Wednesday, May 27, 2015

IF I KNEW THEN WHAT I KNOW NOW

Me: "Okay, ready. Here we go. Gonna go into the house I grew up in  all my life."
Chris: "Oh, wow. Look at these pictures on the wall. That's your brother, right? 
Me: "Yep."
Chris: "Who is in the picture next to him? Do you have a sister?"
Me: "That's me."
Chris: "Oh, wow! That's...wow. Your hair is...wow. I'm glad I met you now."
Me: "Thanks?"

So, I wasn't a beauty queen. I had braces, head gear, bangs that could challenge Mount Everest, and a school uniform. Hard to believe? Nah. 

Today, my sweet high school friend, Lorrie,  reminded me that it was the 20th anniversary of the day we graduated from high school. TWENTY. YEARS. How could that be? I was just 20 years old. Really. I was. Like...17 years ago. Damn. 

It got my brain thinking. If I was Marty McFly and I could go back, these are the top five things the 2015 me would say to the 1995 me...(keeping it short and sweet is always best)

1. Challenge yourself. You could easily take all Honors courses. Well, except for Geometry. You never will pass that class. Ever.

2. Stand up for yourself. Knowing what I know now...if you stand up to that bully...she/he will back right down. And it will save you a lot of embarrassment, self-doubt, and tears. 

3. Wear a bikini. Trust me. Just. Do. It. 

4. Don't cut your hair. Or curl your bangs. And for the love of jellybeans, PUT THE AQUANET DOWN! I know it's "the style" and all, but simplicity is best. (However, looking back at the pictures will be make you and your friends laugh pretty hard.)

5. Save your money. Don't buy more AquaNet or get another perm. Just take your summer job money and put it in the bank. Right. Now. 

Most of all, I'd like to say that I'm proud of you. You faced some pretty big challenges. You fought through them all. And, with a lot of determination 
and hard work, you found me a happy place. 
You got me to where I belong.
You brought me HOME. 


Thanks, Lor, for snapping this pic for me! 








Monday, May 18, 2015

Out of the Mouths of Babes and a Giveaway

Mags: "Mama, why do we have Memorial Day off from school?"
Tuck: "It's to remember all the veterans who were in a war."
Mags: "Don't we have a day for veterans already?"
Tuck: "Yes, Mags, but there are so many and they fight so hard, they deserve more than one day."
Me: "And that is why we have Memorial Day off of school. Well said, Tuck. Well. Said."

Out of the mouths of babes. The above conversation actually prompted me to look up some facts with kids about Memorial Day. That way, they would know the origin to make it more meaningful. The following are a few of the interesting facts we found while researching. (I learned a few new ones myself.)














We also read a speech from Ronald Reagan given at Arlington Cemetery on Memorial Day of 1986. The kids and I agreed that the following excerpt was a perfect way to summarize what the subject.


Today is the day we put aside to remember fallen heroes and to pray that no heroes will ever have to die for us again. It's a day of thanks for the valor of others, a day to remember the splendor of America and those of her children who rest in this cemetery and others. It's a day to be with the family and remember."


It's quite humbling to live among such brave men and women. There are many ways to celebrate, honor and remember. 


In fact, I was contacted by my friends at Grace Hill Media about promoting the DVD release of American Sniper.  Just in time for Memorial Day,  GHM generously sent me a three copies. One for me, one for a friend that is a veteran, and one to give away to a lucky reader. 

I'm making it as easy as possible to enter. Simply leave a comment on the blog or on my According to Mags FB page.  





One more thing! Warner Bros. is donating a dollar from each sale, up to $1 million, to the Wounded Warrior Project, a program that enlists public aid and provides direct services to meet the needs of our injured military personnel. To order American Sniper from Amazon.com, click here.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

An Open Letter to the SOL

It's State Testing Week in our school this week. In Virginia, it is called the SOL. How appropriate. In my high school, there's an anxious buzz in the air.  So, to entertain the kids in English class, my team teacher assigned an "Open Letter" assignment. I wanted to write one as well while the kids were working. I had the perfect topic.

Dear SOL,

Look at you.  I mean, I wish I could believe in myself like you. Go on with your bad self.  Thinking you are just so generous with your detailed directions and assorted choices. I especially enjoy the way you add a simple s to the end of a word in your directions to throw each and every kid into an eternal panic. "Which of these statement(s) are true?"  Cute. Real cute.  

How about we talk about the God complex you carry around in your thinly papered, dreadfully drab booklet? I mean, if you’re going to hold a student hostage for hours upon hours, don’t you think you could pep up the experience with an uplifting color palette. Or snacks?  Or water? Even prisoners get food and water during their stay. Perhaps with all the money you bring in, you could attach a care-package…a goodie bag, if you will, to the tissue-paper-thin booklets.

 I mean, what’s up with those things? You’re a multi-BILLION dollar industry and you can’t afford better paper that doesn’t rip at the slightest grasp. But thanks so much for allowing us to write in them. WOW! That is so "green" of you to repurpose the booklet as scratch paper, too. But maybe, just maybe, you could rethink the quality like I stated in the above sentence. Since your tests are so daunting and picky, I obviously have to take the time to work out calculations and such. Eventually there will be a moment that I will need to erase if I worked a problem incorrectly. Due to your water-soluble pages,  I end up making a crater-sized hole in it even before I start to get serious. NO worries. I didn’t need to see the ENTIRE calculation I just did. No, really. I like to start from square one when you’ve already thrown my stomach into a blender. I know, I know. I have ALL DAY. How thoughtful.

 On the topic of your thoughtfulness, thanks so much for telling me I’m worth earning my graduation status if I reach YOUR set score. Four-hundred points and you’ll allow me to move forward? How can I ever thank you? But what’s up with the grading? Those 399’s are a maddening. I mean…really…ONE point short. You can’t just give me the one point? Even convenient stores will loan me the penny from their plastic “borrow a penny” container. Perhaps you should consider having a “bank” of contributed points. Kind of like the “sick bank” at work.  That way, if my friend knocks it out of the park with your coveted 600, she could lend me just ONE point. Who needs a perfect score anyway? It’s not like you send me a party in a bag if I score a 600. Please. You can’t even print the booklets on something that can maintain solid form for more than a testing period.  Or a snack. Or water for heaven’s sake.

Perhaps you need  to look up what the word "worth" means. In my book, my worth is measured by those that KNOW me. Those people that see me each and every day. Those people that cheer me on in all aspects of my life. Those people that guide me in school and make sure I don’t burn down the Chemistry Lab. Those people who take the time to read what I wrote. Those people that are in awe of my woodworking skills. Those people who come to my games,  ask how my weekend was or just listen about my bad day. Do you know that? 

NO. All you know is that your scores prove I’m not the best writer. Or a historian. Or a chemist. Congrats! But are you able to see how I’ve work tirelessly with teachers in order to achieve the ridiculous goal you’ve set? Do you know that I have a plethora (bet you LOVED that word) of qualities, that if added all up on a point scale, would blow your 600 out of the water?  Nope. You don’t. You think my worth is a number. A score. 

Your narcissism is overwhelming.  

All I ask is that you take you eventually disappear into thin air. You don’t need to let us know where you’ve gone. Just go.  I can’t say I’d miss you.  At all. Like, EVER.

Thanks for the memories.

Every High School Student in Virginia

Saturday, May 9, 2015

An EGGcellent Day

Tuck: "Mama! Mama! There's an egg! There's an egg!"
Mags: "Ooooooh! Lemme see it. Can I hold it? Where is it? Please show...OH NO! There's POOP ON IT! No one told me there would be POOP on the eggs."
Me: "It's okay, Mags. We'll just wash it. See? No big deal."
Mags: "So...wait. Does that mean the eggs come out of their...bum?"
Me: "Yup. It's called their 'vent.'" 
Mags: "Oh man. That can't feel good."


Big news: 

One of our hens laid her first egg AND we learned how (and where)
 the egg come out of the chicken. Everybody wins!

Now, who wants an omelette? (A very tiny omelette) 


Wednesday, May 6, 2015

I'M ONE WITH THE TURTLES

Me: "Watch out for this hole in the grass, Mags." (falls in hole)
Mags: "You okay? Just laugh it off, Mama." (falls in hole I just fell in AND warned her about ten seconds earlier)

Once upon a time, I was a pretty decent runner. But now ... I'm a supportive runner ... for my kids (and my very weak Achilles). I "ran" a 5K with Mags today. We walked, talked, almost cried, laughed, drank water, threw the cups on the ground (the mom in me was tormented), tied our shoes a trillion times and, at one point, fell over each other. But guess what? We finished. We made memories. And we actually did sweat a little bit. 


This shirt sums up my running status at 37 years old ... 
and I'm finally proud of it. 

http://teespring.com/peanutbutter



Monday, April 20, 2015

WHAT THE CLUCK?

Mags: "I'm gonna name my chicken Foo Foo."
Tuck: "Mags, you already had a fish with that name."
Mags: "Then I'll call her Foo Foo Two."
Tuck: "Your SECOND fish was that name."

Mags: "Well then what about Foo Foo Three?"
Tuck: "Mags.  That was your last fish's name. You've had a lot of fish with all the same name. Maybe try a different name."
Mags: "Yeah. Cause the name Foo Foo doesn't seem to be keepin' my pets alive."

It's 2AM and I'm up right now. You know why? Chickens. 

We. Got. Chickens.

It seems that deep rooted Mama instinct extends to pets that live in your yard, too. Don't get me wrong, I've been productive while I sit here wondering about how our three new feathered friends are doing. I haven't heard a peep out of them so far...which all moms know could mean one of two things. But it is raining pretty hard out there. I hope they're not cold. Or scared. 

Someone smack me. 

They're fine. I'm sure of it. Well, technically, I'm not certain they're fine. It's dark over by their little fortress we built them, so I can't really SEE them. Maybe I should turn on the outside light for a peek? I can't just run out there in the rain. What if *I* scare them? You know what they say...let sleeping chickens roost...or something along those lines. 

How can I be so tired and so awake all at the same time?

Okay. Enough is enough. I'll trust in our research and constructing abilities for the coop. It has more layers of poultry wire on it than a hen could shake a tail feather at.  So, it's off to bed for me. I'll be able to squeeze a solid four hours of sleep in here. And hope that we all wake up to clucking chickens. Fingers and feathers crossed!







Sunday, April 5, 2015

The Easter...NINJA

Mags: "Mama! Watch! I am the Easter NIN-JAAAAAAAAAA!

Sometimes you just have to start snapping pictures and then stick them in the "When Mags Gets Married" folder on your computer.  At this rate, we'll have to set aside about six hours at her wedding to see the slide show from this ever growing folder, but it will be worth it.



 










One thing is for sure...her husband will never be bored. 
Keep on hippin', hoppin' and  rockin', Mags!