers are expected to watch Thursday's head-to-head.
Mr Kerry, a debating champion at high school and college, will hope it can help him claw back a deficit in the polls variously put between 3% and 9%.
Florida vote
In an article in the Washington Post newspaper, Mr Carter, a Democrat, said that he and ex-President Gerald Ford, a Republican, had been asked to draw up recommendations for changes after the last vote in Florida was marred by arguments over the counting of ballots.
Mr Carter said the reforms they came up with had still not been implemented.
He accused Florida Secretary of State Glenda Hood, a Republican, of trying to get the name of independent presidential candidate Ralph Nader included on the state ballot, knowing he might divert Democrat votes.
He also said: "A fumbling attempt has been made recently to disqualify 22,000 African Americans (likely Democrats), but only 61 Hispanics (likely Republicans), as alleged felons."
Mr Carter said Florida Governor Jeb Bush - brother of the president - had "taken no steps to correct these departures from principles of fair and equal treatment or to prevent them in the future".
"It is unconscionable to perpetuate fraudulent or biased electoral practices in any nation," he added.
"With reforms unlikely at this late stage of the election, perhaps the only recourse will be to focus maximum public scrutiny on the suspicious process in Florida."
[[my subtitle: This election will turn bloody.]]
Full text of article:
Voting arrangements in Florida do not meet "basic international requirements" and could undermine the US election, former US President Jimmy Carter says. He said a repeat of the irregularities of the much-disputed 2000 election - which gave President George W Bush the narrowest of wins - "seems likely".
Mr Carter, a veteran observer of polls worldwide, also accused Florida's top election official of "bias".
His remarks come ahead of the first TV debate between Mr Bush and John Kerry.
They are expected to discuss the war on Iraq and homeland security during the programme on Thursday.
Both men have cut back on their campaign touring to go behind closed doors and rehearse the arguments and techniques they will need during a series of three debates to be held over two weeks.
Each has held mock debates with aides standing in for their opponent.
Tens of millions of television viewers are expected to watch Thursday's head-to-head.
Mr Kerry, a debating champion at high school and college, will hope it can help him claw back a deficit in the polls variously put between 3% and 9%.
Florida vote
In an article in the Washington Post newspaper, Mr Carter, a Democrat, said that he and ex-President Gerald Ford, a Republican, had been asked to draw up recommendations for changes after the last vote in Florida was marred by arguments over the counting of ballots.
Mr Carter said the reforms they came up with had still not been implemented.
He accused Florida Secretary of State Glenda Hood, a Republican, of trying to get the name of independent presidential candidate Ralph Nader included on the state ballot, knowing he might divert Democrat votes.
He also said: "A fumbling attempt has been made recently to disqualify 22,000 African Americans (likely Democrats), but only 61 Hispanics (likely Republicans), as alleged felons."
Mr Carter said Florida Governor Jeb Bush - brother of the president - had "taken no steps to correct these departures from principles of fair and equal treatment or to prevent them in the future".
"It is unconscionable to perpetuate fraudulent or biased electoral practices in any nation," he added.
"With reforms unlikely at this late stage of the election, perhaps the only recourse will be to focus maximum public scrutiny on the suspicious process in Florida."
September 24, 2004
Show me those baby browns
The single, solitary, and I mean ONLY, beauty of carpool in the morning (and I mean in the MORNING) is listening to Jenna yammer away about this and that in the back seat as I guzzle coffee off the dashboard.
This morning she was telling me about a baby rabbit her class saw outside this week.
"He was hopping around and he was so coool! We all decided that we are going to bring carrots in, tie them to a stick, and then he'll follow us back to our classroom so he can be our classroom pet!"
"Wow, baby, he sounds cute. You might want to leave him in the woods--he probably has family there."
"No, we didn't see any family. We want a classroom pet. And he's sooo cuuuuttte. He's baby brown--you know baby brown?"
"Baby brown?"
"Yes, like when babies first come out and they're brown and soft--baby brown. That's what color the bunny is, with teeny tiny white teardrops on by his tail. Ooooh I just want to pet his baby brown fur."
"Mmmmm. Me too. I sure would like to pet him with you."
Baby brown. She's so cool.
This morning she was telling me about a baby rabbit her class saw outside this week.
"He was hopping around and he was so coool! We all decided that we are going to bring carrots in, tie them to a stick, and then he'll follow us back to our classroom so he can be our classroom pet!"
"Wow, baby, he sounds cute. You might want to leave him in the woods--he probably has family there."
"No, we didn't see any family. We want a classroom pet. And he's sooo cuuuuttte. He's baby brown--you know baby brown?"
"Baby brown?"
"Yes, like when babies first come out and they're brown and soft--baby brown. That's what color the bunny is, with teeny tiny white teardrops on by his tail. Ooooh I just want to pet his baby brown fur."
"Mmmmm. Me too. I sure would like to pet him with you."
Baby brown. She's so cool.
Cross-Selling Coup
From Broken Type, a magnificent if not jarring marketing triumph. A local video store (cough) targets (tempts, tantalizes) the leather crowd with Handsome Mel Gibson's The Passion DVD. A trick from the up-sell playbook, said store also stocks a variety of fine leather toys of "passion" with the display.
Someone's got to be going to hell for this.
Someone's got to be going to hell for this.
Maximum Efficiency
Loft offices. I got dibs on the bottom!!!
"well, they're going to start doubling people up in offices."
"that sucks."
"yes, it does suck. but we all just have to make due for a while."
"a while being a year."
"more or less."
we're chattering around the table, discussing various office configurations, and trying to decide which would be the least onerous.
"i don't want to face someone all day long, man, that is weird."
"well, how about sitting there with your back to someone else all day? it's like you're pretending that there isn't someone right behind you. that's even more weird."
"okay, well, what if your back was to them, but they were facing you?! they'd be, like, staring at your back all day long. that has to be the creepiest."
murmurs of agreement begin to ripple around the table.
September 23, 2004
September 22, 2004
New Peeps
A funny thing happened to me on the way to blogrolling.com.
I first signed George up for the service a year or two ago, but I avoided signing up for it myself. You see, back in "the day" I was a blogroll purist. I had this crazy idea that we should all be pruning our blogrolls by hand, tending to them lovingly like tiny gardens of herbs and roses, with the care and kindness all living things deserve.
Kumbaya--was that was soooo 2002 or what? Yah, I know.
Nonetheless, while George clicked and updated his blogroll like a pro, I painstakingly added new voices, one a-href code at a time, feeling somehow cleansed by the extra effort I made.
I can be so annoying.
Anyway, a few months back, I finally caved into automation, re-engineered my critical blog processes, and signed up for blogrolling.com. Why fight progress? I've been clicking-and-adding bloggers to my blogroll ever since.
Or so I thought.
You see, when I signed George up, I used my ewriter email address so that I could verify and set up everything he needed. Well that'd be just dandy as long as I had remembered that.
But noooooo.
In fact, until yesterday, when I figured it out, I'd been signing in to MY blogrolling.com account with GEORGE's username and password and adding people to HIS blogroll instead of mine!
Does that not beat all? Here I think I'm rolling with progress, and in fact I'm breaking shit.
I made up for the mistake yesterday and today by scouring the web for great blog voices that I want to read more of--folks whose aquaintances I'm happy to make. If you see a stranger listed over there on the right, go read them.
Let's all get neighborly now. Plant a flower. Kiss a bug.
I first signed George up for the service a year or two ago, but I avoided signing up for it myself. You see, back in "the day" I was a blogroll purist. I had this crazy idea that we should all be pruning our blogrolls by hand, tending to them lovingly like tiny gardens of herbs and roses, with the care and kindness all living things deserve.
Kumbaya--was that was soooo 2002 or what? Yah, I know.
Nonetheless, while George clicked and updated his blogroll like a pro, I painstakingly added new voices, one a-href code at a time, feeling somehow cleansed by the extra effort I made.
I can be so annoying.
Anyway, a few months back, I finally caved into automation, re-engineered my critical blog processes, and signed up for blogrolling.com. Why fight progress? I've been clicking-and-adding bloggers to my blogroll ever since.
Or so I thought.
You see, when I signed George up, I used my ewriter email address so that I could verify and set up everything he needed. Well that'd be just dandy as long as I had remembered that.
But noooooo.
In fact, until yesterday, when I figured it out, I'd been signing in to MY blogrolling.com account with GEORGE's username and password and adding people to HIS blogroll instead of mine!
Does that not beat all? Here I think I'm rolling with progress, and in fact I'm breaking shit.
I made up for the mistake yesterday and today by scouring the web for great blog voices that I want to read more of--folks whose aquaintances I'm happy to make. If you see a stranger listed over there on the right, go read them.
Let's all get neighborly now. Plant a flower. Kiss a bug.
Paralysmosis Yellow
I didn't know the sun could be this bright. The outside is actually yellow today. It's the color of the sun as artists paint it--that yellow orb contrasting blue.
The tree leaves, still moist and deep green from so much rain, are yellow-coated with sun. The sky is unending.
It's the kind of day that scares me.
I have never been a fan of the beautiful day. Good people don't get buried on beautiful days. They get buried on rainy messy muddy days, with tents over open graves as the sky weeps without shame.
I used to say I was a bat.
I liked it grey and drizzly. If I could have hung upside down from a bedpost, I would have slept that way. Fortunately, I never tried. That's the kind of thing you get committed for. Ah well.
So, today, in its very shocking yellow brightness, has me paralyzed. I have a mound and a half of work to begin. I have, in fact, four brochures and a web site that need a smart brain and fast hands to write them.
Me? I'm staring at all that yellow out the window.
I consider the advice my husband gave me a week ago: "Go outside. Just go outside and walk."
Easy for him to say. He's not so scared of all that yellow.
The pressure of pretty days wears on me. The pressure to feel happy and light, to want to go sailing or hiking, to want to do anything really, is more than I can stand. Especially when I have perseverating about work to do.
Tick. Tock.
Sure is yellow out.
I have so much work to do.
I don't know how I'm going to get it all done.
Maybe I'll just put my head back on the couch for five minutes.
Besides, it's an "early release" day for Jenna.
Have to go get her in an hour.
Might as well cover up with the comforter for 45 minutes.
Better remember my sunglasses.
Sure is yellow out.
The tree leaves, still moist and deep green from so much rain, are yellow-coated with sun. The sky is unending.
It's the kind of day that scares me.
I have never been a fan of the beautiful day. Good people don't get buried on beautiful days. They get buried on rainy messy muddy days, with tents over open graves as the sky weeps without shame.
I used to say I was a bat.
I liked it grey and drizzly. If I could have hung upside down from a bedpost, I would have slept that way. Fortunately, I never tried. That's the kind of thing you get committed for. Ah well.
So, today, in its very shocking yellow brightness, has me paralyzed. I have a mound and a half of work to begin. I have, in fact, four brochures and a web site that need a smart brain and fast hands to write them.
Me? I'm staring at all that yellow out the window.
I consider the advice my husband gave me a week ago: "Go outside. Just go outside and walk."
Easy for him to say. He's not so scared of all that yellow.
The pressure of pretty days wears on me. The pressure to feel happy and light, to want to go sailing or hiking, to want to do anything really, is more than I can stand. Especially when I have perseverating about work to do.
Tick. Tock.
Sure is yellow out.
I have so much work to do.
I don't know how I'm going to get it all done.
Maybe I'll just put my head back on the couch for five minutes.
Besides, it's an "early release" day for Jenna.
Have to go get her in an hour.
Might as well cover up with the comforter for 45 minutes.
Better remember my sunglasses.
Sure is yellow out.
Hurricane Ivan-a whup your ass.
Karsh's life has become a virtual sit-com with the latest barrage of hurricanes responsible for chasing his family up I-75 to his doorstep. Holy fucking funny!
"Ma'dea, whom I love dearly, is about as short-sighted as a Christian can get. Anything she doesn't (or won't) understand is "the devil". Including my kiwis and artichokes which she maliciously cut up and threw away because "the thorns scared her". The only food she'll eat nowadays are McDonald's hamburgers. "Good All-American food" is what she calls it.
Smokedawg smokes a lot. I tell him not to smoke in my apartment and he wants to fight me. It's really not that serious...two ass whuppings later, that is.
Yes Man sits about two inches away from the television when watching it. No comment.
Estranged Aunt wants to go out and party. "Where the clubs at? I'm tryin' to go get my jiggy on!" she says while shaking her fat ass to an imaginary beat. Keep in mind she's 45 and don't need to be in anyone's club getting anything on.
The few moments of peace I've been able to gather this weekend have been from them going on their McDonald's excursions. There's also a Moe's nearby me, but they won't eat any Mexican food unless it's from an Ortega box or Taco Bell. And there's the grocery store, but Ma'dea doesn't trust East Indians. The last time I went to dinner with her, she called our East Indian busboy a "terrorist". The Blacks, I tell ya."
I'm not worthy...
Albo Jeavons rocks.
Don't miss the Corporacist page or his portfolio.
Bastard son of rageboy, come forth.
"Like many people, I'm trying to make popular culture that offers a critique of the Big Culture that is forced upon us at every turn by the weird semi-random collection of people, powers, and influences who make so many of the decisions that determine so much of how things happen in the world. Here's a graphic I came up with to express how I feel about the way the world is run:"
Don't miss the Corporacist page or his portfolio.
Bastard son of rageboy, come forth.
September 21, 2004
September 20, 2004
Tornado Trauma
I told you a month or so ago about Jenna's storm phobia. Tornados specifically. Well, as you can imagine, she's been going through some forced behavior modification - exposure therapy real-time - courtesy of Frances and Ivan the last couple of weeks.
Although we're one state up from poor Florida, we get the afterglow, so to speak. Mostly, in Georgia, that's spelled t-o-r-n-a-d-o.
I was careful not to scare jenna into a frenzy last week by mentioning too much about the bad weather that was headed our way. I made sure she knew about hurricanes--just enough. And that it would get windy around here and rainy too. But not bad. We're safe. Blah blah. I left out the "T" word on purpose for fear of sending her under her bed for the duration.
That worked pretty well until they had a tornado drill in school.
A WTF?
Yes, a tornado drill.
I had the distinct pleasure of being at the school for the tornado drill, since I was making a volunteer appearance in Jenna's class helping stick glue all over myself and sixteeen children. That wasn't the end goal of the craft project, but I was good at it.
Peeling tissue off glued finger tips, I heard: BING BING RING RING BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
The teacher announced the tornado drill--it was obvious she knew it was coming and that she'd mentioned it to the class as well, because they jumped only half way up the walls.
We all filed out, and the children took their places against the walls of the hallway, heads kissing asses goodbye. I remembered that particular useless pose from the air-raid drills when I was a kid. At least when we were that little, they let us get under our desks.
I'm standing in the hall looking at these poor kids who were squeezing their heads until they tipped over, when I hear a teacher actually tell the kids: "Cover your brains with your hands, now."
Cover your brains? HOLY! Are you insane lady? Do you know how many nights of explaining to my kid that little phrase is going to cost me?
Instead I turned to the maintenance guy who I enjoy cracking up and said:
"They look like sitting ducks to me, Jim." He cracked up.
My poor kid.
She didn't move a muscle during the entire 9-minute drill.
Her head was burried so far into that carpet that when she finally got up she had fiber indentations on her forehead and knees for an hour. If there were a blue ribbon--or a promise of tornado survival--for the kid with the best duck and tuck position, she would have won hands down.
Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way.
Suck.
At the grocery store today, jenna said: "You know mom, I was doing fine in school that day you were there for the art project. I was minding my own business, feeling so much joy, just relaxing and liking what I was doing, and then the teacher had to say the words 'tornado drill' and I felt all throw-uppy."
So young to feel yanked from the joy of a quiet moment--from "joy" to "throw-uppy"--so quickly.
And so young to be able to tell me about it.
She turns seven on the 30th.
My goodness.
Although we're one state up from poor Florida, we get the afterglow, so to speak. Mostly, in Georgia, that's spelled t-o-r-n-a-d-o.
I was careful not to scare jenna into a frenzy last week by mentioning too much about the bad weather that was headed our way. I made sure she knew about hurricanes--just enough. And that it would get windy around here and rainy too. But not bad. We're safe. Blah blah. I left out the "T" word on purpose for fear of sending her under her bed for the duration.
That worked pretty well until they had a tornado drill in school.
A WTF?
Yes, a tornado drill.
I had the distinct pleasure of being at the school for the tornado drill, since I was making a volunteer appearance in Jenna's class helping stick glue all over myself and sixteeen children. That wasn't the end goal of the craft project, but I was good at it.
Peeling tissue off glued finger tips, I heard: BING BING RING RING BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
The teacher announced the tornado drill--it was obvious she knew it was coming and that she'd mentioned it to the class as well, because they jumped only half way up the walls.
We all filed out, and the children took their places against the walls of the hallway, heads kissing asses goodbye. I remembered that particular useless pose from the air-raid drills when I was a kid. At least when we were that little, they let us get under our desks.
I'm standing in the hall looking at these poor kids who were squeezing their heads until they tipped over, when I hear a teacher actually tell the kids: "Cover your brains with your hands, now."
Cover your brains? HOLY! Are you insane lady? Do you know how many nights of explaining to my kid that little phrase is going to cost me?
Instead I turned to the maintenance guy who I enjoy cracking up and said:
"They look like sitting ducks to me, Jim." He cracked up.
My poor kid.
She didn't move a muscle during the entire 9-minute drill.
Her head was burried so far into that carpet that when she finally got up she had fiber indentations on her forehead and knees for an hour. If there were a blue ribbon--or a promise of tornado survival--for the kid with the best duck and tuck position, she would have won hands down.
Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way.
Suck.
At the grocery store today, jenna said: "You know mom, I was doing fine in school that day you were there for the art project. I was minding my own business, feeling so much joy, just relaxing and liking what I was doing, and then the teacher had to say the words 'tornado drill' and I felt all throw-uppy."
So young to feel yanked from the joy of a quiet moment--from "joy" to "throw-uppy"--so quickly.
And so young to be able to tell me about it.
She turns seven on the 30th.
My goodness.
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