For the Love of One Day

I don't really understand all the hoopla behind this day: February 14th.

Sure, some call it Valentine's Day. Stores are draped in red and pink crape, with cases of candies, stuffed animals, and long racks of cards ready for purchase to tell that special someone how much you love them.

But have you noticed that most of the stores have the same things that fall into the Valentine theme? So, where is the surprise in that?

It's not that I am bitter about this holiday, although I used to be back in my younger days. I have also seen the stress this day causes people. I used to work as a merchandiser for a major greeting card company. I was required to work on Valentine's Day. And Target was one of my accounts.....

Let's just say I have seen more civilized people on Black Friday at Walmart.

My husband and I have been together for fourteen years. We have never celebrated Valentine's Day, per se. We may have eaten out a time or two and said, "This is for Valentine's Day." After all of our time together, it isn't this day's proclamation of love that I remember, it's the other days.

• When he brings me a Route 44 Sonic Diet Coke without me asking. 
• When he picks up the Sunday paper so that I don't have to go out. 
• When he sneaks out of bed and gets the boys ready for school so I can sleep for an extra hour.
• When he brings me three tea rose plants and a Christmas cactus because they went on clearance and he knows I like them. 
• When he brings me coupons that are only found in the store. 

And the list could go on.

Through the years, we have went through three moves, two births, five store re-locations, the brink of foreclosure, mental illness, three hospital stays (beyond giving birth), and three major surgeries.I quit working full-time to go back to college. We are in debt up to our ears. We haven't had a vacation in four years with none in sight for the future. But, we have a roof over our head, two vehicles that run and are paid for, generally good health, and plenty of laughs.

If even after all that (and it's been candy-coated for the faint of heart) and  we still want to be together, then I can't think of any bouquet of flowers, heart-shaped box of candy, or red and pink stuffed bear that is going to define his love for me any better. And vice-versa.

Our "Valentine's Day" happen on random days throughout the year.  We believe that the surprise and small token of love is more meaningful when it isn't expected.

If you happen to love the idea of Valentine's Day, by all means, don't let us ruin your party. Go ahead and have fun! Tonight, while you all are waiting for a table, or trying to grab a card and box of candy at the last minute, we'll have supper at home and then go and get our taxes done.

Because nothing says love better than dishpan hands and a federal tax refund. 



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An Old Gal Learns New Tricks

This past week has been a strange week for me. But in hindsight, it has actually been quite good. The dirty laundry might disagree, but we are not on speaking terms at the moment, so I don't care.

The following is a listing of things I have done for the first time this week:
(Author's note: Items are not listed in a particular order. Willy-nilly is the theme.)

• I was contacted to speak to a Girl Scout Troop about writing. This will be my very first public speaking assignment for professional reasons.
  
• Bought some materials to learn to knit, "With two sticks", as Darrin puts it. I have managed to cast-on!
  
• Went into a store to secretly shop and test customer service for a particular product. I can't really talk about this much...it has to remain a mystery. Shhh...
• Was disappointed that school was canceled four days in a row. (They were out yesterday, too, but it didn't bother me.) In the not-so-distant past, I would have whooped and hollered for the chance to sleep in.
  
• Ordered a Unanimous Decision at Moe's rather my usual Funkmeister with Sour Cream. (Sorry, Moe's. I refuse to call it an Overachiever.)
• I learned to make a button for my blog. Here are some rough drafts:

I know. I still have a long row to hoe.

• FINALLY learned what the idiom, "One in the hand is worth two in the bush," means. Thank you, Geico.
• Downloaded Gimp, Picnik, and Picasa. Picnik and Picasa are photo editing software programs that you can download for the low bargain basement price of FREE! While Picnic has more fun features and I am currently obsessed, I really like Picasa for the simple stuff.
• Stepped on the scale and then stepped off. Moved it, reset it, and stepped on it again. Cried. reached highest non-pregnant weight-ever.
  
• Picture this: Darrin is sitting behind me, I am not sure what he is doing. He asks me to spell a word. I spell, "a-l-o-u-d." He is quiet for a few minutes and then holds up a sign he made for his door. It reads, "Horses Aloud!" I never thought to ask which aloud/allowed he wanted to spell....
• Called my neighbor to borrow an ingredient needed to make meatloaf.
• Made a mock-version of Olive Garden's Chicken and Gnocchi soup. I even made the gnocchi from scratch.
• Made a recipe from this website. The next day she was was on "Good Morning America." For some reason, I felt like one of my friends was on. (Note: link will take you directly to the soup I made.)

All of this "new" stuff is on top of my regular work load. No wonder I am behind.

How was your week?

Life In The Fast Lane

Day 25: A First

In the days (O.K.,years) leading up to my 16th birthday, I had grandiose ideas of what my first vehicle would be. My parents had already said they would be purchasing it. I figured I'd help them out and narrow down the choices for them.

My number one choice was a small pick-up. I was willing to settle for this:

I wasn't being unreasonable. Any color would have been acceptable.

My dad said that it wasn't practical for girls to drive pick-ups (Hello, beginning of feminism!) and my mom said the trackers were top heavy and prone to wreakage and deaths, or some such nonsense. The fact that my grandparents own a towing and recovery service had no bearing on those decisions, I am sure.

Next on my list was this:


I would have really liked an orangish or rust colored red. My aunt had an orange one that I coveted. She used to let me drive take me for rides in the country. It was a stick-shift.

Two problems with that scenario:
A) My dad worked for General Motors. My mom said it was disrespectful to get a foreign made car with American- made money. She had a good point. Of course, we are talking about the early 90s. These were the good old days when Walmart only sold products made in the USA.

2) This is a foreign car. Which means that the parts are foreign. Which means the bolts and such are metric. Which leads us back to point A. He only had standard measure tools. Not to mention, because of the foreign-ess of said car, parts would be harder to come by. There was one place like an hour from where we lived. The other was in Pennsylvania.

So here is what I ultimately ended up with:

A 1980 Chevrolet Chevette.

(I know you are jealous.)

Only it wasn't this color. Think more along these lines:
I couldn't have hidden in the crowd even if I wanted to. And to this day I have yet to see that color in nature or another car for that matter.

Here's how the Sweet 16 went down:

• Got my permit in '89.
• They bought my car in the summer of '90.
• I turned 16 in November of that year. C
  
• I was finally allowed to get my license in JULY of '91.

(I still, to this day, don't know what the reasoning to that was.)

Once I was finally let loose in my 'Vette, my parents slapped a bumper sticker that read:

If you don't like how I am driving, please call my parents at:
(317) XXX-XXXX

This guy I was dating for about ten minutes actually did me a favor and "stole" it.

With the beginning of my first car became the beginning of other firsts:

• car accident that I was both guilty and innocent of. (middle car of a three-car accident)
• first trip to the ER with lights on
• first break-in. The losers LEFT all my loose change but stole my collections of these:

Yeah, I had these in the car. I was called Smurfette, after all.

And because I worked at Hardee's, I also had this:




It was a regular crime wave.

In the end, my relationship with my Smurfmobile was short-lived. After another tiny accident, I believe the car was considered "totaled," and I moved on to greener pastures.

Or red, rather.

My uncle bought the car for a few bucks and drove it for a long time. He completely totaled it, stripped the insides out and used it like a truck and eventually traded it for some tile work.

He called her, Timex.

They don't make 'em like that anymore.

I Lost on Jeopardy, Baby....Oh wait. Wrong Show

I mentioned in my last post that I auditioned for Wheel of Fortune. I thought I had blogged about it at some point, but I couldn't find any evidence if I did. I know I mentioned it a couple of other times.

Here is the nitty gritty:

Back in September of '05, the Wheel Mobile came close to where we live. It was my favorite game show, and I had always wanted to go on.

It was hot that day. And we were on a blacktop parking lot. For five hours.

They play three mock games a day. You can go in the lotto for one or all of the games. By filling out this card with pertinent info, it goes into a barrel-type thing and they pull the names for each session.

I cheered. I clapped. I hooted and hollared. I even played along (in my head) while my family sat patiently and roasted with me in the blazing sun.

I never got called.

On the cards that are filled out, you are to include an email addy. I forget the reasoning, but there is a chance you can be called when they come back for the final auditions. It was recommended that you put interesting information because you will stand out. The cards for the email drawing are all looked at.

We figured I didn't have a snowball's chance.

Late in December, ( I think) I get an email inviting me to the auditions that would be held in February.

Most of that day was blur. The only thing I really remember is going in for the second time to play a game because I had made the first cut. (Although, looking back, I am not sure how.) So, we get herded into another room and are playing the game. We are told that we are not only being judged on game play, but how we react as an audience member. No pressure, right?

I finally get a chance to play. I stand up and was supposed to pic a letter. Except all the obvious choices had been taken: R, S, T, L, N and there wasn't much up there to work with. I am was in a panic and chose a B. Nope. Have a seat, loser.

Finally, some chic that has had all the time in the world solves the puzzle (People Magazine). We were given a brief break while they made the decisions of the next cut. I didn't make it.

But, I didn't walk away empty handed! Between both times I acquired:

Two 8x10 black and white glossys of Pat and Vanna
A Wheel of Fortune ink pen that I may or may have just forgotten to return
A Wheel of Fortune pin that lights up (or did. It's broken now.)
A golf pencil that says "I tried out for Wheel of Fortune"
The satisfaction of knowing that I did something completely out of my comfort zone.

All in all it wasn't a bad experience. And if sitting in a conference room was nerve racking, I can't imagine in front of a studio audience and the blinding stage lights. It is definitely easier at home.

Like I said yesterday, if they come back, I'll try again.

One less thing to worry about

I think we have established that I am a worrier.



Some may say that I worry over things that are silly and not worth the time.



Nevertheless, I will worry.



My friend Becky called me Saturday afternoon to see if I would be a substitute player for their Bunko group on Sunday evening. Even after I told her that I didn't know how to play nor had I ever played she assured me that it was super easy. All I had to do was bring $10 and a finger food to share.

After I hung up the phone, the worry started. Who wants to guess on what I worried about?

That I only knew two people out of the twelve that would be there?

No.

That I had no idea how to play and no one would want to be my partner?

Nope.

What I should wear to such an event?

Not even.

That I would bring a finger food that someone else brought and theirs would be better leaving me to make that lonely walk to the car at the end of the night with only one serving gone (mine) and wondering if the whispers behind my back are about my pitiful attempt at cooking therefore leaving my offering a tasteless, pitiful dish?

That would be the one.

There are many situations that strike fear in my heart causing me to reach for my gumball dispenser of X.anax. But all a caller has to do is say the words, "Bring a dish," and I am in the fetal postition in a dark room.

However.

Those days are over.

My husband, my rock, the wind beneath my wings, and hero extraordinaire helped me come up* with a dish that he assured me would be a winner. When I asked why he thought it would be a hit, he answered simply, "Because it's delicious."

May I present to you, "Rockin' Chicken"

Need:
Boneless, skinless chicken breasts or tenders
Bacon
2 evelopes of Taco seasoning
sour cream

Preheat oven to 375. Cut chicken breasts into strips and then into slightly larger than bite-size pieces. Wrap each "bite" into 1/3 piece of bacon. Secure with toothpick. Coat each chicken/bacon bite with the taco seasoning. Place about an inch apart on baking sheet. (Recommend placing parchment paper on baking sheet first for easier clean-up.) Bake about 20 minutes or until chicken is done.

With second envelope of taco seasoning, add to about 1 cup of sour cream. This becomes the dip for the chicken. Best served warm.

Be prepared for things like, "Oh my goodness!" "This is so good!" "I have to have the recipe!" "How did you do this?"
Enjoy.

Needless to say, my offering was a hit. They all wanted the recipe and one woman remarked that she was making it next month so that the ones that missed last night could taste it. (I secretly think she just wanted more.)

And when I left at the end of the night, my plate was empty.


*Disclaimer: We didn't actually "come up" with the recipe. It was given to him by a customer/friend. He made it for me on New Year's (and at first I was like, "No way. It has bacon." But it is delicious. And easy.

See ya 2009. It's been real...

I have thought all day how I should send off 2009 on the blog.

Or at least the last couple of hours.

2009 hasn't been our best year, but it certainly hasn't been our worst. There have been highs that I haven't shared, and some mighty lows that I have. At the end of the day, or year even, it hasn't been bad.

I have grown and learned more about myself as a mother, wife, friend, student, teacher, and overall rider on this big spinning rock than any other time in my life these past three hundred and some odd days.

(Yes, I actually had to look up the number of days. Strange.)

(There are 365. Odd.)

I don't have any parting words of wisdom. I don't even have any resolutions. Unless, "I will not make impossible goals that I will never achieve," counts.

Some big things are on tap for 2010, so I look forward to see what else is in store for us.

Happy New Year to you all. Here's to another year of spotty posts...Thanks for sticking with me all this time.


::clinking of glasses::

Just a little 'me' time

When other moms tell you that you should take some time for yourself from time to time, "It will make you a better mom",I always assumed it was meant for adult conversation, manicures(or the luxurious mani/pedi combo), or even private bra shopping.

Ladies, don't forget your health. Namely-dental health.

Over the years I have had the oh-so rare moments of guilt-free, only for Mom, alone time. All of, I'd say, three times. Not once in those times did I go to the dentist.

Now, I am paying. Both, figuratively and literally.

I had a tooth that had been bothering me for quite some time. Just a year or so, and nothing that wasn't tolerable, just more annoying than anything. I knew it had a cavity, but really thought maybe I'd be OK. I was telling myself I'd go and have it looked at when "we had more money."

You know, in these hard economic times....

So, about three weeks ago, I am heading home and was eating a snack. I felt something weird behind this tooth that has been bothering me. Using my fingernail, I try to pry it out, and then the pain started.

Long story short, I Big Daddy decided that I can't wait anymore. We don't have a dentist (the kids go to a pediatric dentist) and like most Americans, I call the one with the prettiest ad in the Yellow Pages. Plus they are on TV!

I couldn't get in to them until April. I guess that fancy advertising is working.

I call another one in our town, and it just so happened that it is my parents' dentist. After a quick name drop, I am in like Flynn the very next Tuesday.

Just to set the scene further here, it has been something like 17 years since I have been in the torture reclining chair. In that time I have had three children. I read somewhere about 10 years ago that prenatal dentistry care is important because of calcium leaching or something like that.

To say I was embarrassed was an understatement. She picks and roots around for awhile, assures me "it's not that bad" and counts five cavities. The kids still don't know. Shh...

Then tells me that she can fix the one that is hurting but the others will have to wait...nerve block...numbing....time..tenderness...blahblahblah And I opt (after coaching from her) to go that route.

Today, was part two. She was going to fix the remaining four because they were surface cavities.

Y'all. It took 5 vials of whatever it was to numb my molar/jaw. Three times she had to stop and re-medicate because I COULD FEEL IT.

By the time she got done, I thought my face had melted onto my shirt. I was numb from my eye, down the outside of my face, the left side inside my mouth/tongue, and even my ear and down my neck. She could have done major surgery.

Oh! And because I had so much medication, she wouldn't do the tooth on the right, I HAVE TO GO BACK.

Wonderful.

And the money I was worried about? Yeah. The tooth that was fixed two weeks ago is going to cost us about $125. Today, I got extra medication and three teeth done. Maybe we can bundle.

I still have one to go! In April I will go back for a cleaning.A little bass-ackwards, isn't it? Cleanings are free, though. Score one for us.

I guess I should have thought about that 17 years ago. For now, I will curl up with an ice pack for a jaw that doesn't want to open, my Lit book, and the comfort of knowing I got some "me" time.

Tomorrow, I am changing my major to Dentistry. And ordering some Bonvia.

Snips and snails, and puppy dogs' tails...

My son's teacher is pregnant with her first child. Last week she went in for the ultrasound almost every mom looks forward to--determining the sex of the child. She had fingers crossed for a girl, and I assured her she was having a girl; I had only guessed wrong one other time.

She is, in fact, having a "stinky ol' boy." (Her words, not mine.)

I really felt for her emotions. I have a girl. I have a boy that I just KNEW was going to be a girl, and I cried (I mean BAWLED) when I found out the last was another boy.

Then I started thinking about all the things that come with being the mom of boys that I would have never experienced had I gotten my way of having only girls.

Overalls.
Shirts in primary colors and whimsical animals.
HotWheels. (Mommy's back makes a great race track!)
Sand.
Finding rocks in the washer.
The way his hair sticks up at the crown in the morning.
Finding joy in dirt. (That joy unfortunately does not extend to the living room carpet.)
Riding bikes.
Soccer games.
They way they need "only Mommy" when they are sick.
When they bring you a bouquet of dandylions, wild onions, and clover.
The joy of a frog in the yard.
A boy and his dog.
The color blue.
Handprints on every painted surface. (Ok, that does get old, but from time to time it is sweet.)
Army men.

The list continues to grow as they do. I know that she is going to make a great mom. In time, she will find the joy that I have found over the last ten years....

It's for the children

Today, I must return the "favor" my husband did for me yesterday by taking the boys. Now, don't let him fool you; he always takes the boys on weenie wagon weekend--usually both days. Due to other circumstances, I had mentioned to him that I felt one day was plenty, and I had plans for them. With that being said, it was probably a bigger deal for him to take them yesterday than not. I think there is some man connection that dates back to his childhood with his father.

The weenie wagon, as we call it, isn't a wagon nor do they serve weenies solely. Well, maybe if you look at the clientele...

Thank you. I'll be here all week.

It all started in 2001. My husband's company is a huge supporter of The Children's Miracle Network. No one had really done much in they way of supporting the cause, as usually the Customer Service Manager was in charge of the fundraising. In years past, it was solely those balloon sales. I am not sure what sparked his desire that year, but he decided to really try and make a real effort to go beyond $1 balloons.

His big fundraiser that year was a community donated yard sale. We spent weeks and the kids' college funds on gas money driving around the county. First, we dropped off flyers and one paper sack explaining what we were looking for and what to do. Then, it was to pick up truck loads of goods. The response was overwhelming and more than he hoped for. At the last minute, he decided to talk to one his drink vendors and see about getting a trailer to sell food out of. We got something like this:





Except that I think it was white, rusted, and had been assembled in 1877. But it served the purpose he intended. We sold [grilled] hot dogs, hamburgers, and sloppy joes. Your side choices were chips, select beverages, or nothing. My mom and I named it, the Weenie Wagon. The name has stuck all these years...

Fast forward to today. He no longer uses the trailer; he's outgrown it. Not him, physically, but his menu. He doesn't do the yard sale anymore-there are some stories!- but rather the weenie wagon grosses more profit during the season than the one large yard sale and cookout alone. Then, there is the added benefit that this is easier to put on than the yard sale. I think we all have probably put on our own yard sale, maybe teaming up with the neighbors or girlfriends. Imagine that stress [maybe it's just me] multiplied by 1,000. Or picture this: the next time you go to Goodwill, peek in the back room. That was us for six weeks.

So today the weenie wagon, as we call it, is still put up in front of his store. He is in a large tent with the front being an actual counter he built. I just had a thought! Maybe we should change it to the Weenie Hut. [Any Sponegebob fans?] His menu now reads: hamburger, hot dog, BBQ chicken, white beans and corn bread. Side choices include: mac-n-cheese, potato salad, chips, and baked beans. There are always desert offerings and icy-cold beverages. He holds these once a month from March(ish) to as late as November. And people ask him in between, "When is your next cookout?" If I mention to someone that my husband is the manager of X store in Y town, they always know who I am talking about and that he does this fundraiser. Of course, he is 6'2" and bald...

With the spirit of my husband's heart on this project, you might wonder why I would balk at a chance to work in the sun, on a blacktop parking lot, inside a tent backed by a grill, in Tennessee humidity for a slim chance on winning a trip to Disney World? [He has come in second for the last four years.]

It's the people.

Don't start writing the hate mail yet. Let me give you a fresh example he shared with me just last night: A lady walks up, starts to scan the menu board, and says, "Well, what do you have?"

(I just told you all, and I am sure you could answer the question without looking.)

As she lays herself on the counter, she decides she'll have a hamburger. Then, she wants to know if they have white bread to put it on. No ma'am, just a bun.

"It doesn't have seeds does it?" (She is getting more hateful as she speaks) No ma'am, it is plain.

She continues to complain about something or another, and as she opens her wrapper to dress the freshly grilled burger, she complains that they aren't patted out.

It's this sort of business that we listen to all. day. long. I usually stay in the back of the house and make up plates, sandwiches, grill, ect. He is better at not answering questions with an attitude or smart remark than I am.

I'll go and put on my happy face. It was very slow yesterday so I'll bring a book, perhaps My Name is Russell Fink, and make a great memory with my husband and kids on this Sunday.

I also look at it this way, it makes for great material.


One think I failed to mention....100% of the profits he makes goes to Vanderbilt's children's hospital. Last year, his store raised right at $10,000. This includes cooking out, balloon donations, a golf scramble, and one other thing that has escaped me.

His name is Michael Snyder

Please note: the following text is written in all honesty and hasn't not been exaggerated for comedic, dramatic, or otherwise ______ effect. Not I normally do that. I'm just saying....

:::takes deep breath:::


Today has ranked as one of my Top 10 best experiences. Ever.

Remember yesterday I mentioned going to the library today for a lecture?

Today, I got to meet Michael Snyder, author of My Name Is Russell Fink.


Michael was one of the most unassuming, humorous, down-to-earth people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. In a small group of probably fifteen people, at our small-town library, he enlightened us with his tale of getting published. If you pick up this book, it is plain to see how he got to this point; the man flat-out has talent.

I was beside myself with excitement to get to the library. As a matter of fact, I arrived 25 minutes early. I had brought his (my?) book to read whilst I waited and laughed out loud at a line. Alone in the room, I turned to see if anyone was coming to shush me. The main character, Russell, is describing the neighbor who seems to not care for his dog, Sonny. Here's an excerpt:


He's called the cops on Sonny no less than a dozen times, claiming
disturbance of the peace. He even tried to sue us for destruction of private
property, but my father's lawyer was able to prove that Sonny's urine actually
nourished our surly neighbor's rosebushes. He's convinced that Sonny impregnated
his precious Betsy, a hairless terrier. Who could really blame him, what with
the way she flits around her immaculate yard in her argyle sweaters and cutesy
hair bows? But whether Simmons chooses to believe it or not, Sonny's been fixed
for ages.

See what I mean?

If you happen to be in Tennessee, or nearby, he is going to be at the Southern Festival of Books October 10-12.

I strongly encourage you to get this book. If you don't like it [and that is highly unlikely], he does make a deal with his readers. It was that entry that I decided he was cool and worth checking out. He does write for the Christian market, and honestly, I had never perused those shelves. After reading this book, and his mentioning a few others today, the list of books to read has lengthened a few more feet. Much the chagrin of my husband, I am sure. With Books-a-Million just opening a mere 3.3 miles from here and all....

I know I briefly mentioned this a while back, but I started a book almost a year ago. A month ago, I started a second book. I didn't intend to do that, but one morning, out of the blue another character popped up. I attempted to ignore her for a few days, but she is relentless.

I told Big Daddy a couple of weeks ago that I intended to finish by book(s) but doubted they would get published. Not that getting published was my ultimate goal, but wouldn't that just be gravy?

I am just a mom, a substitute teacher, college student, and wife. It was my contention that my story wasn't good enough like J.K Rowlings or Diablo Cody. Today, the greatest thing I took away from Michael's lecture was that everyone's story is good enough. Sure, there is a bit of luck that goes along with it (not to mention hard work), but a talented writer will be picked up if that is his or her goal. A writer who wants to write, writes.


There are several folks I would like to thank in giving me one of the greatest days of my existence (in no particular order):

My history instructor. Because we aren't allowed web-based source for the movie analysis, going to the library was essential. I would not have known about the lecture otherwise.

Elementary teachers. Since no one called in sick, I did not get called into teach. I have to wait 3-8 days for Amistad to arrive from Borders (see above). A day alone was perfect timing to get some hard- copy research done.

Big Daddy. When he called and I said, "There is a lecture at the library tomorrow about getting a book pub-" He cut me off by saying, "Cool. I'll be taking the boys with me tomorrow." Of course, I do have to "pay him back" and help with the weenie wagon* tomorrow. Pfft.

Dr. Campbell. She is the professor that encouraged me to submit my essay to the school's literary magazine. (I waited until there was only 30 minutes left to submit--I didn't think it was good enough) She also got me to see that the voices in my head were characters, and I didn't need medication. Without that constant encouragement and support, I would not realized I could in fact, write.

And Michael. The lecture today was indescribable and beyond my expectation. If the only publications I can add to my credit is an entry in a community college arts collection, this blog, and two [hopefully complete] books on my hard drive, I will always call myself a writer--something I wouldn't have yesterday.

Have you got his book yet?

P.s He totally knows I was going to blog about this.

***Updated to add: I asked for his permission to blog about this; I am beyond flattered that he took the time to find me here. Thanks again, Mike!
Also, I can't get the quote to block properly. I do apologize for that technical error.

When I grow up, I want to be...

I suppose I could be put into the category of "mid-life career change", except that: a) I hope at 33 I am not at "mid-life", and b) I never really had a career to change from.

After I graduated from high school (in December--'92), I had a baby (in April--'93). In June of that year, I moved with my parents from Indiana to Tennessee. And in trying to keep some sense of normalcy, I started college in the fall, like most college graduates.

I had wanted to be a doctor for quite some time, and my parents were supportive of that. Early in my second semester, my advisor called me in for a meeting. She was the instructor for the Medical Technology department. I cannot remember what happened, but the next thing I knew I was applying to the program which I ultimately got into.

That fall, I started out pretty strong. Long story short. I failed out the Spring semester and was knocked out of the program.

BUT! I was getting married! No worries right?

We all know that didn't quite work out like I had imagined.

Anyway, fast forward a new husband, two more children, and a need to make more money. Hey, we all do! Right, Sally?

I was working as a Merchandiser for American Greetings, a job -by the way- I miss to this day. But, at the time, I felt like I needed to make more money whilst I waited for the next big promotion.

I managed to land a job as a Substitute Food Service Associate. Fan-Cee. I worked at the high school and really loved it. The second year I worked, I went in at 7:30 (ish) and got off at 2:00. I was still working for AG, and it was taking it's toll on me. The interim position that was supposed to be only six weeks long (then I would go back to just a sub) and it went on until Spring Break.

At any rate, that year, my sons first grade teacher needed a volunteer to come in and tutor some kids. For an entire year, every Tuesday and Thursday, I would help three little boys with whatever they needed. Once I got started, I began to look forward to going. I had done the usual things at the school (and in the class) before, but I began to see things in a whole new light. The whole class would light up when I got there.

Meanwhile, over at the high school, if you don't think that the lunch ladies don't pay attention to the kids, I am here to tell you, they do. (Or maybe it was just me) Because I had been working for so long, Central Office declared I be made a "full-time" employee, and I got all the benefits that came with it. With my new status, I got to work the cash register. It became my mission to make someone's day daily. I realized the kids weren't that scary after all.

I was enjoying being around the kids so much, that I contemplated becoming a substitute teacher the next fall. After checking into it, I found out I had the credentials. Plus, Mrs. First Grade teacher started in on me on how I would be a good teacher. The boys loved working with me.

The day that made the whole idea concrete will forever be etched on my mind.

I was working with the boys. On that day, I was holding up sight words and they were to make sentences with them. Two of the boys made the typical sentences. When I got to the third, his word was 'they'.

"Yesterday, we went to they house."

Y'all.

I thought I was going to laugh myself silly. I normally wouldn't have laughed in front of the kids, but that was just BEYOND precious to me. When I retold the story to Mrs. First Grade Teacher, she was all, "Yeah. I get that everyday. It never gets old."

The next fall (summer-pfft) I applied to be a substitute teacher. After my first couple of days in the classroom (which was at the high school-ironically enough) I fell in LOVE. But, it was going to a fifth grade class at our elementary school that sealed my fate.

The next fall, I started back to school myself. Two weeks from today, I start my second year.

And to my friend Beverly, that I laughed at when were in college in '93? I am sorry that I said your major (Elementary Ed) was too easy. You got the last laugh, girl.

I have never worked so hard in my life. And I can't imagine doing anything else.

Anyone else changing careers?