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.

My Main Bitch.

"Mom. Something is wrong with Karma." Emma told me, as I sat down with my book and my cup of coffee last night.

"WHAT!?" I looked at Karma and then Emma "WHY?" .....I don't know if you can tell by my capitalization there that I was quite concerned.

"She...she wont leave me alone. Look at her."  Karma was laying on the fluffy footstool. Rather, she was laying on Emma's legs which were propped on the fluffy footstool.

"Maybe she wants your attention? Uh hello? "   But no. She was right. After observing for a minute, Karma was acting strangely.

"Did you ASK her?"

"ASK HER WHAT?"

"Um...HELLO! Karma is a genius!"   I put my cup of coffee down "Karma are you hungry?" I asked her. She turned her head at me and I squealed. (She is the cutest thing in the universe.)

But nope. She didn't run to her food bowl and sit down. Hmm.   

"Karma, do you want to snuggle?" She turned her head the other way, still sitting firmly on Emma's legs. Nope. She did not run over to me and plop on the couch.

"Karma, do you have to pee?" I asked. She jumped off of the couch and ran to the door, running in circles. SO excited that someone asked her if she had to pee.

"Really?" I questioned Emma as I let Karma out. "You didn't even ask her if she has to pee? She sat on your legs for attention for Jesus sake!"

"Unnhhhhhh Now I feel bad."   I left the door not quite shut so Karma could let herself back in when she was done, which she did.

"Lets go read." I told Karma and we wandered off to my room. Karma laid at the end, making herself a perfect prop up for my book.

30 minutes later, I wandered out into the living room, a frown placed firmly on my face. Emma looked up from her computer.

In my hands was the third installment of the vampire academy books. My shoulders were slumped, my soul....RIPPED out from my vagina...or... wherever souls reside.

"Ohhhhh MY!" Emma exclaimed when she saw my face. Her eyebrows practically touched with worry in the middle of her face.

"I HAAAAAAAATE IT!" I screamed and threw the book to the ground. I then stomped on it for good measure.

"Ohhhh. No..no don't do that." Emma calmly instructed me.

Shane whipped off his headphones and laughed out loud from the left "OHHHH MYYYYYY poor mama!"  I growled at him. Shane is always laughing at me.

Besides, I wasn't talking to my cuddly, funny, giant of a kid. I was talking (whining) to the one who shares my thirst of reading two novels in a working day.

"Emma!" I whined and stomped on the book once more (for good measure)

"What happened?" She knitted her eyebrows in worry and removed her own earphones in concern.

"I FORGOT that Dimitri turned Stragoi!"

"Oh. OHHHHHHH." And then she pouted with me for 15 seconds before calmly suggesting that I go into her room and pick up the next book before continuing my fit.

"Fine! but I HATE IT!" I screamed while leaving the living room.

"Okaaaay." Emma murmured and placed her earphones over her ears once more. Karma sat halfway down the hall. She hates it when I whine, and doesn't know if she should get excited or hide.

I looked at her. And she looked back, her head turned to the side like "Are you for real bitch?"
"Don't judge me!" I squealed at her and back in the living room, Emma laughed.

See. My kids are always laughing at me.

"Karma, it is time for babies to go NighNigh." I told her. She turned and ran into my room, jumped on my bed and put her head on my sleepy time Chewbacca, making him growl into the bed

"OhMYGOD you are so cuuuuuuuuuuuute! YOU are the cutest Puppy in the WORLD! Now..... move bitch, get out the way." She moved to the end of the bed and snuffed at me.

Karma is the only one who loves me.

Soon enough, I could feel myself falling asleep. "Karma." I called out.
Soon there was a snuff in my ear followed by some whiskers and warm breath.
"Turn off the light." I whispered and felt myself slip into sleep.

Soon enough a sound woke me.

I thought it might be a tweaker climbing through my window or a Zombie. They are both on the same level of danger for me.

I grabbed my murder weapon baseball bat, sat up and peered out of the window.
The rain was still falling, My berry bush was moving with the wind... tickling my windowsill. It was quite mesmerizing.

My hand released the bat at the same time the noise came again. It was from Karma. She was having a bad dream.

"Hey." I nudged her with my toe. She lifted her head and looked at me. "Don't dream about Zombies anymore. Dream of bunny rabbits and that rooster you murdered that one time."

She lay her head back down and stared at me with bloodshot eyes.

"Lets get a midnight snack." I suggested. She sat up and started walking down the hall.

Emma found me slicing cucumbers in the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"Karma had a bad dream, so we are having a snack." I grumbled. Karma yawned.

"Salad?"

"Yes EM-MAAA Salad. Karma and I are making good choices for our midnight snack."

She smirked at me "It's 9:00"

"Huh?" I questioned. Dicing avocados into the mix. Karma licked her lips as I turned to face off with my daughter. I was in the middle of a sleep eat and didn't know what she was saying.

Emma shrugged "It is 9:00. Not midnight."

"That cant be. That would imply that Karma and I fell asleep BEFORE 9:00 which would mean that we are old."

She laughed and I looked at my phone. "ITS 9:00 you old bitch!" It practically screamed at me. AND I had a text. I replied and finished my salad making.
"WHATEVES!" I yelled as Karma and I walked down the hall with our snack.

Soon enough sleep weighted my eyelids and I turned off the light. Karma looked at me. "It's time for old bitches to go nighnigh."

She jumped on the bed and promptly fell asleep.

I lay in my crisp bed with the window open and my feet warmed by my heating blanket. Naturally I fell asleep. Lulled by cool wind, the smell of rain and a warm pit bull.

 

 Karma watching videos with me.

 

 Karma on a morning walk with me.

 

Karma joining in on Sunday morning snuggles.

 

Karma judging me.

 

Karma needing attention.

 

Karma reps BUHACH PRESCHOOL in the Atwater 4th of July Parade.

 

Karma as Tinkerbell

 

Karma trying not to beg.

 

Karma as the snowbeast from Starwars.

 

Karma as a Lion to my Lion Tamer.