Friendship Plan

As BigGirl and I spilled ourselves and all of our miscellaneous carry-ons into the school parking lot this morning, she was positively in a tizzy.

"Mommy, I really need your help! I just don't know what I'll do about this!"

I, completely confused as to what was her problem - except for the fact that it was taking her a solid 5 minutes to get her skinny little bootie out of the backseat, with or without her backpack - hurriedly asked for clarification. (As my arms motioned like a flight attendant for her to move to the nearest exit - PRONTO.)

"I need a plan! Today is my day to play with Bestest BFF, but Friend B will want to play too...I just don't know what to do!"

Dumbfounded (though I'm not sure why I was surprised), I quickly preached the "more the merrier" schpeal. "You know, that's why a party is more fun than just a playdate. It's more fun with more friends."

"I guess I'll just have to tell her that it's my day to play with Bestest BFF...but, HOW WILL I DO THAT? HOW CAN I DO THAT? I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW I CAN DO THAT!"

At this point, resolved that she was NOT going to go for the merry threesome idea, and feeling my stress level frizz as fast as my hair in the morning air, I gave up. "Here's an idea: SAY IT. Use your words. That's why God GAVE us words!"

As we, at long last, began moving toward the building, BigGirl hauling her worries on her back and I hauling my entire office in a cart behind me with one hand and the all important venti skinny vanilla latte in the other, she laid it on the table.

"Mommy, I just need a Friendship Plan. That's all there is to it."

This is just the latest in a long line of heart-breaking girl tiffs that she has suffered through this year. While BabyGirl is busy planning her white wedding to Don Juan Jr. (scheduled to be held in her preschool classroom sometime this year... and we're all invited), BigGirl is crying in the hallway.

On the morn of her "Friendship Anniversary" with the all important Bestest BFF, she arrived at school all decked out in her finest diamond drop earrings, diamond encrusted arm cuffs, and a diamond (blinky-light) necklace. Apparently, not all first grade girlies are confident enough to pull off this level of adornment and SOMEONE felt the need to point out the fact that she does NOT have pierced ears. (Gasp!!! The horror!) Instead, she was wearing (scandalous, I know) CLIP ON EARRINGS!!!

Girls, girls, girls.

My BigGirl, not the type to brush something off without hurt feelings, nor the type to say to her classmate, "I know. These are clip-on. Not everyone has pierced ears." and let that be the end of it, was crushed. She refused to go to school. She came down with a headache and possibly a fever. She needed FireDaddy to come A.S.A.P. to pick her up.

Unfortunately for her...and my officemate who had to listen to the wailing...AND BigGirl's crying, I threatened an embargo on all television privileges if she did not hightail her hiny out of my office chair and march that bootie downstairs to her class. She went reluctantly (and still in tears). Funny, the Motrin didn't seem to help the headache and "fever"...but, with an apology, she was cured.

Why am I rambling about this, you ask? What is it I'm REALLY trying to say?

I am SO not looking forward to the day the hormones start to kick in. Dear God, someone may need to take me out back and put me out of my misery before then.

Scratch that.

I can't leave them alone with FireDaddy.

Dear God, someone is REALLY going to need to get me some stronger pills before then.

Gettin' Groovin'

Recently, I wrote about the bad habits I've discovered in myself once again.  Perhaps it was the reflection, perhaps it was the number staring back at me on the scale, perhaps it was the not so cute "muffin top" sprouting around my waist, or, perhaps it was the humiliation accountability of publishing such habits in a medium as public as the World Wide Web.  Whatever the reason, I've been making a DAILY which is really good for me because I "don't do daily" effort towards getting my groove back.  

What does that mean?

Well, put it this way...did you know you have muscles on the back side of your ribs???  Wow.  Neither did I, until the past few weeks, at which time I've become PAINFULLY aware of their existence.  Thanks to Tracy, my Wii Fit trainer gal.  

Would you believe that home-cooked meals REALLY DO taste better than fast food or restaurant meals?  And did you know that a classic, homemade fast food (peanut butter and jelly sandwiches) costs less and has LESS CALORIES AND FAT (especially when made with reduced fat peanut butter and on light bread) than more modern fast food "healthy" meals (a.k.a. grilled chicken from Chick-Fil-A or Mickey D's)?  Another startling re-discovery around the neuroclassy household recently.

Or, how about this one, did you know that Weight Watchers Online now has a MOBILE site...suitable for Blackberrys!!!  And there's more, there is even a gadget for my iGoogle!!! Woo-hoo!   My prayers have been answered!

Accompanying these recent positive discoveries, unfortunately, some reveals have NOT been quite so happy.  

For instance, when you get to the gym before 4:30 AM, you're tired by the time you get yourself dressed, your kids dressed, everyone shuttled to their respective locations and, finally, settle into your desk for your morning prep time at work at 8:30. 

When the time changes, you can no longer rely on the sun to tell you when to feed your children dinner, give them their baths, or put them to bed because you're completely obsessed with completing your workout routine on the Wii Fit.  (Must...unlock...one...more...yoga pose....and then trying it a few times before I done...and then I'm really quitting....I mean it this time.)

Drinking a gallon or more liquid per day in addition to my triple venti skinny vanilla latte and Diet, Caffeine Free, mind you, Coke is resulting in a ridiculous number of quick potty breaks.  I can hardly keep this up - and by this, I'm referring to my pants!

Oh, and, thanks to Tracy, my very professional and devoted Wii Fit gal, getting up and down when I make those quick potty trips is much harder than it used to be.  

But, as we've established before, I guess I'm just shallow enough to make it all worth it.  

And with that, I'd better get back to groovin'.

Author's Note:  Oh, the photo?  Yeah...um...that was TOTALLY ME...back when I was a blonde.    Hardee har har....

Bad Habits

I have GOT to do something about my bad habits!

For one, I've developed a very bad habit of NOT waking up in the morning. Well, I guess technically I do EVENTUALLY wake up...but not until an hour to two hours after my I.W.T. (Intended Waking Time). I used to be good at this. Just a few short years ago, I was heading out the door to the gym by 4:15 AM every morning Fire Daddy was on the premises. Yes, you read that correctly. FOUR. A. M.

Now, I faithfully set my alarm - correction, alarmS (I set my clock and the Pink Lady each night) - for four, 4:15, 4:30...and repeatedly press snooze on both alarms until nearly 6:00 AM (sometimes later). This, as you can imagine, does not delight Fire Daddy. In fact, I'm beginning to suspect he might be a bit annoyed with this recent change in my morning routine.

Another bad habit I really MUST do something about involves candy. A lot of candy. Have you ever noticed how addicting those cute little bite-sized candies, like M&Ms and Skittles, are? Oh. My. Gosh. I can eat WAAAAY more of those each day than I care to admit.

I partially blame my work environment. I am a teacher. Schools -- elementary schools -- have more candy than Carter's has pills! I am surrounded by it! Wherever I go, there it is, ready for me to snag another bite, another handful, another Fun Size bag. Perhaps it's my coworker's cutie-patootie little bubble gum machine candy jar, or the bottomless bowl of sugary sweets in the mail room, or the permanent jar of M&Ms that resides on that desk I walk past fifty times per day in the office, or my own candy basket in my own classroom. And it doesn't stop when I leave school for a meeting or inservice. Little chocolate fairies seem to sprinkle tiny treats everywhere I go.

I MUST remember how to say NO. I am no longer 16. (Oh my goodness, I'm almost twice that.) My high school days of sitting in television production class after Second Lunch, surrounded by a flock of boys, as I popped my Skittles (sorted, first, by color) one by one - are gone. No longer can I be "The Skittle Queen", as they so lovingly dubbed me. I must rely on something other than sugar to get me through my afternoons without a bad case of The Slumps or The Grumps. (Those sweet boys were so thoughtful. They quickly learned to recognize the symptoms and never failed to send a runner for that all important red bag on days I was without. ...I wonder what happened to them. Maybe I can find them on Facebook....but that's another post.)

Finally, I know you might be shocked to hear this, but I seem to have developed a rather crippling addiction to caffeine as of late. One day last week, I realized just before dinner that every beverage I had consumed that day contained caffeine. I mean every last one of them. I began my day with a triple venti skinny vanilla latte from some cute little coffee joint I frequent. I chased that latte with a series of Diet Cokes from my office mini-fridge. As I finally found myself choosing a drink to accompany my evening meal (probably something terribly healthy, by the way), I was at a loss. I was ashamed as I reflected on my day's liquid intake.

Consequently, I made a decision to REDUCE (no cold turkey for me) my caffeine intake to one beverage per day. (Note: A triple latte is still, technically, one beverage. It is served in one cup.) I am thankful for my Caffeine Drinkers Anonymous support network on twitter. They encouraged me to stick with it through the headaches, use Excederin as a crutch, and they, inevitably, overlooked my falling off the wagon on Day 3. And Day 5.

In short, I am severely lacking in the Self Discipline Department lately. I really must do something about this.

I'll start tomorrow. Better go set my alarms.

A Slice of Neurosis

Call me crazy, but recently I became paranoid that my blog was starting to sound a little too...sane. I must rectify this, pronto. I thought the most efficient way to do this would be to just open up my head and let you crawl inside for a glimpse. Since that is not feasible, I guess I'll just spill some thoughts I had today. Here goes nothing.



I recently went out on a limb and decided to try Oil of Olay cold cream for the first time after it was recommended to me by more than one person. I'm sorry...what the heck, people? It's a bit like rubbing butter or Crisco on your face! Ugh! Water actually beads up on my hands - and there is a disgusting film in my sink! Not to mention what it seems to do to my washcloths...just gross. And, I tried and tried to put my grandmother's skin out of my mind...but I am Mema when I put it on my face. I just can't do it.



Girls' nights rock. I mean...don't you totally love putting on your favorite pjs, crawling under the warm covers and watching Barbie movies together with a couple of your best girlfriends? What? That's not what a girls night is? Oh. Well, don't tell the Princesses. ...I had a margarita first, does that count?


A little known fact about Florida women and winter...Florida Toe. I cannot claim credit for its title (I just whimpered about my sore toe until Melanie shared the name with me), but I am definitely suffering from it. My right thumb-toe (hate to call it a big toe, because it isn't big at all...however, it is quite "handy") has been sore for days from having to wear REAL SHOES. Ugh! The torment of cold temperatures! I miss my flip-flops and sandals!!

I found out today that our sheriff has a little star pin that he wears on his clothes when he is not in uniform. That's awesome. I want to call him Wyatt now. Or, even better, Mr. Earp.


I seem to be developing a serious immunity to caffeine. This could be fatal. Immediately after finishing my venti latte yesterday, I found myself yawning and sleepy. Today I had an extra shot of espresso and didn't feel it. Whatever shall I do? Must find a runner to make Starbucks runs midday for me while I'm at school.



I called in an 8 year-old to help me problem solve a carpool logistic situation today. Wonder why she gave me that blank stare and bee-bopped away so happily when I dismissed her? (Sans solution, of course.)



We ate dinner at a cruddy restaurant tonight. The service stank, the girls didn't eat their meals, my dinner wasn't good, and it took FOREVER...Drinks and bread were good...think you could go there and just get the rolls with your drinks? May need to peruse the menu for an extended period of time...


Someone needs to work on creating Breathe-Right strips with a special adhesive (and shape) engineered to stick to dog noses. I'm sure mine isn't the only snoring canine.


Watching five year-old little girls do the wheelbarrow walk, holding each other upside-down by the feet, is really funny. Thank goodness for those mats, though. One face-plant after another, smiling all the while. It's especially funny that the one holding the feet looks at themselves in the mirror the entire time...the mirror that is OVER THEIR SHOULDER.



I played Password with Big Girl in the car tonight. Somewhere, Happy Hour needs to include classic game shows. I'm thinking live versions of Password, Family Feud (or Friendly Feud), Press Your Luck! (Come on! Big bucks, big bucks, no whammies, NO WHAMMIES!), Let's Make A Deal, the Newlywed Game, the Gong Show. Perhaps it's just me. I think I would be REALLY GOOD on some of those shows.



I want to know who is playing a practical joke on me. This week I've received an onslaught of coupons, literature and samples from infant formula companies. It is extremely disappointing and disturbing to receive a key to the package box in your mailbox -- only to find that your package is a box of Similac. Especially when you are not -- and have NO intention of becoming -- pregnant. (But, that's another post entirely.)

By the way, hope you enjoyed my hidden treat in this post....for those of you, more curious, readers. Sorry, it wasn't so classy. I warned you about my sense of humor.

I <3 Starbux Peeps

It’s not just their delicious skinny vanilla latte – hot or iced. It isn’t their yummy, moist reduced-fat coffee cakes. It isn’t even their cool CDs, trendy green travel mugs, or inviting patio tables. (Who has time to lounge around there, anyway? Probably people who take bubble baths.) I am addicted to Starbucks – and its employees.

Our love affair has been slow in the making. We’ve been courting for years. It was only recently, though, that I realized exactly how important to me they really are. Their chipper morning attitudes. Their warm greetings. Their exaggerated smiles are just the right brew to reach my spirit through the fog in my early morning mind. I cannot live without them.

No one else understands me like they do.

I call out to the drive through speaker, fumbling my order in 5 different ways as I struggle to connect the synapses in my sleepy mind. They never complain.

I pull up to the window, pass them my card, and stare blankly at them when they ask to see my ID. What? ID? Oh…you’re talking to me? They never flinch. They smile reassuringly, waiting patiently.

I pull away from the window, forgetting my drink. They never laugh. They lean out the window and call to me; their wide smile telling me they understand.

They never stare as I slam my side view mirror into their already dented to go shelf. (Obviously, I’m not the only one.)

They never ridicule as I hop the curb in my Pacifica. (Who the heck designs drive-through traffic patterns, anyway? I mean, come on! What kind of driver do they think I am?)

I love them. I love the quirky, sing-songy way they speak. I love their freaky intuition. (How did they know I needed that extra shot of espresso today?)

I love the small talk they so graciously make while waiting on the barista to finish my beverage. Sure, it’s cheesy, but it takes my mind off the whiny princesses in my backseat. (I especially love it when they sweet talk to my whiny princesses through their window.)

In short, Starbucks Peeps, I love you. You rock my mornings. I never want to wake up a day without you there again.

Will you marry me?

A Runaway Train

This year, my darling Big Brother and sister-in-law, have orchestrated a family reunion trip to Disney World for the holidays. By family reunion, I do not mean the "greats" and "seconds". I mean the grandparents (MJ and Pop), the siblings (Big Brother, Little Brother*term used loosely because they both tower over me, et moi), the spouses (Sister #1 - "Louanne", Sister #2 - "Tammy" , and Fire Daddy), and the little squirts (Big Girl, Little Girl and Curly Cuz -who belongs to Little Brother and Tammy, and is the same age as Big Girl, 5).

___________________________________________________________________

That's how I started this post yesterday morning. However, the inspiration has faded...I'll tell more about that little excursion later. Another time, another post. Instead, a tiny detail within that paragaph caught my eye......Anyone up for a ride on a runaway train? I'm rollin' with it!

Speaking of Louanne and Tammy...those are not their real names. As I was running to the restroom yesterday for the upteenth time (started the day with a Venti Skinny Vanilla Latte with an extra shot of espresso, quickly followed with a Large Sweet Tea from Mickey D's), the subject of nicknames entered my mind. My sister Tammy is desperately trying to dub me "Jens". I'm not sure why, apparently she thinks it fits. Do I mind? Not at all. In fact, I'm a big fan of nicknames.

In the past, I've been referred to as "Jen-nay" (the Forrest Gump years), "Honeydew" (or some other fruit...old boyfriend), "Jen Mama" (best friend), my middle name alone for some folks, my last name alone seems to stick for others, and "Princess" (a man at my school's current name for me). Then there's the parental nicknames of "Pumpkin" and "Lizardabeth" or just "Lizard". Not to mention the original nickname -- "Jenn". Funny, my parents did not start that. A friend did. Consequently, when my sister Louanne met me, I think she thought I didn't like "Jenny". She made visible efforts to always refer to me as "Jenn", apologizing if she slipped and called me by my first name.

In the end, I don't mind. I didn't even mind when folks stretched my name and spoke it like poor ol' Forrest. Nicknames don't bother me -- well, within reason. I can't say I loved it when my father-in-law called me "Hippo" for a short time. But, I also realize he was just pullin' my pigtails.

There is one name I do mind. Jennifer. Allow me to publicly proclaim this now.

My name is NOT Jennifer.

Just because MOST parents name their child Jennifer and call them Jenny, does NOT mean I am a Jennifer.

My Birth Certificate clearly states that my name is Jenny. J-E-N-N-Y. That's all.

Get over it folks.

Please do not call me Jennifer.


I must say, over the years, believe it or not, I have mellowed about this...a little. For instance, there is one teacher at my school that comes to mind. She is convinced, I know, that I am Jennifer. I know this, because she calls me Jennifer in the middle of sentences ALL THE TIME.

"I'm telling you, Jennifer, you should hear........"

I am not so rude, anymore, to correct her. I'm waiting, patiently and politely, for an appropriate moment to sweetly explain, "By the way. I don't mean to be rude, so please don't take this the wrong way, but..." and then apologize profusely.

I did this last year -- in an email -- with a different teacher at my school. I'm afraid she thought I was snapping at her, despite my prefacing the correction with disclaimers and following up with apologies.

What has the world come to? I recall a time in the 6th grade when I blatantly argued with a teacher -- with the whole class as my witness -- that my name WAS NOT Jennifer.

T: Jennifer.....blah blah blah....
Me: (silence)
T: Jennifer!
Me: Are you talking to me?
T: I said "Jennifer"...
Me: My name's not Jennifer. It's Jenny.
T: Yes. But, it's really Jennifer.
Me: No. It's really Jenny.
T: Yes, but your parents really named you Jennifer and you like to be called Jenny.
Me: No. My parents really named me Jenny and I go by Jenny. It's on my Birth Certificate. Would you like to see it?

What a smartie pants. I think back on that day and am embarrassed at how rude I was to that adult. However, I also think about some of the fifth graders I work with, and the sixth graders I worked with years ago, and realize I wasn't that far off the norm for my age. They're pretty bold, folks.

For all those Jennifers out there, I'm sorry. It's nothing personal, nothing against the name, but I have grown to hate that name. I promise - I don't mean it personally. I've had dozens of friends -- good friends, best friends, friends I've loved, friends I've wanted to be more like -- named Jennifer. Apparently, Jennys, Jennifers, and Jens gravitate toward each other. They also gravitate towards Kims and Kimberlys, but that's another post.

Just don't call ME Jennifer.

Whew. I feel better.

Thanks for listening.

As for Louanne and Tammy? Those are, yes my family's weird, their "Country Music Names". I wasn't present on the day they were dubbed, but as I understand it, Country Music Names are derived, somehow, from the second letter in your first name. ???

.....Ellie? Emmylou?

What would yours be?