Life advice to my daughter.

Now that my daughter is reaching the precipice of teenage-dom, I feel that it is important for her that I pass on experienced and jaded knowledge of the dating world, life and everything else.

(I have never felt so old as when plotting this Blog.)

RULE #1:

WAIT for a man like THAT

While watching Unbreakable, an amazing movie By the way, The only thing that kept going through my mind and I kept sputtering through my mouth was "Why don't they make men like THAT anymore?"

Men who were stranded on a raft after their plane went down WHIST serving their country.

Men who were STRANDED on a raft, who were hungry so they worked together to catch a FUCKING shark by the tale and kill it by punching it in the head.

Two men survived 47 days on the raft catching birds and punching sharks and dodging Japanese air raids.

Of course they did.

I feel like most men today would die after 2 days in a heap on the floor clutching their water logged cell phone to their chest and crying about no cell towers in the ocean.

As the credits rolled I looked over at Emma with a smile on my face and said "Emma, Wait for a man like that."

RULE #2

IF A MAN CALLS YOU BAE PUNCH HIM IN HIS THROAT

(or balls)

No explanations necessary.
If you are older then 13 and you say the word Bae in your daily life you better be talking about going to the ocean and watching the fucking whales in the Bay.

RULE #3

DO YOU

There is no one in this entire world as important as you are. Travel, make friends and mistakes. Work on becoming a fully realized woman. Don't set your self up to settle down.
There is plenty of time to relationship.

RULE #4

Make friends and invest in them.

Friendships are uber important in your life journey. If you have good friends, you are never lonely and are rarely allowed to be grumpy. Friendships are a relationship. You have good times and you have bad times.

You fight and then make up.

Don't give up on your friends. Especially when you get in a relationship.
Understand that when your friends are in relationships you are as well. You will rarely get to be alone with your friend anymore. It is a process. Accept it, and whatever loser or winner they fall in love with.

RULE #5

Know your worth.

The problem with most of the dating world is that it is lazier then ever before. You go out on one date and that means you sleep together.
Uh hello? Are you ganna give your vagina away for a $25.00 pasta plate?
NO THANK YOU.
Be the kind of woman that is worth it. Know your value and act like a lady.

RULE #6

Be strong.

Sometimes life is incredibly hard. Find something to look forward too.

Love the people who are good to you, know your strengths and work on your weaknesses.

Always strive to do things in life with your whole soul.

Look people in the eyes when you talk to them and give firm handshakes.

Speak clearly and decisively, Make your voice heard.

Fight for what you believe in, even if it is unpopular. ESPECIALLY if it is unpopular.

Ask for what you want and fight for it.

Fight for others who have no voice.

Be different, be unique and celebrate it.

RULE #7

Be a secret keeper.

Other peoples stories are not yours to tell.  Keep information to yourself. Ladies don't gossip about their friends. They are a safe place, a keeper of secrets.

RULE #7

Be honest.

Liars are ugly. Nobody likes them and they have poor soul hygiene. Also, they cannot be trusted. exaggeration is another form of lying....that is ugly too.

RULE #8

Read the Bible.

Even if you are wicked old when you do, at some point in your life, read it cover to cover. Inside of it there Is wisdom, forgiveness, life lessons and most importantly LOVE.

RULE #9

Don't be a dick.

And if you do, apologize.

There is no weakness in admitting your dick-dom. Only strength of every relationship. Friendship, husband or co-worker.
Be nice to people, forgive when asked and always love people back.

RULE #10

Nobody loves you MORE then I do.

They may claim to love you as MUCH, (not possible) but nobody in this whole wild world will ever love you MORE then I do.
Not your husband, your lover, your children or your bestie.

I will be there for you in every success and in every failure. I will wipe your tears and push your chin up. I will be proud of you, no matter what and I will always be your biggest fan.

Preschool Teacher on a soapbox.

To whom it may concern,

I am a Teacher.

I am NOT a Daycare worker.

The curriculum that I TEACH is researched, planned, written and executed with care and individual thoughtfulness.

My goal as a TEACHER is to provide an atmosphere filled with LOVE, routine and challenging thought processes.

At the beginning of the year my students learn how to properly hold a pencil, are given activities and tests that exercise their fine motor skills and by the end of the year, they are writing words that they have sounded out with said pencil.

They are learning literacy skills, sentence structuring and money value.

They are learning how to tell stories from the beginning and finish them at the end. But those things are FAR from the most important things to me.

I teach children MANNERS, such as raising their hands before speaking, asking to be excused from the table, waiting quietly and with patience when an adult is speaking.

I teach children KINDNESS, such as standing up for one another, helping a child who is hurt or sad and complimenting others on their actions (or cute shoes)

I teach children HONESTY, and that they can trust us with their story, information and heart.

I follow through when I say something, because it is part of my job as a leader to teach your children that adults are trustworthy, honest and can be trusted themselves.

Children are special and unique. Each one requires something different from their teacher.
I am silly when I can be and strict when I have to be.

I am not stuck in a teaching rut, I do not HAVE to be a Pre-K teacher. I want to be one.
I have considered what it would be like to work in a school district. And I cringe every time.

One of my school-agers brought home a referral from his school yesterday:


"Ms.Beanie, I have a note." He said miserably foreseeing written letters of apology and video game groundation.

I gave him a stern look, shook my head and began to read it.

"___________  splashed in puddles and stood beneath the water dripping off of the building, even when I warned the entire class beforehand."

I just stared at it for a moment before putting the note away.

"DO I have to write an apology letter Ms.Beanie?"

"Not today love." I replied

Later I stepped outside of the classroom to talk to his mom. " He got a referral today, Please read it. I want to follow through with discipline so I kept him off of the video games, however I did not make him write an apology letter for it."

She read the note and her eyebrows raised before looking back at me. "He's a kid!"

"He's a number." I said to myself.


I would fail miserably in the school district. I would hop in puddles and decorate the walls with paint splatter.

That being said, I do appreciate job offers. Thank you for thinking that I am amazing.

However, I do NOT appreciate being told that I deserve better. Because I as far as I am concerned, I travel an hour a day simply to work at the BEST.
With the BEST teachers and the BEST leader.

(And thank you Jesus, we have a long waiting list to prove it.)

When people have a passion for painting it is an amazing talent.
When you have a passion for Preschool it is considered a step below teaching.

This is untrue.

Preschool is IMPORTANT.
It is a valuable step in the development of a healthy and well rounded individual.

When we TEACH your child, we think about what values need to be instilled into them. Each and every one of them and as a TEAM we work together to provide it, while cultivating your child's need for magic, natural consequences and happy memories.

Some of these skills are invisible and cannot be written on their daily notes.
Can you imagine?

Daily activities:

 I learned how to stop being an asshole.

Today I learned to use my words instead of my fists to communicate. Also I stopped eating my boogers for dessert.

Today I learned that when Ms.Beanie says it is cold outside, I should PROBABLY grab my jacket.

Today I had to complete my work three times, until I have Ms.Beanie the kind of work that she expects from me.


It is my pleasure and indeed honor to have a small say in what kind of human being your child becomes.

Know that when WE as Preschool teachers say we love your child, we MEAN it.
We worry, hope and pray for them.
When they leave our classrooms we MISS them, think of them and sometimes cry because of it.

Penis.

I say the word penis, on average, at least 20 times a day.

"Don't kick people in the Penis."

"Put your penis away!"

"Are you rubbing your penis on my table?"

"We don't color our penises."

"Nobody wants to see your penis."

"Is something wrong with your penis? No? Then stop squeezing it, I'm sure your mother wants grandchildren someday."

You know, the norm.

Yesterday I rang my bell and made a lofty announcement " I am speaking to the boys. Please keep your feet, hands, crayons and elbows off of your own OR each others penises. We do not punch, hit, stare or even speak to another persons penis. I am tired of SAYING the word penis. If I say penis one more time to anyone in the WORLD, I will sell you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes Ms.Beanie."

The boys all answered (and tried not to laugh)
Everything was going well until the one little boy, who couldn't help it whispered "Peeeeniissss"
to the great enjoyment of every single boy in my classroom.

My head fell back and I sighed before going into full whale breathing.

*Breathing like a whale makes you feel calmer, instantly...try it.

I chose to ignore the penis whisperer and decided to take the high road of brow furrows and tight lips.
That never lasts long with me, especially when another child tells the penis whisperer that he was going to be sold soon.

Tree Choad. (Or how to throw a fit when your 38)

choad

 As it stands, the word choad has three major definitions.

1) A short, fat penis that is wider than it is longer
2) The area between the scrotum/vagina and the anus.
3) A derogatory term used to insult somebody.

"Ducas has a fat choad."

"Last night your mom tongued my choad."

"Quit being such a choad."

It is almost October.

This is my favorite time of the year, not only do we get to celebrate Halloween, read Halloween books, wear Halloween inspired clothing and drink Halloween coffee...but in MY family, October 1st means that we make plans for the 'Other'  Holidays.

Eeeeeee! Holidays.
How I love them so.

The music, the smells, the lights. Ahhhhh
Encase you're wondering...I AM one of those people who end up on December 26th, trembling and teary eyed that Christmas is over... "But it happened so fast.." I always say.

How sad.

However, I am also the planner of the family, and after eating our weekly family dinner and catching up on everyone's week, I whip my phone out and demand "OKAY. Let's schedule pumpkins."

Brandee and I look at our calendars and decide which pay day is the best to visit Delosso Farms.
"That's not a payday, but the next pay day is too close to Halloween." She says.

I "Hmmmm" In response.

"I am working. I can pumpkin!" Shane volunteers.

"Yay! If we are broke Shane can pumpkin for us!" I exclaim

"No, we can save." Brandee says...like an adult.

We quickly schedule our pumpkin date and discuss which rides we will go on.

As I get ready to follow my children out the door I murmur to Brandee "Wish me luck with these two. I am like the BOTTOM of the totem pole when we are together."

Brandee wishes me luck, I squish Mandy's face to my boobs and I am out the door.

On the way home I am excited.

Filled with Glee even.

"OH CHRISTMAS!" I exclaim "I can feel you coming! We will have the BEST most AMAZING tree EVER!....Who's turn is it to pick our tree this year!?"

Shane claps with Glee "MINE!"

My stomach drops and I frown at him.
Shane has ALWAYS wanted the most depressing tree's at Christmastime. You know, the ones you feel sorry for. The ones with gaping holes or lopsided ones that cause you to look away so that you don't feel sorry for the tree. THOSE ONES.

"NO." I mutter

"YES!!!" He exclaims "And I am going to pick out the smallest, most chubby tree on the lot!"

"NO!" I gasp trying to still my sinking heart with my hands

"YES! It will be a tree choad!" He laughs manically which causes my daughter to laugh with him.

"But SHAAAAAAAAAANE! I don't WANT a tree choad!" I whine, which causes him to laugh even harder. His fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to keep the tears at bay.

"I know! I KNOW! But it is MY year and I want a tree choad!"

"Oh my god, and it will break in half when we put my shark ornament on it that Mandy got me." Emma chuckles in the back seat.

"But I want a big fat tree! I picked out the BEST tree!" I whined some more, trying to make them see it my way. LAST year was my year and our tree was magnificent!

"DO you mean the one that we had to cut a foot off of to fit in our house and it took us 5 HOURS to put up. THAT ONE?" Emma questioned

"YES! But wasn't it magnificent?" I whispered, still awed by my fat giant LOVELY tree.

"Well yeah...but you had to run to Walmart and buy a whole separate tree holder for it."

"But...well now we have one so Shane can pick out a giant tree!"

"NOPE!" Shane shook his head "I'm getting the choad and there is nothing you can do about it. It's MY TURN! Family rules."

He was still chuckling at me, even when I smacked him for it on his tummy.

By the time we got home, I was pouting (and stomping) Shane was STILL laughing and Emma was spinning around in circles, probably high with the knowledge that her mom was miserable.

Shane stopped on the front porch to our home and looked down on me walking up, " I'm over your tree choices! You know what Momma, your tree choices SUCK!"

I gasped appalled at anything that I have chosen sucking.

"The pink tree?" He questioned, his arms folded and his eyebrow raised.

"Well THAT was my divorce tree! I HAD to celebrate with pink tree icing and pink diamonds on top!"

"The tinsel tree?" Emma stood next to him, her eyebrow raised as well.

"AGH! That is a reminiscent of times past. IT SHINED so prettily!" I stomped up our front steps after them. Completely rethinking my decision to give birth.

"I don't understand why you two are Christmas ruining assholes! I am the best mommy EVER and have filled your lives with Christmas fucking joy. JOY!" I shouted and pointed to the sky.

I walked down the hallway, de-braing and stomping like a toddler.

Behind me I heard "Oh my. Mommy is so mad." Then laughter.

Lots of laughter.

"If those beasts think I am going to have a choad tree, they have another thing coming." I murmured to Karma.

She snorted (Which in Karma speak means: THOSE BASTARDS!)  and I was happy that I had ONE family member who would not be getting coal for Christmas.

Looking for cows.

A few months back, while sitting in the passenger seat, my stomach growled and Shane let out a laugh.
He was still learning how to drive and each day after I clocked off at work, I headed to Tracy to pick him up....


"Hungry?" He smiled

"Yes, and I am going to die from it. COMPLETELY DIE!" I huffed and crossed my arms.

"OHHHH MYYYY MOMMMYYYY" He singsonged at me peppered with chuckles and headshakes.

He always does that when I throw a fit.

"It is almost 7:30 and I found a turd on my classroom floor today....A TURD!"
"A surprise turd."

"Yes! And now it's late and I am so hungry that I want to eat your giant baby man face off!"

He gasped fake-appalled at my threat of eating his face, and chastised me accordingly. "How sad to YOU. I am not speaking to you for 3 MINUTES!"

My mouth dropped open "3 MINUTES?! But I barely even threatened eating your giant face, just barely!"

3 minutes was a lot in our family, usually it was 10 seconds of the silent treatment in which we would pout, apologize and be forgiven.

1 minute in: "I hardly think that is worth 3 minutes!"

2 minutes in: "I am so sad at YOU! How sad to YOU!"

2 min 35 seconds in: "I'm sorry for threatening to eat your face."

3 minutes exactly "I hope you have learned your lesson! I forgive you."

"That was HORRIBLE."

"I know. That is what you get. Now....look out the window Mama."

"What!? NO! I have to look forward and make sure we don't die..or worse...hit some gravel."

"Gravel IS death." Shane mimicked one of my driving lessons

"Precisely."

"We are fine momma, relaaaaax...Look out the window. Look for COWS!"

I snorted and smiled at him. "You remember that?"

He nodded and smiled. It made my heart happy.

When Shane was small, we drove around a lot. And no matter where we went, we would tell him "Look out the window Shane! Look for Cows!" He eagerly would for a minute or so and then makeup incredible places that he had spotted the mooing mammal.

On Car drives, or in waiting rooms we would play I-spy, sing along to Vegi-tales or make up stories together.
As he got older he would draw and then regail us with stories that went along with his pictures. (These usually involved Luigi in some way.)

On my keychain I had a itsy bitsy checkers set, and in my purse were spare pens and pads of paper for tic-tac-toe.

I took him everywhere with me. The DMV, Gynecological appointments (he would count behind the curtain to 100) and every kind of shopping imaginable.

After Emma was born, our travel time continued the same. We did have a DVD player in our car for long trips, but more often then not it was off and the whole family would sing along with Larry the Cucumber's 'GOD is bigger then the boogy man'
(10 years later and I can still sing every word.)

It is intriguingly sad to me, how often I see children walking along with their parents, clutching a cell phone or an IPAD.
I want to stop them and implore them to turn off the machine and enjoy their child.
Technology is everywhere, and I GET that I sound old when I shake my head at an opportunity to have touchscreens in my classroom.
APPS are amazing!
APPS can teach the children so much!"

I prefer human connection and verbal teaching styles. Computer APPS are perhaps an invention for the now while I, and my feelings about them are befitting of the past.

Old I know.

I scrunch my nose even now as I type this.

I always say that the most important thing in life, is to make memories....but after Shane's remark about cows I realized that it is even more important to be IN them.

Shut off your phones. Take a walk, sing a song and for my sake, wherever you go keep your eyes peeled for cows.

Castaway and Cold cream.

"Hey girl, Damn you look good. I know you just turned 38 but you don't look a day over 25." I gushed.

No I was not talking to my bestie.

I was talking to my vagina.

Being single means a great many things.

It means I get to stretch out on my bed kitty corner.

It means I get to read all day and not listen to anyone bitch to me about lack of attention, but more importantly it means that I can let my vagina resemble Tom Hanks face circa Castaway. (albeit a blond one thankyouverymuch)

This morning after lazing about in my bed and binge watching Sherlock Holmes I decided it was time for my weekly beautification ritual. Which means: soaking in a scalding hot bath infused with bath salts and bubbles up to my chin.
Also today, I decided, was a good day to check in on my vagina. You know, see what's good.
(Being single ALSO means I don't pay as much attention to her as I did when I was shackled.)
Poor Vagina.

Since the age of time, boys have always wondered what we do behind closed doors, The truth is
every bit as alarming as your imagination.
We soak in scalding hot water, we scrub out bodies (using imported sugar scrubs) and we apply ointment that aids in the sloughing off of dead skin to our feet and elbows.

Yes, we women wouldn't be as soft as we are without working for it.
My personal secret is simple and was passed down to me by my grandmother. Cold cream.

VAGINA TIP: The next time you shave your bagina bits, apply cold cream, let it sit for a good 5 minutes and rinse.
You will thank me. (And your vagina will feel like a silk.)

As amazing as cold cream is, it is a hard find. I had ran out a few weeks prior and was searching the shelves like a mad woman, squatting down and reading boxes and jars aloud...just to see if I had skipped over it in my previous 2 searches.

"Can I help you?" A woman stood to my right

"Yes. Cold cream?" I looked up at her and squinted my eyes

"Hmmm. Cold cream?" she questioned. Her eyes flickering between me and the shelf.

I sighed in irritation. Mostly because I had gotten this same reaction at both Target AND CVS.

"There is face cream." She grabbed a box and held it up

"That is not cold cream." I stated

"I've never even heard of cold cream." She muttered beneath her breath.

"OBVIOUSLY." I huffed, staring at her unsoftened skin.

But just then I saw it at the very very bottom next to the mineral oil.

COLD CREAM!!!!!!!!!! It exclaimed (In my grandmothers leathery voice)

"HA!" I held it in my hand before lovingly rubbing it against my heart. I grabbed two just for good measure.

Which leads me to my bath, and speaking lovingly to my vagina this morning.

"You should be in pictures!" I exclaimed to my vagina in the mirror and then I clothed myself and headed out to finish my Sherlock Binge.

Emma came up to me and rubbed my arm. "You are so soft. What is it. What do you use?"

I squinted at her, and decided that I should let her in on my little secret.
I left the vagina tip out.
For now.

Licensed.

I am a lucky mom. 

My son did not want to drive when he turned 16 years old. There is no way in HELL that he was ready too, and I had explained to him that until he had a job and could afford 16 year old insurance, It was a no GO.

I would like to say that I wish I was one of those parents that bought their child their first car and furnished their insurance, you know...all Betty Crocker and shit.

But alas. I live in the real world of Singlemom-dom and juggling bills like a boss. Like I said. I am a lucky mom. And I have a son who understood that.

When it came time to hand over his keys and teach him the way of the wheel I will honestly tell you that I was filled with a fear like no other.

"Shane has a job!" I exclaimed to B&B (Birdie and the Beast...respectively)

"YAY! Praise Jesus!" One of them said..or both.

"Now I have to teach him how to drive." I muttered and Immediately I had to poop.

(I have nervous poop syndrome. Its a thing.)

"You can do it!" Birdie cheered me on, while flashes of her own driving experiences with children flashed across her face. It looked like horror...and fear.

" I can't teach my kids how to drive." Juan shook his head "Nope"

"Yes you can." Birdie cheered (shes always cheery)

"I have to poop." I whined. Juan rolled his eyes and pretended he didn't just hear that and Birdie laughed.

Teaching your child to drive is the worst thing ever.

WHY hasn't anyone told me about this? WARNED ME even.

"Emma, I think it is time I go out and find you a new daddy."

"What?"

"What kind of daddy do you prefer."

"WHY?"

"Well, My master plan is to find you a new daddy and then HE can teach Shane how to drive."

"I think you're ganna have to do it mom."

"DAMMIT."

FLASH FORWARD

Shane is strapped into the drivers seat and I am calmly sitting in the passenger seat. Telling myself to portray confidence and calmness.

What I was thinking is: "THIS IS SO FUCKED UP, THIS IS SO FUCKED UP."

"Okay son. You ready?"

"No."

"You can do this. Are you ready?"

"I mean. I guess."

"YOU ARE READY! Be confident, like me! Look at me being all confident and shit!"

He turned and looked at me. His eyes were nervous and his laugh was too.

We stared at each other and laughed together for a moment. "We can do this!" I whispered

"Okay. I'm confident-ish" He turned and grabbed the wheel.

Before I continue with my story I need you to know that I am fully aware that I suck at teaching people how to drive. I AM aware of my faults you know. 

"OKAY! Lesson ONE. What are you driving?"

"...um...a Ford?"

"No. YOU are driving a killing Machine."

"Uhhhh"

"This machine kills people. Be aware of that. Do YOU want to kill people?"

"No?"

"No you don't. SO you are going to drive safely and slowly."

"Okay Mama" 

"Good boy"

************************************

"LESSON FIVE! What is that?" I said, pointing to the gravel on the side of the road

"Uh...rocks?"

"NO! That is gravel. Gravel is death. Don't hit it. Its like hot lava."

"Okay?" He said while laughing nervously

"HEY! Do you want to die?"

"No?"

"Then don't hit the gravel."

**************************************

"LESSON 7 Everyone else is retarded. Remember that. You are the only smart one. Keep a look out for assholes and retards."

"Assholes and retards. Got it."

*************************************

"LESSON 8 There is absolutely no point in speeding. It is stupid. People who drive too fast are reckless and unintelligent. If you speed then you get pulled over. Your ticket will cost you hundreds of dollars and you will be late to work. Think about it, is going too fast worth it? No. No its not.

Just go the speed limit, and fuck everyone else. Just ignore them and sing a little song about how you don't care that they are honking at you. Arrive alive."

"Go the speed limit, sing a song, Arrive alive. Got it."

"You're a good boy Shane."

**************************************

I soon felt pretty comfortable with Shane driving, and I wasn't clutching the back of his headrest until my hand cramped up.

All of my directions sounded like childrens stories.

"Go over the creepy bridge, PAST the 'Where the wild things are' Trees and what do we do at the the blinky light?"

"At the blinky light, we turn right."

"Very good Shane! You are a good boy."

"You are a good mama."

Yesterday Shane drove off to work for the first time alone. I was worried. "Do you want me to drive behind you?"

"No mama."

"But do you feel confident?"

"YES mom."

"Okay son."

I'm still terrified.

Perspective.

I woke up this morning way too early and with the thought in my head that Dragons were breathing on me.



1. I was hot. I am fat and it was hot as dragon breath in my room.

2. How to train your dragon has been playing on repeat in my room for 3 days and in actuality it was the screeching of the movie that woke me, not a dragon bent on fatty blood.



I limped out to the coffee maker as quietly as I could. It was not children that I was afraid to wake...it was Karma. She has been experiencing excitement at an extreme level.



For instance when I wake up, she usually runs past me and over to the front door, looking at me excitedly while I growl at her and reach for my coffee carafe.



I'm sorry. COFFEE first. You pee SECOND.



Then I open the door for her and she dances outside and looks at me expectedly. Like I am going to frolic with her on the porch.



Or at night when I get home, she wags her tail so hard it practically touches her ears.



She misses our morning walks, and apparently me as well. Either that or she has dipped into the next door neighbors Meth Stash.



I miss her too.



When Emma wakes up I smile at her and she just stares at me and tries to become invisible. She knows that I want to hug her and she is uncomfortable with this lately.

Maybe its because of her boobs. Who knows.



Whatever the reason is, when I see a child that I personally squeezed out of the cavity of my body...I have an overwhelming urge to squish their body into mine, smell their hair and say something inappropriate...its sorta how I show my love.



I am touchy.



I love to feel bodies, clothing and love. I am 36 this is not going to change and it cannot be helped.

"Come here my little baaaaby" I say and reach my hands out to her.



She pouts, walks into my arms and sorta of plunks her head against my chest.



This is how 12 year old Emma shows love. She allows me to hug her. I have to just accept it and roll with it.



I squeeze her and Sing into her ear "Do you want me to dance for you?"



"No...NO...Please no."



I look affronted. Offended even "Why do you NOT want me to POP it, LOCK it and DROP it like it is hot?"



She laughs at me "That is not how it goes mom."


I move my hands very mechanically (If I do say so myself) and tilt my head "I look exactly like the girl on TV." I say in an amazed manner.



Emma covers her mouth. She is mortified at me. "No mom."



I laugh and let her go.



I have learned in the past year that something's take a bit of "thinking on" gathering information, taking a step back and putting things into perspective.

Thank YOU for ME.

I wrote this post a few months back, but didn't feel like I had a right to put it out there at the time.
_______________________________________________________________________________






My mom died today.


I did not know her well.


I do not know what perfume she preferred, or what her favorite color was.


I do not know the story of why my Father raised my sister and I, but whatever reason it was, I was never angry with her for the choices that she had to make in order to survive in her own story.




I have always known that sometimes, we have to make choices and decisions that others do not understand.


I have always felt that she did.




I have some memories of my mom, Always good ones.
I wasn't old enough to remember bad times or hold on to bad memories.




Maybe I have forgotten them.




I do remember her laugh. She had the best laugh that I have ever heard. It attracted me instantly to her the very first time that I heard it.


It was a laugh that was given with every inch of her.
Gritty, loud and real.
As a child, I wanted to blanket it around me.
I wanted to be the recipient of that laugh, and watch her eyes alight on me.




I remember visiting her when I was young and being in awe of how beautiful my mom was.
I took pride in that.
She was fun and beautiful and she laughed a lot.




I have not spoken to her in years, and yet when my sister told me of her passing...tears filled my eyes.


 Regret inevitably followed.


I couldn't put a name on why I was so sad. Why would I cry for someone that I did not know?My sisters sobs echoed my own.




"Why are we crying?" I mumbled into the phone


"Because...she gave us life. She was our mom." My sister replied.




It is sad.


And yet I hope that she finds peace at last.




I hope that whatever monsters or demons have chased her, have become slain by her passing.


I hope that she knows how thankful I am that she had me.
My sister.
US.

Courage.

cour·age

 the ability to do something that frightens one.

"she called on all her courage to face the ordeal"

 strength in the face of pain or grief.

"he fought his illness with great courage"

synonyms: bravery, courageousness, pluck, pluckiness, valor, fearlessness, intrepidity, nerve, daring, audacity, boldness, grit, true grit, hardihood, heroism, gallantry;

Ever since Caitlyn Jenner came out as transgender, I have ignored the memes, scrolled past the criticisms and wandered on to better  thoughts and ideas.

Everyone is entitled to their beliefs and thoughts. Me defending my own simply wastes my breath.

Today while having dinner with my children, I saw another and I said aloud, "fuck it, if they can spew their bullshit, well then so can I."

And that is what I am doing. If you are go  to be offended I don't give two fucks.

Caitlyn Jenner IS in fact courageous. SHE has come out to her family, which is hard enough. But she did it publicly and she did it that way for a reason. She wants to help other people like her.

I have been born and raised to be Patriotic. I have an entire wall in my home dedicated to my father and late Father in Law that shows their hard work and honor in defending their country.

I love my country and no matter who is leading it, I will support him because he is my president. I am honored that my family has had a part in defending it.

By saying that Caitlyn Jenner is courageous, this In no way diminishing the acts of courage that our soldiers endure each and every day.

To YOU, maybe Caitlin is not courageous. But to a million others she is.

To me she is.

She is the face of where the world is right now. And when people rant and rave about being pissed off at "The gays rights" all I can compare them to is the people who were furious about women's right to vote or the abolishment of slavery.

The world is evolving. Its people are evolving, as we have always done. You have two choices. Acceptance and education or stay stagnant and angry.

As much as I love our military, the word courage does not only belong to them.

It takes courage to be bare to others.

It takes courage to be a single mom who will go a week and hardly eat so that her children have food.

It takes courage to walk into an AA meeting and come back again the following week.

It takes courage to start a new business and be responsible for another human beings livelihood.

It takes courage to leave an abusive relationship.

It takes courage to do many things.

This is not a competition. I can understand others people beliefs and thoughts on it and you are entitled to them. And so am I.



Karma. The opposite of a good dog.

When you have kids, or dogs you understand certain sounds and what exactly they mean.

And this morning, with the door open and cool morning air breezing in, I heard a cat hissing and then a thump against my garbage can.

My heart jumped, because Karma had just went outside, and everyone knows that Karma is just a baby and will get eaten by the stray cats in Westside Modesto.

"KARMA!?" I hollered, leaning forward. Worried about my baby pit-bull and the wild animals that roam the streets.

5 seconds later Karma trotted inside and headed to her room.
I watched her with suspicious eyes. "What do you have Karma?" I asked, keeping my eyes on her.

She entered her room and I could see her very gently place something on the carpet.

Maybe it's a rock. Or a golf ball. Karma is crazy about golf balls.

But no.

OH NO.

It scampered off while Karma howled happily and sat down.

It was...a mouse!

"KARMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" I screeched, pulling both of my legs up and curling them beneath me.

I cant do mice.

I CANT DO MICE!

She ran to me and flopped to her back, exposing her belly in complete trust and happiness.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" I screeched. Holding my hands over my mouth and nose.
Shaking my head and staring at her. "GO GET ITTTTTT! Get it Karma...GO get it!"

Emma ran over "What happened?" She asked, laughing.

"KARMAAAAAAA! She brought IN a mouseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" I screeched and wailed, scooching ever further back into my couch.

Karma sat up and put her head in my lap.

"NO! NO! I am SO sad at you!" I shouted.

He tongue lolled out and she howled with glee.

"YOU are the OPPOSITE of a good dog!" I screeched "Nobody is happy with you, NOBODY!        Emmaaaaa. OHHHHHHH!" And I pointed into Karmas room.

Emma went in there, laughing and stomping and dodging bones and half chewed golf balls.

Karma followed closely behind her, extra proud of her bone strewed room and new friend Nasty mouse.

"She saved a mouse from a cat. Awe." Emma smiled.

"NOT awe. NOT AWEEEE!"

Emma found nothing and Shane came stomping out "What has happened?"

I replayed the morning's horror. "SO you need me to set some traps then?" He smirked

"Well." I paused "Maybe you can shoo it out, It is Karmas new friend and all."

"Sorry Karma, your new friend is getting its neck snapped." Shane muttered while grabbing some traps to set.

Karma danced around his feet and howled a good morning at him.
"Karma. No thank you. I am sad at you, walk away from me."

Karma did.

She came and huffed next to me and slowly lay down at my feet.

"Shane, you cannot be mad at Karma, she is just a baby." I stated. Already over my horror at her, I mean really? If you had met Karma, she is perfectly adorable.

"She is NOT! She is old. Like 8."

"But she is LIKE a baby." I whispered "I think she is 'special needs.' "

Karma sighed and fell asleep at my feet, not understanding what all the fuss was about.

Karma when she was an actual puppy.

It is what it is....

"It is what it is."
Those words are usually paired with "You know?" at the end and a peaceful look on ones face.

If I am gritting my teeth when you say it to me, it is because I am trying to remember my "big girl" manners, and NOT punch you in the throat.


LIFE is not just...what it is.

LIFE is precisely what you made it or allowed it to become.

Yesterday this saying was uttered in my classroom, by a 5 year old and my nose practically steamed.
These poor children, being taught to be peaceful by their parents and blame the universe for their fuck ups.

"Uh!" The child exclaimed,pointing at her bowl of applesauce on the ground "It is what it Is Ms.Beanie!" she yelled loudly while hopping on her feet. STARING at it.

My head whipped around and I gasped at the douche-ball saying coming out of my end of the year pre-k's mouth.

Oh no.
Oh no no no NO!

You see, I work VERY hard on these children every year. I work hard to teach them to be respectful, to sit like ladies and gentlemen and to clean up their own butts and messes.

I do NOT teach them to blame their applesauce spills on the universe, life and everything other then themselves.

In Pre-K when you make a mess, you clean it up. No biggie.

We shrug and HANDLE that shit.

"Who has ruined you?" I demanded while I walked over to the tiptoeing child.

"I don't know." she responded, while pointing to the applesauce once more.

A child walked up next to her and looked at the applesauce on the ground before saying "You should handle that." and walking away.

I raised an eyebrow and looked down at the little girl, waiting for her to get it.

"It is what it is!" she happily chanted again, all sing song and happy.

"No. It is a spill and what should you do?"

"Clean it." she nodded her head, snapping back into reality and running to do so. Two other children ran up and asked if she needed help. She declined.

I am sure some parent somewhere was trying to do something lovely and peace invoking by teaching her that spills are no big deal and that " They are what they are."

But listen, I got this.



Do you know who made up that saying? Some dude that just finished blowing through a bong
full of the sticky stuff.
"It is what it is man"

Perhaps it was Cheech, back in the 70's.


You do not sound wise when you say that, You sound lazy.

"My boyfriend broke up with me. Yeah it is sad, but I try to remember...it is what it is, ya know?"

NO. I do not know. Your boyfriend broke up with you because you are a bitch who's vagina has eaten too many cocks.

You know it.

I know it.

Now he knows it and is being treated for herpes.

"I am looking for a job, But it is hard. It is what it is in the end, ya know?"

NO. I do not know.

I am going to go around saying "Yeah Red is Red, ya know?" with a wise look on my face and see if I can get hoards of people to start making memes and douchebag coffee mugs with that saying on them.

I'll shrug when I say it, like I don't give two fucks and then people will consider me wise.

#MINE. (or Retail Therapy is for addicts.)

Hello. My name is Laureen Tavares and I am an addict.

My form of addiction comes to me in Fit and Flare dresses and vintage earrings. SHOES.
Shoes too. I love shoes....and necklaces. I adore them as well.

BUT. I have a theory for my addiction, an excuse if you will.
You see, I am in a relationship with myself. And as I am in a relationship with myself, all of my attention and extra effort should go to me. (I feel I am a genius over my thinking.)

Unfortunately I am neither rich nor morally adept to the selling my vagina/ oral skills for shoe money.
Shame that.
I love the feel of different fabrics. If I like what you are wearing I will complement you. If I love what you are wearing I will approach you like a skittish gazelle and slowly reach my hand out and announce "May I touch?" to uncomfortable smiles and reluctant nods of agreement.

Whatever, I got my fix.

This morning I snuck out of my house before the church crowd but after 2 cups of strongly brewed coffee.  My plan was to have some "ME" time. To browse a few stores, touch some fabrics and smell some purses.
You know, normal stuff.

The first store I walked through was a new one in my area. I walked through it clutching my purse to my chest and wrinkling my nose. It was icky, but I don't really care. I will buy clothing from the corner crack head if the merchandise is well crafted and interesting.

I walked out unfulfilled.

I next went to "window shop" at the shoe store, which housed a very helpful lady who brought boxes upon boxes of beautiful shoes for me to touch or shake my head at until I gasped and flung my left shoe off in order to try the new ones on.

My shoe landed in another box. I was impressed at myself, and smiled as my foot made sweet love to the 'shoe of perfection.'

"Oh my." The lady whispered staring off at my old shoe.

"Mine." I replied, slipping my new shoe off and replacing it back into the box with the utmost care and concern.

I left the shoe place quite happy indeed and sang to my new shoes in the car.

My next stop was the thrift store. I LOVE Thrift stores. I don't give a damn.
I find the most awesome interesting, is it ugly? is it cute? ....things in those stores.

I also find vintage earrings there.

I wheeled my squeaky carriage up to the glass counter and peer into it quite seriously.
"Can I help you?" An older lady asks from behind the counter.

"Yes, may I see those?" I point to an interesting pair of clip on earrings. "and these, also these....and.....Those as well."

I leave the store with 2 treasures.

The next store I enter, perhaps I never should have.
Then again....I believe it was meant to be.

FLASHBACK TIME.

Picture it.
It was Christmas time and my fellow Buhachians were gathered around a table at Brooks Ranch opening our Secret Santa gifts and wondering where the alcohol was. That is when it happened.

Tanya peeled back the paper of her gift and pulled out a beautiful purse.
I gasped.
My fingers flew to my mouth and I whined "THAT is supposed to be MINE!"
It was.
I knew it was. My heart knew it was, even my vagina did.

It was a Betsey Johnson Soft pink with a beautiful black bow. Oh! How I wanted to run across the table like a monkey, fling poop in her face and run off with the purse while screaming out simian grunts at everyone's shocked faces.

I could see it all happen.

I moaned and Brandee patted my hand.

"Miiiiiiiiiiine." I wailed as quiet as I could. "NO. That is not yours." Juan stated and I skinnied up my eyes at him and mentally kicked him in his no no spot.
I growled at him and crossed my arms.

My life was ruined. The end.

END OF FLASHBACK

 

 

 

Today I walked into D.D's and I was greeted as I tucked my car keys away. "Goodmorning!" I replied, and then.....I looked up.

This time, I didn't take the time to gasp. Instead I RAN while yelling "MINEEEEEEE." and hand slapping invisible purse snatchers.

I pulled it down and clutched it to my chest. "Mine." I told the security guard as I lifted the purse to my nose and rubbed the outside.

He raised his eyebrow and replied "Apparently." before turning and walking away.

"ARRRRRGGGG!" I screamed in victory, performed a flawless fist pump and then as a safety precaution, hissed at everyone in the general area before walking back to an empty isle and confirming with Jana (The original purse purchaser) that this was INDEED my purse.

After becoming secure in the knowledge that I did INDEED have the purse that has been searched for since December I placed it in my cart and went to peruse the clothing.

2 hours later I arrived at home and peeked in the door. "Emmaaaaa." I called out.

"Yeeeees." She answered with a smile.

"I think something happened."  I whined through the small door space.

She stared at the door and I pushed it open. "WHY did you let me go shopping without you?" I demanded and plonked down my treasures.

"Ohhhhh Mamaaaaa." Emma whispered.

"This is all your fault you know."

(my behavior was a standard guilty wife move. I learned it after 13 years of marriage. When you feel like you did something wrong, turn that shit around and blame the husband for a random and confusing act that doesn't make any sense. If you are any kind of wife, you will receive an apology for your act.....Works every time. except on daughters.)

"Mine!!??"

"Well. It certainly isn't MINE." I sat down on my couch. "But know what?"

"What." Emma sat on the arm of the couch and smiled at me.

"I got treasures!" I whispered. Smiling at my hoard.

"I can see that you did."

"Don't JUDGE me Emma! I Neeeeeeeeeeeded these treasures! A ton of my clothes need to be put on the *retirement rack!" I crossed my arms and felt guilty. "Now I feel guilty." I stated the obvious

"Why do you feel guilty?" Shane came into the room.

My eyes lit up "Look at my treasures Shane!" and I waved my hand over the boxes and bags that Karma was snuffing into.

"I see them! And you deserve them, so do NOT feel guilty." Shane smiled at me.

"See Emma, why cant you be nice like Shane?" I teased her and she laughed and growled back "I didn't even SAY anything."

"I know. Sorry. old habits and all that." I replied and then I pulled out my purse. Emma ooohed and ahhhed with me over it and Shane even fake complimented it.

A little bit later I sat my purse on the bed and sighed while I stroked its beautiful pink quilted hearts.
Guilt, once again, started to creep back in.

I had two choices here. ONE of which was to return my treasures.....

The other was pressing my nose against the purse and inhaling another hit of my drug of choice.

Once I was properly sated on Betsey Johnson, I headed back to my closet to make come cuts.








* retirement rack:
 is a rack of clothing that holds various items that I no longer am interested in.
Once I am no longer interested in an item, if in good working condition, I place it on the "Retirement rack" where it stays until It catches my eye once again. I just pulled a pair of pants down that were from '99 and I quite love them.

Full Circletime.

I sat at circle time with my "booger picker"wand and an audience of teeny tiny faces.

"How many have been tested for kindergarten?"

Half of my class raised their hands. The other half shifted nervously on their bottoms.
"I want you to remember to do your BEST when you are tested. This is what you have been working all year for. Please DO NOT tell the teacher that you do not KNOW, when you DO know."

I glowered at a certain boy genius who had done just that. A boy who can look at a, 'E' and exclaim with boredom "Capital E, Ehhhh, Excellent"

The boy who was being growled at shrank, but only by a bit.

"If you are intelligent....show it off. You go to school at Buhach Preschool...YOU are an example of excellence and I am proud of all of you."

They smiled and a few children yelled out "I love you Mrs. Beanie!"

"I love you too. But not when you fart."
 They giggled and snorted and one or two farted, (just to prove me wrong.)

This is why I love circle time. It is my favorite part of the day. It is not for simply reading stories and singing songs. It is where confidence grows and bonds are made. It is where children talk about what is on their heart, in their dreams and what they are most excited for.

Spring cometh,
And with Spring comes that time of the year that I get to revel in, That I enjoy the most.
My classroom runs like a well snotted machine and the Fall is but a distant memory....

Fall....*groan* or the gathering of wool.

The beginning of the year brings me my dirty, knotted, raw (albeit CUTE) wool. It has yet to be washed, carded or spun.

My class of 28(ish) does not know how to line up, recognize their name or put things back where they first found them.
It's kind of chaotic, and I run around like the dragon lady breathing fire and my famous adage: "In Pre-K we don't..."  and can include any number of things including, but not limited too...

"In Pre-K we don't stick our fingers in our butts and then try to hug our teachers."(true story)

"In Pre-K we don't act like animals... Unless it is national act like animals day."

"In Pre-K we don't whine. We speak like we mean it."
(although once, while whining a child argued "Yeth I am whining....but I MEAN it.)
Who can argue with that?

In Pre-K we are ladies and gentlemen and are kind to everyone. My class is biased, The Strongest, fastest and strongest THING that you can BE is a lady. Sorry gents, you are amazing and all...but Beanie is all about Girl power.

Monday I had a little girl walk up to me mumbling and teary eyed.

"I am sorry, I cannot understand you love. Perhaps you can speak like a lady and we will figure it out."

Her tears were wiped, her shoulders raised and in a clear strong voice she told me what the problem was. I was so proud.

Yep. Ladies rule the world. Last week I had a boy ask me if he could be a lady when he grew up.

"That is a discussion for your parents and a surgeon my friend." I replied.
 He nodded and we moved forward.
____________________________________________

"MRS.BEANIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" a little girl cried. Tears fell. "Nicolas says I cannot be a lady!"

"Hmmm." my brow scrunched up and I turned to Nicolas for explanation.

"WELL we are playing Spiderman! She can be the black Spiderman she cannot be a lady. Ladies do not make webs!"

"Nicolas, Ladies make human life. We form BRAINS in our bodies. Don't you think that being able to create a human being is a liiiiittle more powerful then creating a web system?"

"WELL." Nicolas started...then seeing that both Addison and I were standing with our hands on our hips (Addison was tapping her toe) "She can always be a Lady Spiderman then..." He said turning around with a slump in his shoulders and yelling to his friends "Addi is ganna be spiderlady... she can make brains."

Addison and I smiled at each other. "And THAT is how you handle THAT." I winked at her.

"YEP!" She shouted, hugging me quickly before running off to play Spiderlady. (Like a BOSS)




In the Spring, the flowers bloom and my little dirty wool balls have been cleansed, carded and spun into beautifully well lined skeins of yarn. Not bound tightly, but loose and neat and ready to be woven into well taught individuals.

On Friday at 4:30 I stood in my class with my hands clasped behind my back and I realized, as I looked around, that it was unnecessary for me to do so.

My children had come in, hung up their hoodies and retrieved their activity of choice. They were building machine guns, Cutting pictures from magazines and coloring papers.

I sat down on the floor and looked around.

I watched my kids play and argue and come to resolutions. I watched them apologize and laugh with each other and put everything back where they found it.

I saw one child fall and another help her up and ask her if she was okay.

I saw one girl exclaim that she had no friends, and another offer to let her play with her group.

I saw a child's shoe untied and watched another kneel down to tie it, all while chatting and laughing with each other.

I am always trying to take the time to look UP, into the sky..at the world, enjoying each moment that life gives me.
This day I was enjoying sitting down and watching all of the hard work that my children have done come to pass.

This is how Kindergarten testing should be done. By sitting in a classroom and observing amazing.

Jelly Beans for Jesus.

This story has been waiting to be written for quite some time now. Each time I would think about writing it, My mind would shy away from the thought simply because I wasn't ready to share it. Not yet.

This story begins from my childhood.

Where a little girl is raised in a Baptist church surrounded by yellow grass and blue-grey gravel.
As a child, I don't believe that we went to church regularly. We were "Holiday Hallelujahs."
Which means, we only attended every holiday.

 I never quite felt comfortable there, I felt that we were imposters. And when our Pastor would speak about being faithful and not ONLY coming on holidays, I thought he was speaking to me and I would cringe and avert my eyes.

Never the less, as far back as I can remember...I loved Jesus and I knew that we were supposed to listen to what the bible told us.

Every Easter I would wake up with immense joy at the powdery footprints surrounding my Easter Basket.
And inevitably,  after Church service, that joy soon slid into guilt about receiving candy and celebrating after everything that Jesus went through.

So, as a child (and with a face full of tears and snot) I would sneak outside and bury Jelly Beans for Jesus.

They were always the white ones.
I was pretty sure that Jesus's favorite color was white, since he was always wearing it in the pictures, also.... I hated the white Jelly Beans and I didn't think he would mind.

The burying of Jellybeans was planned around my very large family. When my dad was with the horses, my sisters in their room and my brother off to goodness knows where, I would race outside with my sugary offering clutched in my fist.

I buried the beans with tears running down my face and a whispered "I'm so sorry Jesus"

He always listened and accepted my Jellybean banquet. (It at least pacified my guilt and I could move forward with my chocolate bunny addictions.)

After my parents divorced, I believe that my father was trying to find Jesus himself. My sister and I attended new churches with him... all kinds of new churches. 7th Day Adventist, Episcopalian , and Catholic to name a few.

We always felt weird.

We always felt like outsiders in our new classrooms and wearing our new dresses and I was confused.
Isn't Jesus in every church?

As a teenager, I wondered if it was new people that my father was looking for.
As an adult I believe it was acceptance.

After I had my son I started to read the Bible.
Even at 17 the miracle of him shook me to the core. Look at this beautiful boy that God made.
Shane enchanted me and scared the fuck out of me at the same time.

Soon enough I put the bible down for band aids and tending skinned knees.


When Shane was around 5 years old I sat with my then husband outside under our giant pecan tree. It was a tradition with us to enjoy the evening together and talk about our days.
Mommy/Daddy time, we called it.

My head was tipped back against the wicker seat and I looked up at the stars peeking through the tree. It was so beautiful that it brought back a memory...

As a child my father would take us out on nights for a walk.

We would go all over the subdivision, him with his gnarled manzenita walking stick and us with our bare feet. 

We would find a quiet cul-de-sac and lay down to stare at the stars.
Sometimes we would lay there for hours it seemed and my dad would point out the constellations and teach us about the stars. "Look at the beautiful night that God made you." He would say and I would be filled with pleasure over the gift that spread out above me.

......That night, I sat with my husband and looked up at the stars. And while it was nowhere near as beautiful as the clear and clean night sky of Don Pedro, It still marveled me.

"Isn't it sad that as adults we always forget to look up?" I murmured to Chris.

"Mmmm" he agreed looking up at the sky next to me.

I smiled "Look at the beautiful night that God made you." I leaned over whispered to my husband, smiling at the memory of childhood.

He took a drag off of his cigarette and then he snorted.

My head lifted off of the seat and my eyes skinnied up. "Did you just SNORT at God?"

"Mmmhmmm"

I sat up "Mmmhmmm...and WHYYYY did you just snort at God?"

"Because I don't believe in God." he shrugged exhaling smoke from his nose.

"AH!" I screeched and jumped up. "YES YOU DO!" I pointed to him.

"No I don't." He calmly stated reclining back in his chair.

"Something is HAAAAPPENING." I started to pace

"Yes. You're freaking out." he nodded

"no.No. NO! There is absolutely NO way that you DONT believe in God. I would have known."

"It has never come up."

"Uh HELLOOOOOO! We have gone to church!"

"No. YOU and Shane have gone to church."

I gasped "Oh no, you know what?"

"What?"

"I rebuke you." I growled at him

"You CANNOT rebuke me. I am your husband."

"I take it back."

He laughed and wrapped his arms around my pregnant stomach "There are no takesey-backsies with marriage."

I slapped at his hands "Don't."

"Are you serious right now?" his chuckled turned to belly laughs and my eyes skinnied up so far, I could barely see.

"If you don't believe in God, what precisely DO you believe in?" I asked him through gritted teeth.

He finished laughing, wiped his eyes and shrugged "Evolution"

"No." I gasped

"Yes." He nodded

'YOU believe that we are all evolved from monkeeeeeeeeys?" I screeched at him.

"Well. Honey, YOU believe that a mystical being built man from some dust and I don't judge YOUR thought process." And he began to explain his theories which, even 15 years later I cannot remember.

I just gaped at him. "You lied to my dad. My dad never would have let me marry you if you said you did not believe in God. He would have anointed you with oil and baptized YOU!"

He snorted "Your dad also thinks that I am a republican, remember? YOU made me lie about THAT."

"AUGGGHHHH! If my father knew you were a democrat he would have SHOT you! I was saving your LIFE!"

He chuckled.

I did not.

I spent the following hour as a 22 year old trying to PROVE Gods existence to my 31 year old husband, but at the time he just shut it down. Each and every piece of evidence that I provided him, he had a scientific belief to fire back at me.

The argument ended with "I am never speaking to you again." And a "Okay I believe in God, are you happy now?" to which I was not.


When I turned 30 my faith fell. I questioned everything as my life spiraled downwards.
I went from a Stay at home mom to a full time working, single mom who went to school at night.

My life went from Flourishing to floundering.

I shut down the world around me and focused on my small family.
Sometimes waking my kids up at 5:00 to go out to breakfast with me before work and school that night.

I held tightly to them, and as I did I let go of everything else.

Every belief that I had as a child went away as I discovered how to be ....Me.

At 30, I met Deanna, a woman so cloaked in the belief of God, she would sing "Praise Jesus!" when something good happened. Or bad.

She would tell me  "I know you do not love Jesus, but Jesus loves you!"  And I would roll my eyes at her and thank her and tell her she was crazy.

There was no judgment in her whatsoever. Whether I believed in Jesus or not.

I would crack jokes  "I keep trying to find Jesus Deanna, but he is hiding from me."

She just smiled and shook her head and told me "When you are ready to see him Beanie, he is right next to you."

I'd shake my head and walk away.

It is funny how traditions still remained with me, even when I claimed unbelief.
My children and I still clasped hands and bowed heads at dinnertime.

My Praying man painting always hung above our dinner table.

And while I joked about Jesus, I always thanked God for everything and every single year, I buried Jelly beans for Jesus.

In the spring of 2012 I started working at Buhach Preschool and I noticed something strange. Something intriguing.

You see my heart is a teacher, but my brain is a writer.
I love asking questions.
I love doing research and finding out the reasoning behind the human emotion.
I don't just love it, but at times it keeps me awake at night, until I spill my findings onto parchment and leave it for others to ingest.

I have often written feelings and emotions and asked a friend to read it.
"Take this from me" is what my mind speaks. And then I am relieved of it.

A sigh is felt in the very center of me, and from that moment I can move forward to analyze another...feeling, emotion or curiosity.

And at this time the curiosity was...Jesus.

Everyone surrounding me at my work loved Jesus. I would ask them questions and they would reply with faith and failings and unendingly...with patience.

I decided to research Jesus. And for me it began with the Bible. A book I once revered, I now despised.
A belief I once "rebuked" my husband over, was now ridiculous.

When I opened my bible, I laughed and rolled my eyes. My plan was this: I would read the Bible cover to cover. I would ingest every word and come out in the end certain of myself and ridiculousness of it all.

I allotted myself time before work and each and every day, without fail...I would come out and with scorn, read aloud to Brandee a passage or two. I would end it with "Can you believe that shit?"

Soon enough, I came out less and less to scorn the bible.

I questioned Birdie at work about passages and took note of her individual beliefs over what each one meant.

I did not ask kindly. Once, when I was still deep into the old testament I asked Birdie to show me JUST one part of the bible that depicts love and not cruelty.

"One?" she questioned

"Yes, Just one." I replied

She pulled her bible from her purse and lifted the entire thing.

"No." I shook my head

"Yes." Juan argued from over the desk.

Still, despite the fact that my questions and the way I asked them were incorrigible, each one was answered kindly and eagerly by both of them.

During a couple discussions Juan would insist "I KNOW you believe."
I would shake my head and cross my arms.

"Yes you do."  He would stubbornly insist.

It took me one year to read the Bible from cover to cover, and when I reached the end I closed the book and shook my head.

I had started reading the bible with a hardened heart and a critical eye.
And I had ended it by finding strength and love.

In that bible I relived childhood memories, learned life lessons and became happier then I have ever been in my entire life.

It is not a faith born of ignorance, or because I was told to believe it. It is one that I studied with extreme prejudice and questioned Myself.

.... what a different person I have become, simply by observing joy in others and wondering what placed it there.....Wondering so hard that I picked up a Bible and grudgingly and unerringly sought it out.



Romans 5:4

#ifuckedup

More then any other item up for discussion, I am asked for parenting advice and teaching tips on the regular. I decided to put just a little bit here on my foray into teaching.


When I started my career in early child education, it was because my husband and I were Divorcing and In order to take care of my children alone, I had to retire from being a SAHM with 13 years beneath my belt.

I didn't know what I was doing. I only knew that I was offered a Job by my Bestie, and that I had to take it.

I started my work experience with Kinder Care learning centers, and while going through school I was placed as an aide in the Toddler room.

Ugh. Toddlers.

While they are cute and cuddly...mentally stimulating they are NOT.
Most days I could stare at them and watch each child's snot compete with their drool in epic battles of MUCUS RACES.

Snot went everywhere! Toddlers are fat buckets of snot. If you have a child who is in care someplace and when you enter the room you notice some boogers sliding down your child face, please DO NOT assume that it has been there all day ignored. I guarantee teachers wipe more of your child's snot then you do.

They also go home with it in their hair, and dried to their faces.

UGH. I was dying in the toddler room. My mental abilities were stunted. Some nights, I swear I would go home and speak toddler to my kids. I also gained my foot stomping fits from that stint I did in the toddler room at KinderCare.

But when all of the diapers were changed, and the snot was eradicated I would stare into the window of the 2 year old room and I would wish for brighter days.

Days filled with human children who could speak back to me....and wipe their own noses.

Then one day...it happened. I substituted in the Two's room for a teacher who was out sick and I absolutely ADORED it. At the end of the night I asked Dawn if there was any chance that I could stay in that room.
 After her initial shock and "YOU actually WANT to be in here?" I was allowed.

And it was then that I learned that this was not JUST a job. THIS was my niche.

EVERYTHING THAT I KNOW ABOUT ECE I LEARNED IN THE 2's ROOM AT KINDERCARE.

Our Two's room at the time was taught by the MOST unpleasant, unattractive woman that I have ever at the inopportunity to work with.
 She also absolutely REFUSED to work with me. And no matter how much I tried to ask what she would like for me to do, she answered with a back turn or a sharply worded response.

A whisper speaks louder then a scream.

I also had left the toddler room with a nasty case of laryngitis. (I blame the snot, but whateves.) and the only thing that I could do was whisper. Which, if you can imagine controlling a group of 24 Two year olds with a whisper....yeah.

So I started small. With each individual child I set about wrangling that classroom from her witchy hands. I watched her work, noted the schedules and paperwork and set about making changes. Most importantly, I learned from observation. Something that has stayed with me ever since.

That case of laryngitis and that cunt of a teacher gave me a wonderful advantage. I had the time to spend with each child and earn their trust and more importantly...their love.

Even though I couldn't talk, I had hands that could clap and feet that could stomp. I also had the most powerful tool that a teacher needs. A smile.

If you smile at a child. They will smile back.
If you stick your tongue out at a child, they will giggle.

I had no voice for a month, but the children learned that if Ms.Beanie stomped her feet, that meant we were lining up to go outside. If I clapped my hands, that meant to look at me and if I sat on the floor we were building sheet forts or having circle time. (Which I conducted using a highly intelligent child that would speak for me when I whispered to him.)

If I didn't want a child doing something I would clap my hands and whisper "NO" while shaking my head.
Beanies babies listened to my whispered words, but I choose to believe that they KNEW that I loved them and would protect them from the evil witch. That point was proven with an autistic child and his backpack.

Being an advocate for children.

We had a little boy in class who was autistic. How did we know? We work in children, we can tell. However as teachers we learn that it is not our place to diagnose anything. It is our place to teach and love each and every child that enters our classroom. (For me, the weirder the better.)

He had a backpack that he loved, he had an attachment to his backpack. It was how he self soothed. Whenever he was stressed out, he would rub the strap of his backpack. If he felt insecure he tightened the straps of it around his shoulders.
I quite loved that about him, and think that everyone should find comfort in inanimate things. It would save a lot of rushed marriages and one night stands.

Every day when Robby would come in, he would clutch his backpack and look at the cunt of a teacher in fear. So the next day, I started paying more attention to his drop off.

And it went: Mom shows up, Robby is dropped off and the evil witch clutches Robby's backpack to remove it from his body.

I watched as she peels his backpack from his body and tells him he cannot have it in class. Robby drops to the floor in desolation. His comfort just taken from him. It still breaks my heart and brings tears to my eyes thinking of it, even 7+ years after the day.

I walked up to her clapping my hands very loudly. Every child turned to look. "NOPE." I whispered as loud as I could.
"WHAT?" She sneered at me. Her crooked teeth and huge nose warring for space in her face. I swear even the children cringed at that look.

I grabbed Robby's backpack from her hands just as forcefully as she had removed it from his and handed it back to him. He hid behind me, clutching his backpack. I could feel his tears soak into the back of my pants. "DO not ever take his backpack away from him again." I whispered. I was absolutely seeing RED.

She was outraged, and unattractively so. "WHAT! He cannot have it!"

I crossed my arms "YOU cannot have it."

"FINE! YOU run the class then." She huffed and sank to the floor with her phone. Laughing at me.

(I cannot stress to you enough how unattractive this teacher was. Practically horrifying.)

That was the day that the 2's room at KinderCare Oakdale became "Ms.Beanies" room.

The next morning, every time she reached for a child's blanket I would clap loudly at her and shake my head.

It is policy at KinderCare that children place their blankets in their cubbies upon arriving. It is a cleanliness thing. However sometimes they are not quite ready. I let them know that when they were, to make sure to hand it to me so that I could place it in their cubby to keep safe.

Within a week the children were gladly giving up their blankeys with a lispy "Mith Beanie I ready." so that they could go and play. And soon enough Robby felt safe enough to hang his safety backpack neatly on a coat hook and eventually my voice came back and shocked the children with its ability to carry.

This taught me a huge lesson. Adults are asswhacks and children will love you even if you can only whisper.

I was in the same room with that teacher for nearly 6 months before she eventually got let go. And in that time I learned that it is not important if you like your co-teacher or get used to her ugly face and cuntish ways. It is however important for an adult to always speak up for a child.


YOU Change, they don't have too.

I know that I am successful in this field. Mostly because My bosses seem pretty happy with my performance and parents usually like me. I can honestly say that my success is owed to these three things:

 

1. I fuck up

 

I will never forget telling a well worded 2 year old that her daddy is a HUNK and having her mother let me know about it the next day.

 #ifuckedup

 

I was called into the office for addressing my entire class as "Beasts" (which they were.)

#Ifuckedup

 

I once had to explain to a black single mother that her son had called another boy a honky....and that he had learned that word....FROM ME.

#whitegirlfuckedup

 

I was called into the office for addressing my class as honkies.

#gofigure

 

2. When I fuck up I take ownership of it

 

"Mistakes are wonderful opportunities to learn" is a quote that I have taught by. Sometimes I fuck up. It used to be a lot more regular, but I have learned from my mistakes and become a better teacher because I did not blame them on another human being like a pussy....

I took it on the chin like a BOSS.

 

 

3. I learn from my fuck-ups and change the way I teach.

In this field, you have to be able to change the way you see things. You have to be able to observe and objectify your OWN teaching styles. Sometimes what you are doing is JUST NOT WORKING. SO...what is a teacher to do? I will tell you ...CHANGE it.

After a few months of being in the Two's room I looked around a realized that my classroom was the equivalent of a baby war zone. Particularly since I was, at the time, stanching the blood of a little boy who had just gotten beamed in the head by a smuggled in Hot wheel. You know....the metal kind.

Let me set it up for you shall I?

I had one little boy who would scream "FUCK YOU!" at the top of his lungs whenever he was angry. By the end of the week every single child said "Fuck YOU" to their parents, and I had a shit storm of complaints coming my way.

I had one little boy who enjoyed the taste of human flesh. He was particularly fond of other children's cheeks and thighs.

I had a little girl who loved to kick other children and would say her new favorite words while she said "Fuck you fuck you fuck you"

I had a boy who threw cars and any other object as long as they were heavy. (This time it was a metal hot wheel)

I had a severely autistic boy who climbed my cots and got me in trouble EVERY.SINGLE.day.
And every single other child ran around copying them and kicking, hitting, or fuck you-ing at random.

I had all of 6 ECE credits at the time and a thought in my head "WHAT THE FUCK DO I DO?"

Choice #1   

    I can blame everyone and anyone else for my situation. I could blame the parents for giving birth to their cussing, throwing, kicking children. I could blame my boss for not training me. I could blame my co-teacher for....I dunno...something. And finally, I could blame the children because there were just TOO many of them...and run screaming from my job.

 

OR  (and here is when the pussies get separated from the bosses.)

 

Choice #2       

I can take ownership of MY classroom. I can acknowledge that this chaos is caused by MY inability to teach proper behavior and nurture these children's level of creative needs.

I can realize that I have fucked up BUT I can do the most important thing of all. I have the power to change it. And that is precisely what I did.

 

I took ALL of my children outside and taught them some NEW words. "NO THANK YOU."

I told them they could scream it, shout it and point at the person who made them mad. We had entire training days outside where all we did was scream, stomp and shout "NO THANK YOU!"
It worked. Soon enough the "Fuck You" complaints ended and parents loved the words that were coming out of their child's mouths.

I removed everything hard in my class and We threw things. We made paintball art and I had days where there was a sopping tub of balled up streamers just waiting for someone to throw outside.
I had a bin of "angry balls" that were available to throw at any wall the kids wanted.

I separated the beds and let my autistic child climb to the top and gain the social freedom that his brain needed. It was safer. I also helped his mom get in touch with Silvan Learning center, who ultimately got her a diagnoses and eventually he left to join an autistic school.

I brought in boxes and instructed my kicking child to stomp it until it was flat and scream no thank you rather then the other words.

And the biting boy had an oral fixation that needed a pacifier to chew on, but eventually he left anyways. (long story that one)

Soon, the kickers were tired of kicking, the screamers had all but become hoarse and the thrower was ready to sing songs and learn.

As the leader of a classroom, it is NOT the children's fault if your classroom is not running efficiently. It is yours. And it was mine.

Therefor the biggest advice that I give out, is this: Be willing to change. Be willing to accept that you are always learning. Each year brings a new batch of young minds for you to stimulate and advocate for. And the BEST way to BE a child's advocate is not stating that you are one. It is proving it.