A Voice Unheard

December 1988

We began preparing for our Christmas music show at school. Our teacher, Mr. Holcolm, was a very fine pianist, having been on television many times for his talent. I loved that teacher. He let us sing songs from musicals, which was right up my alley, because who doesn't love Oliver?! And I loved it. I loved every minute of it. And I would sing my little heart out.

He came around to each of us, putting his head next to ours, so he could hear our individual voices. He had this method of punishment, where if you were disruptive, you would have to stand for the remainder of the class. Being the good sweet angel I was, I never had to stand -- until this day. He finished doing his rounds, then asked another girl named Linda and I to stand. Red-faced, I stood up, wondering what I'd done to be punished. He briskly walked to the piano, where he then ordered the two of us to sing.

Linda began singing, while I stood there in shock. After a minute, he stopped playing and gently urged me to sing without Linda. And so there I was, in front of the class, standing like I was in trouble. After a few moments, I started singing. It would have been less embarrassing if the song of choice wasn't "As Long As He Needs Me." In fifth grade, one doesn't even talk, much less sing of love. But there I was singing. After I was done, he applauded and urged the rest of the girls to sing like Linda and I. But I was far too embarrassed to continue on. To this day, I get extremely uncomfortable singing in front of others.

I can tell you with absolute honesty that I have sang with Peobo Bryson, Roberta Flack, Sheena Easton and some guy named Dino. A few of us were picked out of our school choirs to sing with them at a concert. I have sang at the Liberty Bowl in Memphis for their half-time show. Now, none of those performances were ones were I had to sing solo, so I was okay. I still can't sing alone. Not even in front of Chris.

But on some nights, when I take a late shower, he sneaks in so he can hear a few notes done in the acoustics of our bathroom. And I, knowing that this will be my only stage from here on out, am totally okay with that.

Educated Idiot

The school receives 47 boxes of donuts. There are fifty donuts to each box. They end up using 46 boxes. How many donuts are left?

***

This was a math question on Kade's homework last night. I, being well versed in mathematics, started to show my son how to solve the problem:

47 x 50 = 2350

46 x 50 = 2300

2350 - 2300 = 50

There are fifty donuts left.

That was about the time my son looked at me and said, "Yeah Mom, you can do all that. Or you could've just noticed that they had one whole box of donuts left. Since we know that there are fifty donuts per box, we already know the answer is fifty."

D'oh!

Pampers

We sat in our muppet positions, side by side on the loveseat. I sat cross-legged, while he was reclined in a more laid-back state. The truth is that I am far more laid-back than he is, while he has a more go-get-'em attitude. So it's strange that we should sit that way, yet we do. I leaned in poised to make a smart-ass comment on whatever flashed across the tv next. A diaper commercial came on. I watched as a mother lovingly nuzzled her baby...

I remember when I used to do that with Kade. I remember when I'd kiss the bottom of his feet, tickling him in the process. I remember his baby smell. I remember making him laugh, his baby giggle surprising himself as it came out. I miss that.

"I still want a baby," I murmured.

"Add twenty years to your life, Ari. That's what we'd be doing."

He's rather blunt, but he's right. We are in no position to be having a child at this time. I just started working again. Not only that but I could not emotionally take another pregnancy. I hate that I was the one that suggested the vasectomy. No babies for us. But those damn diaper commercials... they get me everytime.

Deja Vu

I keep seeing rave reviews for Borat, which I have no inclination to see whatsoever. Looks like nothing more than an Andy Kaufman rip-off to me, but whatever. Not only that, but don't we already have enough prank shows? Then there's Superman, which will probably be getting to dvd sometime soon. Honestly... people have tried, but no one plays Superman better than Christopher Reeves, so why bother?

How many Poseidon Adventures can one watch before going insane? Why must it be remade five thousand times?

Double that with the amount of sequels being made, movies made from books or games and a trip to the video store will suddenly turn into a severe case of deja vu. Why can't anyone be original anymore?! Is that so hard? Is it really so hard to come up with an original thought?

Oh and btw, I don't care how big of a fan any one of you are of Johnny Depp, but he SUCKED ASS as Willy Wonka. In fact, that whole remake sucked donkey balls. Gene Wilder, I am so sorry, hon. Please come out of retirement to bitchslap Depp. Please. I also give you persmission to kick Tim Burton in the nuts. And while you're at it, you might as well punch Paul Anderson. He had nothing to do with the Willy Wonka remake, but I still haven't forgiven him for the disasters that are the Resident Evil movies.

The Wild? You know, I already invested all my energy into Finding Nemo. I'm not about to be excited about trying to find a character from a movie that not only rips off Nemo, but rips off Madagascar, as well. LAME.

But you know what would really piss me off? They better NEVER remake A Christmas Story, or Ari's gonna have to choke someone.

Because I'm Not Like You

"It's good that you are getting out more," she said, while I crinkled my nose.

I finished speaking with her; a little sliver of irritation lodging itself onto the back of my brain. She meant well. They all mean well. I always think that when you run across someone you know while you're at work, that it's like a mini-oasis type of situation. You can relax, let go of the "professional" you and be a bit more yourself for a few minutes. That is, until they say something like that.

Ugh. Is it really good? Why is it so wrong that I like staying home? Why is it so wrong that in the whole time I was a stay-at-home mother, I avoided social situations, I avoided filling my calendar with "events" that were really of no importance? Why is it wrong that I like to be independent? Why is it so wrong that I don't plan my day for others, I plan it for me and my own? Why do I NEED to get out more in order to be considered normal?

Why should I go looking for people outside my home, when I have everything I need right here? Sure, friends are good. But my best friend and I are married. Love and acceptance are great things, I have that here.

I realize that they are only trying to welcome me to their fold, but what they don't realize is that while I am more than happy to be friends, or visit once in a great while, I don't want to be in any fold other than one of my own making.

So, yes, I am getting out more. Getting a job really forces that issue on me. Fine. But I can't possibly see how this is GOOD for me. A booster shot is good for me. Eating veggies are good for me. Being forced to be leave my sanctuary, only to be forced to don a smile and be nice to others? Sure, I can do it. But I hardly see how it is GOOD for me.

You know, I was about to end it right there, but as it turns out, it is more than a sliver of irritation. Look at all the problems with society. Look at our role models of today -- the strumpet heiresses that have done nothing but be born into money, the idiot celebrity whose only job it is, is to pretend to be someone else THEN believes because they are so good at faking that they actually should have more weight when it comes to political opinions and such, those idiotic wimpy singers who whine about how horrible their lives are all the while raking in paycheck after paycheck. These are the so-called people we are supposed to look up to? These are the so-called people that children AND ADULTS of today are emulating? Please explain to me how is it GOOD for me to be in a society like this?

Maybe I just am a classic dissenter. Maybe. Or maybe I just see so much bullshit, so many people whose lives are focused on material crap, things that are of no importance, that I don't WANT to be like them. I don't want to be in their fold.

Fuck you, if you want me to change. I won't do it. I like me. No, you won't see me at a PTA meeting. Not because I don't care about my child's education, but because I go directly to the source if I have a problem and confront the teacher. I make sure the teacher and I are on the same page, so that I may teach my son WITH HER AS SUPPORT, and not push his education all off on her. Fuck you, if you want me to attend church regularly. God is not in a building, people. So you can add transcendentalism to my list. Fuck you, if I don't go to your party. My family is more important that getting wasted at some stupid social function. I have better things to do with my time. Fuck you, if I don't take my kid to every kind of sports function possible. Sports are good, but since when was it good to inundate your child with EVERY kind of sport until you have to make a special calendar for THEM just to keep it all straight? How is that good? Fuck you, if my husband and I would rather spend time with each other than over at your house. He and I have to make up for a few lost Tuesdays, so unless you are going to stand there and watch, get the fuck out.

I don't need you.

Bleh

I am good. I am damn good. For some strange reason, my charm is paying off. People like me, they really do. If they only knew...

I am doing well, I think. I had one day where I wanted to yell, scream, cry and choke people, but I didn't. (That's what made me so angry. I am quite used to telling people what I think of them. Not being able to is sooooo restricting.)

Perhaps, and this is just a maybe thing, I have allowed myself too much freedom. I am quite used to saying what I think, directing my anger appropriately, confronting. Now I am in a situation where I am basically forced to apologize on something I have absolutely no control over. That's customer service for ya. But I've found I actually LIKE working. Which is weird, because I hate restrictions. I hate rules. I hate being made to follow. Strange, that I should excel at it.

There I go, again. Who wants to hear about work? Boring. Ugh. Let's move on.

***

One of these days, I shall learn to ride a motorcycle. There's been plenty of opportunities, but I've shunned each one. To tell you the truth, I quite like riding on the back of his. I can only ride him for so long, before I want some of that control. I like control. There's nothing like the feel of powering your own destiny. Which is why I need to learn to ride, so that I may control that big machine of power. Plus, I found another pair of black bitch boots that I am totally intent on buying. You just can't wear black bitch boots to the grocery store, ya know?

***

I am not afraid of spiders. I like them. Which is why I was surprised at my reaction upon finding a dead one, today. I freaked out. Refused to touch it or get near it, when only a few days before, I had lovingly escorted an alive one outside. I think it was because it was dead. I had the same reaction with a dead bird on our lawn. For three days, I walked in a huge semi-circle around our porch to avoid it. I guess I have some strong issues with death.

***

When did I become so damn boring? Geesh, it's like the life has been sucked out of me. Not funny, not interesting. I'll chalk this entry up to being half-asleep. That or the fact that complete strangers are sucking my will to live. One or the other.

Anniversary

Nine years ago on Halloween, I went out on a date with a really nice, good, decent guy. He was nice and sweet, a subsitute teacher. We went to dinner, then to a concert, which I did enjoy. In fact, I had such a nice time, that when I found out my aunt had set me up for a blind date the very next night, I thought to myself, "Yeah, well, I'll do it, but I don't really care how that date goes."

The very next night, I went out on a date with a good, decent guy that also happened to be a badass. This surprised me, so I did the only thing I could possibly do and married him. Nine years later, he and I are still together.

I'm really sorry to Substitute Teacher. You are a wonderful guy. And I'm sure somewhere out there, some woman found herself a wonderful match. He just wasn't my match. I am very happy with the choice I made.

Last night, I rushed home for work to get changed for our Anniversary dinner. It's always a rush on that day, given that it's Halloween. Unfortunately, I had to work during our traditional Halloween church function, so I had told Kade that we'd try to fit trick-or-treating in. Real trick-or-treating -- not the kind at church.

(Dear Charles,

NOW, my feet hurt.)

My feet were killing me. It's the kind of hurt where it feels like spikes are being driven through your heels. I bought those damn gel inserts, but they only help so much. I barely made it through dinner. It was really good, too. Garlic steak with shrimp. I ate the entire plate and I never do that when we eat out. Anyway, by the time we finished our meal, I was slumped over the table, trying my hardest to keep my eyes open.

My Chris consoled Kade, telling him there'd be no way for us to make it through trick-or-treating, he being just as tired as I. I felt like such a horrible mother. My dear Baby Kade, I will make it up to you. We came home, I helped Kade with his homework, then I sat down on the couch next to my badass. That was the end of me. I woke up at seven this morning. My alarm clock was a kiss on the cheek from my little boy.